Chapter 71.

Dean became increasingly restless as morning approached. Hiding in his room seemed shameful and stupid, but venturing out to face the people he had failed ... He corrected that quickly to those who had suffered Michael's atrocities in the past. It felt too daunting, at least for now.

Normally, he would escape such problems by finding some excuse to take off in the Impala for a while, but under the present circumstances, that could cause panic. He was already seen as unstable and he knew he couldn't be the only one who saw a serious risk of Michael returning to his abandoned vessel - a vessel which had already proved unable to fight him off.

Fight and flight were both off the table. That left freeze as an option, huddle in place until things got easier. Though really, when did things ever get easier?

He needed air. He needed to clear his head. When Sam returned with his breakfast, he wanted him to notice an improvement. He decided to go out on top of the bunker, to the trees where Cas so often found a little peace for his contemplations.

Dean could be very unobtrusive when he chose. He knew every corridor in the bunker and where to duck out of sight when he didn't want to be seen. Nobody saw him slip out. He wasn't sure that nobody heard the heavy door open and close, but as long as they neither followed him nor called him back all was well.

He could see why Cas loved the trees on top of the bunker. It was a nice, secluded place, frequented only by a few and they rarely coincided unless they went looking for each other. Jack knew to go there if he couldn't find Cas in the bunker and sometimes, he went there himself, to ponder whatever nephilim pondered.

He sat on a raised patch of earth which was supported by the roots of two trees. The landscape around was still dark and peaceful. He wished his mind could be so calm. Out there, somewhere, Michael was pursuing his plans and Dean, despite having shared a body with him, had no idea what those plans might be, but only that the archangel hated this world and its denizens as much as he had hated the alternative Earth.

Michael wanted to lay this world to waste and he had achieved such global destruction before. Michael would look out across the land and see only the flaws and failures, sins and errors and he would want to cleanse it all, watch it die.

Dean was not blind to the flaws. He saw the weak nature of his species. He saw the weakness in himself and despised it more than even Michael could. He saw how often people took the easy way, not the right one, but he saw other things too. He saw the people who could have made life easier for themselves by cheating their way through, who chose to be honest and hungry instead. He saw mothers sacrificing everything for their kids and families with nothing but love, who somehow made a good life for themselves with just that.

He saw humanity, the good and the bad. With no illusions, because he had never had the luxury of acquiring any, he looked on the best and the worst and he knew why righteous Michael wanted to obliterate this fallen race and he also knew that he would give his last breath to save them, even the bad ones, because the worst of them had every possibility of change.

His loyalty to his species surprised him. His love for them was overwhelming. His life's purpose had always been to protect Sam and he wasn't sure at what point it had also become about protecting the rest of humanity. All he knew was that every single human being on the planet felt like his personal responsibility and he couldn't remember a time when they hadn't. He had the devotion of a hero, but not the strength.

And that was the tragedy. He could not hope to save them. His might even be the hands that destroyed them, if Michael reclaimed his vessel. It would be almost impossible to destroy his occupied vessel. It might be possible to deny him the vessel by destroying it, but with Michael's powers of resurrection, ordinary destruction would result only in Dean's death and would not necessarily stop Michael. Cold, hard logic dictated that such a move would be stupid, handing over his body with no soul in it to oppose him.

He told himself he would have done it, otherwise, but he wasn't sure it was true. Considering how little he valued his life, the instinct to hold onto it was surprisingly strong.

Whatever the temptations or the strategic advantages to self-sacrifice in its most literal sense, one thing would always argue strongly against it. Sam still needed him.

He allowed himself a smirk at that piece of arrogant nonsense. How, exactly, did Sam need him? Sam was stronger than he was, cleverer than he was, wiser than he was and Sam was incorruptible.

Yet Sam had felt the same feelings he was dealing with now. In fact, it sounded as if Sam felt he would never not feel those things. Maybe that was why Dean still felt needed. Maybe their confession of those feelings made it easier for both of them. It certainly helped him to understand that the same shameful feelings had troubled Sam, in whom the shame could never be justified. Hearing Sam say that there had been aspects of his possession by Lucifer that had felt almost good had been like a first drink of cool water in the searing desert of self-blame. Dean had been afraid to speak the words, his oldest and deepest fear that his brother would back away, horrified and think himself a fool ever to have believed in Dean.

But Sam had said what he was thinking. Sam must have had the same fear, to carry that thought unspoken for so long. Telling Dean must have taken every bit of strength and courage he had, but he had made himself do it, knowing that Dean needed to know, offering his own pain because it might help Dean to heal. Dean knew he could never repay that and he also knew that Sam wanted nothing in return. He never had.

Sam had never said so much about the Lucifer thing. That it still bothered him was obvious every time he flinched at the name. Of course it bothered him. Dean knew that he would never fully recover from Michael's presence and that had been brief and easy compared with all that time in the cage.

Sam felt contaminated and so did he, but he was accustomed to it and he deserved it more than Sam. A young man had died so he could live. His father had given his soul for him. He had failed to save his mother. Worse, he had failed to try. And Sarah said he'd never had a chance to and intellectually, he knew she was right. He had been a kid. He had been four years old and terrified. Still, he had failed every member of his family except Sam and that was a generous assessment.

Worse, he was now a burden to Sam and their mother and Other Bobby and Cas and Jack and Jules. Sam, in particular, did not need him being damaged around the place. Sam needed a right hand he could trust and although Dean's own skewed instincts said they could not rely on any angel, Cas seemed to be that right hand. Quite a blend of negative feelings sprang from that: guilt, jealousy, frustration that he could not be what Sam needed him to be at the time he needed it most. Every member except Sam and now Sam too.

He heard someone walking slowly behind him. The step sounded familiar and he knew it was Cas mostly by how alert he suddenly became. He stood and turned, trying not to look as if he were preparing for a fight.

Cas raised his hands. "I'm sorry." he said, "I didn't know you were up here. I'll go back." So considerate of his loathing and suspicion, when Dean despised himself for both.

"No." he said, "It's okay, Cas. I'm between bouts of crazy. Come over here. Sit and talk a while."

"You're sure?" said Cas.

"I'm sure." he said, knowing he didn't seem that sure of anything and with good reason.