Dean thought that it was all over. All of the angels and demons crap, the almost-Apocalypse, he thought everything was over with. Everything was already said and done, and now he just needed to keep moving. He had considered staying with Lisa and Ben, but the thought of putting them in danger with his very presence wasn't appealing. So he hit the road, under the impression that he would be a kind of lone wolf, continuing to hunt by himself for the rest of his days.

That was, at least, until Michael was escorted to his motel room, steely silent and clearly unhappy.

Apparently, being stuck in Hell with Lucifer had only been the first part of their punishment. After nearly a year of almost overwhelming normality, during which Dean truthfully wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, he was thrown right back into it.

"Thrown right back into it" apparently meant having to babysit a grouchy, now-human Michael. At first, Dean had thought that this was simply God's way of saying he's pissed, but then he realized that Michael actually needed help. If Dean hadn't known what to do with himself the past year, Michael was even worse off. He couldn't sleep, he didn't know when or what to eat; he drank the glasses of water that Dean offered him without many words, and it seemed as if he was trying his best to cooperate, but even the hunter could tell that Michael honestly had no damn clue what to do.

Dean still thinks that it's God's way of saying "fuck you," but that's not important.

On the rare occasions that Michael does sleep, he doesn't dream. He has nightmares. Nightmares that leave him half-awake at three in the frigging morning, clinging to Dean and whimpering into his shoulder.

"How could I do that, Dean? How could I do that to him? How could I say that?"

Apparently, Michael has nightmares about Lucifer.

Dean doesn't blame him.

After several months of teaching (or trying to, at least) Michael the ways of humanity, the ex-archangel seems to get the hang of things. He has a general understanding of what foods he likes and doesn't like (Dean wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or bang his head against something when he learned that Michael loved pie just about as much as Dean himself did), and he eats (never much, there are always leftovers) and drinks without prompting (Michael also seems to have a fondness for anything dark brown and bubbly, especially coke, which Dean often teases him for). But he still doesn't like sleeping.

It's not really the act of sleeping that he doesn't like, though, Dean tells himself. It's the dreams. The nightmares, the echoes of Lucifer's betrayed tone playing over and over like a broken record in his mind. Michael even discovered the feeling of being drunk in the hope that perhaps the alcohol would drown out his little brother's voice, but that hadn't been the case. Dean found out the hard way that Michael is not a fun drunk. He's a miserable drunk, and either he'll find a corner and cry or he'll sob his heart out on your shoulder instead.

That had been awkward for the both of them, and Dean made a silent vow to himself to never let Michael get drunk ever again.

In addition to teaching Michael how to be human, Dean also decided to teach him how to hunt. Because, really, the guy might as well make himself useful if they were going to be stuck with each other for only God knew how long.

Hunting was something that Michael was good at, apparently. He had issues with guns and other human weapons at first, having not been happy about resorting to "barbaric measures" in order to rid the earth of supernatural nuisances, but he caught on to the general job very quickly. His skills with a gun improved over time, and he was already knowledgeable in the ways of the knife (and the machete, thankfully for Dean, because otherwise he would have been eaten by that vampire). Dean taught Michael everything he knew, and ended up learning a few things from Michael as well.

But even as good at hunting as Michael was, everyone makes mistakes sometimes. Michael found this out the hard way when he was thrown out of a two-story window by a pissed-off poltergeist. In addition to all of the scratches and bruises, Michael had also had a notably large piece of glass sticking out of his leg. It was clear that he was trying not to complain as Dean got it (and all the other little pieces of glass) out and patched him up, but even God's former second-hand couldn't help but grunt in pain as the glass was removed.

Dean wasn't really sure what to say, so he stayed silent while he worked. Later, he brought Michael a coke and a piece of pie back from his dinner-run as a silent apology for not being there for Michael. Michael smiled and shook his head, as if to say 'don't worry about it', but he took the offering anyway. Because, really, what kind of person would he be if he were to pass up free pie?

There had been a question nagging at Dean's mind ever since Michael had first shown up. A question he desperately wanted to ask, but at the same time, he feared that asking would only mess up...whatever the hell it was that they had (friendship didn't feel like the right word, but nothing else felt right either; he supposed a "silent understanding" was one way to describe it). It wasn't just Michael who depended on Dean. Dean now depended on Michael as well, for his sanity as well as for Michael's. The eldest Winchester had a deeply ingrained sense of co-dependency, even if he himself didn't like to admit it, and the thought of being alone really wasn't that appealing. Michael may not be Sam, but he was all Dean had, and he didn't want to lose whatever it was that was between them.

