For fans of warm fuzzies, this chapter is for you! Well, there's that and some plot. Yeah, I know, but I do find having plot helps encourage my writing. Thanks again to everyone following this (Hi Mom!) and to my awesome theological adviser (you know what's dedicated to you!).

Chapter 39 Changes

Mike sat atop his favorite mountain looking down. Dense cloud cover obscured his view of the village below, but that was fine. He didn't want to think about people or problems. Right now he could pretend to be the only living thing on the face of the Earth. Well, one of two.

"Hey, Ra-a-afe," he greeted, barely catching his slip in time.

Raphael squatted next to him shaking his head. "I'll make a deal with you, Michael. You can call me Ralph if I can call you Mike."

He did not answer right away, preferring watching the misty clouds below to seeing Raphael's face. To agree to the deal would be tantamount to admitting Dean had influenced him. To not agree might alienate Raphael, and he could not live with that. Being immortal, it was important to know the things you could and could not live with, because you had to live with them for a long time. Plus, he discovered he already thought of Raphael as Ralph.

"Yeah, okay," Mike said, still focused on the mist inching towards them. "Just don't tell Gabe."

"Gabe?" Raphael asked as he settled in next to Mike. "Who's Gabe?"

Mike shot Ralph a quick glance. "Gabriel?"

Ralph shook his head. "You're behind. It's Gabby now. I think Dean changed it to be complimentary, since she's Sam's defense attorney."

Mike groaned, rolling out his shoulders. Where did this stiffness come from? "He really doesn't have a clue about her, does he?"

"Well," Ralph said slowly, leaning back to stare up at the sky, "she hasn't broken out the flaming sword yet, so I'd have to say he's holding his own."

"I hope so," Mike muttered. "Did you notice the dog?" he asked quickly in the hopes of diverting Ralph's attention from the trial.

"You recognized Dean bonded her with his brother?" Ralph asked. He picked up a rock the size of his fist, flinging it toward the sky. Mike watched as the rock arced back down in a brilliant streak which would not be visible to anyone on the ground in this weather. In the old days they often used such methods to warn humans of impending disaster. Now people liked watching meteor showers, so it lost all of its effectiveness. Still, he and Ralph occasionally made their own show, just for fun.

Mike picked up a rock, sent it hurtling through the sky in a similar fashion. "No, not that part," he admitted. "Just that she acts like she's a part of them." It was as close to telling Ralph what he suspected of Dean building up his own network as he dared. "It would explain why she doesn't like you or Gabriel, though."

"Yes, it does," Raphael replied. Another rock shot through the atmosphere. "What would you suggest I do, to win Sam over?"

Mike tried to make his next rock follow the exact same route as Ralph's. His eyes followed the searing path back through the atmosphere until the rock burned up miles above the ground. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the metaphor he needed to use. "Imagine that you're Sam and I'm Dean. What would convince you some unbelievably powerful archangel who is overseeing your trial isn't a threat? Especially after another archangel has caused your brother to undergo such extreme changes?"

Ralph sent another rock into the sky. "Lost cause? I was afraid of that. I kind of like the kid." His shoulder bumped Mike's. "What about Singer? Think he has some influence? He says I'm his favorite angel."

"I think Singer has more influence than he realizes," Mike said as his eyes scoured the area. The rest of the rocks around him just weren't up to par. "We might need a new spot," he said, "I don't like the looks of the rest of these rocks."

"You picked it," Ralph replied.

"Pain in the ass," Mike mumbled softly, still searching for a suitable rock.

He felt a nudge in his side. Mike turned his head to lock gazes with Raphael. "You too," his friend told him.

Mike felt the grin spread over his face, helpless to stop it. "I know. Really made a mess this time, didn't I?"

Ralph shrugged, eyes never wavering. "It's not all bad. One way or another, we'll get all three of them through it."

"Four," Mike said, holding up one hand. "Don't forget the dog."

Ralph frowned at him. "I didn't. Oh, but I did forget Singer. Okay, all four of them." His frown drifted away, replaced by a look of intense curiosity. "What would you think of Gabriel using the dog as a witness?"

Mike stared back. The possibility had never occurred to him. "I'd say it would take the prosecution completely by surprise. And it'd be impossible to refute the animal's testimony, since most dogs are incapable of lying."

Ralph winked. "I was hoping you'd say that. I'll go talk to her, see if I can convince her to do it. The dog really hates her, so no promises."

Mike nodded in understanding. "I'll talk to Dean about that, see if he can get Sam and the dog to back off her, but no promises."

