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Chapter 47

Dean glared at the man in front of him. He was of unknown identity, but Dean knew who was possessing the body. The ultimate dick angel.

"Micheal."

Raphael and Zachiriah released him roughly. Micheal waved a hand at them, and they nodded, disappearing with a swish.

They were in a large room, almost like a board meeting type of place. There was a long table, surrounded by uncomfortable looking chairs. There were no windows or doors, just brown paneled walls.

Michael was sitting at the head of the table, and gestured Dean to a seat, but he did not accept the offer. Remaining on the feet, he continued to glare at the angel.

"What do you want?"

Michael regarded him. "You locked Lucifer away."

"That's a good thing." Dean spat. "So why the hell did you drag me up here?"

Smirking, Michael looked at him. "Yes, we interrupted you, didn't we? You were having such a good time with Castiel in the back seat of your car."

"Screw you." Dean hissed, banging his fist on the table. "This is what you wanted, wasn't it? Lucifer gone?"

Michael tapped his fingers on the tabletop lightly, and the noise irritated Dean. How could the damn angel be mad about this? He had gotten what he wanted.

"I was supposed to fight him, Dean. It was my destiny, and you ruined it."

Dean snorted and walked the length of the room, which wasn't far. "Destiny. You make your own destiny."

Michael was suddenly behind him, and pressed him up against the wall, holding him there with a hand around his throat. "You don't realize what you've done. The angels are in disarray..word has gotten out about God. They are making a mockery of me. They don't want me as a leader...because I couldn't defeat Lucifer. The petty human Winchesters did that, along with a fallen angel, an old drunk and a stupid whore. I can't be their leader if they don't respect me."

The tightness around his throat was starting to constrict his breathing, but Dean was able to muster enough breath to ask, "But what do you want from me?"

Michael shrugged. "You can't give me anything. I just wanted the pleasure of killing you for destroying everything for me." He tightened his grip around Dean's throat and white lights popped in front of his eyes.

"Don't." he choked out. "God is still around."

"What?" Michael's voice was full of shock and his grip slackened. "What are you talking about?"

"Castiel died on the day we locked Lucifer up. But God brought him back. He wants us to live." Dean said, trying to pry Michael's fingers off his neck. "Don't do this, Michael."

Images of Kam and Castiel popped into his head...he needed to protect them. He promised them that, and he didn't like to break his promises. Although he knew Michael couldn't give two damns about him, he pleaded. "Please, Michael...I want to live for my son. For Cas. I have a family now that I need to look after."

"Castiel. The traitor angel. I heard about the spawn you produced together." Michael slammed Dean against the wall. "Do you think I will let you live for them? Because of some story about God bringing Castiel back to life?"

Michael sent a well-aimed punch and Dean felt his nose crack under the pressure. He could hardly breathe anymore; the angel had tightened his grip even more.

"Please...don't." the only thing he could think about was Cas. How he would feel burying Dean...or never knowing what happened to him. Kam growing up without Dean around, Cas depressed and upset...Sam going crazy searching for him.

Tears ran down his cheeks, partly from the thought of leaving his family alone, partly because his nose was stinging horribly. The room startled rumbling as Dean began to lose consciousness.

"No." a voice echoed through the room, and Michael froze, his eyes wide. "Stop."

"Father." Michael whispered, turning his face toward the ceiling and releasing Dean, who slumped to the floor. A bright light shined, growing brighter. It seemed to be coming from no particular place; like it was flooding from the air around them.

"A test, Michael. You have failed."

Dean struggled to breathe, but it felt like Michael's hand was still around his neck. That white light was clouding his vision and everything was cold...the last thing he saw was Michael on his knees, hands raised to the ceiling before he passed out.