Okay so for those who've been asking, "Dominicus Tecum" is a latin phrase that means "May the Lord be With You" and is used sometimes in hymns.

"No--" Dean stared down at the Archangel, "you miserable son of a bitch! What did you do?!" he shouted.

"What did I do?" Michael demanded, "perhaps you should ask yourself what you did that took us here!"

Dean gaped at the Archangel. He knew it was Michael that spoke, but it was Jo's voice that echoed through the church. It was impossible to separate them though. The woman who stood in front of him was Jo Harvelle. Her features were the same, beauty that was usually hidden underneath a tougher than nails exterior. She was dressed in a tank top that showed off a good portion of her mid drift and low slung black leather pants tight enough to look as if they had been painted on. The smooth skin revealed only a neat pink line across her middle where the Hell Hound had once slashed her open. A fatal wound reduced to a pink line. Her hair had been cut off as well. Instead of tumbling down her back it barely came to below her shoulders now.

But it was not Jo's eyes that looked up at him.

No, the gaze that met his was angry, angrier than Dean thought he'd ever seen Jo. Her head was titled up, her gaze locking with his without so much as an ounce of shame. If anything she looked as though she wanted nothing more than to pick him up and slam him into the nearest column. Of all the things he thought Michael would do, of all the thousands of ways his 'no' could have been turned into a 'yes', this wasn't one of them. His mind had gone to twisted places before, dark places, but never anywhere as dark and twisted as this. It was Michael the Archangel, possessing the body of Jo Harvelle. Jo who he had kissed desperately before she blew herself up, who had fought Hell Hounds and actually killed one before she had been too injured to move.

Now she stood in front of him, whole, alive and still dead.

"You wanted me, then fine, you got me," Dean said, "just let her go. She doesn't have anything to do with this!"

"Sorry Dean, but it doesn't work like that," Michael snapped turning around.

"What the hell do you mean it doesn't work like that?" Dean demanded, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder.

Suddenly Dean found himself sailing through the air. Not forward as if Michael had flipped him but backwards, as if by some invisible wind. Slamming into the marble of the column, his head smacked into the stone. Stars danced in front of Dean's eyes but he blinked them back, his eyes remaining locked on Michael. The Archangel turned slowly towards him. His hands were by his sides, he hadn't even needed to move in order to throw Dean. Michael's feet echoed as he walked forward, his eyes blazing as he looked at the elder of the Winchesters.

"I gave you a chance to let me in. To let us work together and end this thing long before it got out of hand. But you refused me. You honestly thought you could defeat Lucifer, an Archangel, with a gun. So I let you have your fun, I thought maybe there was a chance it would work. But it didn't."

"You son of a--"

"It didn't work! And I was forced to seek another vessel, one that would let me fight Lucifer. I watched you and this girl," he motioned to his body, "and I realized that the answer had been in front of me all along. She's not you, Dean, but in a few years she might be as good. A few more and she'd be one of the best. She was just full of wasted potential."

Michael stopped when he was right in front of Dean. Dean found himself sliding down the column until he was on the ground and then further still until he was level with Michael.

"And so I asked her and she said yes."

"Liar," Dean spat.

Michael backhanded him across the room. Dean slid across the marble floor, slamming into the steps leading to the altar. Michael advanced on him, the anger in his eyes enough to reach through the darkness threatening Dean's vision. As he looked up at the Archangel, Dean realized what it was like to be a Demon. There was nothing he could do to stop the feet that brought the Archangel closer to him, he was powerless and the bitch of it was that they both knew it. Michael walked closer, his eyes burning into Dean. Dean was powerless to look away from the heated, angry gaze that crippled him. Michael was going to kill him and there was nothing that he could do about it. Before he could move, Michael was in front of him, seizing him by the collar of his jacket and hauling him up. Despite their difference in size, Dean found his feet barely brushed the floor.

"I will not stand here and be insulted," MIchael snarled, "I gave you time. Are you truly foolish enough to believe that I could not bring you to Heaven with a snap of my fingers? That I could not do things to you that would having you screaming yes until your voice broke?"

"Then why didn't you?" Dean demanded, his hands locking around the feminine wrist that had no problem holding him aloft.