Ralph waved a hand over the craggy ground in front of them. Numerous rocks, of the perfect shape and size and number for a small private meteor shower, appeared. Ralph handed him one. "Later," he said as he pulled his arm back for the throw.

Mike picked one up, looking at Ralph quizzically. "What rock quarry did you get these from? That place in Australia?"

"Come on, Mike," he said, using the new nickname for the first time, "if you're going to do something, you should do it right." Ralph threw him a wink. Ralph thought the best meteor shower rocks either came from Australia or the asteroid belt. Australia for the size and shape, the belt for the weight. These had the markings of Australia.

Mike imitated Ralph's pose, which was an imitation of Ralph's favorite Greek statue. "Right. Let's do this."

The rock pair streaked through the sky, each perfectly mirroring the other's trajectory. Mike grinned at the sight. He might have made a mess of things, but maybe it wasn't such a bad mess. Maybe some good could come of it.

The phone fell from Bela's shaking fingers. Water. She needed water. She stumbled into the hotel bathroom to splash some cool water on her face, smearing her makeup. Not that she cared. Huge numbers flashed through her mind, stealing her breath and setting her hands trembling again. She splashed more water on herself, soaking the hair around her face and the front of her shirt. Control. She had to get a grip.

Bela stared at her reflection as she breathed deeply. Screw the retirement score, this one would keep her rolling in high dollars for the rest of her life. All she had to do was figure out how to trap an archangel, she wasn't even to be responsible for transportation. The client insisted on providing transportation. It was almost too perfect, but Bela was not about to look at this one too close. As long as she got the money promised, they could rent the angel out for kids' birthday parties for all she cared.

With a little proof of her claim, Bela could get a 'good faith' down payment. They wanted video, if it were possible. Since the voices of the angels didn't record Bela did wonder if video would capture them, but it was worth trying. She decided to use several different recording media, in case one worked better than the others. As soon as her nerves settled, she needed to go shopping. At least she didn't need to research what it would take to restrain an angel, the client would be delivering precisely what would be needed as soon as they had their proof.

Well, if video did not work, she could always invite the client to come see the angel personally. Since he seemed to be drawn to Dean, Bela could use the obnoxious man as bait. She heard Dean always volunteered to be bait when he hunted, so he ought to feel right at home with it.

Sam paced the small kitchen, unwilling to do his worrying where there was more space out of fear of waking Dean.

"You could pace outside," Bobby suggested as he rummaged in the fridge. "I don't think that would wake up your stubborn-ass brother."

Sam blew out a noisy breath. "He'd probably hear the door and coming running out after me. No, Bobby, I have to stay inside while he's sleeping, so he won't worry."

Bobby's head popped above the fridge door. "Sam. Dean's asleep. I've been in and out that door ten times since he crashed and he hasn't moved. Go outside and drive Hillary crazy instead of me."

Sam just grunted in response as his pacing reached an almost frantic level. "You weren't caught chit-chatting with a demon about her wanting permission to use your name to start a demon war. Dean's not worried about you."

He wasn't completely surprised when Bobby appeared in his path, blocking Sam from pacing. Annoyed, but not surprised. "Now what?" Sam demanded.

"That's not why you're pacing, is it?" Bobby asked in a gentle voice.

Damn it. It was cool when Bobby did this to Dean, not to him. Sam glared at their oldest and dearest friend. Family. Friend. No, Bobby was definitely more like family, which meant Sam didn't have to hold back. So he ground his teeth as he glared.

"You're worried about the back spasms," Bobby stated, glaring back. "Kind of explains a few things though, doesn't it?"

Sam exhaled noisily through his nose as he ran his hands through his hair. "Like when he takes naps for no reason, and gets moodier than usual." Mentally he connected the dots he had been ignoring for nearly two years. He backed up to lean against the kitchen counter. "God, it's been happening the whole time, hasn't it? Since the fight."

His eyes searched out Bobby's, hoping to find the same fear and worry. Sam was not disappointed.

"Damn kid's always been good at hiding things," Bobby said in the same gentle tone. Pain creased the older man's face. "Still have the number of those doctors? Maybe there's still something we can do, something he can take for it. Hell, I dunno, some special kind of exercise. Anything." Bobby's arms flung open wide.

"Yeah." Sam scrambled for his phone. "Yeah, right. Good idea. I think I still have their numbers, you know, just in case." He scrolled through his phone list, starting with D for doctor. Ah-ha, here they were. There were five doctors listed. Shit. Fine, he would call them all.

