Author's note: Just FYI, I cried when I wrote this.

Michael took a deep breath as Dean stirred awake. The moment the hunter realized he wasn't in the bunker, but rather back at the cabin, his eyes widened and he turned his head around, searching. Having those green eyes snap at Michael and then turn cold, fill with anger and mistrust was by far worse than when his Father abandoned him. Maybe because Michael had hope back then, that Father would return. He had no such aspiration now.

"Hello, Dean." Michael said from his place on his recliner chair, the same one he slept those first few nights after he found Dean in the woods. He winced at the sound of his voice, at his words, hating how 'Castiel' he sounded, how angelic and emotionless, when he was far from that.

Knowing Dean, both the younger version and this one, he expected to hear something in the lines of 'Oh, look who's talking...', and he would probably sigh at that and try to explain how he couldn't speak before, that he accidentally tied his speech when he bound his grace, but when all Dean did was just stare at him, silent and wary, Michael feared that all of Dean's affection had been turned into utter hatred.

"I know this must be confusing and that you might have some questions..." Michael trailed off, trying, hoping to get at least one word out, a scoff or a huff, anything but this echoing silence. When Dean said nothing, Michael continued.

"We aren't really in the cabin, this... This is your dream. I am sorry to invade it, but I... I needed to explain."

And he did. He wanted to tell Dean all. He wanted to say that when he left the cage, he locked his grace away, not wanting anything to do with Heaven, or angels or his Father or any of it. But that he couldn't tell Dean that, not when he found him, because he knew Dean wouldn't let him help.

But there were so many other opportunities to tell him, and Michael didn't. Why didn't he? Were those stolen moments really worth this ache inside his chest right now? No matter what, Dean would never forgive him. Maybe he shouldn't.

So instead of speaking, Michael stared at the hunter for quite a while, as if he was hoping to commit to memory every feature, the shade of green in his eyes and the curl of his lips. When his eyes turned watery, he averted them, looking down at his hands in his lap and took a deep breath.

"Sam is fine. The two of you are back in the bunker, resting, Castiel checking in on your brother while... While Jack is helping me talk to you. He... He took most of the blast, most of my Father's power... He will make a much better God then my Father ever was." Michael said to his hands, watching the fingers fidgeting around. He couldn't look up at Dean, he didn't want to see that stone cold look in his eyes. He wanted to tell him so much. He wanted to say that it was Dean who thought him how to feel, how to be alive... Dean who thought him how to smile and enjoy the little things...

It was so sad, to think he might never get to see that little spark in the man's eyes, feel the emotions Dean was wearing on his sleeve, showing them off without really meaning to. He might never feel the brush of those lips against his or be permitted to touch, to caress, to love.

He knew he would never love again.

When he forced himself to look back into those green gems, he found a frown to go with that calculated look Dean had. The hunter was still motionless, still sitting in the bed, covered with a thin sheet, beautiful as always. Michael tried to remember the last time he saw him smile, but it felt like it had been a century ago.

Oh, how Michael wanted to say it all. To show, to persuade Dean that, even though his identity might have been a lie, his emotions weren't, the things they shared, those were real, and Michael... Michael he wanted them back, them and so much more.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, and walked to the bed. "I died last night. I am... Finished. There is no more archangel Michael, there is just... Another human. Even if I still had my grace, I wouldn't be a threat, I want you to know that. But... But if you ever suspect otherwise... You'd know where to find me." He said, tapping Dean's leg, the same one that brought and kept the hunter in that very cabin. Michael knew he didn't deserve Dean's sympathy, he didn't deserve forgiveness, he didn't even deserve to be heard. He especially didn't deserve any contact, but he had to steal that one last touch, if for nothing else, then at least to sooth that gaping hole in his chest that was making it extremely hard to breathe.

"Goodbye, Dean." He said, his voice almost wavering, almost, but he wouldn't let it. Dean deserved better. It was only when he turned to walk away, did he allow silent tears to spill over, one after another with each step he took.

Tears were running down his face when he lifted his head at Jack. The kid was so understanding, so good and kind, someone all angel's could take a cue from. He was a bridge, one hand on Michael's shoulder, the other on Dean's head as the hunter slept in his own bed.

Michael looked back at him, stealing himself to a few more images of the only person he ever truly loved. With a deep breath, he rose to his feet, tore his eyes away from the resting hunter and looked at Jack again. The former archangel set his own hand on the kid's shoulder, smiled widely at him and thanked him for everything before turning and walking away.

Jack watched him go, confused and sad, uncertain of why Michael wouldn't tell Dean everything. It was clear Dean felt the same, so why do this, why walk away? Why not allow Dean to know how strongly he felt for him? Jack gazed after Michael long after the former archangel was gone, frowning and trying to understand. When no answer came, Jack turned towards the sleeping hunter, set his hand on Dean's forehead again and allowed the golden glow to shine through. Since Jack couldn't make sense of it all, maybe Dean could.