...
After whatever the hell had happened between them, Michael had gone MIA, and there was too much nervous energy in him to be wrestled down with just a beer here and there. Even taking to the road, knowing that it lead nowhere, seemed to make the restlessness grow to a heightened level. Where it felt that every sense was sharpened past what was good for his mental state.
Even when he did call Bobby, he couldn't think of any way to explain how damn stupid he had been to let something like that happen. There really wasn't a good way to admit he had taken a dip in Michael's grace. That some hours he was afraid there was some left on him, marching him closer and closer to the moment he said yes. Dean was already up to his ears in problems without that.
Thankfully, Bobby hadn't pressed outside of getting confirmation that, no, Michael hadn't done unspeakable angel touching to his person. The only news he got from home was that nothing had been found on the 'free Sam while ditching Satan' front.
He was sitting on the – his – front porch, looking out over the landscape in the late afternoon sun. Even if it was created instead of real, it felt good enough that he had stripped down to his tee and pair of jeans. He could make out some of the shifts in the landscape now that he knew what they were, the inspiration from an archangel's memories.
A movement of air and Michael was beside him, sitting on the stair. Which raised all sorts of questions about why they liked to appear from behind instead of just where ever, not that he wanted an answer. It was probably heaven's version of an eons long practical joke.
"Come to check up on me?"
"I came to make sure you hadn't wandered off, or were trying something foolish."
"Me, foolish?" he asked, pointing at himself, and trying for a grin but feeling it fail before it took hold. "What makes you say that?"
Michael, to his credit, had fine lines by his mouth that spoke as to how disbelieving he was to that statement.
"I also came to see if you had given any thought to what we talked about before."
He shook his head, knowing the angel would get it. It was all he could do to not think about it every second of each day that crawled by here. Like somehow, if he managed to not think on it, all of it would blow away, that it wouldn't have to be a decision he would need to make. Or that he would somehow have better choices to choose from.
"Dean, there is no way to separate Sam from my brother without letting Lucifer go free."
The gentle tone behind those words did little to make it any easier to digest.
"Man, I can't do what you want me to do."
"Is that fair to Sam?" Michael asked him, and he looked over, seeing the angel gazing out across the yard.
"Not an option."
"I could extend your life, let you live until you were sure that all options were exhausted. But in that time, Dean, your brother would undergo centuries of torment. There is no escape, no reprieve, no time away from the destruction of his soul. No chance to flee, to claw out of hell as a demon could. Century after century –"
"Stop."
" – of pure, unending pain."
"Please, stop," he whispered, looking down at his lap.
Michael mercifully shut up for a moment, as Dean curled his fingers against his jeans, trying to keep his head above water.
"Right before you vomited in my tulips," Michael started as Dean winced, "I was about to tell you that I thought it was much harder for you."
Dean scoffed at that, tried to swallow down bitter words.
"I've had eons to make peace with Lucifer's path and his inevitable end." Michael continued. "You though, you have had a handful of months to even begin to process what you must do."
"Don't act like you don't give a damn about him."
"That is true," Michael allowed, voice soft. "But that does not change what he is, what he would do, has already proven he would do, if allowed to keep living. No matter Sam's crimes, even murderers have a chance at redemption. Yet he is denied it while you refuse to accept it."
Clearing his throat, wanting to really think about things other than this, Dean steered the conversation in what he hoped was a different direction. "Still not all that clear on what you want my soul for."
"Do you remember when I told you that you mistook duty for love when you spoke about my brothers?" Michael asked, and he nodded in response. "We may use the word brother in your language, but it means something vastly different. What I want from you is something that I have not been given by any of my so called brothers for a very long time."
"And that is?"
"Must you be so stubborn?"
He slipped a fingernail under the label on his bottle, not looking up, the sweat on the glass helping to remove it smoothly. The liquid, what little remained, sloshed around inside, as he found himself almost distracted by watching it dash against the sides.
"I want to be done," Michael said, his voice low and quiet. "That all of this that has hung over me for so long be finished and that Lucifer no longer be a threat to creation again. As long as the key exists, there will always be those, including my brothers, who will long to reassemble it to free him. I have no wish to restart this or any war. What I want is to take you home and simply watch creation with you until either Father returns, or time unravels. I want to finish what I was commanded to do, to fight this last battle, and finally rest."
He didn't know what to say to any of that, because it sounded simple and impossible and soul crushing all at once. Another bout of nervous energy was rushing through him, making him jiggle his leg. It was always so quiet here, the absence of so many background noises that he had taken for granted so many times, now caused a glaring hole in his existence.