So he refrained from asking the dreaded (and yet tempting) question in favor of trying to help Michael as best he could (how you help an archangel cope with being human, Dean wasn't really sure, but whatever the hell he was doing, it seemed to be working). He had a feeling that Michael knew that he wanted to ask something—hell, Michael might even already know what the question was. But he never said anything about it, and neither did Dean.

Until one day, when the temptation just became too much.

"Where's Lucifer?"

They'd been having a poor excuse for dinner, each of them sitting on their respective motel beds, and the abruptness of the question seemed to startle Michael. The ex-archangel looked up from his food, blinking at Dean with an unreadable expression. Dean waited for a long moment, and was ready to take it back and pretend he'd never spoken when Michael opened his mouth to answer.

"Lucifer is with Sam."

If Michael had been startled by the question, then Dean was startled by the answer. "With...Sam?"

Michael nodded once.

"Sam's alive?" Thoughts were racing through his mind like a freight train on full speed. Sam. Sammy. He was alive. His baby brother was alive. Where was he? Was he alright? What was Lucifer doing to him?

"Yes." Michael said carefully, looking reluctant to answer. "Lucifer...he is in the same condition that I am. He was sent to your brother, as I was sent to you. It is our shared punishment."

Dean had never been the praying type, but right now, all he wanted to do was get on his knees and thank God that his baby brother had been spared from the horrors of Hell. That is, until what Michael had said completely sunk in, and Dean's train of thought derailed.

There were no survivors.

"Wait...so, Lucifer is with Sam?"

Michael nodded again, looking rather pained by the thought of his brother. "Yes...Sam was presented with the task of taking care of Lucifer, as you were with me. Assuming that he agreed to it, Lucifer is likely still with him."

Not that he would have had a choice in the matter, Dean thought irritably. "Where are they?"

"I don't know."

"Bull."

"I don't know, Dean." Michael simply looked tired now, and Dean caught a glimpse of just how old the being sitting before him really was. "I was not told where they would be, and I have no way of contacting them. I honestly don't know where they are, or what they are doing. I wish I did, but I don't."

And suddenly, Dean realizes why Michael doesn't eat much, and why he doesn't sleep. It's not simply because he's not hungry, like he says. And it's not just because of the nightmares (although they do play a big part in Michael's insomnia problem).

It's because he's worried about Lucifer. The bastard felt such remorse for his actions, such guilt at never being the big brother that he should have been, and the reality of what he'd done to Lucifer, the knowledge that he'd betrayed his brother in the worst way possible, was almost too much to bear. If Michael was anything like Dean (and Dean had found that the two of them were similar in more ways than just family issues), then he probably never spent a day not worrying about Lucifer. Wondering if he was eating and sleeping, wondering if Sam was getting through to him at all (because Dean highly doubted that the ex-Devil was taking this whole human thing as well as Michael was). Michael probably thought that it was his fault that they were in this mess (and it sort of was, but that was beside the point), and now he couldn't even have the chance to apologize. He had no way of checking up on Lucifer, had no way of knowing if his brother was even still alive.

Dean could relate, and was appalled at himself for not realizing it sooner. And he understood. Oh, he understood completely. When Baby Brother's in trouble, nothing else matters. Nothing is more important than seeing to it that Baby Brother is okay. But damn, Michael was going to kill himself over this.

When Dean told him this a few days later as he drove down some unmarked road in the middle of Nowheresville, Michael merely smiled sadly and shook his head, going back to staring out of the window. And Dean kept on driving, because what else was there to do, really?

A few days later, Dean couldn't stand it. Sammy was alive and out there, somewhere, forced to babysit the freaking Devil, and what was Dean doing?

Even Dean didn't know what he was doing. But that didn't matter, because Dean knew what he was doing right now.

Michael watched him knowingly from his seat on the motel bed as Dean punched in the familiar numbers. He could have hit speed dial, or looked the number up in his contact's list, but he needed the few extra seconds to think.

But even with those few extra seconds, Dean still wasn't sure what to say when the call was answered.

"Dean?"

So he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Heya Sammy, how's it goin'?"

This was an idea that slapped me in the face at around 2:30 in the morning. I spent half an hour writing it, went to bed, and then edited it when I got up. AU, obviously. I almost wish it had gone this way, but oh well. I'm actually already writing a companion piece to this with Sam and Lucifer. I don't know if I'll finish it, but hey, I might.

Reviews are much loved and keep my muse going. -hinthint- :D