Hey oddballs! See? I haven't forgotten you. New chapter. Several more in the hopper. Once my theological adviser is back from her conference, more chapters will be coming your way! Also, Life With Dean will kick back up soon, too. (Not sure where to stop that one, though. Working on it.)

Chapter 36

"What happened?" Dean's voice blared through the house. Bobby raced downstairs as fast as he dared, spurred on by the angry tone. Dean didn't sound like that for no reason. Bobby had known that boy most of his life and Dean was tough to rattle or anger unless you hit one of his soft spots, like Sam.

When Bobby's feet hit the ground floor, he could see Dean and another man standing over his sofa. Hillary stood off to the side, her back to them, like she was standing guard. Bobby approached slowly, unsure how Hillary might react. He half-expected to receive a thigh full of teeth for his trouble, but instead Hillary shoved her head into his leg, urging him to hurry.

Now he could see who their visitors were, Raphael and Michael. Michael appeared unconscious while Raphael looked totally shaken, babbling nearly incoherently.

"He wanted to find you, kept saying you were in trouble," Raphael's hands flailed through the air. "It looked like he was in pain. I don't understand it. How could he be in pain? We should all be affected, even you!" He leaned over the couch, staring down at Michael. "Something is making him sleep. What could do that?"

The noise from skin on skin, a direct slap across the face, rang through the house like a gunshot. Raphael stared unblinking at Dean, as though he couldn't believe what just happened. Bobby certainly couldn't. Dean just slapped an archangel.

"Get it together, Ralph!" Dean snapped. "Freaking out won't help anyone, especially Mike." Dean gripped Raphael by the shoulders, speaking in a low, calm voice. "Now tell me what happened. Slowly."

"Water?" Bobby offered. They both turned to glare at him. "The regular kind," he replied defensively to their glares.

Dean gave him a quick nod. "Yeah. Thanks, Bobby."

Sam burst through the kitchen door while Bobby grabbed a couple of bottles of water. "Bobby, was that Dean?"

"Yep. Come on, let's see if we can help." It surprised Bobby that Sam wasn't asking a million and one questions as they left the kitchen. Sam still didn't speak while Raphael recounted how he and Michael came to be here and that Michael was convinced there was something wrong with Dean.

"Could you tell where it hurt?" Dean asked, looking over Michael as if they had just finished a hunt.

"Maybe his back," Raphael said, his voice steadier than earlier, "I'm not sure."

"His back?" Sam asked, stepping forward. "Lower back?"

"Does it matter?" Raphael asked, one hand reaching down to bury his fingers in Michael's hair.

"It matters," Sam insisted, eyes flashing with that intelligent spark Bobby had always admired.

"He grabbed his back, like this." Raphael mimed a severe pain in his lower back.

"Yep, that's it," Sam stated, turning to Dean. "I'll bet it's not even as bad as it was for you. He just isn't used to pain."

Dean's face darkened. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. Dean cracked his knuckles, peering intently at Raphael. "Okay, if I do this, is anything going to blow up?"

"Do what?" Raphael asked, voice teetering on hysteria again.

Dean frowned at the archangel. "Take back the pain. Duh, dude."

Bobby opened his mouth to stop him, or at least make Dean think about this, but Dean's hand was glowing and on Michael's chest. Crap. As Dean's face twisted with pain, his hand glowed brighter. Bobby was mesmerized by that glow. It contained everything amazing and wonderful in the world. A thousand images blasted through his mind, steep mountains, brilliant sunsets, and the smiles of Dean and Sam as children.

"Dean!"

Bobby blinked and the images faded, leaving only the faint imprint of that glow around the edges of his vision. Sam wrestled Dean backwards, away from Michael. Even Hillary was in on the action, planting her body firmly between Dean and the couch. It was her bark that got Dean's attention.

"What!" he snapped at the dog over Sam's shoulder. She barked again. Dean pulled back to glare at Sam. "She's starting to sound like you."

Sam stared at his brother for a moment. "How?" he demanded.

"She told me to back off and let him have a little of the pain." When Sam continued to stare, Dean added, "Not in those words, but that was the sentiment."

"She's right," Sam said with a snarl. He glanced over his shoulder at Michael. "Think you took enough of it?"

Dean shook off Sam's grip, stretched with both arms above his head. "Hope so. I don't remember it ever feeling any worse than this."

"You don't remember what feeling much worse?" Raphael asked. He looked and sounded much calmer now, even though Michael was still out cold.