"You and I must do what is right and good for both of them, and for the rest of creation," Michael said, and Dean knew the angel was looking at him now. "You have felt what I am offering you. Now, you have to decide what you want, Dean. I will return to you soon."
Michael was gone. He rubbed his hand across his face and tried to clear the choking dryness from his throat.
...
Dawn was pushing back the night once again, her fingers lacing through the black ink of the sky with strains of yellow and pink. Baby's hood was cold from sitting here neglected all night. It was slightly damp with dew, the moisture sinking into his jeans. Michael was beside him as they both leaned up against the hood.
"It can't – it has to stay as is. None of that Paradise or what the hell ever you planned to do. The humans left alone."
"I can promise you that."
Dean drummed his fingers against the curve of the hood, the familiar metal not a comfort in these final hours. "I mean, if you want to lay some pain on the monsters here and there, I'd guess that would be okay."
He cleared his throat, unsure what the etiquette was on asking archangels how trustworthy they were.
"Have I done anything that would make you think I would not keep my word, Dean?"
"Well." He rubbed the back of his head. "I mean, outside of the kidnapping and holding me against my will. Twice. Oh and not telling me the damn truth before Sammy wandered off to pop the lock."
His tone was harsher than he intended and he tried to dial it back a notch as Michael grew stiffer than his normal stick-up-his-ass mode.
"You know why I allowed it now. I am willing to apologize for misleading you."
"Willing to? Is that like an IOU from heaven, good for one archangel 'sorry for screwing you over' before the sun explodes? Do I only get one, or can I collect a set before turning them in?" He was definitely ready to point out in various, detailed ways how that was not going to fly when he saw Michael's jaw tighten.
"I apologize for not treating you as you should have been treated as my true vessel."
It looked like just that was about to break Michael and Dean wondered when the last time he had ever said sorry to anything was. A slow head turn, Michael's eyes dark in the morning blooming up all around him, was enough of an indicator not to ask. This was probably the best he was going to get.
"There is something I would like you to promise me."
"Oh?" Dean raised an eyebrow, he really did, because angels asking for stuff that wasn't 'hey, can I wear you', was still new. "And that would be?"
"I want you to return to earth after this and live your life. It is what your Sam asked of you and what you promised him."
Dean shook his head because he didn't feel he was going to be functional after this. That once that blade cut down his brother, even with all the damage to Sam's soul, he was going to be a gibbering mess. In the end, it was still him holding sword as Michael swung it.
"I can help you through your dreams, but I felt that you would want a chance to honor his last wishes."
Air wasn't cooperating this morning, as he tried to breath, refusing to fill up his lungs with any great proficiency, and he hated this. Hated that he still wasn't ready to go even if it was the only real option left, the one that would end suffering, stabilize the world. It still meant no more Sam, ever, something he had sworn to not let happen.
There were times he truly hated his dad as Michael put a hand to his shoulder, fingers flexing against his shirt.
"When I take possession, I will not act until you are acclimated. I may have to push you briefly under when the time comes because, for the sake of the world, I cannot afford hesitation. Do you understand?"
He nodded, mouth not working, as the angel kept making those small finger movements against him. It was never cold here, but he shivered all the same. In the end, he was still going to watch Sam die, which was what he had originally set off to do when he went to Stull. He'd never have the chance to tell his brother that it was okay. That Sam had done good.
"The cruelty is to leave him in the dark with my brother. I have prayed that Father finds mercy for him."
"And Luci?" He couldn't stop himself from asking, because apparently there was still one angel out there that loved Satan as much as hated him.
Michael closed his eyes.
"My brother was given multiple chances at salvation, far more than any other being in existence, and he turned his back to every one of them. He is not your problem."
But all the damage he leaves behind, is, Dean silently added and Michael's eyes opened just a little.
"I know you will return home to me." Michael moved a couple steps to stand in front of him, lifting his chin up with his hand. "As you know my true intentions, do you, Dean Winchester, agree to be my vessel?"
"Yes."
...
It was the most out there feeling in the world, he thought, as he came to himself inside his own body. It felt like being balanced on pricks of light. That was the closest he could come to it, like Michael was just barely able to hold on, and he wondered why that was. If the archangel could barely stand touching him.
"I am unused to having a conscious soul with me," Michael said, which was something Dean just didn't want to address right now.
He could see, the light sweeping in, and immediately wanted to blink, but he wasn't in charge of the wires anymore. The world was washed out until Michael, finally, mercifully blinked a few times for them so he could catch up on the scenery.
Which of course was when his heart, if he had still been in possession of it, plummeted.
