Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"What can we do to stop Michael? If we kill him, Dean will die!" Sam says with desperation.

"So he dies!" Jack responds. "I don't want that, Sam, but... Michael is killing people. I've seen what he does. He's a monster, a real one. He likes causing pain, and we have to stop him." The young being blinks and leans in. "Do you think...it would be okay with Dean...if we got the chance to end Michael and didn't take it just so we could save him?"

Sam says nothing, his face pale and eyes full of misery. He blinks and rubs his fingers over hollow cheeks drawn and covered in stubble. He has not really slept or even shaved since his brother was taken over by Michael. But Jack is right - he can HEAR Dean say: "Sammy, if you get a shot, you take the bastard out - don't worry about me!"

Castiel looks exhausted as well as he comes into the room. His face is bruised and bloody, his lip split, arm at an odd angle. "Michael is...incredibly strong," he rasps as Jack leaps up and pulls out a chair for him. Sam runs into the kitchen and fills a glass with water, bringing it back and handing it to Cas. The angel's hand shakes as he takes it. "Thank you, Sam. ...I am beginning to think there is only one way we may actually have a chance - at stopping him. It is a long shot," Castiel looks from Sam to Jack. "and we will need assistance to do it, but I have it on good authority that Rowena can use her powers on the Cage."

Sam snorts. "Yeah, I know. She did it the once, and Lucifer POSSESSED you, Cas. You really think we should try that aGAIN?"

"You were...possessed by my...father?" Jack has gone unnaturally still.

Cas leans forward, blue eyes soulful and full of regret. "...Yes, Jack, I was. I thought he could help us rid the world of something called the Darkness, but he couldn't." To Sam: "I do, but I would not need to become a vessel this time. Nor would you, because for the purpose of besting an archangel one already exists and has been there for hundreds of Hell-years."

Sam stares as the penny drops. "...You...you mean Adam?!" he gasps.

"Yes."

***

"This is a very dangerous operation, boys," Rowena trills once the objective is explained to her. "Are you CERTAIN this is the best plan?" Sam, Cas, and Jack glance at one another.

“No we are not,” Says Castiel. “But none of our previous plans have been the best either and we fight for our family.” He puts down ingredients the witch will need for her spell on the table beside her. Sam and Jack stare earnestly at her with those begging eyes of theirs. Rowena sighs.

“As stubborn and senseless as always. That’s the Winchester motto, I suppose?” She claps her hands, causing Sam to jump slightly. “Very well, I’ll help you, but I want ye to know this is almost certainly a suicide mission.” She crushes rue into her copper bowl to begin and tilts her head to one side with delicacy. “I’m just saying…,”

“Well, don’t.” Sam clenches his teeth and breathes out in a hiss. “We have to do this, Rowena.” His eyes plead with her now as he fastens them on her face. “I have to get my brother back. Please.”

The red-headed witch looks at the Winchester and her face softens as she continues dispensing ingredients for the spell. "It's almost done," she says and moves over to face Sam and Castiel. "Jack, be a dear and hand me that copper bowl, will you?" The nephil does and Rowena smiles at him, accepting the bowl and dabbing half of the mixture inside it in a circle on the floor. Stepping back and still holding the bowl, she says to Jack "I need you to pick up those matches, alright? We're going to do a spot of witchcraft, you and I. Strike a match and concentrate on the Pit, please. Here we go." Focusing again on Sam and Castiel as they step to stand within her circle of power, Rowena adds "You have ten minutes to get the archangel out of the box. No more, no less. Understood?" Sam nods. "Good!" Her voice rises and she calls "Foh reh say-lah!" Jack throws the lit match into the bowl and its contents blaze up as does the circle around the others. They are gone in a flash, taken down within that circle to the Pit and the Cage.

Jack stares at Rowena with eyes wide and accusing. "Why couldn't I have gone with them to help?"

"Because your best way to help them is to be here," she says firmly dusting off her hands. "You can use your focusing power to help me retrieve them if anything goes wrong." She sashays over to a chair and sits down. "May as well make yourself comfortable; we have a bit of time before they return, dear."

Chapter Text

Sam Winchester opens his eyes to see dark red litten walls illumed by flickering flames, and outside flashes of blue-white lightning pass sporadically. Thunder echoes in hollow BOOMS around the Cage. His eyes slowly adjust and his stomach clenches as his fist does too. He involuntarily grabs Castiel's hand, seeking some sort of comfort as the angel stands close beside him within the circle of magical fire.

A shadowed figure is hunched and slumped in the corner. Its head rises slowly. Caught in a shaft of light are a pair of cold empty pale eyes, and Sam's own eyes fill with tears as he whispers "...Adam? Can you hear me?"

Sam squeezes Cas's hand tightly as they glance at each other. The shadowy figure straightens its shoulders and rises, turning to face them and blinking those cold blue eyes. Dark blond hair shifts over the forehead as the figure turns to look at one and then the other. He clears his throat rough and low, speaking as if forced to wake, dragged out of a dead sleep and unsure whether or not he is still dreaming. Sam presses his lips together and smiles awkwardly at Cas before relinquishing his hand and looking back at the figure, who speaks in the rusty tones of an incredulous Adam: "Is that...is that really you, Sam?"

"Yes!" Sam gasps with relief, pushing his hair back and stepping forward. "Yes, Adam, it's me. Oh thank God we made it to you. Listen, I - "

"Sam," Castiel speaks, his voice a sharp warning as he throws out his arm to keep his friend in place. "You mustn't leave the circle."

