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"Every soldier must know, before he goes into battle, how the little battle he is to fight fits into the larger picture, and how the success of his fighting will influence the battle as a whole"—Bernard Law Montgomery

They would kill him if they knew he was doing this. Hell, maybe it was his desperation finally reaching its breaking point. Out on a beer run, Dean had told them. Cas was still out cold, and Sam was still giving him the cold shoulder. So there was no sense in sticking around. He left Bobby and Sam to their Righteous Man research.

Dean suspected Pestilence and Death both still had a role to play in Lucifer's big plan, and that finding them may lead him to Lucifer. Yet, all Dean was able to scrounge up on them was their blood type and favorite hobby. Nothing to indicate how to track them down. He even tried doing it the old-school way. Paper trails and a map. He didn't get very far with Pestilence. He ended up tracking the Horseman down to some clinic in Dearborn, Michigan before the trail went cold. As for Death, that bastard was everywhere. How could you pinpoint Death when people were dropping like flies all over the fricken map?

One thing War and Famine both had in common besides that they were brothers was this: demons. Well, War created delusions of demons, and maybe he didn't have a horde like Famine did because he was so damn arrogant. The common factor between the two horsemen were demons.

"This is a new low for you, Winchester," Dean muttered as he lit the match. He dropped it into the summoning bowl and it sparked into a puff of flames before it sputtered out. Dean rose to his feet, waiting.

"People don't use the bloody phones anymore, do they?" the sharp Scottish accent pierced the room.

Crowley adjusted the sleeve of his jacket suit as he cocked a brow at Dean.

"Sorry, you're not in the phone book," Dean said.

"Ah. Well, we can rectify that." Crowley gestured down the devil's trap. "I must admit, I don't do bondage until the fourth date."

Dean chuckled in spite of himself. He walked around the trap as Crowley watched him closely. "I ought to kill you where you stand. The Colt didn't work..."

"Ah, so that's what happened. I thought you morons bloody missed."

"We lost good people on that mission," Dean growled.

"Oh, piss on you. I've gone underground into hiding. I've lost loyal followers. Hell is in disarray, they burned down my house, and ate my TAILOR!"

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to feel sorry for you? Sorry, pal, I'm not going to act out that script," Dean said.

Crowley scoffed. "No. You're just trying to figure out a way to use me. Fair warning. I don't play well with others."

"You said you had followers," Dean said,

"Did I?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "How loyal are they?"

"Lucifer may have his doted obsessive fans, but that's all he has...blind obedience. As King of the Crossroads, I may have secured some loyal knights of the roundtable, you may say."

"You trust them?"

"Have I taught you nothing?"

Dean smiled. He remembered what Crowley said when they first met. "Right, don't trust anyone."

Crowley snapped his fingers. "Good to see you're not just another pretty face."

Dean glared. He hated how everyone always said that. "Are you planning to hide under the rock during the end of the world?"

"And what does a mudmonkey like you want from me? I thought demons were beneath you."

"It's end times. You're either on Lucifer's side, or not."

"Alliance against a common enemy. Like I asked. What do you want from me?"

Which was more important? Lucifer or the Horsemen? Looks like Dean is going to have to start big. "Any other ideas on how to stop Lucifer?"

"I was betting on the Colt, but it looks like the house won. Other ideas, though, hmmm, here's a thought: he's a BLOODY ANGEL!"

Dean's brows raised.

"Since the dawn of time, the only thing that can kill another angel is an angel. So I suggest you strap Michael on and go kill the petulant child!"

"And roast half the planet?" Dean growled.

"Meh, half of them are already going to hell anyway."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you like habiting this planet better than the sweat box downstairs."

Crowley pursed his lips. "Valid point."

Why did he summon this ass of a demon? It felt like all they were doing was beating around the bush.

"I'll find a way to stop Lucifer. I just need you to help me find him," Dean said.

"I'm not the only one who's gone underground. Satan is making his Horsemen do his work for him because he's having issues with trying not to blow up his vessel. I have word that Lucifer is plotting a dark scheme."

"You let me worry about that. Can you find him?" Dean pressed.

Crowley cocked his head. "You screwed up killing Lucifer with the Colt. Why should I join alongside with you? What do you have to offer me?"

"That's what it all boils down to, isn't it?" Dean said. "What you get out of it."

"Demon. It's in the job description."

Naturally. Why was Dean here? What in hell propelled Dean to summon Crowley? Sure, the King of Crosswords could get closer to Lucifer than the rest of them.