Doctor One's number now belonged to a mechanic in South Dakota. Doctor Two had been Dean's internist. Doctor Three didn't answer. On doctor four Sam hit paydirt. Finally.

"Yes, I remember Dean Singer," he said. "Amazing recovery. I wrote a paper about it which was published in several medical journals. Rather grateful to him for that."

Sam tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice. "Well, he's my brother."

"Right, you were hospitalized too, but I don't remember why. Sorry you weren't more of an interesting case," the doctor said conversationally.

"Yeah. Sorry about that." Sam rolled his eyes and took a deep breath before trying again. "Anyway, the reason I'm calling is to see if you remember those phantom pains Dean was experiencing?"

"Uh-huh. Sure. Why?" He heard some papers shuffling in the background. "Does he need to come back in?"

"Why?" Sam asked eagerly. "Is there something you can do?"

"Well, we can run more tests," the doctor offered. "If there is a physical reason for the pain we may be able to find it now. I remember trying to convince Dean to come back in about six months after his last scheduled appointment so we could check on the pain, but he wasn't interested."

"Figures," Sam grumbled. "If I brought him in now, would you be able to take a look at him?"

"Are you kidding?" the doctor sounded as eager as Sam felt. "Tell you what, I'm supposed to be off this Friday, but I'll come in to see Dean. How does that sound?"

"Great." Sam gave Bobby a relieved look and the older man's whole demeanor shifted from anxious to more relaxed. "We'll see you on Friday. What time?"

"Does nine work for you? That should give us enough time to run some tests and give him a pretty thorough physical before Dean's patience runs out completely."

Sam chuckled over the doctor's concerns. "You do remember my brother. Sure, nine is great. See you then."

Sam returned his phone to his pocket feeling a ton of weight lifted from his shoulders.

"What was that about the doc remembering Dean?" Bobby asked curiously.

Sam felt a grin coming on. "He said at that time of the morning, he should be able to do the tests and give Dean a physical before Dean's patience runs out completely."

Bobby grinned back. "Yep. Dean's a hard one to forget." One meaty hand grasped Sam's shoulder. "We'll figure this out, Sam. I'm sure there's something that can be done."

Sam nodded at Bobby, the pressure in his chest easing a little.

"Now, what was that crap about you chatting with demons?" Bobby asked, the hand on his shoulder tightening to an uncomfortable degree.

Crap.

Ruby laid stretched out on the cheap motel bed listening to the sound of her host body breathing. It was a reassuring sound, familiar. It reminded her of a time long ago when she had a body of her own.

She had crossed paths with the Archangel Michael, twice, and lived. How many demons could actually make that claim? Well Azazel, obviously, but he was dead. There were a few more demons able to lay claim to crossing paths with Dean Winchester and living, but it was still a select group . Ruby suspected all of them met Dean when he was still fully human, which put her in a class all of her own.

Could she use this to her advantage? Could this help in her quest to banish the others back to Hell?

She would start by visiting the others still loyal to Sam Winchester. Since she could not claim to represent him, Ruby would have to settle for the truth; Sam's demon-hunting brother had angelic abilities now. Everyone after Sam had far more of a challenge than they knew. Then again, perhaps she should keep that part to herself. Ruby could subtly give out Sam's location, just one or two demons at a time, lead them to their doom at Singer's. She still had her list and there were many names remaining.

Maybe in a little while Ruby would feel like moving. The sound of breathing meant they were still alive. For now, she would lie here and listen to her body breathe.

Dean shifted to lie flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Sam knew. Bobby knew. Freaking Mike and Ralph knew. Maybe he should rent a flashing neon sign: Dean has back pain. Did it really matter? It never stopped him from doing his job, never hindered a hunt, never kept him from protecting Sam.

If only he had backed down to Mike, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have freaky angel things happening, glowing eyes, or be able to read the darn dog's mind. Not to mention his new built-in profanity filter. Talk about having your hands tied. How was he supposed to be able to express himself without using the proper language? Then there was the whole no-lying thing. Honestly, and it wasn't like he could be anything but, he lied more to Sam than anybody except chicks. From 'I'm fine Sam' to 'your latest temper tantrum didn't hurt my feelings.' Now – nada. Heck, Sam could even tell what he was feeling. Again.

Was that Sam's doing or his, though? Before it had been all Sam, but now? He did like knowing Sam didn't have plans on sneaking off to hide behind a white picket fence someplace. Did that mean he caused it this time? Was his frigging self-esteem really so low? Well, yeah, it was, but that didn't mean he did it.

