Part XI
Topsy-Turvy

"Tell me you didn't know about this."

Victor Henriksen had a half-second to look up before Michael slapped the case files onto his desk. Michael glared down at the calm exterior of his partner. He waited, impatiently, as Henriksen sipped from his lukewarm coffee before bothering to glance down at the folders. The file wasn't even touched before it was dismissively nudged toward the edge of the desk. "I might have heard something about it."

"What the hell, Vic?" Michael backed off a step in disbelief, gathered his wits and advanced on his partner with a heated whisper. "The bureau decides to assign another agent to our case, completely under minding our current operation, and you don't think that is something we should know about?"

"We are on a need to know basis, and clearly, we didn't need to know."

"But you did."

Henriksen shrugged.

Michael shook his head, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because," Henriksen's voice began sternly, but he paused to glance around the office before continuing in a lowered tone. "I knew you would fly off the handle like this."

"You know how hard I've worked to keep my brother out of the spotlight."

Henriksen cleared his throat as he calmly rose from the desk. His dark hand curled around Michael's elbow and he firmly lead his partner out of the office, down the hallway and through the side door to where a lot of people took their smoke break. The cold fingers of a waning autumn present in the wind had chased most of them to more sheltered outings. Henriksen glanced about to make sure they were alone before he turned to Michael. "Zachariah is getting fed up with our lack of results."

Michael fumed, "I have delivered Lucifer to him in a fucking hand basket several times. It's not our fault evidence magically disappears, or key witnesses suddenly forget what they saw, or someone comes out of the god damn woodworks and confesses to the crime we all know Lucifer committed. How can that be classified as lack of results?"

"Hey man," Henriksen set a hand on Michael's shoulder to try and calm him down. "You and I both knew that one day they were going to start looking into Castiel."

"My brother is innocent," His hands were shaking and despite how hard Michael tried to clench them into fists, the trembling wouldn't stop. "If the bureau goes after him and he doesn't give Lucifer up - and I know he won't because my brother is so fucking loyal it's a fault instead of a merit - they're going to find a reason to put him behind bars for as long as it takes to get him to cooperate."

Once again Henriksen shrugged.

"I need to call Castiel," Michael pulled out his phone, only to have his partner snatch it out of his hand.

"Don't you think this is why they didn't let you know about their little Plan B?"

"Give me my —" And then Michael saw nothing but red. His jacket flared as he pushed past Henriksen. The wind caught his tie, flipping it over his shoulder. He was across the parking lot in record time and yelling at the top of his lungs. "WINCHESTER."

The next moment his fist was colliding with Dean's nose with a satisfying crunch.

Blood splattered the asphalt, and Michael struggled against Henriksen's arms as his partner restrained him. Dean nursed his bleeding nose before spitting a glob of blood to the side, "What the fuck man?"

"You sick son of a bitch," Michael tried to kick at Dean's ribs, but Henriksen kept him at bay. "Was it part of your assignment to fuck around with my brother?"

Dean flashed a smug smile of red stained teeth, "Not my fault Zachariah thinks you're too soft to handle this case."

"So they sent you to get close to my brother in hopes of bagging Lucifer!?"

"All green lights to get nice and tight with him," Dean taunted before spitting aside more blood.

Henriksen nearly lost all hold on Michael, "You asshole! You don't give a fuck that you're messing around with his head and when this blows over you're going to leave him a broken mess. You fucker. I knew you were up to no good when I saw you with him."

Dean wiped the blood from his lips, seemingly unconcerned about the ire aimed at him. "Yeah, well, your brother had it coming by staying involved with such a low-life."

"My brother–"

"–is a fucking loser," Dean snapped. "Pathetic and desperate."

Michael eased back into his usual stoic mask, "The only problem Castiel has is that he cares too much. He's willing to give the benefit of the doubt to worthless pieces of shit like you."

That seemed to have struck a nerve, because Dean did little but glare at him in response. Satisfied he may have gotten an ounce of humanity through the douche bag's thick skull, Michael extracted himself from Henriksen's arms and calmly straightened his suit jacket. He inspected his knuckles with a glance, rubbing away a spot of blood. Afterward he held his hand expectantly out toward his partner until Henriksen yielded his phone.

"Don't call him," Henriksen warned with an accompanying look. "Jeopardizing this case will likely cost your job, and that's if they're being gentle about it."

Michael shot his partner a look to express that he did not appreciate being reprimanded like a child. He very well knew the risks at hand when dealing with Lucifer's case. Over the years Michael had lost count of how many times he had to bite his tongue or repress the urge to either call Castiel or storm into his brother's apartment and drag him to another state. There had also been times where he had been tempted to flat out shoot Lucifer because of heartache he had caused his little brother.

Right now, however, Michael really wanted to put a bullet in Dean Winchester's face.