Michael's features contorted in anger and even in his state, Dean realized that when she was angry, Jo was even more beautiful. The idea that somewhere in that body that had been so easy to carry was the strength to kick his ass was definitely surprising and more than a little attractive to the eldest Hunter. Attractive until he reminded himself that the arm that held him might have been Jo's but the anger, that certainly was not. Michael glared up at him before his hand released him. Dean slammed into the ground, his legs buckling as the marble floor rose up to meet him. Michael lowered his hand, glancing at the appendage before his eyes went to Dean.

"That is not your concern," he said, "our time is short and I cannot afford to have you running around like an unchecked dog any longer," he tucked his hands in his pockets.

"Then," Dean pushed himself up with a great amount of difficult, ignoring the pain that flashed through his ribs, "why the fuck are you here?"

"Because Lucifer is," Michael said, "and therefore I must be as well. I do not relish the idea of making the world a battlefield, so there must be another way to send Lucifer back to hell."

"No battle?" Dean demanded pushing himself to his feet, "no grand war. Trumpet sound and all that shit."

"Not if we can find another way," Michael said.

"We?"

"Yes," he said, "we. You are still my ideal vessel but that does not change the fact that this body," he motioned to Jo's form, "is the one i inhabit. If I were to change vessels now, she would not survive and I would be weakened severely for longer than we have time for."

Michael turned around and walked down the hallway. Dean watched him go, fighting to remain upright as he stared at the swishing hem of his coat. It was Jo, Jo Harvelle had taken the burden he could not. Part of him wanted to rant and rave and scream, to shake Michael until the Archangel fell out of the woman he had taken possession of. But he knew that it would be pointless. If he did that, if Michael abandoned Jo's body, then Jo would be dead.

The rational part of Dean said that Jo already was dead. He had watched her save him, watched her fall against an enemy neither of them stood a shot in hell against. He had screamed when she had fallen, as if his words could possibly stop the Hell Hounds that clawed at her body. He had given her the last night on earth speech, but it hadn't crossed his mind that it would be her last night. He had been half sure that it would be his last night, or Sam's, or both of there's. But not Jo's. Not hers. And now she was walking away from him, her body taken by the very Archangel that he had denied.

Michael's feet slowed before they stopped entirely. Dean took a step forward towards the Archangel, his ribs aching with the movement. it was like he went from zero to sixty, from feeling nothing to feeling everything. Every bruise, every damaged limb. But it was all made inconsequential by the simple sight of what was in front of him. Of Jo Harvelle, of Michael the Archangel. Slowly his foot lifted as he placed it in front of him. The physical pain, though eclipsed by the emotional, was still there. It was hard to walk, a fact only magnified by the echo in the Church. Michael made no move to help him, but he also did not make a move to throw him across the Church. Finally Dean stood directly behind the Archangel.

"You gotta promise me she'll be alright," he said. MIchael turned around, arching an eyebrow in his direction, "promise me," Dean said looking at him, "I saw Raphael's vessel, I saw what happens to the people you do this inhabiting shit to and she doesn't deserve it."

"What you saw was the remnant of an overzealous Archangel who felt it necessary to make his presence known to everyone in a five mile radius."

"And I'm just supposed to believe, after all the shit you've pulled to get me to say 'yes' that you're not like that?" Dean growled.

Michael, at the very least, had the grace to look ashamed. Eyes downcast, Dean was certain he saw a blush on Jo's cheeks. But after a moment Michael raised his eyes and met Dean's gaze squarely.

"I apologize for what happened to you in my name," he said, "and I can assure you that when this is over, she will be restored to you."

"Like how that mechanic was restored?"

"No," Michael said, "not like him. She will be as she was, all injuries healed. But right now she is too weak. If I were to leave her body she would die," he looked at him, "however my presence will heal her, with time. In return for the use of her body, I will ensure that she will come through this ordeal, at the very least, alive and aware of herself."

"You swear?" Dean demanded.

"You have my word," he said.