Stull, they were back in Stull.
Something solid was in their shared fingers, Michael flexing against it over and over, and Dean realized what it was. The key made from the rings. That damn key, and Dean couldn't do this. He couldn't watch, and he was ashamed at what was about to happen. Sam deserved him to witness this, to know that his suffering was over and that his brother was with him till the end.
"Everything will be alright."
Hearing his own voice address him, somehow much more regal, was disconcerting. Michael shifted, looking up into the sky that was over cast, and Dean took in bare trees. Late fall or winter then. They had been together in his little slice of weirdness for a while then. It didn't help that everything felt dead around them, far more so than any damn boneyard had any right to feel. There was wind moving those barren branches, swinging them back and forth, invoking the image of a noose.
A warm curl, something hot, wrapped around his soul, and Dean was reaching for it before remembering that he had nothing to reach with. It answered though, the sensation becoming stronger, and if Dean had a face he would bury it in that heat. What they had to do, he didn't know if they were coming out on the other side with so much of everything that lay shattered and broken.
'Mike?'
"Everything is fine. I did not expect this."
There was no answer as to what the archangel did not expect, and Dean tried several times. He was sure of it. Hours seemed to pass in the space of a few minutes, the sky darkening above them, and he wanted to point out that night was usually a poor time to start battles. Especially ones they wanted over quickly.
Some distant, latent fear in him thought that Michael had miscalculated, or worse, lied about this being fast. Yet that didn't sit right with him. No, this was something else and he had no idea what it was. So he did what he could do, which was cling as much as a disembodied thing could cling to that warmth all around him. He hoped a little might translate over to whatever it was he was trying to get across.
He wasn't sure what that was anymore.
"Oh," the angel breathed, shutting their shared eyes. Sharp edges against his hand, he could feel that, and knew Michael was clutching the key. In fact, it felt they were holding onto the forsaken thing so tight that the individual settings were grinding into their skin.
A small sensation of something wet in that hand confirmed it. And when had he started thinking of his body as theirs? Not that it wasn't right, it was.
Dean felt it, or rather them, open up, large and looming, and he realized numbly that these were Michael's wings. That heat was coiling tight against him, and in the darkness caused by their closed eyes, he tried to image them. He couldn't help but think of the Warrior of Heaven as made of flames, with massive wings crafted from it, billowing out behind them, stretching across fields.
"You flatter me," the angel said, before they were moving.
That sickening, jolting sensation that always came with angel airlines was in him, except, so, so much worse this time. Dean was grateful that he couldn't see that kind of flight, and grateful he wasn't in control of his stomach. He was certain what little was in it would be puked back up.
Michael kept them in the darkness while he settled before opening their eyes. A shore stretched out around them, the ocean restless and lashing out against the dark shadows of rocks barely visible in the weak moonlight.
The words asking what was going on died in him as Michael turned their head and Dean saw who they were next to. It was a man but not a man, dressed all in black, and almost skeletal, looking out over that expanse. Wind howled by him, not touching a hair on this being's head, cheeks sunken in. Even though he couldn't see the horseman's hands, he knew they rested on top of a gold tipped cane.
"Michael. I have never had the pleasure of your asking me for anything."
Dean felt their chin dip out of respect, since it was probably only him in sheer terror at this point.
"I have come for a deal."
"And what is so important that you would pause your long awaited battle?"
"I wish for the body and soul of Sam Winchester. That is within your power, is it not?"
Death's lip curled up into a small snarl, but Dean was too busy trying to hang on. If he had been in charge of the strings, he was sure he would have collapsed, stopped fucking breathing at those words.
"And if the damage is too great?"
"Then his soul is to be returned to heaven."
"What do you offer me in return for such a grand gesture?"
Their hand moved, the one that had held the key, now only held one ring, one who's stone sparkled white and shone against the night as it was held up. Death looked at them quietly, and Dean knew he could be seen. He fought back the urge to try to shirk away, the idea that Michael was holding him tighter in these few seconds bright and clear in his thoughts.
"You know I will never give it up again."
"Obviously."
Dean knew, he finally figured out what was being offered.
'You don't -,' he started, realizing with horror how bad that sounded because he desperately wanted Sam out of hell. Like last year wasn't soon enough.
"I have come to realize that some of His commands weren't as important as others." Michael's voice floated out over that cold shore as Death held out his hand. The ring was dropped into it. Dean thought he had fallen into some kind of abyss. Some terrible prank that he would wake up from, as those fingers curled up to claim it.
A cold dread flooded him that God might make an appearance and strike down Michael for refusing the whole destiny shindig.