"His back," Sam said and there was an edge to his voice. "In the fight with the yellow-eyed demon Dean busted a couple of vertebrae. He was lucky not to be paralyzed, but his back always hurts now."

Raphael moved to on an arm of the couch, one hand twisted in his hair. "Now what?"

Sam shrugged, shoving Dean towards the other chair. "Now we wait."

Bobby let out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding as his gaze drifted back to Michael. Funny how he was rooting for the prosecution.

-

Bela refocused her binoculars on Singer's house. Two men just went inside, and they didn't exactly arrive in a normal fashion. Even with that spectacular entrance, one had needed to carry the other. What was going on there? And would it be enough of a distraction to get Dean's amulet?

She opted to wait for a day or two and watch the house. Perhaps there would be more opportunities for profit here. Bela chewed her lower lip, her curiosity overwhelming her sense of self-preservation. She shifted against the telephone pole she was currently strapped to. Her decision made, Bela climbed down slowly, stopping every few feet to check on Singer's house again. Nothing changed.

When her feet hit the ground, Bela pulled off the bright orange jumpsuit. Tossing it into her new rental car, rented under a different name, Bela swapped the boots with the spikes for climbing the pole with her black sneakers. She pulled her hair back, out of the way.

Putting her considerable skills, learned mostly from Daddy, to work, Bela slipped through the salvage yard to the house. She kept one ear out for that dog, but Bela was pretty sure the beast was still inside the house. She checked the pepper spray in her pocket, just in case.

Bela crouched under one of Singer's windows. It was closed, but that didn't mean she couldn't hear what was happening inside. She removed an object from her pocket, uncoiled the thin wire from it and stuck one end in her ear. The other end looked like a suction cup, which she stuck on one lower corner of the window. With a smile, Bela realized she could hear everything from inside the room now. She tapped a button on the side of the small box attached to the wire.

"Well, you got to admit, even for angels this is weird," a gruff voice that must be Bobby Singer said.

"Even for angels?" another voice demanded. "How about, especially for angels? This has never happened before, you know that!"

"Easy, Ralph," Dean's voice said calmly. "He didn't mean anything by it."

"Sorry," the new voice said. "I just... What is that dog doing now?"

Now a low chuckle. "I think she's standing guard." That was Sam, it had to be. "Dean?"

A matching chuckle. "Probably. Hope she doesn't squish him. Hillary, get down. You can stand guard from the floor."

Bela's curiosity got the better of her. She peered over the windowsill into the room. A huge dog jumped down from the sofa. Now that the dog was out of the way, she could see a man unconscious and spread out over the sofa, his legs hanging off one end. He wasn't bad looking, but if he was mixed up with the Winchesters, he was bad news.

-

He floated in the darkness, enjoying the solitude and the escape from his troubles. As he floated Michael reached below him, wondering if he was on a fluffy white cloud. The image made him laugh. Perhaps he should take up the harp.

Michael rolled over, stretching out in his one place of bliss. He blinked hard as his blanket of nothingness faded, replaced by a wide cemetery in a haze of off-white light. Dean stood in front of him talking to Sam. Michael approached slowly, unsure if they knew he was here.

"There you are," Dean snapped when he walked up. "You cover that side," he motioned with an old gun.

"And what are you going to do, Dean?" Sam demanded in a hiss.

"Go right up to him," Dean replied, glaring at Sam.

Sam shoved Dean in the chest. "No, Dean. You can't do that! He'll kill you."

Dean held up the old gun. Michael wondered if that was the missing Colt Dean mentioned from time to time. "We have this. I'm planning on it going the other way."

As Sam sputtered out a response, Dean shoved the gun in Sam's hand before he strode away with purpose.

"Come on," Sam growled at Michael. "Before he gets himself killed."

Michael felt himself propelled away, one of Sam's unbelievably strong hands on his arm. Since Dean cured him, should Sam be this strong? They wound up behind a crypt, peering around the side while Dean stood right in the middle of the cemetery shouting insults.

"I hate Dean being bait," Sam muttered. He glanced over at Michael. "That's Dad's fault, you know. He was always using Dean as bait." He sighed. "He said Dean was really good at it. You can't panic when you're the bait, can't cause things to move too fast for your backup." Sam's head shook back and forth. "Dean is good at it. That's Dad's fault."

"Is anything not your dad's fault?" Michael whispered, annoyed with Sam's whining.

Sam shrugged, appearing completely undisturbed by the question. "Just the stuff that's my fault."

