Music filled the car.

The highway streched endlessly in front of them, the dark and mudane landscape oddly contrasting with the fuzzy, neon interior of the car. It had taken Gabriel two blocks to find the nauseatingly bright and obnoxious car but he'd be damned if he was going to give Michael the satisfaction of boosting something with an ounce of taste. Although, in Gabriel's opinion, anyone who could combine leopard print, pink shag and fuzzy dice deserved an award--or at least a write up in Homes and Gardens. Michael, of course, felt differently. He was silent, sitting in the passenger seat with his gaze locked determinely on some point in the horizon. His posture was perfect, his hands folded neatly in his lap, all of it an odd contradiction to his slightly greasey hair and stubbled cheeks. They'd been driving for hours, Gabriel was sure about that. A few more and the sky'd start to lighten. Gabriel glanced at the clock in the car, the digital numbers telling him it hadn, in fact, been more hours than he'd thought since they started driving. Up ahead, Gabriel spied a sign for food and lodging.

"Do not think about it," Michael said.

"Too late."

"Do not follow through on that thought," the Archangel corrected, "we do not have time to--"

"Eat? Sleep?" Gabriel snorted, "in case you didn't notice, the Apocalypse ain't coming to an awe-inspiring conclusion right now. And its been a while since you were on earth so lemme just refresh your memory: you need to eat. And to sleep. Especially if that Vessel of yours is going to be in once piece when you're done with it," he turned the car towards the exit, "you look like you can barely keep your eyes open as it is."

"I'm fine," Michael said, though his gritted teeth spoke differently.

Gabriel rolled his eyes at the familiar stubbornness, turning the car off the highway. It was a testament to the adjustment that he was going through that past a word, Michael did not try to stop him. All Archangels did it, it was not as simple for them as it was for the less powerful. Gabriel had taken a Vessel that could not hope to contain him once and spent three days retching in the throws of agony before he managed to leave the Vessel with any semblance of the former soul in tact. The poor bastard Lucifer was wearing was barely going to be able to take food through a tube, much less remember who he was. Even if the bastard Michael was in right now wasn't the true Vessel, it had enough of the bloodline in it that he was able to contain him. But there was an adjustment period, one that Gabriel had a good idea would be prolonged and painful.

Gabriel had spent three days vomiting and praying for death and all Michael had to do was press his hands together and grit his teeth. There really was no fucking justice in the world. Gabriel pulled into the motel parking lot. Michael continued to sit there, eyes locked ahead as Gabriel went to the front of the motel and used a little bit of power to convince the guy to give them a key and a room at the far end of the place. Coming back to the car, Michael had not moved even an iota. Gabriel came around to the other side of the car and opened the door. Though he had not moved, now there was more of a stiffness to how he held himself. Gabriel crossed his arms and looked at his brother.

"You gonna come to the motel room or should I just leave you and the love mobile alone for the night?"

Michael glared over at him before wordlessly getting out of the car. Gabriel could see his body beginning to succumb to the pain of adjustment but if his steps were stiff and off balance, Gabriel knew better than to say anything about it. It took ten minutes to get to the front door of the motel room. Gabriel took his time opening the door but Michael stood there, his eyes locked directly ahead of him. All he needed was a pair of wings and maybe some armor and he'd look like a darker, scruffier version of the Archangel pictures that people drew of him. Gabriel walked into the small but clean motel room and Michael followed. The younger Archangel manually closed and locked the door as he heard Michael ease himself onto the bed. Even though Michael could not see it, Gabriel rolled his eyes at his brother's behavior.

"You don't have to do that," Gabriel said glancing at his brother's drawn features as Michael eased himself fully onto the bed, "act all tough. I'm not one of your soldiers anymore."

"No," came the reply, filled with emotion that Gabriel was not sure he wanted to identify, "I suppose you are not."

Gabriel turned towards Michael but the other Archangel had lowered himself completely onto the bed, his eyes already shut. Just for a moment, Gabriel felt the same raw panic he had the last time they had been in this situation. And in spite of all the time that had passed, all the shit that had built up between them, his feet still took him across the room as fast as they could. Michael's grace still pulsed through the body, weak and flickering but it was still there and the relief that Gabriel felt course through him was anything but comforting. He never should have let Michael see what he was, who he was, in the modern age. He should have--he should--Gabriel shook his head as if doing so would get rid of the thoughts that tumbled through it. He could tell himself whatever the hell he wanted, Michael knew what he looked like and even after all that had happened Gabriel knew he'd never leave the motel room while Michael was in trouble. And he was in trouble, not a lot but enough that leaving him alone right now was a very bad idea. Shaking his head, Gabriel walked over to the unoccupied twin bed and dropped onto it.

