Disclaimer: I own nothing, except Rose.

The bar, otherwise known as the Blue Whale, was apparently owned by a man with a strange ship fetish. The walls were decorated with paintings of schooners, so many that the frames touched, there was a collection of ships in giant beer bottles above the bar, and a captain's wheel above the jukebox.

Rose went over to it hopefully, only to realize that it was only a prop and that the music was really coming from behind the bar. "Damnit." She ordered a beer and took it over to a table in a deserted corner in the back. She took her first sip just as the speakers started blaring The Final Countdown. "Seriously?" She groaned and slammed her head on the table.

30 minutes later, she had made her way through half a beer, Flirting with Disaster, Highway to Hell, commercials for two dating sites, a new erectile dysfunction medication and Hysteria.

Rose still had her head on the table when someone pulled up a chair next to her."The universe is laughing at me," she declared sitting up straight and meeting a pair of familiar brown eyes and Marine uniform. "Glad you could make it."

Michael smiled. "Anything for you, Rose."

She snorted. "Yeah, thanks for the help with War."

He grimaced. "Sorry about that. I got kind of busy."

"'Got kind of busy'?" She almost shrieked, catching the looks of other patrons. She smiled and appropriately re-lowered her voice. "That is what you say when you get caught up at work and can't make my birthday party! Not when you send people out to defeat a Horseman and then don't show up."

Michael smiled a dangerous smile and put a stick on the table. Rose blinked, saw the stick twist into an ugly, bloody, scaly arm with a twisted claw at the bottom. She shook her head and it turned back into a large, knotted stick. "I. Was. Busy."

"Ooookay." She took a sip of beer and gingerly scooted the log away from her line of sight.

"Besides, I did not know what you were going to see." He held up his hand to get the bartender's attention and motioned for a beer of his own. "The gift of premonition lies entirely with humans. If I had known War would be there, I would have been waiting." He glanced at Rose with a questioning look when the bartender delivered his beer. She rolled her eyes and forked over some money. "I thought you would get a frightening vision, realize you were in over your head, and Dean would agree to be my vessel." He smiled. "I underestimated the Winchester capacity for stubbornness."

"We had help…from Castiel."

"Little brother." Michael laughed. "He was always a good fighter. But so many questions. Always, either me or Lucifer, always asking questions, especially about humans."

"That's kind of hard to imagine," Rose said, picturing the solemn man, angel, that she knew.

"He was very young." Michael, in a surprisingly human gesture, started peeling the label off his beer. "When Lucifer fell, Castiel was crushed. But he never waivered. His loyalty, devotion to his family, his purpose, I never thought it could be surpassed." She expected condemnation in his gaze, but it was a gentle expression. "I know what you mean to him."

"I-I," Right on cue, the opening chords for I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore started playing. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"

The archangel chuckled. "We did not come here to discuss Castiel, did we?"

"No." It was her turn to peel off a label. "Lucifer… Sam is his chosen vessel."

Michael nodded. "I thought it might be so. Dean is my vessel after all, and Sam is his rebellious, younger sibling."

"Sam is nothing like Lucifer!" Rose protested hotly.

"Sam is a much better soul," he agreed. "But in some ways, they are similar, much as you wish to deny it. And it takes more than similar personalities to make a vessel. It's also a bloodline."

"Bloodline?"

"The Campbells have a long history of being vessels."

It took a moment for the name to ring any bells. "Mom?"

Michael nodded. "Not her specifically, but an aunt. And a few others. You mother knew the path that she was setting her children on."

"You mean…Sam and Dean."

"I mean all three of you." Michael took a sip of his beer and made a face. "This stuff gets worse with every century."

"My mom?" Rose prompted. "She knew what was going to happen? Am-Am I a vessel?"

He smiled. "You're safe so far as I know. Maybe…He's not here now." He took another sip of beer, straight faced this time. "As for what Mary knew, we told her this was all likely, with Dean being my perfect vessel. That was why it was so important that you be born, infused with Grace. To mediate, to keep Sam and Dean together, the way Gabriel…"

"Gabriel? Where is he?"

Michael shook his head. "He left when our Father did." The pain behind the angel's eyes made tears prick in her own. Watching Sam leave for college had been bad enough, she could not imagine him leaving without a trace. "Your mother's death," he continued on his original tract. "We never meant for that to happen, at least," he smiled bitterly. "I did not. Zachariah was responsible for her protection and now we know what he wanted all along—the war between Lucifer and myself."

"Is that what you want?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you want to fight your brother?"

He took another sip of his beer, straight faced this time. "I can't let him win. But, no, I don't want to be the one that kills him."

"And you can't win without Dean."

"Most likely not, no."

"But, without Sam, neither can Lucifer."

He nodded.

"Dean's never going to say yes. And neither is Sam. So you and Lucifer will be in a continual stale-mate until everyone in the world is dead."

"Thanks for the pep talk," He held up his beer and looked at the bottle. "I wish this worked for me."

Rose smiled wryly. "If you died, then Heaven would be leaderless and chaotic."

"Yes."

"So, you're going to fight to live."

"Yeees…"

"I won't."

If Michael had been human, he probably would have choked on his drink. "You want to fight Lucifer."

She nodded. "When Lucifer saw me, saw what I can do, he looked almost…frightened. All I have to do is hold on until he's dead. After Hell…I'm pretty sure that I can do that."

"We won't be able to bring you back again," Michael said quietly. "Without God's approval, there's a limit to how many times we bring anyone back before the universe is thrown completely out of balance."

She shrugged. "I'm okay with that." She finished her beer and stared at the bottle as if it held all the answers. "This may sound stupid to you, but…I'm tired. I was 4 years old the first time I had a nightmare I knew was a vision of my mother's death. I was 8 years old the first time I stitched Dean up in the back of the Impala going 80 miles down the interstate 'cause the cops were on our asses and Dad was too afraid to go to a hospital. I was 16 when a demon killed my father and 17 when Sam died in my arms, 17 when Dean was ripped apart by Hell Hounds. I was 17 years old when I was strung up on a rack in Hell." She took a deep breath. "I am tired of losing the people I love and I am tired of bleeding. One last fight sounds pretty good actually."

Michael put his hand over hers, which was tapping along with the song on the radio, and squeezed gently. "All right."

"You think I can do it?"

"You might be our best hope."

She smiled. "Okay, but I do want some things."

"I guessed as much. What?"

"Win or lose… Cas can do what he wants, rejoin the Host or not and nothing happens to him."

Michael nodded. "Agreed."

"And you leave Dean and Sam alone. No matter what happens, they walk away."

"I can't promise that Lucifer will leave them alone."

"I'm not asking you to."

He paused for the length of an entire song, Van Halen's Running with the Devil and, really, the universe was laughing at her. "I promise."

"Okay," she said, a little surprised by her own relief. "Okay then."

"Let's go." He stood, campaign ribbons glinting in the bar light. "Do you need to say good-bye?"

She felt the Impala's key digging into her leg through the lining in her pocket. "I already have."