"Lucifer's head on a spike," Dean declared. "And you'll become the new King of Hell."

Crowley raised both his brows. "Interesting. So certain are you, young Skywalker."

Dean smirked. "Trust me. I hold to my promises. I vowed to kill Yellow-Eyes, and I did. I told Zach-the-douche-angel, I was going to stab in the face, and I did. I told Lucifer I was going to squash him like a cockroach, and I will."

Crowley mirrored Dean's expression. "Is that so?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge what he could out of Dean.

Dean just waited.

"There's something about you…" Crowley muttered. He shrugged. "Maybe I have a thing for squirrels. They are playful little buggers."

Dean grumbled.

"Until Lucifer is no longer an issue, I supposed we could play nice."

Dean pulled a knife from his pocket, to scrap the orange paint of the devil's trap. "I suppose we can."

Bobby handed Sam a bottle of pissed-down beer. The kid mumbled a thanks, eyes not leaving the page. Bobby scanned over it as he took a sip of the beer Sam had brought weeks ago. He winced. He liked heavy liquor more than beer, but he'd take what he could get. Seems like the Winchesters always cleared out Bobby's liquor cabinet. He furrowed his brows. Sam was still stuck on the same page as a half hour ago.

He rolled his wheelchair forward so that he could face Sam. "You've been quiet since Michael left."

Bobby was still on edge. He checked his angel-proofing of the house, but he's not sure if he got it right. He didn't want Michael coming back without their permission. He didn't like Dean leaving the house all of a sudden. There was still that crazed look in the boy's eyes, like when he'd been itching to say yes to Michael a few days ago.

Sam turned to Bobby, conflicted. Finally, he spoke his mind. "Don't get me wrong, I love my brother, but do you believe that Dean could be the righteous man?"

"I can see it," Bobby said. "But our definition of righteous may be different than what our research indicates, or hell, what God means it to be."

"It's just...Dean's so self-righteous."

"We all act self-righteous," Bobby gruffed out. "You had a self-righteous phase not so long ago, with the demon blood..." And he didn't necessarily agreed with how Sam treated Dean, then again, Bobby didn't know how to deal with Dean's trauma in hell.

He knew the boy still had nightmares about it. Dean obviously suffered PTSD, and he had no idea how to help the boy.

"No, I mean, he always believes he's right and..."

"Hold on, there's a difference in believing you're right and acting that you're right."

Sam's mouth worked and his brows creased. "What, Bobby?"

He chuckled. "Your daddy...most self-righteous man I've ever met. It was his way or the highway."

Sam scoffed. "Don't I know that."

"John was very narrow-minded. Once he had his head wrapped around something, there was no talking them out of it. He firmly believed everything he did was the right thing, that he never committed any errors. Toward the end, he started to express some regret in how he treated you boys..."

Too little, too late.

"Dean sticks to his guns because he's afraid he's wrong. You take away hunting, you take away you, Sam, and what are you left with? Who is Dean?"

Sam was quiet, yet Bobby could see the wheels turning in his head.

"At Dean's heart, he's a caretaker. John used Dean's heart against him," Bobby writhed his hands, "maybe not intentionally, but he did."

Bobby had caught many moments of a young Dean caring for his father after a hunt, caring for Sammy. John placed way too much on Dean's shoulder. After losing his mother in a traumatic death, a four-year-old Dean had to raise Sam and himself, had to take care of a father hell-bent on revenge. John manipulated Dean to be the perfect, obedient soldier.

He'd never tell Sam, but it was actually Dean who fought with John to ensure Sam stayed a kid as long as possible. It was the reason why Sam was kept in the dark, and even when Sam found out, Dean was still adamant about it.

"Dean sticks to your father's ideals because he doesn't know who he is. He's only known what he's told to be."

Sam glanced down at his hands. "I always wondered how Dean would've turned out...if Mom never died, if he didn't have to raise me."

"I think he would've treated you more like an equal," Bobby said.

Sam shot his gaze up to Bobby. "You think?"

"The way Dean treats you now? As an extremely over-protective parent. He sees you as someone he must protect at all cost, because that's what he was raised to do."

"A child soldier," Sam muttered. "We studied the psychology effects on them in one of my criminal classes at school. I never thought to apply them to Dean...I feel terrible, Bobby, about how I treated him after he came back from Hell. I didn't know how to help him, so I thought becoming stronger so that he didn't have to take care of me would..." Tears prickled Sam's eyes. "Did anybody ever care for him, like Mom used to?"