O-kay. Whatever that was supposed to mean. Michael concentrated on Dean instead of continuing that conversation. A man approached Dean, smiling with yellow eyes. Azazel? Wasn't Azazel supposed to be dead? He had sensed the passing of the fallen, it had drawn his attention to Sam. Dean had already been on his radar.

"Damn it," Sam growled, rushing forward, gun at the ready.

Distracted, Michael hurried to catch up. Dean sailed through the air until he plummeted, back first, with a sharp crack into a marble crypt. Michael heard the sharp exhale of air from Dean as his body slid down the wall, the soft thump of Dean's body hitting the ground. He slumped over, face blank and eyes wide open. He looked dead and still Michael couldn't feel it, couldn't sense what had just happened to Dean.

Sam tried to shoot the demon while its attention was on Dean, with disastrous results. Sam wasn't flung quite as far as Dean, but one of his knees struck a tombstone as he soared toward the ground and Sam howled in pain. The old gun landed far from where Sam sprawled on the ground. Michael didn't know who to run to, who to help, or if he should. Perhaps he should take on Azazel himself. It would be breaking a big rule, but it might be worth it.

"Sam!" Dean's sharp voice sounded behind him. Michael spun, shocked that he was alive. Dean lay on the ground holding the old gun, his face ablaze with a fury Michael had rarely seen in his long lifetime. He pulled the trigger. Michael turned swiftly to follow the path of the bullet. It pierced the head of Azazel's host, destroying the fallen one for good.

"Sam!" Dean called again, attempting to drag himself closer to his brother.

"Stay there, Dean!" Sam shouted back. "You shouldn't move."

Then Michael saw something he had never witnessed before. Although Dean was in extreme pain, he had to be, his face blanked of all emotion except determination. Arm over arm, he commando-crawled to his younger brother over Sam's protests. Sam dragged his wounded leg limply behind him as he scooted to Dean, since it was clear that Dean staying put was not a possibility. Michael wanted to help, he even tried healing Dean, but it was like he was a mere human.

"Check on Sam, Bobby," Dean insisted as he crawled along. "That knee looks bad."

Michael stopped in his tracks, one hand on Dean's shoulder. Bobby? They thought he was Bobby? How could they possibly...

The realization washed over him like a spring shower. This wasn't his dream, it came from one of the Winchesters, or maybe even Singer. What was it doing here, though? Was this the reason for the pain he experienced? Had this happened during his brief time in court?

Michael struggled to pull himself from the dreamworld, knowing he was needed in the here and now. Azazel was back, somehow, and the three humans had taken him on. They needed him, he could still help, maybe even heal their injuries. It would be allowed for Dean at least, possibly even for Sam.

"Michael? You need to wake up now. It's all right. I don't think the pain will come back."

Michael struggled to place the voice. He knew it, he was certain he did. It was familiar and warm. Safe. Raphael.

"Michael, you need to wake up. Right now. Dean is determined to try healing you again if you don't."

Dean. The off-color light, not bright or pure enough to be a full angel, it had to be from Dean. Dean tried to heal him of the pain. Emboldened by such a selfless action, Michael rose from the depths of his personal solitude. He did not need it now.

"No, Dean!" Sam said angrily. "You can wait a little longer."

A dog barked. Probably that big mutt of Singer's Raphael had told him about.

"You said it yourself, Sam, he can't take it. I can. Now get out of the way!" Dean sounded distressed, because of him.

"Wait," Raphael spoke. "I think he's coming around."

It was hard work cracking his eyelids open, harder than he remembered it being before. Wonderful sunlight poured in, streaming though a filthy window. Michael took a deep breath before attempting to look around. Dean hovered close by with Sam at his shoulder, always right there like he belonged at his brother's side. Michael was someplace he had not been before, but he did recognize Bobby Singer standing on Dean's other side. He shifted experimentally, in a wonder that the pain was actually gone.

"What happened?" he asked, searching their faces. Not one of them looked like they had just been in a battle with a demon, though he had clearly seen it in his dream. "Raphael, did you heal them?"

"Did I heal who?" Raphael asked. Michael felt a strong hand grasp his shoulder and hang on tight. He could tell without looking it was Raphael. There were advantages to immortality. Not many, but a few. One was being able to know another immortal so well that he could identify the other by touch.

"Dean and Sam," Michael said, motioning to the brothers who wore identical confused expressions. "After the battle."

"Michael?" Again it was Raphael's smooth voice, and his confusion washed over Michael. "There was no battle."