"The circle! Right." Sam blinks and clears his throat. "Thanks, Cas." The Winchester turns his head back to look at Adam and extends his hands, fingers spread. "Look, man... I - I know it's been a long time, and you're probably not too happy to see me." He clears his throat and swallows hard. "A lot has happened, heh. That's an understatement," he adds as Adam stares ar him in stony silence. "And, uh... I don't know if - if Michael's still in there with you, but we... but the world needs his help."

Adam's eyes narrowed and his voice richened as he stepped closer in challenge and snapped "Why the HELL would we help you?!?"

There is a stretch of bitter silence broken by nothing but the booming thunder and crackling flames. Adam turns away from Sam and Castiel, shaking. “He’s…he is still in here, you know,” he says eventually. “…Michael. Completely nuts, but here. I had to take back control—” The young man’s body suddenly starts to shudder and jerk back and forth violently. His chin lifts and his eyes glow blue as his face contorts in agony. Castiel squints and Sam gasps as the other curls in on himself, body heaving.

Sam wants to go to him, to try to help, but stops himself as he recalls that they cannot leave the circle of power. All he can do is try to talk, so he says desperately, “Adam—Michael—there’s a new evil in the world. Lucifer…Lucifer is dead.”

Adam’s body stops heaving and his breath comes in heavy gasps as he rises stiffly. His voice is deeper, cold as he asks in a tone that is now clearly Michael’s: “How did this happen?”

Sam looks helplessly over at Cas, trying to figure out what to say. Castiel takes that as his cue and begins to explain. “He begot a son, a Nephilim, and the birth of such power opened a rift into another world where an alternate version of –you, Michael, ruled. He turned his world into a wasteland and then forced his way into this one, where he destroyed Lucifer and is now on a quest to gain ultimate power.” Cas’s tone grows heavy as he adds “He is possessing his Sword. Your sword. And we are not strong enough to defeat him.”

Michael’s facial expression contorts and Sam swallows hard as his eyes blaze a fractured blue and multiple emotions flicker across his face: fury, shock, resentment, loss… and eventually a chilly distance that remains as he responds: “My sword. He has Dean Winchester at his disposal, then?”

Castiel nods and Sam swallows thickly, sucking back tears. Hearing that spoken so flatly hurts more than words can accurately convey. “Yes.”

“Imagine that,” Michael says drily. “…And you are telling me that we have to destroy him.”

“We are asking you to, yes,” Castiel says.

Sam adds swiftly “I know that it’s, uh, a long shot, but—”

The being that is Michael and Adam raises its index finger to halt the Winchester’s words. “And if we agree to do this, we’ll be out?”

“Out of here? Yes of course,” Sam speaks fervently. “But we need to go quick - our time’s running out down here.” He doesn’t know exactly how long the spell will last; had not looked at his watch when he and Cas initially touched down. It was too overwhelming. Adam's body begins to shake again, and then it stops and in a blink he steps into the circle with the others.

“Get—us—out of here,” he hisses, his face mere inches from Sam’s.

Sam grunts, lips flattening and eyes flickering across Adam’s face and then glancing at Cas’s. “Y-you got it,” he stammers.

With that, Rowena’s circle of spellfire blazes bright and the three beings are back inside the Bunker, Adam standing face-to-face with Sam and glaring up into his eyes.

***

Jack instantly shoves himself out of the chair he had been sitting in, palms pressing down on its arms. He moves forward towards the others, hackles up and eyes glowing gold to protect Sam. But Cas moves too and puts his arm around Jack’s front, shielding the nephil from Michael and Adam as their combined body begins to glow.

“Adam—Michael—please,” Sam pleads and then grunts in pain and throws up a hand to shield his eyes as the younger man’s entire body glows white-hot with light, which then fluctuates, blinking and then disappearing all at once. It is simply Adam standing there, gasping like a landed fish with sweat coating the skin of his face and drenching his hair and what is left of his clothes. “Adam…?” Sam speaks hesitantly and then lunges forward to catch his half-brother as Adam’s eyes roll back in his head and he collapses, his knees buckling.

Sam holds Adam’s body with both arms, pushing the young man’s grimy, burnt, and bloody hair out of his face with a gentle sweep of his fingers. The Winchester glances around at the others at a loss until Rowena claps her hands again and says “Well! I’d say that worked better than expected, don’t you think? I’ll just clean this up. You ought to take him into a bedroom and let him rest, Samuel.”

Sam whips his head quickly to stare at her. “Is he—is he gonna be okay, Rowena?”

Rowena taps her chin with lacquered nails. “Ooh, that’s hard to say, dear. He has been down there quite a while.” She bends and picks up her copper bowl. “But if we are really planning on using him to save Dean, we will have to wait some time and hope that he heals, I’m afraid. That they both do.”

Sam looks down and nods, biting his lip and blinking rapidly. He should have known none of this would be easy. Turning around he begins to carry Adam’s inert form towards the hall. Castiel calls out to him “I will search out a way to heal him—them, Sam. And I will go keep watch for Dean.”

The younger Winchester nods and his lips twitch in a tiny appreciative smile. “Thanks, Cas.”

Jack turns pleading eyes onto the angel as Sam disappears down the hallway. “I want to go with you, Father.”

Castiel’s light eyes lower and he turns and faces Jack, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking soulfully into his face. The nephil’s skin is pale. Clearly even helping with Rowena’s spell had taken its toll on his energy. “I know, Jack. But it’s safer for the present if you stay here and help Sam. We will need to be ready for the final battle when we are all strong enough to face Michael. Until then, I want you to rest and remain safe until your power is back fully. Is that okay with you?”

