Disclaimer: I can't believe I'm still doing this. I mean, don't people write fanfics because they don't own things?

Warnings: Dean's appalling language, obviously.

Summary: Dean and Sam are just vessels. . . . Aren't they?

The tree was huge.

Its branches numbered in the thousands and its bark seemed almost to glow. It drew them, and they could swear that it hummed almost imperceptibly, a soothing register bidding them to come closer, come touch. And Remember.

They reached out at nearly the same time. And they knew.

Samael looked at Michael, who looked back at him.

Then Michael said, "What the fuck."

"Dad always said we were special," Samael murmured.

Michael sent him a look. "Yeah? Which one? 'Cause I'm certain you're not talking about John 'Disapproval' Winchester."

"You're the one who's always saying that he did his best," Samael pointed out.

"His best could have been better," Michael said bluntly. "He told me over and over again, 'Protect Sammy, Dean'. Well, he could have tried harder to do that himself."

"So what you're upset about is that he didn't spend enough time trying to give me a better childhood."

"Damn straight."

"You're a marshmallow, Dean. You're like one of those candies where it's all hard on the outside and then soft and gooey on the inside."

Michael frowned. "I'm not a marshmallow. You're the marshmallow. I'm the dark chocolate."

"You're totally the marshmallow, Dean."

"You're the one who forces me to pull over every time we see an injured animal on the road," Michael argued.

"You pull over anyway."

"Because I know that you're going to make me."

"When I was away at Stanford, how many times did you pull over for an animal?"

Michael fell silent.

"That's what I thought."

The Archangel muttered a few expletives. Then he turned to his brother and said, "Pie?"

"Pie," Samael agreed.

They went to get pie.

"Michael and Lucifer walk into a diner . . ." a man began.

They froze in the doorway.

"Whoa," one of the man's friends said. "Eerie. You wouldn't happen to be Michael and Lucifer, would you?" he jokingly asked Michael and Lucifer.

Dean flashed him a smile. "You caught us. I'm Michael, and this is my brother, Lucifer."

"I promise I won't cause the Apocalypse," Sam offered. Then he added, "Well, not for a few billion years, at least."

The guys laughed, completely oblivious to the fact that the Archangel wasn't joking. Sam smiled blandly, then he and Dean found their own table and sat down. They ordered, and waited in comfortable silence for their food.

"What should we tell Dad?" Dean asked two minutes later, taking a bite of his pie.

Sam sipped his water. "What can we tell him? 'Oh, hi, Dad. Long time no see, a lot's happened since you've been gone. My girlfriend kind of died in a ball of fire on the ceiling . . . Just like Mom! Not to mention, I've been getting all kinds of visions about people I haven't even met before . . . and I'm actually Lucifer Morningstar. Surprise! Also, Dean's the Archangel Michael. But no big, right? We can totally get through this. Together, Dad. Together.'"

Dean snorted, nearly losing the chewed-up pie in his mouth. "Right. Group therapy, here we come."

"At least he'll visit us in our cells at the local asylum."

"Uh, no. No, he won't. Too busy chasing Azazel and all." Dean wrinkled his nose. "Slimy bastard. I never liked him."

"Those poor nuns," Sam said sadly. "He sacrificed them, and for what? To try and phone me on a call that I wouldn't even get?"

"It's not your fault, Sammy," Dean assured him. "Lilith disguised herself as you. you couldn't have known."

"But that's just the thing," Sam admitted. "I could have, if I'd tried. If I'd just . . . tried."

"Don't," Dean said sharply. "If you blame everything people wrongly do in your name, you'll drown. Guilt is a flood that doesn't recede, not forever. Don't do that, Sam," he said, his voice gentling. "Don't do that to yourself."

"He killed Mom."

"You were in the Cage. Voluntarily, might I add."

"But . . . if I'd-"

"You went through hell, literally and figuratively."

"You went through it with me."

Dean frowned. "You're my brother. Of course I did."

"You shouldn't have had to."

"Jesus, Luce," Dean exclaimed. "Give yourself some credit! You volunteered to rule Hell because you were the only one who could do it, now stop blaming yourself for something you couldn't stop and eat. your. damn. pie."

There was a moment of silence.

Then, "Is this where we hug it out?"

"Shut up."

"'Luce'? Really?"

"I got used to calling you that in Hell, okay? We were there for centuries. You can't blame me for giving you a nickname."

"Do I get to call you Mike?"

"Absolutely not."

Sam smiled, then let out a deep sigh. "Dean . . ."

"What did I say, Sam? Stop blaming yourself."

"What if I can't help it?"

"Then I'll take you to group therapy myself."

"You're a real humanitarian, Dean."

"I know," the Archangel sighed dramatically. "Someone should just get it over with and name a city or something after me."

"Deantown?"

"If you like."

"Deannopolis?"

"it could work."

"Deangland?"

"Now you're just making fun of me."

Next Up: He was trapped in a mausoleum. With Lucifer. Who was bored. And singing.

Weird Randomness!

0000

"I, Dean Winchester, the King of Deangland, have just made a new law," Dean announced. "From now on, pie and beer is to be the light of your life. So it is written, so it shall be."

Sam, the brother of the King of Deangland-otherwise known as Heaven-and the Mayor of Sam City-otherwise known as Hell-facepalmed.

Crickets chirped into the resounding silence.

An Angel started to cry.

Dean pointed at the blubbering seraphim. "Somebody get that guy some alcohol."

0000

Somewhere deep within the darkside of Deangland, a rebellion was brewing.

"On this night," the leader, Castiel, said gravely, "we shall overthrow the tyrant Dean Winchester and save our people."

The Angels shouted their support, Angel Blades clasped in their raised hands.

0000

Deep within the lightside of Sam City, a similar state of affairs was playing out.

"Let's take back our land!" the head revolutionary, Crowley, was declaring to the onlookers. "Let's make Hell the way it used to be! With hellfire lakes and terrible screams, none of this cheerful kitten posters or blueberry muffin shite!"

A demon hesitantly raised a hand.

"What?"

"Can we keep the blueber-"

"No."

The demon lowered its hand sulkily. "You suck."

Crowley turned around and started banging his head against a wall.

0000