He had to find Michael before his brother got himself into real deep shit.

Gabriel let his eyes close while, very far away, Michael opened his with a dull sense of surprise.

The two women on the pole were hot.

Michael watched them apathetically, trying not to be concerned that that was the first thought he had. He had seen far worse from men and though he found very little joy in what he saw, he could at least admit it was not as terrible as some of the things he had witnessed. One dressed in blue twisted herself into impossible looking positions that Michael just thought looked painful while the one in red moved hypnotically up and down the pole like flames being allowed to dampen and then fanned into a frenzy. Fire and Water. Michael titled his head to the side, intrigued. He would not have assumed he would think of things this way. It had been thousands of years since he had dreamed. He would not have thought that his dreams would involve cheap, crushed velvet and women gyrating on poles. In fact, Michael was certain he had not been inside such a place. And while he did not wish to consider what kind of antics the Vessel he inhabited had performed, he did know that his taste ran distinctly more high brow than where he found himself.

Which could only mean that this was not his dream.

Relief and disgust clashed through him as he turned his head just enough to make out the form of his true, idiotic Vessel. Without the horror and pain and surprise, Dean Winchester looked surprisingly like every other person on earth. Leaning back against a cheap, crushed velvet couch, he watched the strippers gyrate, a bottle of some dime store variety booze cradled between his spread legs. He was so intent on the strippers he did not even notice another person until Michael walked over to where the young man was sitting. Dean turned his head to look at him and, even in his dream, Michael could see he was clearly drunk. His eyes slid in and out of focus as they tried to place who the strange man in his dream was. Almost belatedly, Michael realized that there was no reason for Dean to think that the man standing in front of him was anything but, well, Michael supposed hallucination was probably the wrong word but certainly Dean would not have taken him immediately for an Angel. Dean snorted, clearly unimpressed, and turned back to the two women. Slowly Michael took a step forward, closing some of the distance between them.

"You do not dream of somewhere comforting?" he asked, looking around the cheap crushed velvet strip club, "after all you've been through?"

"Great, even my own sub conscious is turning against me," Dean grumbled, seizing the bottle with a bit more force than was necessary and tipping a liberal amount down his throat before turning to the Angel standing there, "you're not an Angel so lets cut this crap, okay?" he held out the bottle. Michael looked at it and then at him, "what? Man can't get drunk with his own subconscious?"

Michael tilted his head before reaching out and taking the bottle. The glass was warm and smooth against his palm. He did not bother to look at what the label said, the stuff was going to burn anyway. Steeling himself, Michael lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long drink. The liquor burned and twisted through him like a living thing. Following it quickly with another, he lowered the bottle and wiped the few drops of liquor off his lips with the back of his hand. Perhaps it was the dream or perhaps it was because there was no liquor at all, but Michael felt his head spin in response. Dean's hand came out and took the bottle from his grasp, the young man easily tipping down a bit more. Michael watched how he did it, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as well.

"You gonna stand there or are we gonna play this Angel game?" Michael looked at him, "you wanna sit?" silently Michael walked over and sat, taking the offered liquor and knocking back a bit more before passing off the bottle, "so you got some lesson to tell me? You gonna say I'm like Famine says? That I'm one big nothing inside? Empty? Because, I'll tell you, I'm starting to think he might've been onto something."

"You are numb, or trying to be," Michael said, "not dead. You are bearing a great burden, questioning every choice you have made, and yet you make yourself go on," he let the liquor burn through him, "you are numb because it is how you carry on. Shoving the emotion down, pushing everything you have inside so you can do your job. Famine preyed on you."

"Yeah, and what'd he make me crave?"

"Numbness," Michael said looking at Dean, "the release of the emotions that drive you to continue to fight. That is what you crave. It is not physical, it is emotional," the Winchester gave a snort, "which would not be a problem if you did not insist on carrying your burdens yourself."

"Great, here we go," Dean rolled his eyes, "so now my own subconscious is trying to get me to say yes," he snorted, "either that or you're--" his lips paused as his fingers pressed against the bottle, "you're an Angel," he shook his head, "un-fucking-believable. Cant you assholes take a hint?"

"We are not known for subtly," Michael said, "but I am not here to convince you of anything," he looked up at the ceiling, "it has been a very long time since I dreamt," he let his gaze go to the strippers, "I intruded on your dream."

"So you're asleep?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Michael said, "or I think I am," he looked down at his hands, "it is very hard to tell. The last time I was here I had no time for sleep," he added, turning his gaze to Dean.

For some reason that was the tip off.