Jack nods slowly. He is disappointed but does his best to smile at Castiel as the other pats his shoulder and then pulls Jack in for a hug. Jack hugs back tightly, pressing his face into the angel’s shoulder.

Castiel steps back at last and his lips lift into a proud smile at his adopted son and then he nods to Rowena, thanking her for her help before he disappears.

Chapter Text

Jack looks after Castiel with love and worry in his eyes and Rowena blinks and smacks her lips from where she stands gathering up the excess herbs from the Cage spell. Her voice is trembling a little as she says "I'll just be taking this... somewhere." Jack squints in confusion as the red-haired woman taps away from him in her high heels. He quietly follows her as she puts the spell ingredients she had not used on a small table in the Bunker's storeroom, leaning on her hands and bowing her head, making a slight whimper.

She sniffs and dabs swiftly at the corners of her eyes upon realizing that Jack had entered the room after her. Softly he inquires, "What's wrong, Ms. Rowena? Are - are you okay?"

"Oh," she laughs lightly and wipes her eyes, trying to wave off his concern. "I'm fine. It's nothing you need worry your wee heart about."

The young being shifts his feet. "You don't...seem fine," he says. Walking over to the opposite side of the table by which she stands, he picks up one of the vials of ingredients and returns it to its proper place. He wants to be respectful of her space, but when she stands still and looks even more miserable, Jack pulls out a chair and sits down, pushing his hair back and clapping both hands on his knees. "You don't...have to talk if you don't want to," he assures her. "I understand. I get quiet when I'm sad too." Rowena looks away as she tries to compose herself and Jack smiles, a warm and compassionate expression that the witch doesn't see. "But Sam, he was there for me. To talk when I needed to, so...I just wanted to say that if you ever need to talk, I'm here." Rowena does look at him then, and he smiles at her again.

She lets out a single choked sob and leans across the table, cupping his cheek. “You’re a good one,” the witch says with a small smile. “I see why Castiel, Dean, and Samuel are so attached to you.” She lowers her hand from his face and sighs. “You think of them as your family, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jack says with certainty, expression open. “I love them very much.”

“Love,” Rowena chuckles sorrowfully and swipes a hand over her hair, patting it into place to compose herself and tapping the table with one finger. “Let me tell you something. Love—it is the great undoing. Love destroys everything. I had a son…,” Rowena presses her lips together and swallows. “…his name was Fergus. A beautifully brilliant and diabolical little boy. Raising him, there was never a dull moment.” She laughs and then her voice sharpens. “And I left him—for nearly three hundred years. I left and he grew up, and died, and sold his soul. Became a crossroads demon and then the King of Hell. We met each other again little over a year ago, and he asked me why I left.” Rowena purses her lips and her chin trembles. “He thought I was incapable of loving him, and asked me why I hated him so much.” She gasps. “I told him that I hated him because I could not bear to love him, and then he—then he died, for good.” Rowena bows her head, red curls obscuring her face as she sobs. “I wanted him back, I NEEDED him back, to tell him—I tried to gain power over Death, but it was too late.” Her voice is shaky and her face is glazed by tears. “He was gone forever and I could do nothing. Nothing! With all of my power, hah!” She barks out a laugh devoid of humor.

“…You loved him, then,” Jack replies slowly, eyes narrowing as he thinks through her words. “And when he was gone, that’s when you realized.”

Rowena sniffs and throws up her hands. “Oh yes, I realized! Before his death I knew, but never once tried to tell him; and fat lot of good it did for me to love him when I couldn’t bring him…” The witch strikes the wood of the table with her hand, once, twice “—back—here! When the Winchesters, with no magical abilities WHATsoever, they can do that for the ones THEY love!” Rowena stands stock-still with a brittle expression in her eyes and on her face is writ large: Why should they get their loved ones back, get not only the chance after so long but a GOOD one? And yet she now remains their ace in the hole, the background player. How much is she valued, truly? What else will she be expected to give?

Jack’s eyes are wide and sad as he leans toward Rowena now. “Your son was lucky,” he says with surety. “My mother died before I could meet her, but… I know how much she loved me.” He reaches out and covers Rowena’s hand with his own, pressing it gently. “I’m sure that your son knew in his heart how you felt. And if he didn’t, I do.” He relinquishes her hand but keeps his light gaze pinned on Rowena and says “Thank you for telling me. I’ll leave you alone now if you want.” Rowena bobs her head with a final attempt to smile as Jack stands and departs the storeroom. He resolves to tell Sam how Rowena is feeling. He is sure that Sam will understand.

Sam stares at Adam’s body after laying him flat on the guest bed with arms folded over his abdomen. His skin is far less sweaty now, but there is still a palpable heat rising off him in waves. The Winchester knows that if he cools Michael’s essence down, the guy will be gone as soon as he can amp up his powers enough to teleport out of the Bunker.

Hating that he has to do this, but knowing that it is for the best, Sam gets out chalk and draws angel-guarding sigils on the walls of the room. Effectively he is confining both Adam and Michael in another prison, but that can’t be helped. He needs to at least make an attempt to heal the archangel and get him to help Dean.

So he fills the bathtub of the connected bathroom with icy water and douses towels to wrap around Adam’s torso, arms, and legs. Have to reduce the guy’s temperature somehow, right? Angels burn cold, after all. The last of his clothes are disintegrating as Sam situates the towels around Adam’s body, and he resolves to get the kid some new ones.