"Yeah." Bobby stole a glance at Castiel, watching the rise and fall of the angel's chest. "Yeah. I'm sure someone did. Besides, that idjit had us."

Sam smiled at that, though it didn't quite reach his cheeks. "Yeah, I'm not so sure he has me. I've really let him down. I was pissed when he told me he couldn't trust me, like when has he ever, but I think I get it now."

Bobby loved Sam and Dean like sons, it'd hurt to see a crack in the boys' relationship. He knew it could be mended, but it was going to take a lot of effort. He thought back to the spiraling events that led to Sam killing Lilith.

Dean looked so dejected, lost. "Sam's gone. He's gone. I'm not even sure if he's still my brother anymore. If he ever was."

Bobby winced at what his reaction was, sweeping the books and papers off his desk. He had advanced onto Dean who suddenly stood from the chair in shock.

"You stupid, stupid son of a bitch. Well, boo hoo. I'm so sorry your feelings are hurt, princess. Are you under the impression that family's supposed to make you feel good?! Make you an apple pie, maybe? They're supposed to make you miserable! That's why they're family!"

Back then, it was the right thing to say. He'd been worried about Sam and he knew Dean would be the only person who could reach the boy. He had told Dean that he was a better man than John, and he meant it, he still did. But Bobby couldn't help but feel like John in that moment, telling Dean to choose Sam over his own well-being, as always.

For once, Bobby would like Dean to choose himself first.

Yet he knew that Dean's heart wouldn't let him.

Dean shifted in his chair, trying to get into a comfortable position with both his legs resting at the bottom of

Castiel's bed.

Bobby had retired for the night, in a bed he kept in the guest room since he lost use of his legs. Dean remembered bringing a bed down for Bobby and making a room up for him after that day, he'd done it when Bobby was out because no way was his surrogate father going to let Dean do him a favor like that without pitching a fit.

He and Sam had bolted out of the house when Bobby came home, and he heard the sounds of "idjits" being screamed when they high-tailed out in the Impala.

Sam now rested upstairs. Dean had forced his brother to sleep. There was no need to push themselves to the point where they were too tired to take on the devil.

Why Dean hadn't take up his own advice? He wanted to be here if...no, when Cas woke up. He owned Castiel that much. The dumbass nearly sacrificed himself again for Dean. That was twice now.

Dean grumbled. Fuck this. He wasn't going to be able to sleep. He swept his legs and got back onto his feet. He headed into the kitchen, grabbing a beer out of the fridge.

He couldn't believe he aligned himself with Crowley. He berated Sam for trusting Ruby and working with her! He twisted the bottle cap off and tossed it into the trash by the door. Then again, it wasn't like he trusted Crowley. He took a swig of beer. Despite how much Dean hated their kind, Crowley was kind of funny. How low had Dean fallen to think a demon...

Dean was suddenly slammed against the wall. The beer bottle smashed to the ground, liquid pouring through the cracks. His widened eyes took in Castiel before him, who held an angel blade to Dean's throat, glaring at him with such intensity.

In a deep, low threatening voice, Castiel snarled, "Get out of him, Michael, or I swear, what Lucifer has in mind for you is nothing compared to what I'll do."

"Cas..." The pressure increased against Dean's throat. He dared not swallowed. Instead, he stared at Castiel, praying that he got the hint.

Castiel glowered, unwavering. His features slowly softened before it morphed into confusion. "Dean?" he questioned in a gravelly voice.

"Yeah," Dean squeaked out.

Castiel stepped back, lowering the blade. He sighed in relief. "You didn't say yes?"

Dean rubbed his neck. "Glad to see you're feeling better."

Castiel glanced around the dark kitchen, moonlight pouring in through window. "I sense Michael's grace."

"He, uh, from my understanding, he healed you."

"He has a vessel?"

"Adam..."

Castiel nodded. "You didn't get to him in time." He swallowed. "I'm sorry I doubted you, Dean."

Oh, well, this was awkward. Did he have to explain the whole story?

Castiel wavered on his feet, and blinked rapidly.

Dean steadied him. Who was he kidding? This was Cas, he deserved to know everything. "I think you were right to, Cas."

He guided the angel back to the bed and sat him down. Then he proceeded to tell Castiel everything that happened. When he finished recounting the deal he made with Michael, Castiel's immediately narrowed his gaze.

"I don't like this," he said.