Dean's eyes widened as the younger man threw himself backwards, the liquor bottle clattering to the floor. Michael let out a breath he had been unaware he was holding and extended a hand. The bottle flew back up, the liquor that had spilled going back into it. Easily the Archangel took a drink. The more he drank, the more Michael found the red clad stripper interesting. After all, the flickering did remind him of fire--fire that he doubted he would be able to use any time soon. Frowning, Michael held up the bottle. He did not think he should be feeling as intoxicated as he did. Slowly he let his eyes lock with the bright ones of the hunter who had shoved himself away from him like a scared little girl. Michael gave an unimpressed exhale before turning to face Dean completely.

"I am not going to hurt you," he said, "i told you I am asleep and I seem to have entered your dream, most likely through our connection."

"Woah woah, we don't have a connection pal," Dean said, "except for your asshole friends coming to try and make me scream yes like a chick."

"Brothers," Michael said, "technically, you have interacted with my brothers."

"So I'm guessing you can see why I'm not so hot on spending more time with any Angel but Cas."

"Your attachment is touching," Michael said, "truly it is. But it is ill placed--"

"Yeah? Well, by my count Cas is the only Angel whose acted even remotely like an Angel should."

Michael looked at Dean. The younger man held his gaze for a moment before lowering his eyes. Michael exhaled softly and looked over his shoulder at the other side of the room. He could practically feel the shift in Dean, as anger took over the confusion that coursed through the poor, broken young man sitting next to him. By the time Dean turned his gaze towards him, Michael was looking back at him. Their eyes locked. Michael slowly stood up, placing the bottle on the ground before he walked forward towards the lit stage. He passed his hand across the image, as if he was wiping a mirror clean. The dream shimmered in the wake of his touch, shifting and altering before it vanished. With it the rest of the strip club was gone, replaced only by an endless white room. He heard Dean make a sound behind him, but whether it was anger, confusion or some combination Michael was not sure.

"I told you that you could not fight city hall," Michael told the Hunter.

"Yeah, if that's so true that why am I still standing here? How come you are in my dream and I'm not some drooling pile of man-mush chained to an Angel-commet."

"Colorful words," Michael said, "and as equally incorrect as everything else that has spewed out of that mouth of yours."

'Yeah? Well if I'm so incorrect, then why the fuck are you here?"

Before Michael could come up with a reply they were back in the lurid velvet strip club. Except any taste that the place held was gone--as were the few cloths the girl's had once been wearing. Sitting on the couch with his arms spread and a smile on his face was Gabriel. Michael and Dean turned towards the Trickster/Archangel. He looked exactly the same. A part of Dean saw the Trickster who he wanted to kill anyway for being a self righteous douche-bag who liked playing God at the expense of others. The rest of him just wanted to kill him because he was an Archangel. It was bad enough that one was there but two? Two just made things a whole lot worse. Behind him he heard Michael make a sound of barely concealed disgust that only made Gabriel's grin widen. Dean shifted his jaw before turning to Michael.

"Get out of my dream jackoff," Dean said glaring at the Archangel in front of him but both knew the insult was directed at the Archangel behind him.

"Not much of a dream is it?" Gabriel asked with a quirk of his eyebrow, reaching down and picking up the bottle of cheap booze, giving it an experimental swish before tossing it aside, "you don't have any sense of imagination."

"Really?" Dean asked, anger dripping from his tone, "because I'm imagining some pretty creative ways to stake you right now."

"Yeah, because that worked so well in the past," the Archangel paused for a moment, "oh wait a minute--"

"That is enough you two," Michael cut them both off as Dean opened his mouth, "Gabriel what are you doing here?"

"What do you think?" Gabriel asked with a grin.

Dean wished he did not recognize the look on Michael's face so well. That combination of anger, frustration and underlying affection. It was the look an older brother gave to his younger when the younger was being, well, a younger brother. Just for a second there was something familiar, relatable about Michael. And then the look was gone and the stick-up-the-ass, take-no-prisoners battle commander was back. Dean locked eyes with the Archangel as Michael looked at him once more, all business tinged with disappointment. Dean realized that he was going to have to ask Castiel how he was supposed to get Angels out of his head, since they seemed to be inclined to come into his dreams. But for the moment there wasn't anything he could do about it except deal with the two of them.

Talk about being a fucking babysitter.

"So what the hell do you two want?" he asked looking between them.

"Leaving you to your own devices has proven to be a very foolish idea," Michael said.

"Yeah, pal, and that's the reason you're asking me to stall an Angel for you," Dean said with a snort.