As Sam sponges excess moisture off of Adam’s skin, he hopes that Cas is having luck finding a cure—or at least finding Dean.

***

Castiel has not found Dean. He has, however, been on the trail of Alternate Michael for some time now. He sits at a café wearing the pair of Walkman headphones he had purchased in order to listen to Dean’s mixtape gift. It keeps him grounded whilst searching for his friend.

Cas sees the conclusion of the final song, “Ramble On”, as Dean’s promise to always keep moving, to figure things out and get those ‘W’s on the board. Though the angel has yet to figure out what board Dean is talking about, never mind where it is located. Nevertheless, that song is a comfort to him even now.

The angel looks up upon registering the entrance of several beings into the building across the street from the diner outside which he sits. The building houses some meeting rooms and office spaces that he has tracked Michael's power to. It is slightly more difficult to correctly pinpoint now that Caged Michael is back on Earth. But as his power signal is emanating from the Bunker and remains weak, Castiel is able to concentrate on the signature that houses itself inside Dean. He has followed his friend by honing in on the chaos that is the power of this alternate archangel - as well as the terror and mutilated bodies left in his wake.

He seems to be searching for followers; but since so many angels Fell and there are only nine remaining in Heaven, the other world's powerhouse is forced to assemble zealots in less-orthodox ways. Cas has discovered him at teaching seminars, at Continuing Education classes for medical professionals, work retreats for Wall Street... Places where people are dissatisfied with their lots. Michael walks in and uses his power-hungry rhetoric to exhort them to take a stand: "Fight the rogues in power," he said, a cool smirk lighting up his bright green eyes. "Who knows? There may very well be some shifts in leadership soon." Castiel had been in the back of the room for one such business meeting. His attire made it simple to sneak in - he had seen the movement of Dean's features, the twitch of a muscle underneath one eye and the richness of his voice - and the way people listened to his words, hanging onto them, drawn to the insanity of that power....

Castiel had departed that meeting with horror settling in his stomach and leaving a metallic-tasting weight on his tongue. Dean has been taken over, subjugated completely by Michael. He cannot accept that and so waits out here for the conclusion of yet another meeting.

He puts his Walkman away and pays for his meal of coffee and blueberry pie as Michael exits the door of the offices. The archangel inclines his head infinitesimally at several beings that follow him out before turning and strolling down the sidewalk to the right of the door.

Cas crosses the street to catch up with him. "How many followers did you accrue today?" The seraph's deep voice snaps.

Michael bows Dean's head and smirks. "My, my. You are quite the persistent one, Castiel. Just as you were in my world. How do the humans say it?" He cocks his head and his eyes light up as Dean's do when he makes a movie reference. It sickens the angel. "...Like a dog with a bone." The archangel turns after speaking, his long black coat flaring out around his ankles, and stares into Cas's face with amusement mingled with contempt. "And yet, this is the first time you have dared to directly speak to me." He cocks his head again, green eyes contemplative. "Clearly you aren't powerful enough to battle me by yourself, so tell me, Cas." He speaks the nickname in a husky approximation of Dean's tone, causing Castiel to flinch. "What is your purpose here?"

Castiel clenches one fist at his side, but raises his chin and replies evenly: "I came to speak with Dean."

"Ah ah ah," Michael clicks his tongue in disapproval. "Dean Winchester isn't ... available to talk at the moment, I'm afraid." He smiles coldly. "You see," leaning closer and speaking quietly, Michael pointedly raises his eyebrows. "I own him."

A feeling akin to the one Crowley had caused when reaching into his chest through a stab wound and rummaging around inside his torso to unearth the angel tablet comes over Castiel. He wants so badly to hit Michael now, grab him and shake him so hard that Dean Winchester is shaken free. But the angel knows that is not how this plan of theirs will work. He has to be patient. And so he closes his eyes and breathes out slowly. Opening them again and stepping into the archangel’s personal space to stare him down, Cas growls “You will not get away with this. You will not control our world, and neither will you control Dean Winchester. I will get him back to his family, and we will END you.”

“Strong words, Castiel,” Michael croons, his eyes flashing as he puts his face close to the seraph’s and then punches him in the abdomen before Cas has the chance to step back or even to blink. “But how are you going to back them up, hmm?” He punches the other again and again, blackening Castiel’s eyes, bloodying his nose and lips, and then slamming him backwards into the wall of a building ten feet away with one lazy flick of his wrist. “Too easy. Pathetically so,” the archangel drawls and disappears.

***

It has been days, turning into weeks, that Adam's body remains comatose. Sam, Mary, Bobby, and Jack take turns checking in on him as Cas continues to search for a cure and keep an eye on Dean.

Mary puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder and gives him a loving glance as he leaves Adam’s room to let Bobby start his shift. They stand together in the hall. “We’re going to get him back, Sam,” she says softly.

He clears his throat and looks down at his feet, blinking hard and nodding, doing his very best to believe her even though at this point he feels as though she is placating him with empty words. Dean has been gone for months at this point, and they have no news on his whereabouts within Michael, if he is even still alive…but no. Sam can't think like that. He has to stay strong. So Sam does his best to flash a smile as they head to the main room. “I…I know, Mom.”

She ducks her head and lifts her eyes to catch his. “I mean it,” she adds, lifting her hand to touch her younger son on the cheek as they pause in the doorway to the main area of the bunker. “Don’t lose hope.”

