...

Either he should be impressed with the small number of bottles on the table, or disgusted with himself. He was undecided, leaning back in one of the chairs from the kitchen, wondering why Michael hadn't bothered with days here. Maybe the archangel feared he'd go nuts if he knew how much time was passing on earth.

Don't do it, don't factor in hell time, he told himself, and took another swig of beer. He had never bothered moving the table back inside, and really, what difference did it make in the long run? Outside of the annoying trips to go get beer out of the fridge, that was.

It wasn't just Sam, it was Bobby. It was Cas. He had no one left, they all followed him to their deaths whether or not it worked, and it hadn't. Being here showed that much, in stark relief no less.

The earth's not on fire, the earth's not on fire, he told himself, disappointed that the bottle he was currently nursing was empty. Have to keep it that way, have to make sure so Sam didn't go down bloody for nothing.

He popped another beer, adding the empty to his little collection. There was brief thought of stacking them and getting something to throw. Like back when they were kids and those side fairs full of scams was their one big joy in life. Dad had taught him how to tell which ones where scamming hard and which ones were softer. Sammy always had wide eyes when he'd win the biggest prize for him, his baby brother carrying his new friend to their most current home.

"Self-pity is a poor look on you."

Dean didn't bother to turn around when Michael's voice came from somewhere on the porch. He tipped his chair a little more, starring out across a countryside he could never be in. Not wholly.

"Was thinking of setting up my own carnival attraction."

"Is that so?" Michael was closer now despite the lack of noise, but Dean kept his back turned. Wouldn't make a difference if he was able to see it coming.

"Yeah. I mean there's jack all to do here. Got to make my own fun it looks like."

There was the heat of the angel, close, and in his buzzed mind he wondered if Michael ran the risk of spontaneously combusting. Granted, he claimed that Adam wasn't all up in there with him, but it still made him wince. The terrible idea of the illusion shattered and watching his brother erupt in flames, again.

"There is a way to stop it."

"Not saying it," he said, jiggling his left leg. That restless feeling wouldn't leave. There weren't any distractions here to feed it which was how he had started in on the copious amounts of beer to tame.

"You speak as though I would intentionally wrong you."

"Man, at this point, I would trust pretty much any of your brothers over you." Dean shook his head, taking another drink, as Michael moved around, leaning against the table, arms folded on his chest. There was a look there that Dean couldn't quite place in that almost blank face. "I'm waiting for you to get tired and either start in on the pain, or just leave me to rot. Like you did in that whacked out future you sent me too."

There was a curl of movement at the corner of Michael's mouth. "That was Raphael. He was overly anxious to repay your 'hospitality' to him. I warned him against it."

"Why would that be?"

"Because I knew the outcome."

Dean let a smirk stretch his mouth to hide his surprise. "Well la-dee-da. Guess you were right about something."

The angel shifted, something tightening in him, and Dean turned his focus back out onto the countryside. Mike probably did have a point about him not running off too far with his wall nonsense. Right now, he would be compulsively looking for any way out of this hole.

"Why must you always pick a fight?" the angel finally asked, his voice showing more weariness than expected.

"I always pick a fight?" He raised an eyebrow, not turning to look at Michael. "Little old me? You're the one whose world ending fight got us into this mess. Can't clean up your own mess, gotta drag us into it."

Michael's hand was on the back of the chair, his other on the table, and it pushed him forward a bit. It was disconcerting and in some ways it felt like yelling at Sam. One of their old pissing matches where Sam got physical with the rest of the room but not him. Not usually.

"You think I want this, boy? That this is what I dreamed of when I vowed I would always obey and be faithful only to Him?"

Dean snorted, something loud and definitely uncouth. "Think you left out a few steps of the dance, Mikey. Or is your desire to finally love humans the reason why you're courting little old me?" There was definitely rage in the archangel now and Dean just did not care. "I mean, before you put your sword through your brother's heart."

"Stupid, foolish little worm," Michael hissed before releasing the chair and walking a ways away from the table. "You obstinate wretch. How I got saddled with something like you I will never understand even if Father returns just to explain it."

"Just lucky," Dean said around the mouth of his bottle. "But keep up with the sweet talk, I mean, it's just winning me over." He fluttered his eyelids, enjoying the way those fists curled. "Sorry, maybe I was a priest in another life. Or I dunno, some poor, naïve orphan. Something worthy of your magnificence."

It was pushing all those little buttons in Michael and damn it was easy. It shouldn't be so easy, watching Michael keep his temper in check just for a little while longer. Until of course he couldn't and his true nature came out, just like it did with all of his siblings. Cas may have been like a brother at the end, but the guy still drug him into an alley and beat him half to death out of disappointment.

"We could have been done, had this over with, if you would just see reason."

"What reason? Cause I don't got a good one, and I mean more than guilt, to chance taking out the world. Not to mention that whole paradise thing. Like I told Cas, rather live bloody than be a Stepford bitch."

He made himself not think of Sam down there, bleeding and being torn apart all over again, every minute there begging for someone to hear him. No one was coming because no one could come.

"You act as though your agenda is the one that is correct," Michael finally said, voice having dropped, and his eyes were showing signs that he was slipping.