Dean looked down at the Archangel, his eyes searching for any kind of lie in his features. But there was none, none that he could see. Grudgingly Dean nodded finally. Michael looked at him hard for another moment before he moved his arm. Dean looked down to see Michael's gloved hand stuck between them. The Archangel was offering to shake his hand. Dean looked at the gloved hand. Was this some kind of trick? Some ploy to get into his body and leave Jo? Dean looked up at the Archangel who waited, impatience in his eyes. Dean got the feeling this was some kind of test, to see if he was the trusting type. Dean wasn't inclined to trust anyone he had just met. But the Archangel had saved Jo. He had improvised another vessel and the sick truth was that they were going to have to work together to kill Lucifer. Slowly Dean reached out and took his hand.

Warmth spread through his fingers. Dean fought to pull his hand back but the warmth spread up his arm, as Michael held his hand fast. the warmth spread across his shoulders and his chest, down his other arm until everything from his head to his toes felt as though he had drank something warm. It was an internal warmth, pleasant even. Michael withdrew his hand abruptly, though the warmth lingered in Dean. Frowning, Dean looked down at his chest. The pain in his ribs, the bruises on his hands, they were all gone. His head shot up as he looked at the Archangel, no pain in his neck from where he had slammed against the marble columns.

"You healed me?" Dean demanded.

"I believe I made my point," Michael said, "and I am tired, I have no desire to be stared down by Castiel."

Dean watched as the Archangel turned and strode down the church. Dean moved quickly forward, matching the Archangel's pace. Though Jo was smaller than him, Michael was clearly used to walking quickly and having others follow. Dean was not going to extend any such courtesy to the Archangel. He walked side by side with him to the doors of the Church. Michael strode through them and down the steps as Dean kept pace with him. By the time they reached the central pillar in the square they were almost running, Michael to make up for Jo's lack of height, Dean to establish he wasn't anyone's second--especially not Michael the Archangel.

From the grim acceptance in Sam and Castiel's eyes, they had been told what was to be expected. Both their eyes immediately went Dean, their gazes trying to figure out how he felt about the situation at hand. He walked ahead, his eyes locked somewhere behind the two of them. It was only when he reached Castiel and realized no-one was moving that he saw Michael was not moving with them. Swearing under his breath, Dean turned around to face the Archangel.

The sight that greeted him was nearly enough to bring him to his knees. His mind told him that it was Michael who stood there but everything else screamed that it was Jo. Her blond hair framed her features, the golden waves contrasting sharply with the black clothing. But everything about her, hair, cloths, skin--all of it was painted gold from the lights. Standing in the square, surrounded by images of a religion that Dean still didn't believe, Jo Harvelle looked more holy than Dean ever thought possible. Dean swallowed thickly as he looked. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the other two move. His eyes went to Gabriel and Castiel, both of whom stood with their heads bowed, looking as though they were lost in prayer.

But it was not prayer.

It was deference.

Dean's brow furrowed as he realized they were showing submission to Michael. Even Castiel who had stood up to Raphael and Gabriel, to the armies of Heaven itself, he bowed his head to Michael. Gabriel as well, in spite of his rebellion, in spite of everything. But his head was lower even than Castiel's, his hands locked in front of him. Dean watched as he shifted his weight slightly, guiltily. Even when Cas snuck a glance upwards at Michael, Gabriel kept his eyes locked on the ground. He was acting guilty, acting for all purpose like he had overstepped some boundary, like he had done something wrong. Michael stepped forward but Dean kept his eyes on Gabriel, watching as the muscles in the Archangel's back tensed as his brother approached him.

"We must return," he said, his eyes moving over to where Dean and Sam were, "we will need to regroup."

"Yeah, and we need to get my car," Dean spoke. Michael arched an eyebrow in his direction but Dean met his gaze.

"Very well," he said, "we will go there."

"Can we fl--" Dean began but instantly they were there, "y. We gotta stop traveling this way," he looked at the three of them, "aren't you supposed to, I don't know, fly?!"

The three of them looked at him as though he had grown a second head. He was used to the strange look from Castiel but it was odd on Jo's face. Gabriel's was tinged with amusement but the guilt was still in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, obviously sarcastic, but one glance from Michael and he lowered his gaze to the ground like a guilty child. Michael looked at Dean, meeting the elder Winchester's eyes squarely.

"You need to get rest," he said, "you as well," he added looking at Sam, "we will stand guard."

Sam opened his mouth but Dean grabbed him.