All of a sudden Bobby’s raised voice barks from Adam’s bedroom: “Sam, Mary – get back in here, he’s movin’!” Mother and son look at each other in shock and then hustle back into the bedroom. Adam’s body shifts and he blinks and grimaces before opening his eyes. “Easy, boy,” Bobby rumbles as the young man jerks away from his steadying hands attempting to ease Adam into a sitting position. Flashing cold blue eyes at the grizzled hunter, Adam shifts away from him and sits up on his own.

Sam moves farther into the room, ducking his head and leaning forward, fingers curled around the footboard of the bed. “Uh, Adam – Michael – are you…are you feeling okay?” The other simply stares at him without answering. The Winchester clears his throat and forges ahead. “So…like Cas said before, we’ve got a problem with an alternate version of you, and, uh…we were wondering if you could help us stop him from—”

“—from destroying everything. He wants to take control of the world, and he’d—if he does that, he’ll end it.” Jack’s voice comes from the door where he now stands. The nephilim’s voice is strong as he comes in. “And you are the only one strong enough to stop him.”

Adam cocks his head. In a slow voice he responds “…I see.” Eyes flicking around to look at each of the other people in the room in turn. "...He must be stopped, then." With a nod he adds "I will do it."

And so they trust him, because they have to. Sam exhales deeply and scratches away the binding sigils on the walls so that Michael's choice to help is unencumbered by physical restraints forcing his hand, so to speak.

Maybe that was a stupid decision. It definitely was, but all Sam knows is that he feels sick when he leaves to get Adam some soup, figuring the guy will be hungry—even if the angel inside him doesn’t need to eat; he leaves Bobby and Jack to watch Michael, who asks to use the facilities to change into some new clothes—and hears the unmistakable sound of wingbeats and feels that power surge that accompanies an angel’s disappearance. Cas returns via the garage door as Sam and Mary run back to Adam’s room, but they are all too late—the only real advantage they had is now in the wind.

“Look.” There is a slip of paper on the counter that reads: I will do what I must in my own way and my own time. M.

“…What does that mean?” Jack asks as they read Michael’s spidery handwriting. Sam, Cas, and Mary share a glance with one another as Bobby bows his head and scowls beneath his beard.

“It means we’re screwed,” Sam says, his lower lip shaking as he laces his fingers in his hair. “Come ON!!” He screams, abruptly slamming one hand against the wall. “Can we not have an advantage here? Just ONE?!” The younger Winchester buries his face in his hands. “…That’s all I ask…Dean deserves a life—we both...we all..." Sam chokes. "That’s all I’ve ever asked for….” His voice has dropped to a whisper as he closes his eyes and leans against the wall as if he has been drained of all of his energy.

“Sam—” Castiel begins, but he is waved off as his friend turns and exits the guest room, footsteps retreating loudly down the hall.

Chapter Text

Dean is fuming. He has been slamming wildly against all of the doors and windows inside his head, trying to bust out. Now he stands, seething, as Michael speaks to him.

I saw your...friend today, the archangel sneered. Or should I say your lapdog? Poor Castiel, so weak. So SHATTERED after losing you to me - a mere human. How can you possibly mean that much to him? You are a blip, a speck of dust, a single cog in the workings of the Cosmic Order.

Dean grits his teeth. Well I'm also your Sword, you ungrateful sonofabitch. Important enough for ya to grab me and make me your suit.

Michael laughs.You BEGGED me to possess you, as I remember it. And of course you are the tool I shall use to effect change and rule. We will make this world better together, Dean.

Dean snorts. With all the sad sacks and soccer moms you’re converting, this is gonna be sadder than if Tim Burton decided to make an ‘Edward Scissorhands Part Two’. He leans in. But that ain’t gonna happen, because my brothers are gonna stop your feathery ass. You call Cas my lapdog, but you know what he is? He’s my brother. He's family! And our family NEVER gives up. They’re gonna keep fightin’ and bring the pain on you for welching on our deal—

Michael’s chin jerks up and he throws out a hand, bashing Dean against his mental wall and stopping his words. Dean grunts in pain as the archangel’s eyes begin glowing. First of all, I did not ‘welch’ on anything. Our deal was that you would take the wheel in our fight against Lucifer. That was all you asked for—the chance to save your family. I GAVE you that. I even left them alive and unharmed. I simply have not allowed you to expel me. I will make this a simpler world, a better world! Don’t you want that, Dean Winchester? Peace, ease; for things to be black-and-white again…?

Dean gasps and thrusts out a hand as images flash and float before his eyes. Faces, business suits stained with blood, piles of bodies…he hears screams, sees people running; and his arms rise as he feels power surge and hears his voice booming: “What you want is pathetic. What you wish for are LIES! I will bring ORDER to this Earth!!!” Dean retches, shouts and falls to his knees as he sees the carnage. He clutches the sides of his head, pressing until it hurts, until spots dance before his eyes. No—he could not have done this. This is the archangel in his shoes. He looks up at Michael, seeing him in a haze of agonized tears. Michael’s eyes are again aglow.

Now you are witness to, at last, the beauty of what I do, says the archangel.

You’re—KILLING—people!! Dean shouts now, his voice cracking. They’re innocent, they just…wanted something BETTER!

Yes, and I will give them better, for they do not know what it truly is. intones the archangel. Have faith, Dean Winchester, because I do.

Dean lunges at the angel with a roar but grasps empty air. He whirls around to find every door and window slamming shut inside his head. The doors shake and judder and begin to disappear one by one. Dean runs around the room, slamming his shoulders and hands into the walls, but every single exit is now gone. As is Michael. Dean slams his fists into the wall over and over until his knuckles are as torn and bloody as all of those bodies Michael had dropped using him. Come on, Dean, you’ve got to get out of this—cast the bastard out and wake UP!