"The break in," Michael stated with a narrow of eyes. "Your partner fits the description of the intruder. You had him break into Castiel's apartment to look for evidence. Do you follow any form of code of conduct?"

Dean returned the glare, "I get results."

"At what cost?"

Dean remained silent.

"The truth is, Winchester, you have no idea how to work this case." Michael calmly buttoned the front of his jacket while turning his attention to Henriksen. "I'm taking an early lunch."

That was code for he was going to drive around until he didn't feel like breaking every bone in Dean's body.

No one stopped him, and when his phone did ring, the dashboard clock read 11:00 AM. Michael was stopped at a red light and used the moment to glance down at the number calling him. It was a foreign number as far as his phone was concerned. It wasn't listed as a contact, but Michael knew the ten digits flashing across the touch screen by heart. Usually Michael ignored the calls and if a voice mail was left he deleted it before he could listen to it.

Today he was pissed enough to grab his phone, push the accept button and press it to his ear, "How did you get this number."

"You know for a man that is avidly pursuing me, you do your best to stay out of contact."

Michael should have known he wouldn't get an answer. It's not like he couldn't imagine how someone had dredged up his personal cell number. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel as he checked that the light was still red. "You know how it is," Michael spoke stiffly, knowing that if he played along a little bit he was more likely to get the answers he wanted. "The bureau doesn't like when I take personal calls from terrorists."

"Even if this said terrorist just wants to know how you're doing?"

"Especially then," Michael grumbled in response to the amused drawl coming from his phone. "What do you want, Lucifer?"

"I've asked you before, call me Nick."

"Lucifer is more fitting."

Chuckling floated through the phone, "Alright, have it your way, no small talk. I want you to have lunch with me."

The light turned green and Michael concentrated on the cars around him instead of dwelling on the paranoia threatening to kick into over drive. It wasn't the first time Lucifer had asked to meet. Michael always declined on the principle that he didn't consort with criminals. Not even special cases like Lucifer. Sometimes it was difficult just because Lucifer was also Castiel's boyfriend (or ex-boyfriend, Michael kind of lost track during their on and off again relationship) and Michael tried to be somewhat cordial to his brother's boyfriend because it became clear as the years stretched on that Lucifer meant a lot to Castiel.

Which made tossing Lucifer into prison for life a hard decision.

The bureau was right about thinking Michael was too personally involved with the case.

Michael's fingers tightened on the wheel, "Why?"

"Is it such a strange notion to think I just want to catch up on old times with you?"

"It is when you're involved."

"After all these years, you still don't trust me."

"Don't act like your feelings are hurt," Michael spat as checked his blind spot and moved in the left lane. "Stop fucking around. What do you want?"

"To talk - and don't ask me 'about what', because you already know."

Bastard, Michael gritted his teeth. Intelligence and perception could make for a deadly combination, and Lucifer was like a damn viper with it. He just had a way of knowing things, or at least making it sound like he knew something that it threw people, including Michael, off their game. "Are you going to leave your lackeys at home?"

"I'll leave mine if you leave yours."

The idea that it was a trap did cross his mind, but it was strange. Michael knew that Lucifer wouldn't do anything to him, personally, because of the obvious fact that it would upset Castiel. There also was the fact, that Michael only silently acknowledged to himself, was that Lucifer was fond of him and their bizarre game of cat and mouse. That had became obvious when Lucifer had more or less allowed himself to be caught just to have the chance to sit in a room with Michael and talk face to face.

They've had some very strange conversations over the years, and Michael wasn't sure who was the cat and who was the mouse.

"You still like seafood, right?"

Michael wanted to be bothered by the fact that Lucifer even knew that. Grudgingly he replied, "Yeah."

"There's a nice shack, Davey's Famous Crab, off the Boulevard near the waterfront. You know it?"

A sigh - it was only a place that Michael had taken countless lunch hours when he was in the city. "You know I do."

"Meet me there in an hour - and wear something casual for once."

Michael didn't have time to protest before the line went dead. With a growl he tossed the phone into the passenger seat. He shouldn't go. Yet there he was, switching back into the right lane to head toward the waterfront while wondering if he owned anything other than formal attire.

Things to Know
1.) Dean is actually FBI. I hinted toward this when there was a bit too much familiarity between him and Michael in Castiel's apartment. Also when Lucifer mocked the word 'detective' in regards to Dean.
2.) Told'ja not to be too harsh when judging Michael. He's only trying to look out for his little brother.
3.) Isn't it just evil when a story reveals a very crucial plot point, but the main character - Castiel in this case - has no clue? Worse that it seems everyone knows, but they chose not to tell Cas.
4.) Dean is not in a good position to be winning anyone's heart.
5.) Yikes, I must have did something very wrong last chapter. Lost followers, and so few reviews. Ah well, it's my story, and to those that you that read it, here's a quick and short chapter for the transition. Let the snowball roll!

Next Chapter - We get to see things from Dean's point of view, and he better have a damn good explanation.