Shocker. "At least we have Michael on our side for now."

"He's only humoring you, Dean. In this mind, he believes he's already won. You said yes."

And there it was again...the look of defeat. Cas really lost faith in him, didn't he? Dean glanced back at the fallen beer bottle on the floor in the kitchen. Oh, he needed something stronger now.

"You...you mentioned that Bobby and Sam found another way to stop the apocalypse."

Dean hissed in a sharp breath. "You already know what they found."

Brows burrowed deeper and Castiel tilted his head to the side. "I do?"

"The Righteous Man?"

Cas closed his eyes and sank further into the bed. "You didn't want that burden, Dean. So I never pressed."

"So, it's true?"

Castiel opened his eyes and pondered. "Do you have the blade you killed Zachariah with you?"

Dean pulled it out of his sleeve and wondered how the hell it kept ending up back in there.

Castiel inspected it. "You killed the Whore..." he muttered. "You were immune to Famine and...I wonder..."

"What, Cas?"

"I believe perhaps the breaking of the final seal awoke your inner powers."

"Powers?" Dean scoffed, grabbing the blade back from Castiel. "I have no powers, Cas. That's all Sam!"

Castiel growled. "Still no faith in yourself?"

"Don't pull that on me!" Dean stood and turned his back on the angel. "You lost faith in me, so you know I'm not worthy."

Castiel sighed behind him. "Dean...this could be a good thing."

"What?" he spun back to Castiel. "What is? Being a hammer?"

He blinked in surprise when Castiel laughed and it reminded him so much of that 2014 future...of Castiel's broken and stoned laugh. His heart twisted. He did that to Castiel. He broke him.

"You are not a hammer," Castiel said. "You are righteous. You put others before yourself, I've seen you in your element, Dean. You're judge, jury, and executioner. It's so clear now. You're the only one who can finish it."

"Stop it, Cas! Don't put me on a pedestal. I'm not him."

In the same threatening tone that he used when he threatened to throw Dean back to hell, he said, "You are, Dean. Why can't you see your own worth? I rebelled for you..."

Dean winced.

Castiel's tone softened. "I didn't say for you to feel guilt. I...You showed me that I'm much more than a hammer, Dean. I rebelled because you showed me my own worth."

Dean looked at Castiel who held his gaze in earnest. He meant that. And there it was...that look of hope again in Castiel's eyes.

Castiel rose to his feet, anger and hatred settling into his features. "Michael," he growled.

Dean turned. He didn't sense Michael that time.

"You're awake, brother." Michael inspected Castiel like he was a vermin. "Just to remind you, I only healed you because it was my intended vessel's wish."

"Hey!" Dean jabbed a finger at Michael. "Don't speak to Cas like that."

Next to him, Castiel struggled to hide a smirk.

Dean resisted to roll his eyes at that. "So..." he gestured to Michael. "Find anything useful upstairs?"

"All the books on the Righteous Man has been destroyed," Michael said.

The tension in Dean's shoulders released. Good. They can find another way.

"So I sought out Joshua, and Father had a message for me."

A flicker of hurt crossed Castiel's eyes. Dean resisted to reach out and comfort him. God was a dick.

"He told me that I should take example from Castiel."

Dean grinned. "I have to agree with your dad on this one."

"I've only ever been the most obedient son. I've done everything he's ever asked. He told me I had to kill my brother. I'm only doing His will!"

"Maybe you should start doing your will..." Dean mumbled.

"I'm sorry, Michael. I lost faith in Father long ago," Castiel said.

"I won't end up like you," Michael snarled.

"Watch it," Dean warned.

Michael scoffed. "Then Joshua handed me a book. One he safeguard all these years." He pulled out a cream-covered leather book from behind his back. Gold symbols etched in the front. Enochian.

"What's it called? How not to be an angel douchebag?" Dean asked.

"The trials of the Righteous Man," Castiel read.

"What?"

"And it's you, Dean Winchester," Michael said.

The muscles in his shoulders wound up once more. "No. Come on. It's some other sucker."

"You've already completed the first trial in this book," Michael said.

"Which was what? Breaking the first seal?" Dean spat out bitterly.

"No. The man will begin his path onto righteousness when an angel surrenders the wings of Heaven to the will of freedom."

Dean and Castiel shared an intense look.

"What?" he hissed.

"Your relationship with Castiel was the first trial," Michael said. "That's why you've begun to tap into your powers. It is you, Dean Winchester. This is the destiny that you must fulfill."