***

Sam opens his eyes with a gasp and hurls himself into a sitting position, certain that he had just seen his older brother engulfed in a sheet of flame, orange with blue around the edges, its light sparking and pressing in on him— Sam squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He had BEEN there, in front of Dean; had seen the terror and sorrow and anger in his brother's eyes as his body burned; he felt the blast of heat against his own face and smelled the awful scent of hair burning.... He takes deep breaths, his own clothes and hair plastered to his skin with sweat.

This is why he doesn't get much sleep. Sam groans and hunches forward, hugging his knees and pressing his forehead against them. There is no way to stop the nightmares. He had thought his lack of good, restful sleep would end when Lucifer did, but of course not. Serves him right for being naive, Sam chides himself as he sighs and rises from the bed.

Shuffling to the door of his room, Sam listens for sounds to indicate whether or not anyone else is awake. He opens his door an inch or so to peer out, and sees Bobby a little ways down the hall giving his mother a kiss on the cheek. "Sleep well, sunshine," the bearded hunter murmurs as he heads off to turn in.

Sam's eyes bulge a little as he notices his mother shoot a fond "Goodnight, old man," back at Bobby. She doesn't go to bed, though; not just yet. Sam watches her head to the kitchen and he follows.

"Mom—" Sam starts upon entering the kitchen and she turns, seeming startled. Her body relaxes but her face tightens with concern when she takes a good look at him.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

Biting his lip and gazing at her helplessly, Sam crosses the room to give her a hug. Tears start pouring down his face for the first time since Dean was taken over. Mary's eyes widen as her younger son pulls her against him. She reaches up and wraps her arms around his back, holding him tight, feeling him shaking. He has not lost it like this in a long time. A very long time. His shakes go on without abating and she soothingly rubs circles on his back, whispering "It's going to be all right, hon."

"How?" He demands brokenly, stepping backwards finally to break up the hug and wiping tears from his cheeks. "How will it be all right? I wish... you'd stop saying that, because how do you KNOW? We can't reach Dean—he could be ...dead, for all I know, and our ace in the hole has gone completely off the reservation, not to mention the grid, and now I'm dreaming of Dean in flames! H-he's burning completely away, Mom, and I can't—" Sam lets out a sharp loud huff of air, half-sob half-wail.

"Sam," Mary says, her eyes full of brittle sorrow and deep pain. "I know there isn't much hope, but I have to think of the good. I have to believe—to believe that we can get Dean back. For his sake as well as yours." She presses her son's hands and lets them go with a smile that she hopes conveys reassurance despite the tears standing in her eyes. She blinks them away and indicates the fridge. "Now, how about some pie? Oh wait. You like cake, right?"

Sam lets out a wet-sounding chuckle. "I do like cake, but...pie sounds good tonight." His eyes soften after his mother explains her feelings and he swallows back the last of his tears before pulling two plates down from the cupboard to hand to her. "Thanks, Mom."

Mary withdraws a cardboard bakery box and a carton from the fridge. "I'll pour us some milk too," she says. Putting the containers on the counter, she reaches up and puts one hand on Sam's cheek, stroking his face gently with her thumb. He closes his eyes and leans briefly into the touch for comfort before she tells him to sit down and removes her hand, cutting two slices out of the pie after opening its box and pouring each of them a glass of milk. Sam pulls out a chair for her and Mary shoots him a tiny smile as she sits with both of their plates. He brings their glasses and two forks, spinning his own chair around to sit in it and they eat.

After more than half of Sam's pie is masticated, Mary touches his hand and leans in, asking "So, you dreamt about Dean?" Sam coughs and attempts to swallow the lump that has now formed in his throat along with his current bite of pie. His mom trains gentle eyes on him and says "Tell me."

"Yeah, I... I did." Sam puts down his fork. "He was burning, Mom. And I didn't just see it—I FELT it." Sam lowers his head, skin pale with the memory, hazel eyes stricken, haunted.

His mother's blonde curls fall away from one cheek as she tilts her head toward him, voice gentle. "It was only a dream, Sam, you know that."

He nods and sips some milk, blinking hard. "Yeah, I do, Mom. But it's just... the last time I felt anything close to this was...it was eight years ago. When I - when I recalled my time in the Cage with —Lucifer. When I was forced to relive that, stuck inside my head, I felt the heat." Sam bows his head more, chin practically touching his chest as he breathes raggedly. "I know Lucifer is gone for good now, and I'm gladder about that than words can say, but - I worry about Michael, and if my dream is anything like what he's actually doing to Dean, I don't—I can't help him." Sam clenches his teeth and curls his fingers into a fist that he presses on top of the table. Shaking his head with his lips trembling, the Winchester man catches his mother's eyes. His voice is thready and it cracks as he says "And I can't deal with that, Mom."

Mary takes his left hand in both of hers. Her dark eyes are large and sad. "I know, baby. I know."

They sit in silence for a while, finishing their pie. After Mary eats the last of hers she sweeps hair behind one ear and asks "...How are you doing, Sam? Other than when you had this particular dream, I know you haven't been sleeping. You're pushing yourself so hard to help your brother but you've got to take care of yourself and rest. You'll be no good to anyone if you run yourself ragged." She stands up and takes both of their plates to the sink. As she stands facing away from him, her head bows and she says much more quietly "I won't lose both my boys in this fight." Looking over her shoulder at her younger son, eyes sorrowful, Mary blinks and lifts her shoulders. "I can't."