"Okay Princess-es," Gabriel said appearing between the two of them, "this little power show ain't gonna get anyone anywhere. This is the time when you get to play the game "keep Lucifer from knowing Michael's on earth". What's your prize? How about Lucifer not putting you, your brother and everyone he cared about in a huge amount of pain to torture him into saying yes?"

"So why are you playing into this? What happened to 'i want it to be over'?"

"I was all for that. And then I met these two idiots who seemed to think they could change the will of Heaven. I've had some fun with you boys--even if you don't know when to say Uncle--and, what can I say, I'm a fan of the underdog," he shrugged and reached down, "next time, pal, how about you learn to keep some proper booze in your dreams?"

"How about you learn to stay in your own dreams?" Dean demanded looking down at him.

"Angels don't dream genius."

"Well then I'd say its a good thing you're about as far from being an Angel as it gets, buddy," he heard Michael make a sound and turned on the Angel, whatever patience he still had vanishing, "Cas, Sam--everyone, we've been focusing on saving the world. And if you hadn't been sitting on a cloud with your thumb up your ass, maybe it'd be in better shape."

"This coming from--"

"Gabriel," Michael looked at his brother for a moment before turning back to Dean, "you have been fighting, very hard, but you are at your breaking point and we both know it. You have lost sight of what you are fighting for and you have taken on an impossible burden--more than any human can bear," he moved forward to where Dean stood, "do you think I was the only one who heard you? The other Angels did as well and they will come and use that against you--demons too. You cannot do this alone, that is a simple fact and the longer you blindly fight it the worse this will get."

"I'm not saying yes," Dean said, glaring up at the Archangel, "you're not wearing me."

"Yes you have made that very clear," Michael said, "which is why I am standing here in a Vessel that is not mine, with a fraction of my powers. So I will ask you, do you have a plan that does not involve the Colt? Or have you been spending so much time thinking of ways to say 'no' you forgot that if you continue to, you will have finished what you and your brother started."

"Yeah," Dean said, "we're gonna find God," he looked at Michael, "and this whole mess may have been started this time by my brother and me, but you started it a long time ago with your brother."

"Hurling accusations and now you talk of finding God," Michael's lips twitched up in a smile, "you are wasting time Dean."

Gabriel watched the two of them with unabashed amusement. He'd never really been one to hide his emotions and this was just too good to ignore. The narrowing of eyes, the press of lips, the lowering of vocal tones, the drawing up to full height--all of it was exactly the fucking same. Neither of them seemed to realize it either which was, by far, the best part. Gabriel had thought, every time he saw Dean Winchester, that there was something oddly familiar about him. Especially in the way he interacted with his brother and Sam with him. Now he realized that it was because Dean was like Michael, in far more ways than either would ever admit. His grin widening, Gabriel looked between the identical expressions on his brother's face and on Dean's with unabashed delight. Both looked like they would die before they would look away, as if even the smallest, most insignificant of victories would have been too much for them to bear. Egotistical bastards, it was like being back with the whole family all over again. The two continued to stare each other down and just when Gabriel was about to imagine up some food--and maybe some proper booze and better strippers for good measure--the Winchester idiot opened his mouth.

"I know my father's dead, what's your excuse?"

Gabriel choked on his own spit as Michael's features locked down. Any last vestige of emotion vanished from the Archangel's eyes. Michael's emotional control was legendary in Heaven but Gabriel knew it was a load of crap--Lucifer had as well. Michael didn't not feel, he felt very strongly. But like any good commander he put the mission, the battle, before himself and his feelings. And it was his ability to do that that made him such a good commander. Now Gabriel saw just how un-guarded Michael had been with his past self, and just how distant they had become. There had been a time, not too long ago, when he'd have been on Michael's side, laughing at the poor bastard who was too stupid to realize he was already dead when that look came onto Michael's face. Not too long ago at all and yet when Gabriel moved it was between the Archangel and his Vessel, despite everything he'd done to convince the boys to say yes. If there was one thing that Gabriel could appreciate, one facet of the Winchester-ness that he could understand, it was their defiance. Even in the face of certain defeat, they still fought with everything they had in them. It was more than Gabriel could say for most of his family. Stepping between them it was harder to say who looked more surprised. Michael hid it better but it was there all the same and Dean quickly replaced the emotion with a clear desire to hurt them both as much as his frail human body would allow.

"Hey hey hey," Gabriel said, "we all want the world to continue, remember that?"

"What happened to wanting it to be over?" Dean asked looking at him.