Now it was Michael who was confused. He pushed to a sit, allowing Raphael's hand to help. "But I saw it," he insisted. "In my dream, I saw it. Dean was thrown into a wall. Hard. That had to be what caused the pain in my back. Sam was knocked out of the action. Then Dean shot the fallen, Azazel. They couldn't look like this immediately after that happened."

"We didn't," Sam said. "Michael, that happened nearly two years ago."

Michael just shook his head, Sam must have misunderstood. "No, that had to be the pain I felt," he argued. "It fit perfectly with how Dean hit that crypt."

One of Dean's eyebrows arched. "Maybe you shouldn't help out next time I land on my back," he said slowly. "And how did you know I hit a crypt? We never told you that."

Michael clenched his jaw, restraining his desire to lash out at these unreasonable people. "Because I just saw it," he managed to say without shouting, with effort. Sam took a step forward, a limping step forward.

"Your knee!" He pointed at Sam. "You hit that on a headstone. See?" he demanded of Dean. "It just happened, Sam's still limping."

"Dude, Sam's been limping since he met you," Dean said slowly. He turned to look at Sam. "You did hit it on a headstone, didn't you? I mean, I always assumed that, but I didn't see it."

Sam nodded slowly, staring at Michael. "What I don't get is why Mike is dreaming about when we killed the demon. Did you dream about what happened before that?"

Michael thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. "I'm not sure. It started with Dean setting himself up as bait, then I saw him thrown into that crypt."

Sam turned to Dean. "Sounds like he got to skip over the first part."

Dean grunted. "Lucky him." One of Dean's hands moved up to grip his right shoulder.

"There was more?" Michael demanded. He might have stood up, but Raphael's hand kept him sitting on Bobby's sofa.

"You'd better believe it," Bobby said, sinking into the chair opposite. "That whole deal lasted about an hour, felt like ten years." The older man sighed heavily. "Never felt so damned helpless in all my life."

Dean chuckled, moved over to rest a hand on Bobby's shoulder. "If it hadn't been for Bobby here, Sam and I would have become permanent residents of that graveyard."

Bobby shot the younger man a glare, but Michael sensed no malice in it. "Pull somethin' that stupid again, and I'll leave ya there."

"You just keep saying that, Uncle Bobby," Sam said with the grin that held an almost permanent position on his face these days. "We know better."

Bobby leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. He 'harrumphed' loudly, causing grins to spread on the faces of the brothers. Dean and Sam shared a look that Michael had no hope of understanding, but he watched as perfect understanding passed between them. Sam's grin broadened and Dean chuckled, the hand on Bobby's shoulder squeezing gently.

Bobby cocked his head toward the brothers as he looked at Michael. "Almost like you can hear 'em, ain't it?"

"Almost," Michael admitted, realizing he might have to use that in his prosecution. He felt understanding pass through Raphael's hand into him, how special these brothers were, why Michael allowed himself such a soft spot for them.

"Dean?" Michael looked up into hazel eyes with a light green glow that he recognized as concern. "Does your back always hurt?"

Sam's head dropped low, like he was ashamed of the answer.

"It's not that bad," Dean said quickly, but he was looking at Sam not Michael. "Especially since all this other crap happened. Some days I don't even notice it."

Sam's downturned head tilted to one side to look at Dean through those thick bangs. "Still need a hand sometimes," he said softly. "You shouldn't have been bait."

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically. "Dude, would you quit with that already? Worked, didn't it? We lived. The demon died. End of story." He motioned to Michael now. "And if this idiot hadn't tried to help out the last time I landed on my back, this probably wouldn't have happened."

"He has a point," Raphael said. His hand was still on Michael's shoulder, almost possessively. "Don't do that again."

"Something must have caused it, though," Michael insisted. "Right? Something?"

Dean shrugged, glancing over at Sam.

"Well," Sam said slowly, "Dean was wrestling on the ground with Hillary."

"That was last night," Michael said dismissively. "I'm talking about more recently than that."

Dean's face blanked. Michael stared hard, not quite believing what he was seeing. "Dean? What is it?"

Dean turned his head to one side, but it was like he couldn't bring himself to shake his head. Trying to lie?

"Dean." The way Sam said his name was a clear threat, of what Michael had no idea, but it was definitely a threat.

"Mike hasn't tried Bobby's beer yet," Dean said, walking out of the room. "I'll grab one for you."

Sam's jaw dropped as his eyes hardened. Even Bobby appeared disturbed. What was going on here?