Sam rises and comes up beside her, picking up a hand towel to dry the dishes. "I'm... mostly good, Mom," he assures her. She cocks her head with one eyebrow raised. He smiles a bit. She's not taking any bullshit. He lifts his hands. "Okay, I mean, I've been better but physically I've also been a lot worse." Sam settles his shoulders as his mother hands him a wet plate and he starts to dry it.

"I'm worried about Cas," Sam admits. "I think he's pushing himself way too hard. He's been going after Michael so much, and he's hurt pretty much every time he comes back. And Jack...," Sam finishes drying the first plate and puts it away. His mom hands him the second one. "...he seems so - lost without his powers. Lost, and scared. But he keeps trying so hard to help us, help everyone else. I just don't want him to burn himself out."

Mary smiles to herself as she rinses out a milk glass. "They sound like you," she says. Her son lifts his head and stares at her. She hands him the cup and adds "We'll watch out for them. We all have to look after each other. You can't do it all alone, okay? You need to look after yourself first, Sammy. Lead by example." She does look at him now, and smiles. "You're our rock, you know that? And I'm not going to let you sink," her voice grows stern, snapping at him: "but you've got to help me with that. All right?"

Sam nods feelingly. His mom needs this—he has to be strong to help himself and to help her. "Okay," he promises seriously. "I will." Lines at the corners of his mother's eyes and mouth smooth away in relief.

"I love you," Mary calls to her son as he heads back towards his room after drying the cups.

"And I love you, Mom." Sam smiles back at her before leaving the kitchen; he hopes to get at least a few more hours of sleep before morning.

***

Castiel has now altered his movements to search for THIS world's Michael, which is already exponentially more difficult as a result of the Enochian he had personally etched into Adam's ribs after the young man was brought back from the dead.

The seraph is glad that he does not require sleep anew in every city and township that he transports himself to. He thinks of Sam consistently, needing to get their advantage back in order to help his friend; and he also thinks of Jack as he makes calls and puts out feelers to locate Adam Milligan and the archangel riding shotgun inside his head.

Cas wishes he had made more time to talk to Jack about his powers, and about life without them. Being human is wonderful but messy, as well as frustrating and sometimes even depressing. Some things Jack is only beginning to understand now, and may not fully comprehend until he has been human for awhile. Cas could sense the tenuous nature of Jack’s headspace when he gave the boy that hug goodbye. Jack is holding fast to hope and the fact that he can do something to help…for now, but the angel knows from experience that hope may not last long. It is akin to a bubble, and bubbles always pop. He knows that he must return to his son as soon as he can. Jack, just like Sam, needs everything that Castiel is able to give him. Including a long talk when Castiel gets back. Sam is not doing well either, and that worries Cas as much, if not more, than Jack’s mental state. He knows the Winchesters all-too-well, and Sam is so focused on finding Dean he is not taking care of himself or allowing space to grieve his brother’s loss properly. Sam is allowed to worry, but he battens down the hatch and tries to focus on the positives, even when his hopeful optimism dwindles. Castiel saw this as his friend threw himself out of the room Adam disappeared from and wants more than anything to get Sam a win. Thus he tirelessly continues on this thus-far-fruitless search for Adam and Michael.

Adam Milligan is running. Michael tries to speak to him, constantly whispering in his head as he goes farther and farther from the Bunker and closer to…normalcy, or reality, or SOMETHING other than the hell that his life has been. He simply wants to stop hearing the laughter of the fucking devil echoing in his head; he wants to stop feeling the burning of tortures from the Cage or the talon-tug of duty, of someone else’s will exerted upon him, forcing itself into his brain. What had the Winchesters EVER done to help him and thus to deserve his help? Oh, they had come to see if he was really their brother when his ghoul-self called; and they were quick to pull the ‘because we’re blood’ card when they wanted to keep him from listening to the angels. The one time they actually TRIED to help him was in ol’ Dickariah’s Green Room, and they’d even screwed that up. Dean had screwed it up. So why the hell would he jump to rescue Dean from an alternative version of the asshole still clomping around inside his own head? Why would he do that, risk his life yet aGAIN after finally getting back to the world? What is the point?!?

You could see your mother again, a voice inside his head says now. Let Michael assume control over your body to fight the other Michael, but make him send your soul to Heaven first. Yeah, right. Adam snorts without humor. Zachariah flat-out said he had lied about Adam getting to see his mom before he got stuck inside the Cage. Angels are dicks; that was one thing the Winchesters were right about. Why would any single one of them change their tune?

You want to know why angels would change?

“Because if this world falls under Michael’s thrall, all the good in life as we know it would end. He will cull those he deems unworthy from the face of the Earth, razing civilisations to the ground.” A figure in a long khaki-colored coat appears in front of him, blue eyes searing icily into Adam’s own. The young man stumbles backwards with a curse and his eyes glow with archangel power.

“Castiel,” Michael’s tone coolly supplies the name, but it is Adam who spits “What are you doing here?”

“…Despite my Enochian protection over you, the signature of my brother’s power allowed me to discover your location,” the seraph says. “After an immense amount of difficulty.” His tone seems almost apologetic as his eyes flicker downward. What the hell is he feeling apologetic for? Leaving them both in the Cage, probably.

The being that is both Adam and Michael folds their arms and raises their chin, as well as a questioning eyebrow. “So what, then? You came to convince us to fight, to keep this world spinning?”