"I will place a wall. It will be your responsibility to make sure it is maintained."
"Of course," Michael answered, their head bowing. "Thank you."
They were alone when they raised their head back up, and Dean had so many questions. Starting with 'what the fuck' and getting more crazed from there.
"Lucifer made his choices with full knowledge. Perhaps, with this borrowed time, I can learn to forgive him even if he can never return the same. I couldn't –" Michael stopped and Dean tried to piece together just what had happened.
'Kind of think there's more here, Mike. I mean, this never came up as a damn option. And I'm working up to being pissed over that, by the way.'
"I thought there were no other choices. I thought –" the angel stopped and ducked his head. A feeling of a smile, they were smiling. "I did not know you would love me like this."
Dean sputtered, inside his body, because apparently that was a thing now. He really wished he could look away, or run off down the shore, but sadly he was planted here in his flesh. There wasn't a way to deny it, he was aware enough of that. That he was laid out in here, basically naked, with an angel fondling him who was now currently laughing. Really laughing.
Awesome.
"Relax. There is no reason to be ashamed."
'So not the point.'
He couldn't help but be morose because angel-love, yeah, tough to explain. Not to bring up that they had just saved the world by the power of love, and if Sam was coming back, well, he was never hearing the end of this.
That terrible thought of how close they came to not having a Sam to come back to surfaced like a wound.
"Dean." Michael made their shared voice gentle. "He will not hate you. He will understand that you longed to end his suffering and will not remember hell."
Dean was certain if he had control of his head he would be shaking it.
'I left him down there because I couldn't get my shit together and then -'
"Which is what you promised," Michael said, cutting him off. "I've seen your memories; I have felt your own pain over what you've done, as you know mine."
'Please', he begged, not wanting to think of the grooves worn into him from that knife. The grace of an archangel pressed closer around him, filling in the cracks he was littered with.
"You are loved," the angel said, firmly, as though that would help him accept it faster. "I am sorry that it took so long for me to truly understand what Father wanted."
Waves continued to crash against the shore, picking up in stamina, and Dean distantly wondered if they were in the path of a hurricane as he got himself under control. Not that he should be worried since he was riding around with heaven's tank here.
'So what now, Patton?'
"I will release you and you will go live your life with your brother. I must return to heaven and rein in Raphael. He will be disappointed with what I have chosen."
'Yeah, that one is, um, intense,' Dean supplied, since that was the nicest way he could put it.
"Things are different slightly then when we left earth," Michael continued, sensing that maybe he couldn't really process everything that was happening right now, or ever, really. "Know that I will always hear you and I want you to live. I know that you will return home to me."
'Mike…'
He couldn't finish, find a voice for that stupid fear of being empty all over again, because he wasn't like that. He wanted to swear he wasn't like that. Everything that was him wanted to say that he shouldn't be trusted with any of this, that all he did was fuck things up. That Michael, well, he shouldn't be allowed to touch this being, no matter how tarnished they both were.
"I would like to heal your soul before I leave you."
All that he was, wanted to protest having it touched anymore. The fire was already around him, in him, and he opened up to it, joining with all that had ever consisted of Michael as it flooded through him.
...
"Dean?"
Sam's puppy eyes and floppy hair were above him, and he groaned, feeling like something had been brutally carved out of him. Then remembered that that was probably the archangel he had been housing, as he tried to slide a leg up, boots and feet that he had control over suddenly being uncooperative. A hand on his back as he wrenched himself to sitting, and he saw they were back in Stull. Fitting, he decided, inconvenient but fitting.
Well, until he saw the edges of what appeared to be a trench coat. The word 'Cas' was cut off as Sam was shaking him, staring like something truly awful had happened. That Dean done fucked up again.
He wanted to protest that not everything he did was wrong.
"Sam," Castiel was saying, trying to get his brother to stop rattling him around. "Michael –"
"Dean, what did you do?"
It was a plea, not wanting to believe that something could be okay.
"Alright," he said, getting himself to standing, glad he only swayed a little. "Look, one, my ass hurts from laying on the damn ground. Two, I'm actually hungry for the first time in forever. And three, Sam, everything is fine. I promise, for once its good."
Sam was wrapped around him then, crying, because Sam was always meant to be a girl. Dean patiently held him because he refused to acknowledge the growing wetness in his eyes. Cas, however the hell the industrious bastard had gotten back, was staring up into the dawn filled sky, with something like a faint smile.
Thank you, he thought to the angel he knew was listening, feeling that eggs, bacon, and hash browns were definitely next on his agenda.