He was thinking in circles now, not reaching any new conclusions. It would take Sam's brain to figure out why they shared emotions and thoughts again, not his.

Satisfied with the thought it was Sam who needed to figure this out, Dean carefully shifted his back. It was sore and tired but no mind-bending, knee-crashing, life-altering pain. Good. Even so, he still didn't want to move. Moving meant going upstairs to a real bed, which would be better for his back, but still required movement. He just didn't want to move. The sofa wasn't the greatest furniture in the world, but it was comfortable enough.

A whine came from outside. Hillary wanted to come in. "Go tell Sam," he called out, closing his eyes.

"Tell Sam what?" his brother's voice demanded.

Dean opened his eyes again. Sam appeared far more relaxed than he had earlier, which was kind of suspicious. "Hillary wants inside. Probably looking for a nap in the a/c and a belly rub."

"Is she heading for the door?" Sam asked. Funny how little bro didn't seem disturbed by the fact he was asking Dean to communicate with a frigging dog.

"Probably," he said. Sam headed for the front door, but Hillary wasn't that far yet. "Kitchen door, it's closer to the food."

Sam chuckled as he turned around. "Back in a minute," he promised. "There's something I want to talk to you about."

"Bobby still owes the mutt some steak!" Dean shouted as he allowed his eyes to fall shut.

He might have fallen asleep again, he couldn't be sure, but suddenly Sam was sitting in the chair facing the sofa. Dean didn't even need to open his eyes to know, which was just a little creepy. A gentle warm nuzzle of his hand told Dean Hillary was here too, and Sam had produced the promised reward. She grunted agreeably as she settled on the floor next to him. He smiled as his fingers sifted through her fur.

"What'd you want to talk about?" Dean asked. Sam had seen him move. He probably wouldn't have been able to fake sleeping anyway, too much like lying.

"Uh, well..." Sam cleared his throat. Uneasiness and Sam-guilt pervaded the room. Dean opened his eyes. Surely Sam wasn't still stressing over the demon? It wasn't like he had made any deals. Had he? Dean did a quick emotional check, but the guilt felt older than a few hours, more like years' worth. He'd better not need to sit up for this.

"I kept the numbers for your doctors. Because of your back," Sam said, his words a frenzied rush. "You have an appointment on Friday, the doctor is coming in on his day off just to see you."

Dean allowed the sour expression to cover his face. "Because I'm such an interesting case?"

Sam's cheeks pinked as he winced. "You remember him."

Dean rolled his eyes. "How could I forget the asshole? Do you remember all the people he used to parade through my room? That jackass actually wanted me to come back in every six months to monitor me, like that was going to happen."

Sam's eyes widened. "Did you just use the words asshole and jackass?"

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Dude, I'm way too tired to figure any of this crap out. All I want to do is sleep for about ten years." He waved a hand in Sam's direction. "Figuring stuff out is your territory."

"Dean, there might be something they can do and I want you to go. And you're wrong." Sam's eyes fixed on him.

"Now what am I wrong about?" Dean asked in resignation. Did Sam come spoiling for a fight?

"We figure stuff out," Sam said and he looked serious when he said it. Dean studied his brother for a moment, waiting for the punch line. "You and me."

Dean kept waiting. Sam had a point to make, but darned if he knew what it was.

Sam's face relaxed into a sympathetic expression. "Okay, I know I don't say it. Like ever. But just one of the reasons you're so good at the job is because you're really good at figuring things out. So I'll see if there's anything to research, and I might make a list. A little one. And then we'll go over what I find together. Okay?"

Sam meant it, nobody could fake that kind of sincerity. "Whatever," Dean replied, closing his eyes.

"So you'll go to the doctor?" Sam asked.

What did the doctor have to do with research? Dean groaned, shifting on the couch again. Next thing he knew, a heavy warm weight was right in the middle of his chest. He peeked at his chest to find Hillary's huge head staring at him. She made some noises, but he knew exactly what she wanted.

"If you'll let me go back to sleep, I'll go to the stupid doctor," Dean promised her. Apparently satisfied, Hillary shifted her head off his chest. She stretched out beside the couch with a deep grunt and a muffled plop of her heavy body hitting the floor.

"Bobby should buy her a bed," Dean mumbled with his eyes closed and fingers buried in warm, soft fur.

"We'll take care of it later," Sam's voice promised from someplace close yet very far away. "Promise, Dean."