Chapter 11

When Dean surfaced, pictures were still zipping through his mind… Michael's mind? Their mind? Well, it was somebody's freakin' mind! They were no longer images of The Hot Box, though, and looking at them didn't make Dean want to run screaming for the hills. They were, however, giving him a ginormous headache with the speed at which they were whizzing by. By concentrating, Dean found that he could just make out shape here, a landscape there. Most of it was lost on him, but he'd swear that he saw a 1967 Mustang fastback at one point and what he thought might be a Studebaker station wagon a minute or two later. Most of the pictures now seemed to be focused on cars. What in the name of Henry Ford was Heaven's major general doing mentally flipping through automotive centerfolds?

"Michael? Hey, Michael?"

The slideshow stopped as abruptly as it had first begun, and Dean felt the archangel's attention bend on him. "Hello, Dean. Feeling better?"

"Yeah, loads now that the movie's on intermission. What the hell are you doing, anyway? This isn't part of that seeking revelation thing?"

"No. You were right. It was time to try something else."

"Duh. I know I was right, but what is the something else? What's with the cars?"

Michael gave what Dean could only think of as a mental shrug.

"Come on, dude, I'm not going to be able to tell anybody. Remember?"

Now Dean could definitely feel the shrug as Michael spoke with hint of laughter in his mental voice. "This is not precisely a secret, Dean. Many humans already know of it. You yourself have heard of it, in fact."

"Heard of what? The automotive industry?" Dean groused.

"Higher knowledge."

"Higher knowledge," Dean repeated. "Like higher higher knowledge? Like Douglas Adams and the number 42?"

"I am not familiar with Douglas Adams," Michael said, sounding bemused, "but, from your tone, I think you have the general idea."

"And higher knowledge involves Studebakers?" Dean asked dubiously.

The amusement now was blatant. "It can. Higher knowledge is simply anything that any living angel has ever seen. What one angel has seen, all can see."

"Everything? You can see everything that every angel's ever seen?"

"Every living angel, yes."

Dean snorted. "Prove it."

Michael said nothing, and for a few seconds, Dean didn't think that the archangel was going to rise to the bait. Then, suddenly, a new image appeared before Dean's eyes. A young man with carefully gelled hair, an expensive suit and a striped tie sitting behind a desk in a high-rise office building looking decidedly skeptical and more than a little freaked out. Sitting in the chair before the desk was another young man with a decided air of expectation. This one wore a yellow polo shirt with a corporate logo emblazoned on the breast. Sandover Bridge & Iron, Inc.

"Holy crap!"

Michael laughed.

"Where'd you get that?" Dean demanded.

"From Zachariah's memories."

"Can any angel just call that up?" Dean squeaked. "Just like that?"

"Given enough time and effort, yes, but not 'just like that,'" Michael clarified as Dean felt his fingers snap against his thigh. "How well one swims the pool of higher knowledge depends on any number of factors from power, to purpose, to finesse and practice. Even a few humans have been able to dive into that pool."

"Michael, be serious. If any human could do this, I'd have heard of him," Dean scoffed.

"And so you have, or are you going to tell me that you've never heard of Leonardo di ser Piero Da Vinci?"

"Okay, him I've heard of," Dean admitted grudgingly, "but – "

"Imhotep? Aristotle? Zhang Heng? Omar Khayyam? Benjamin Franklin? Walter Elias Disney?"

"Now you're just showing off," Dean groused.

"Perhaps."

"But how could a human access the memories of angels?"

"I do not precisely know. I know only that certain special humans, those whose minds are properly attuned, have always been able to seek higher knowledge by accessing the heavenly overmind. I believe your people call it the Akashic Field."

"My people?"

"Hunters. I'm certain Bobby must know of it. It is generally assumed to be the knowledge of all humans who have ever lived, but as I said, it is a higher source of knowledge. Most of it is incomprehensible to the few humans who can see it, and only a handful have ever understood perfectly what they were seeing and where that knowledge came from."

"The people who can tap in, what's special about them?"

"Well, for starters, they're all vessels or at least potential vessels. Because of their ability to see events at a great distance or to see things that happened long ago or that an angel is working to manifest, such people are often mistaken for prophets."

"Like Chuck?" Dean said. "That would explain a hell of a lot."

"No. I believe Chuck is a genuine prophet."

"Oh. So, could I…"

"No. Your mind lacks the necessary rigor."

"Bite me!"

Michael laughed again. "You keep saying that. But I think, somehow, that Sam would object if I started nibbling on parts of you."

"Okay, gross much." Dean briefly contemplated sulking, decided it wouldn't be nearly as much of punishment for Michael as it usually was for Sammy, and went on with his questions. "But not everybody can work it the same way? Right?" he asked, still freaked by the idea that just any old angel could hook in and see exactly how Zachariah had been dicking around with him and Sammy.

"Of course not. An angel such as Castiel, a simple soldier has a fairly standard ability to access the field. A cherub and or a guardian angel has a great deal less ability to tap into it, while an archangel, like myself – "

"Can make the damn thing dance like a hacker with a laptop?"