"There is right and there is wrong. That's all there is too it."

"And which one of us is right? The one that is more stubborn or the one that yells the loudest, Dean, in this world of yours?"

"Sorry we can't all get orders from Daddy. Wait, you can't be because he doesn't give a shit."

"Watch your tone, boy."

A lazy smirk spread on his face, he could feel how much it pissed off Michael, angel drifting closer.

"Don't like that He left huh? Ever wonder why?"

A skip of his heart, then he was moving, already knowing what Michael was going for. The chair skittered out from under him as he moved, catching his balance and not even spilling his beer. Not too shabby given how impaired he was getting. An angry kick from the angel at the offending chair, the whine of nails being strained past their point of endurance.

"Hit a nerve," Dean mused as Michael watched him.

"You desire to hurt me," the angel said quietly, those eyes shifting away from anger to something else that unsettled him deeply.

"I've lost everything because of you. Family is dead, Sam in hell, I mean, Jesus, the last thing you have to take is me so here we are." He waved his free hand at the world around them. "All tucked up nice and neat in this little bird cage you made. You still get to have all your zillions of brothers to go flitting back home to. Me, well I got a baby brother in hell, another one in heaven who probably hates me, dead everything else."

"You over-estimate my brothers." Yep, something was changing in that face now, something twisting just slightly at the corners of his eyes. "You mistake duty for love."

"Yeah, well I guess heaven's Jesus camp is a difficult place to inspire the loving. You know, with the torture methods and all. Like with Ana."

"I am protecting them."

Michael was suddenly a lot closer and not just angry. Dean made himself look at him, not back up. He nonchalantly took another sip of beer to hide the tremors in his hands.

"I would die protecting heaven and everything it is," Michael continued. "I love them all, but you have met them. What would you have me do?"

Dean had no answer. There really wasn't one because the thought of psychotic angels running around with the power of a nuke at their fingertips while trying to figure out free will was close to sobering.

"You may hate me for many things, but surely even you know the price of keeping together what little you have left. When you champion free will, don't turn around and come to me to fix the consequences your actions have wrought."

He was alone because Michael always left when the conversation was getting interesting. Which wasn't fair, he wasn't able to flutter his ass out. If he was stuck here than the archangel should be too.

Dean felt that his world, at this moment, needed more alcohol.

...

"I know your plan now and it's got jack to do with kindness. It's all about driving Dean insane by silence."

The ceiling he was talking to was mournfully mute on this issue. Cursing, he went to the bedroom because beer just wasn't enough. He had noticed that his bag, of all things, had been brought here, or at least a replication of his bag. Not that it mattered, though he was mentally kicking himself for not keeping the angel be gone oil in his bag proper instead of just in the trunk.

Rooting through it, he found what he was looking for, a fifth of whiskey that was still almost full. The scent it released was heavenly after all that weak ass beer. He knew Sam would have comments over this. There would probably be some silent Sam looks filled with worry over his drinking, but Sam wasn't here. That was why he was drinking after all, because Sam wasn't here, and he should be here. Sam would appreciate this house, would probably set up shop, his gangly self draped across the couch, all relaxed and happy.

Dean smiled at the image of a happy, passed out Sam in his mind as he took a drink. Pawing through what was at least a reasonable facsimile of his things, he found everything as he had left it. Clothes, personal crap, some aspirin along with other pills. He popped a couple of the former, sure there was a massive hangover in his future.

Content that everything was as it should be, he got himself propped up on the headboard, boots on the bed spread, head against the wall.

"You know, if you had just been honest at the start it could have been a different story," he said, continuing his conversation with the ceiling. "I mean, I wouldn't have been all for the end of the world but it wouldn't have been this big mess."

Nothing and he sighed, taking another drink. He moved the bottle, watching the amber liquid flow back and forth against the glass. Bastard probably couldn't even hear him anyways, probably only came by to check that his toy was still alive before he went back to whatever it was he did.

Gabriel's words were suddenly in his head, the whole older brother devoted to dad and the younger not liking the plan. He shut his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose, like that would erase that whole terrible line of thinking. He got part of it, some of it at least, and he wasn't so sure about his mental state.

But his dad wasn't God and God should have known better, should just say something. God would go through the trouble to talk to them in heaven about how screwed they were because he couldn't be bothered, but not just say stop. Given Michael's deranged mind, he was sure that if God just said 'no apocalypse', Mike would just let him out and he could grieve his brothers like a normal person and that would be that.

He decided he was thinking too much still, and took another drink, letting his head thud back against the wall.

"If you had just been honest I wouldn't have to hate you completely," he told the ceiling.

He figured he was still this side of sane if the plaster wasn't speaking to him yet.

...

A part of him knew he was tragically wasted. It didn't take his feet fumbling around underneath of him to bring him that news flash. At least the grass out here was soft. Well it looked soft. He vaguely remembered laying in it and it hadn't been unpleasant. But that was a long ass time ago, or it felt like it. Time passing wasn't a clear thing here, if it existed to begin with. All he knew was that the earth supposedly wasn't on fire, Sam was still in hell, and the rest of his family was dead.