"If its over I gotta spend eternity with them," he said jerking his head towards Michael, "so now I am all about the world continuing on," Dean opened his mouth, "don't go all chick flick on me here. I didn't pick a side, I picked a self serving outcome."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night Princess," Dean shot back, sarcasm dripping from his tone before turning to Michael, "so what's your plan?" Michael raised an eyebrow, "you came here and took another Vessel. After all the shit you put me and my family through you're just what? Flying by the seat of your pants?" Michael offered no reply and Dean made a sound of disbelief in the back of his throat, taking no small delight in the emotion that flickered in Michael's eyes, "then why the hell are you here?"

Michael moved forward, past Gabriel who made no motion to stop him. For a moment it looked like Dean was going to throw himself backwards, or to figure out how to control his dreams and cast the two Angels out. But the emotion passed and the young Hunter drew himself up, staring Michael down as the Archangel approached him, standing barely a foot away. This close and Dean could see all the features of a Winchester. He'd never considered that there were other Winchester's out there, or any kind of family really. After all between him and Sam there was enough for ten families worth of dramatics--and that was before the other members of their rag-tag team Free Will. But this was--or had been--their closest living relative. Someone who hadn't been a hunter, who had just been too stupid not to say 'yes' to the Archangel, who had fallen prey to nothing he could control, to being a Winchester. Michael took his time as he looked at Dean, seemingly content to keep silence between them and, for the life of him, Dean realized he could not break it.

"I am not here to make you say yes, nor am I here to join your 'side'. I am here because I am an Angel and it is my duty to be here."

"Could've fooled me," Dean shot back but there was distinctly less power behind the insult than either was used to hearing.

"Like I said," Michael said, "you are at your breaking point. Lashing out at me is not going to change that. You know, the rest of your family is far more inclined to understand the magnitude of this situation. Your father, this man, they said yes."

"Like I said," Dean said, "they can say whatever the hell they want. My answer's still no."

"As you've made very very clear," Michael said, "you know I saw your face that night, when we first met, when you begged me not to erase your mother's memory. When you saw your brother lying there. And I see your face now, its all the same look. If you spent a fraction of that energy that you use to defy and to struggle, then perhaps the world would not be as it is," he glanced at Gabriel before looking back at Dean and lowering his voice, "and perhaps you would not have been so desperate that you would pray to me."

Dean's eyes locked on the Archangel. That night, when Sam's screams and Famine's taunts and even Castiel's comforts had become too much to bear. That night when he had looked up and said he needed help, too lost in his own misery to care that he was praying to the very dickbags who'd put him in the position he found himself. He hadn't directed the prayer to Michael, not in any way that he was consciously aware of, but it seemed to have gone to the Archangel all the same. Dean's eyes widened as they looked at the Archangel. Michael stepped back, moving closer to Gabriel. Like a battle partner used to taking commands, the other Archangel wordlessly moved towards his brother, obviously aware of what Michael was asking. Dean took a step forward, his earlier demands for the jack off Angels to leave his dreams forgotten as he stared at them. Michael turned to face him, his eyes locking with the broken young man whose dreams he had unwillingly invaded.

"Wait, you're saying you--" he stumbled over the words, "you're hear because I prayed to you?" Gabriel let out a snort of laughter but neither spared him a glance, "after all the bullshit, you--" he couldn't seem to finish the sentence.

"My brother told you the story, of how he stood defiant against our Father, of how he refused to bow to the humans?" Michael continued to hold his gaze, "He was deaf to the prayers of the people, the children my--our--Father so lovingly created. Gabriel has learned to tune them out. But I, I hear them. I hear your confusion, your fear, your heartbreak. And the voice that I now hear the most, now, is yours."

"Michael," Gabriel's voice was steady with an underlying urgency to it, "we need to go, like now. Homeboy and I got some carving to do."

Michael nodded. Gabriel turned around and looked at Dean.

"Oh and, just fyi, that jacket wasn't water resistant. And I liked that jacket. So those sprinkler's, they don't get you off the hook."

"Dude, seriously?" Dean looked at the Archangel, "you turned my brother into a car."

"Yeah, so? Oh and if I were you, I'd be more pissed about the Herpes thing," Dean looked at him puzzled, "next time you channel surf, stop for the commercials, you'll see what I mean."

Dean opened his mouth but Gabriel touched Michael's shoulder and the two Archangels vanished.

Okay so I don't know where this chapter came from, probably because I was soo excited to see Supernatural tonight that I couldn't not write Dean in here. So next time we're gonna zero in on the Michael/Gabriel aspect of this little fic. And there's some sweet moments and we get to explore the brother's relationship a little more. Especially why Gabriel's really hanging with Michael and what Michael's real reasons for being on earth are.

So please review! You guys/gals were awesome last time and please keep it up! When you review, I update!

So please review!