"Yeah, fine," he said quickly, "night," he threw over his shoulder as he dragged Sam into the room.

Castiel looked between the two Archangels. The breeze that blew across the back of his neck was anything but refreshing. Time seemed to hesitate, if only for a moment, as the two Archangels looked at each other. Gabriel still could not fully meet Michael's eyes and Michael seemed too disgusted with his brother to even look at him. Though he stood there, everything inside Castiel told him he needed to get the Winchesters and put as much distance between himself and the two Archangels as possible. Just as he was about to move, about to put the plan into action, Gabirel spoke.

"Michael--" Gabriel began.

"I have no interest in what you have to say," the elder Archangel said, turning his back to Gabriel.

"Michael listen to me," Gabriel began, his voice softer for his brother.

"You had no right to threaten them!" Michael shouted turning around and advancing on Gabriel, "no right at all. I don't care how sick or tired you are you do not go against my orders and you certainly do not go against our fathers!"

"We thought we were helping--"

"You were disobeying and you knew it! I told you this plan was foolish but you were intent on following through!" Michael bellowed, "So it is in Heaven, so it shall be on Earth--what kind of Heaven is it you seek?! A Heaven on pain and lies? That is not why we were created!"

Castiel looked between the two Archangels. Though neither had raised a hand to the other, he knew it was not going to take much to bring the two of them to violence. Michael looked as though he wanted nothing more than to destroy Gabriel where he stood and the shame written on Gabriel's face was plain to anyone's eyes. It was strange, though his interactions with Jo Harvelle had been limited, but still he could not truly imagine her shouting as Michael was. A part of him wondered how Dean was taking it, how the loss of someone like her was affecting the Hunter but just as Dean was casting aside his emotions in light of the situation, Castiel recognized the need to do the same. Jo's effect on Dean was a secondary concern considering Michael seemed very close to destroying his brother.

"I know that!" Gabriel shouted, "I know, we were created to protect. To love the humans," he made a sound of disgust that had Michael's eyes blazing with anger, "but we are tired of what's been happening--" he held up his hands, "I told you we were wrong. I was wrong. I messed up Michael."

"No," Michael said, "you messed up when you saw fit to abandon Heaven for the debauchery you seem so content to indulge in," Gabriel looked away, "you abandoned everything you were for cheap tricks and foolery."

"I couldn't take it anymore!" Gabriel shouted, "you, Raphael--it was too much. What were you going to do? Fight for eternity?!" Michael's features contorted in rage but Gabriel glared back at him, "I left because instead of doing anything you all were just content to fight amongst yourselves--"

"Watch your tongue--" Michael cut in, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Where were you Michael?!" Gabriel shouted, "where were you when the Seals were broken, huh?! Or how about when War was running free? Or when Death was being released?! Where were you?!"

"That is not your concern!"

"Not my concern?" Gabriel laughed bitterly, "you have the audacity to come here and threaten me for what I did when you abandoned us. We did not know what to do. Dad's gone and you were gone too. This is what happens when everything I've been taught--everything we've been taught has to doing with being your follower. Listen to Michael. Michael know's what's best--yeah well fuck you!" Michael's eyes widened, "you weren't there so we had to do what we could to make sure when the time came, you were there."

"I will not be spoken to in this manner," Michael said, anger lacing his every word but Gabriel seemed to be past the point of caring.

"No, no of course you won't be spoken to like this. Don't upset Michael. Don't talk back to Michael--" he grinned angrily, "perfect little Michael who threw his own brother out of Heave--"

There was a resounding echo, deep and loud enough to hurt even Castiel's ears and suddenly Gabriel was flying through the air. He twisted and landed on his feet but instantly Michael was there, his fist slamming into Gabriel's face. Castiel stood on the porch of the Motel, watching the two Archangels fight each other. He did not dare move from where he stood on the porch. Someone needed to ensure that the Winchesters were safe. Michael was being foolish and ruled by his emotions but the truth was that Gabriel had pushed the envelope. It was an unspoken rule in Heaven that you did not bring up Michael casting Lucifer out of Heaven. It was ironic, really, that that was what Gabriel had said since it was him that began the rule.