Probably best not to think on those things, and he let them slid away like water over his mind.

Those goddamn tulips. They seemed to bob their heads on their own even if there was no breeze. That whole invisible wall thing probably cut off fresh air. Maybe he was slowly suffocating, running out of oxygen, and would finally pass out and die. Didn't matter because he was sure those flowers where talking about him behind his back again.

He was convinced in this moment that they were spies. Michael spies. Evil archangel spies that spied a whole lot and told Michael when best to visit him. The sound of wings beside him and he nearly yelled 'Eureka' at this brilliant discovery.

"Dean?"

He sluggishly turned because coordination wasn't his forte, as Sam the geek would say, and saw the archangel in question studying him. A slight downward turn of that mouth, and Dean figured it was because he figured out the whole, top secret, plants as spies thing. Plants didn't usually talk, but he knew an angel could make them.

"They aren't – Dean, is that why you're in the flower bed?"

He looked down, realizing that he had trampled some of the monsters, and smiled broadly. At least it was a good day. Maybe they screamed a sound he couldn't hear, but the angel could.

"I hear the celestial music," Michael said slowly, taking him in as he swayed in the no breeze air. "How much have you been drinking?"

"A smidge," Dean said holding up his thumb and forefinger slightly separated. He grinned again. "Maybe more."

Michael shifted, and Dean knew he was unhappy. Not that he had expressions, but if he stared just hard enough there were certain things. Like the way one shoulder tilted, or his fingers moved by his side. Dean nodded to himself, not unhappy or just that. Sad. The angel was sad over something when he should be delighted that Dean was observant enough to take out the flower spies. Since he knew the truth now, they were Raphael's flower spies come to take them down and all.

"Dean, I'd like to ask you a quest–"

Dean cut him off by just wrapping his arms around him, because, holy hell, was he at least starved for any kind of contact. Michael was still, but Dean could feel it, something beyond the heat he always felt off the angel. Then it was in him, a bloom of flame, and he held on tighter, that sensation making him pay attention. It was as if some vital part had been missing and he was so confused. Because he hadn't been aware some giant chunk of Dean was misplaced.

Sam would bitch at him because he always set things down in weird places when he drank too much.

Hands were on his arms, and he was being moved back. The angel had liked that though because those eyes were half closed in a startled look. At least he had an expression.

Dean was sad that God hadn't made them with expressions normally.

"You talk too much," he said all blurry, taking satisfaction in shutting Michael up.

That mouth moved like it was going to say something, when his legs felt all mushy and he started sliding down into the tulips. He wondered how they saw as Michael guided him down. They seemed so much bigger down here.

"You should lie down," the angel was saying, but Dean shook his head.

Then he immediately stopped that noise, as his stomach churned, uneasy.

Michael was kneeling next to him and Dean should know better than to be bossy. He managed to get across what he wanted. Which was Michael seated better so he could be near. It had been so long since he had been near someone that it didn't matter if this was a something. Head on that shoulder, feeling the pulse of him under that shirt, Dean saw that the buttons had little rings of silver around the outside of them. They glinted in the light and he played with them, fascinated.

"You're sad," he slurred out, making it a statement because he was sure of things right now. Or at least that thing.

That heat against him, the impossible stillness of the angel, and he thought he might fall asleep when Michael finally answered.

"Yes."

"Cause Luci is the world's biggest, most douchiest asshole ever made?"

A rather undignified sound came out of the angel, something like a bark, a short snap, that Dean thought was amusement. At least he could pretend it was. It seemed like it was. He really hoped the flowers didn't belong to Raphael because he thought the other archangel out there would be mad over them like this.

"I'm sad for you," Michael said, and Dean tried to raise his head. The constant sunshine of this place made it hard, and he squinted up, rocking his head back to try to see. Michael was looking out across everything, arm tightening around him. "I think it's worse. I knew Morning Star would never…"

That statement wasn't finished and Dean leaned his head back down, fumbling again with the buttons to make them shine in the light. There was something that smelled fresh, like spring and another thing he couldn't quite name that he vaguely thought of as electricity.

"Don't. Not me," he tried, head spinning a bit more, as the flowers moved when he shifted his boot. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Luci's stupid. Really stupid."

"Dean –"

But he couldn't help, but twist in those arms, turning himself just in time to vomit a foot away. That would teach those terrible tulips.

When he turned back, sour taste in his mouth that he wiped at with the back of his hand, he thought that he should probably be more upset over this development. There was a small turn at the corner of Michael's mouth, something better than the sad look.

"You're disgusting."

Dean laid his head back down on the angel's shoulder.

"Sorry," he murmured wanting to say he was sorry he was such a shit vessel. Sorry he broke the world. Sorry for being a bad soul.

"It's a shame it takes you being almost fatally impaired to be sweet."

He wondered if he'd wake up here, if Michael would leave him next to the vomit and the tulips when he went off. Then he felt that no, the archangel wouldn't. His fingers still played with the buttons, feeling the realness of them even with his eyes closed, since the world insisted on moving.

"My little brother's in hell," he whispered, Michael a furnace against him.

"I know, child. So is mine."

A feeling of peace washed over him as he slipped asleep.