Dean wasn't in control of himself anymore, riding copilot in his own skin as the person drivin' Miss Dixie took him back to the old cemetery outside Lawrence.

'What the Hell?'

His body was moving with purpose, his limbs pushing forward despite the maelstrom of emotions ripping through his mind. As his legs came to a stop the light behind his eyes became blinding until his vision was altogether engulfed.

'Dean.'

He knew the voice, the same as it had been months ago, causing Dean to reach out with his conscious mind until he found what he was looking for. The impression was faint, like an old penny that had seen better days, but it was there in the center of the Grace that was steadily becoming his own.

'…Michael? But I thought –'

'You are correct.'

'Wait, then how –'

If an impression made out of light could smile, Michael certainly was.

'I am what remains of the Archangel Michael. We are in the eleventh hour, the fight for Heaven is upon us, and I have one final request for you, Dean Winchester.'

'You're asking for a favor now? After all this time, while we wait for player two to sync in, you wanted to wait to ask for something?'

'Timing is everything, Dean.'

'Yeah, I'll say.'

The impression was growing dim, panic growing in Dean's chest. He still didn't know that he could do this, alone or otherwise, and the idea that he was about to be left to his own devices against a foe he honestly knew nothing about was terrifying. Knowing he probably shouldn't but realizing what was at stake if he didn't, the Righteous man asked the question that begged an answer.

'What would you have me do?'

Lucifer hated this as much as any other would in his situation, knowing that his Father's Will would be carried out despite Michael no longer being part of the game. Michael. That traitor abandoned him to fight some stranger with his Grace. Even if he had been trying to escape this, to make it easier on him, he had failed. The Morning Star was surprised, though, which was a feat by itself. He could not wrap his mind around Dean's actions and motivations.

Why had Dean followed Castiel all of this time? To his understanding, he wasn't a particularly religious man – quite the opposite, actually. Why did he do as he was bade, 'fight the good fight', so to speak? What did he get from all of this? Then there was his vessel, Samuel. Despite the hardships his brother has put him through and left him to, Dean was still unwilling to allow harm to come to him. Why?

If he truly was Michael's vessel, would he not believe his brother 'deserved the Devil'? Lucifer saw much of Michael in Dean, but the idea that this pathetic thing his Father had created loved his brother more than Michael probably ever could…Lucifer shook his head and focused on his destination. Little good would come of such thoughts now as this chapter of the final story drew to a close.

Dean felt the shift before he heard Lucifer's massive vanilla wings pull him to the graveyard, not bothering to turn and face the fallen Angel behind him.

"I can understand your plight, Dean."

"Don't act like you –"

"This is not your battle to fight and yet here we are on the field."

Michael had warned Dean of this, of Lucifer's silver tongue spewing honey lace words of parlay. Slowly, he turned to face him and his vessel, glad he could spare Sam this. Dean didn't know how different it would be for him, to be a proper vessel rather than a Grace receptacle, but somehow the idea that it would have been so much worse could not be shaken.

"Yeah? Well, it's not every day you get to say that you get to say that you punched Satan in the face."

Lucifer's face darkened, his body now on high alert.

"Do not think that by not being my brother you have some advantage."

"Yeah? Well, let's see about that."

Dean went to rush him only to have the Archangel backhand him into a tree.

"You aren't ready for this fight, Dean."

Before he could stand the Fallen One was grabbing his by the collar and slamming him into the tree again.

"Just because you have Michael's Grace-"

His fist was like a lead pipe to the face, half-hearted jokes littering Dean's mind about missing the tree.

"- that does not make you his equal!"

Another skin splitting hit. Dean could feel his face swelling already as Lucifer pummeled him with blows. Then there was no support to hold him in place, the tree falling with the weight of it all. Dean tried to put some distance between them, tried to pull the blade he now knew he had, but he wasn't fast enough; Lucifer steppe on his back, forced him to the ground. As Michael had warned him, the energy burst from before was waning, leaving Dean helpless to do anything against Lucifer. The least rational part of his mind was starting to regret saying yes.

A searing pain at the base of his left wing cut through all of the thoughts, his body convulsing s he cried out while Lucifer began to rip it off.

"You don't deserve the power you hold!"

Despite the turmoil working its way though him, all of Dean's thoughts seemed to focus on Castiel, how the Angel had endured something so much worse than this for far longer. As the root was ripped from his back, Lucifer tossed aside the amputated limb before lifting his foot only to slam it down again. Dean felt his spine shatter just above his tail bone, his lungs collapsing with their need for air as he cried out. He felt Lucifer move from on top of him, the marginal difference in pain before he felt hot breath on the shell of his ear.

"Wouldn't want you to run off before the main event, would we?"

Castiel despised Kushiel for what he had done to him, despised that he was too damaged for a continuous flight to Lawrence from Washington. Forced to take a miniature break in each state between, he swore at his impotence and exhaustion. This was worse than being under the blade, each moment of rest an agonizing reminder that Dean was facing Lucifer alone and every moment he had to spend recuperating was another moment Dean might not have.

The Righteous man was exhausted; the pain from Lucifer's blows no longer registering as he felt the Grace slipping away from him. His breaths were labored, coming in short shallow gasps as his mind fought the encroaching darkness. He thought of Sammy, safe now with Bobby, Chuck and the likely comatose Gabriel. He hoped that someday he could forgive him for all of the shit he put him through, that eventually he might come to understand why he had to do this.

His thoughts moved on to Bobby, of the man who was more like a Father to him than his had ever been. He hoped that he didn't curse him too much when all was said and done. He wasn't an idiot, he knew that once Bobby heard the news he would be cursing like a sailor and using 'Idjit' every other word, but he kind of hoped he would get it too.

It had become inevitability now that as he thought of Bobby his thoughts shifted to Castiel. Fuck, there were no words, nothing he could possibly think or say to make this alright. He knew that Castiel would have given anything for it to not come to this, but he had already given too much. But Dean didn't want his last thoughts to be depressing. Instead, he thought back to flight training, nights in a shared bed and watching movies that predated the 90's. He thought of childhood, growing up with Sam, with Bobby, and of Gabriel's extremely disgusting sweet tooth.

He hoped beyond hope that someday Castiel would forgive him, that he would figure out the rest of the perks humanity had to offer. He just wanted, more so than almost anything, for Castiel to remember all of the good times they shared and for him to know why he had to do this. Another part of him, one he tried not to dwell on too heavily, just hoped that the Ex-Angel knew.