Things in Heaven had degraded past a level that Castiel was even aware of. It did not take long for Michael to gain the upper hand in the fight. Castiel watched them carefully. Even in the space of an hour the similarities between Michael and Dean were more than obvious. Both so full of self loathing, so unable to let the world in, so determined to do what they considered the 'right' thing. While he was not foolish enough to believe that Michael and Dan acting as one vessel was the best course of action, he was able to see that there were going to be problems with the two of them working together. Castiel glanced behind him at the doors before he moved his gaze back to where Gabriel and Michael had been fighting moments before. Now Michael stood, towering over the other Archangel, tension filling every line of the body he had taken as his own.

The Archangel reached down and picked Gabriel up. He let his brother's feet drag on the ground as he walked back, his steps slow and measured. He carried no marks on himself from the fight, though neither did Gabriel save for his unconscious state. The sound of his shoes dragging against the asphalt of the parking lot made the hairs on the back of Castiel's neck stand up. At times it was easy to forget that he inhabited a vessel but watching the two of them approach him, two Archangels he once would have cut his wings off to converse with, it was a painful reminder of just how different things were. Michael stepped onto the porch and dragged Gabriel over to the wall, lowering him onto the ground. He stepped back, his gaze locked on the unconscious form of Gabriel.

"I apologize that you had to see that," he said finally. Castiel said nothing as Michael turned around and looked at him, "your disobedience was surprising, Castiel. Reports always said you were very good at following orders."

"My time in this vessel has changed me," Castiel said, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"Do you fear me, Castiel?" Michael asked, moving forward until Castiel's ground-locked eyes saw the toes of his boots, "or do you fear what I will do to you for your disobedience?"

Castiel's eyes widened but when he raised his head his features gave away nothing. No anger, no sadness, nothing was in his face except the serenity that Angels were masters of. Michael met his gaze squarely, none of the earlier anger in his eyes. Only Gabriel's form served as evidence of Michael's earlier loss of control.

"I am not afraid of what you will do to me," Castiel said finally, his eyes moving to Gabriel before they went back to Michael, "I did not disobey your orders nor did I disobey our father's wishes."

"No," Michael said after a moment, "you did not," he looked at Gabriel and then at Castiel, "and we have much larger things to worry about," he sighed, "I apologize but I cannot restore you to Heaven, not yet. My presence must remain a secret for as long as I can keep it that way."

"I understand," Castiel said.

Michael nodded and walked over to Gabriel. He knelt down next to his brother and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Gabriel's brow. Castiel watched as Gabriel's features tightened before his eyes snapped open. Michael drew back but made no move to get up as Gabriel looked over at him.

"Ow!" the other Archangel exclaimed, "I know you're pissed but ow!" he rubbed his jaw, "what the hell'd you need to do that for?!"

Michael ignored him and got to his feet. But he did extend a hand downward. Gabriel glared up at him for a moment before he sighed and reached forward, grabbing Michael's hand and pulling himself to his feet. The two of them approached the porch rail as Castiel watched them, feeling completely out of place. He had no idea what to say or how to act around the two of them, especially not in light of the fact that Michael was implying something else was going on. So Castiel settled for lacing his fingers together and joining the two of them in silence.

Inside the motel room Sam was doing the exact same thing.

Dean was sitting on the bed, headphones jammed into his ears as he gripped a whetstone in one hand and a knife in the other. The sound of blade on stone was oddly complimented by the pounding echoes of Dean's music. The rational part of Sam wanted to tell his brother he was going to go deaf if he kept listening to his music as loudly as he did, but the idea of scolding him as he was seemed unfathomable to him. Dean seemed lost as he looked at the knife, or maybe he was too overwhelmed to focus on any one thing.

Sam knew it would be a very long time before he forgot the look in his brother's eyes when he stepped out of the shower. Dean's lips had been tinged blue, the drops on his skin had clearly been ice cold but it seemed like none of it had made it past the numbness. And when he walked out of the Church, the acceptance in his eyes was enough to make every warning bell Sam had go off. Now Dean was sitting there lost in the work of sharpening a knife Sam had a feeling would be worn thin by the time he was finished with it. Sam almost wished that Dean would make some snarky comment about his ease with trusting demons, just to let him know that he was still there, still fighting.