"No. I'm not that good, though Lucifer was. You see, the field isn't organized in any way, so while everything is there to find, finding it can be like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack."

"God I hate research," Dean groaned. Michael hummed an earnest and seemingly tired agreement. "How long have you been scrolling through these?"

"Only about twenty-two hours, and I am already on the right track. The information I seek is nearly in my grasp."

"Well that explains the good mood. Though what you have to be tired about, I don't know. When Cas needs to figure something out, he goes flitting all over the country working his tail-feathers off. All you have to do is stand here, in the middle of Bobby's living room, and run through your angelic playlist."

"That is Castiel's fault," Michael said acerbically. "He cut himself off from the field. It was one of the consequences of his rebellion. When he ceased to work in Heaven's name, he lost his connection to the field just as he lost his connection to Heaven's power. Lucifer lost his connection to the field for the same reason."

"So are angels who rebel the only ones who can't jack in?"

"No. Others, like Gabriel, cut themselves off by choice."

"But why would he do that?" Dean said, more to himself than to Michael. The archangel was in an expansive mood, however, and answered readily enough.

"Because whenever an angel downloads anything from the field, they also upload all of their own recent experiences. For Gabriel, tapping into the overmind would essentially mean coming out of hiding. We could find him again. He has stayed hidden all this time in part by the simple expedient of not tapping into the overmind or Heaven's power."

"Well that blows."

"For him," Michael agreed. "But don't you agree that it's time he accepted his responsibilities?"

"You mean like telling Mary she had a little surprise coming?" Dean said dryly.

"Actually, I think he particularly enjoyed that assignment," Michael said, disapproval evident in his voice. "Though I do recall him saying something about her throwing things at him."

"Could you look up memories of that?" Dean asked eagerly.

"Not now," Michael said repressively. "I have work to do."

"So, this whole overmind thing, sharing your thoughts, common knowledge… you guys are kind of like ants or bees or something. One giant hive mind," Dean said, wondering if the statement would piss Michael off enough to make the archangel smite him on the spot.

To his surprise, the angel contemplated the suggestion for a moment, then said, completely unoffended, "Yes. We are. But that is part of the difference between angels and humans, group ethics and responsibility to the greater community versus rampant individuality and free will."

"Only you could turn a comparison to a bug into a game of one-upmanship," Dean grumbled.

"Now, as I said, I have work to return to."

Dean sighed. "More pretty, pretty pictures?"

"Yes."

"What are you looking for, anyway?"

"I am searching for knowledge of the Four Horsemen. Specifically, the location of their rings."

"What for?"

"I may be able to use them to defeat Lucifer without destroying half this fair world. The rings, combined with the use of my true vessel, will render me far stronger than my brother. If you wish to spare mankind pain, then this is the best way."

"Are you kidding me?" Dean exclaimed.

"No. Of course not. Why do you ask?"

Stunned, Dean quickly contemplated his options before deciding he had nothing to lose. "Because you're looking through the wrong set of memories," he said, half hysterically.

"What do you mean?" Michael demanded heatedly.

"Can't you see what's in my head? Don't you have my memories? I kind of thought angels were able to pick their vessels' brains." Michael said nothing, but Dean sensed a strange discomfort coming from the archangel. "Michael?"

"I cannot read your memories as easily as I should."

"What? Why?

Michael sighed, and then grudgingly said, "I do not know."

Neither of them said anything for a time until Dean finally burst out, "How can you not know?"

"It is in part because of this that I was seeking revelation. I have no explanation for our unique interactions."

"And by unique, you mean fucked up!"

"I did not say that," Michael insisted.

"You didn't have to. I'm awake and I shouldn't be. You feel like a drained battery in my head and now you can't read my memories the way you're supposed to. I thought I was supposed to be the ultimate, uber vessel, and now you're telling me I'm defective."

Michael sighed more deeply than ever. "So it would seem."

"Well, screw you!" Dean growled.

"You are the one who said it, not I."

"Damn it, Michael! Is this going to fuck everything up?" Dean demanded. "Are you still going to be able to kill Lucifer with all these problems cropping up?"

"Of course. It is my destiny," Michael said sternly. "I cannot fail."

"Oh that's way reassuring. I feel so much better now." Dean mocked.

"You need not be so offensive," Michael grumbled. "And what did you mean earlier when you said I was looking through the wrong set of memories?"

Still irritated and doubting what little faith had slowly been growing in the archangel, Dean said nothing, but trying to out-patience a several-thousand-year-old angel struck him as pretty pointless. "Damn it, Michael, I know exactly where two of the rings are. There's a cord hanging around your neck. Pull it out." Michael complied, and as they looked down together at the shiny gold band, Dean said, "That's War's ring. Sam has Famine's. You're already halfway done, ya idjit."

*Author's note: I hope you all enjoyed that. Next scene will be Sam's POV and we should get a good deal more action again. Personally, I'm having a blast writing this, so I hope you like it too. Remember, reviews are love and are directly proportional to the speed at which scenes get written and posted. I hope to hear from you all. Take care, dear reader.