Sam looked instead at the bag in front of him, the one full of weapons that needed to be cleaned. He should clean, he knew, the guns might be useless against Lucifer for actually killing him but the shots from the Colt had slowed him down, even if it had only been for a minute. He knew what he should do, but what he did instead was grab the cell phone nearby and get to his feet. Dean was too lost to notice as he walked into the bathroom with the phone clutched in his hand and stepped inside. Locking the door he turned the faucet and shower on before he punched in the numbers, pacing around the confining space like a caged animal. It only took two rings for the number to connect.

"Yeah?" Bobby questioned gruffly, his voice hoarse over the phone.

"Bobby, Bobby its Sam--"

"I know who it is," the former Hunter snapped. Sam winced at the short tone, though he knew where it came from. Bobby had lost two people he cared deeply about, people that he had fought besides, people he hadn't expected to loose so soon, "well?" he demanded, "what do you want."

"Gabriel came to us," Sam said.

"That Son of a Bi--"

"He brought us to Rome," Sam cut him off, "he said Michael wanted to talk to Dean."

"Shit," Bobby swore, "that mean's he's found another vessel," Bobby let out a gruff sigh, "well that's good, I guess. So where is he now?"

"Right outside," Sam said, "but that's not why I'm calling."

"Sam, I've had a rough couple of days, I'm not in the mood to play Twenty Questions. Just spit it out."

"His vessel is Jo," Sam said, pulling the phone away from his ear.

"His vessel is who?!" Bobby bellowed, his voice clear even though the phone was an arm's length from Sam's ear, "that miserable Son of a Bitch! You bring him here and we're going to exorcise his sorry ass out of her and back to Hell!"

Sam winced at the furious exclamation. Slowly he brought the phone back at a pause, placing it cautiously against his ear.

"Bobby its not that simple," he said, "Gabriel told us that if Michael gets through this in one piece, if we all get through this in once piece, then he's going to give Jo her life back."

Silence greeted his ear.

Sam knew Bobby was furious, beyond furious even at what had happened. But he was probably even more pissed that the Archangel had decided to take Jo over. Rationally Sam knew that Jo had been given a choice, but he had a feeling her decision had a lot more to do with protecting Dean than actual free will. But Bobby, who had just had her and Ellen ripped away from him, he wasn't going to see it that way. All he was going to see was an Archangel who had once again fucked with one of them. Still, Sam had to figure that the person Bobby was most pissed with was himself. It wasn't his fault that he had been at home instead of fighting alongside them, but that was just it. He had been at home. Sam knew that there hadn't been anything Bobby could have done to change the course of action, but he also knew that Bobby wasn't going to see it that way. He was going to torture himself over the fact that he wasn't there, over the possibility that he could have changed how things played out.

"Listen," Sam said, trying to keep his voice low and calm, "I need you to research how we could put Death back in his grave. Any way. We've got more power this time but we're flying blind," Bobby said nothing, "please, Bobby?"

"Fine," Bobby said finally, his voice still angry, "but you tell him if he hurts so much as a hair on her head, I'm going to kill him. I don't care what kind of Archangel he is."

"I'll pass that along," Sam said, "thanks Bobby."

Bobby made a rough sound before he hung up. Sam closed the phone, taking a deep breath and letting his eyes shut. Surrounded by the sound of water, he tried to focus on the smallest bit of soothing emotion he felt. He knew that Jo and Dean had liked each other--liked each other a great deal more than either would say--but he had known that his brother wasn't a 'romance' kind of guy. Even if Jo wasn't really the romantic type either, he knew it was going to take a miracle for the two of them to get together, even before she had sacrificed herself to save them all. He knew it would take a miracle.

He just hadn't expected to actually get one.

So the crew's together! That Impala's gonna get awful crowded, especially if Dean gets the Angels to stop transporting them. Now I wanted to show the hierarchy in Heaven and Castiel ranks far below Michael and Gabriel, but Michael outranks Gabriel. Also, Michael's little freak out is going to be explained, as is Gabriel's loud mouth that gets him into a LOT of trouble.

Please review! You guys (and gals) were awesome last chapter and I hope you continue to be when it comes to reviewing! The faster you review, the faster I'll update!

So review!

(please)