“I…did not come to convince you of anything.” Castiel inhales and blinks, seeming to fumble for his next words. “I—I know that none of my words will suffice. But I had to talk to you, because this world…,” Castiel’s voice trembles. “—this sad, broken little world, it needs you. It needs every last hero it can get. And I won’t let it end without a fight.” His voice, choking off with held-back tears, now grows stronger: “This means too much to me. To everything.” Tears are standing in Castiel’s eyes as he speaks thus.

Michael cocks Adam’s head to one side in anticipation of Castiel making his final point. The seraph settles his shoulders and adds “I have made the decision to help, to stop Michael at any cost to myself. I hope…I hope you will decide to stop him too.” And then Cas is gone – he must take care of Sam and Jack by doing this. His family needs him, and he is going to end Alternate Michael and save Dean …or he is going to die trying.

***

Sam is pacing around the halls of the Bunker, striving to find anything, anything at all, that might lessen Alternate Michael’s hold over Dean. Not to mention any lore on a weapon with which to fight the archangel since THEIR Michael had deserted.

He still feels a jolt of panicked guilt in his stomach because of that. Cas is still not back; he had sworn to locate their Michael and find a way to save Dean—and Sam is finding it really hard to hold onto hope.

As he walks past the subterranean Men of Letters Archive Room, he hears a snuffling, scraping, shuffling sound. Instantly on alert, the large Winchester withdraws a pistol from his waistband and cocks it. He had begun carrying one the way his older brother always did. Just in case. As Sam carefully pushes open the archive door and sticks his head around it, he sees boxes and folders and papers everywhere; and curled in a ball in the middle of them all, his head bowed over his knees and his shoulders shaking, is Jack. The snuffling had been the result of the Nephilim making – and attempting to mask – muffled sobs. Sam swiftly puts the gun away. “Hey, Jack,” he says gently as he steps into the room and comes over to crouch beside the younger being. “…What’s goin’ on, bud? Are you okay?”

“Sam,” Jack sniffs and wipes his eyes as he looks up. “I’m sorry, I—I’m making a mess. I came in here looking for something to help Dean, to help my father find him.” The young being is trembling. “I shouldn’t have said that he might have to die for us t-to stop Michael. I didn’t…I didn’t mean it.”

“Ah, Jack, hey. Listen,” Sam replies, kneeling with his knees on top of some papers and putting his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I know you don’t want Dean dead. And we’ll stop Michael somehow, I promise. It was good thinking, you coming down here.” Sam exhales and nods, rubbing Jack’s hair with affection. “Wish I’d thought of it.” He is trying to joke, to say something cheerful and thankful that will lighten the mood, but Jack’s face crumples and he lets out a loud sob, preparing to apologize again. Sam scoots in front of him and takes hold of both of his shoulders. “Whoa, look. I wanted to tell you, I’ve noticed how well you’re handling things, Jack. You’re always here to help and you keep working, keep fighting.” Sam ducks his head and smiles at the other with thanks. “I just…I wanted to say that I think you’re doing great. I’m proud of you, bud.” Jack’s forehead creases and he looks up at Sam, blinking away tears. He is still surprised by the amount of faith this man has in him and upon seeing the affection, the love in Sam’s eyes, he gulps and throws himself into Sam’s arms.

Sam blinks and immediately lifts his own arms to wrap around Jack, holding him tight. Sam touches his cheek to Jack’s hair as Jack presses his face into the Winchester’s chest, his body shuddering with so-far-suppressed sobs that now explode out of him in quiet relief.

“It’s…it’s so hard,” Jack chokes out.

Sam clutches Jack’s upper back and rubs it with one large hand, doing his best to soothe him. “I know. And it must be even harder for you not to have your powers.”

Jack nods against Sam’s shirt. “I feel—incomplete,” he confesses. “Like there’s…a hole inside of me. An empty place. I could stop Michael with my powers—I know I could, but….” He draws in a shaky breath, almost hissing: “Lucifer took them. I thought he CARED about me. I thought he wanted to help us, all of us, Sam.” Jack is whimpering now, letting out feelings he has never before voiced. “I thought—” His words are choked. “…I wanted to believe that h-he could be good.” Jack shakes his head, tucking his chin and pulling backwards enough to lift his eyes up and look into Sam’s. “But you were right. My fath—Castiel was right.” Withdrawing his hands from around Sam completely, the nephil clenches his fists. “How could I have been so STUPID??” He strikes himself in the chest with one hand abruptly, his fist hitting his torso with such force that the sound reverberates in his chest cavity and around the room.

Sam releases Jack’s shoulders to grab his hands and he holds them tightly. Jack tries to jerk away, eyes full of tears of hopelessness and self-loathing, and Sam cannot handle that. He has to deal with his own guilt and grief, and Dean…. Every time Dean makes a choice and something goes wrong, he blames himself. Well, enough is enough. Sam is putting his foot down. He will not let Jack feel that way. The buck stops here.

“Jack.” Sam holds onto the other’s wrists firmly, hazel eyes locked on the young man’s helpless ones. “You aren’t stupid. You just believe in the good, and in doing right. You gave Lucifer a chance the way you do with everyone. That isn’t stupid, that…” Ducking his head and raising his voice to drive his next point home, Sam gives Jack a little shake. “that’s amazing. You’re amazing. You have so much…so much decency inside you. So much hope.” So much love. Sam presses Jack’s hands with his before letting go of them, voice breaking slightly as he adds “Don’t lose that. Please.”

Jack blinks down at his hands and then at the tall man kneeling before him with shiny eyes. Is he really that amazing? Is that truly what Sam sees? He has done bad things, and hurt people. But Sam has never stopped believing in him or helping him. Jack slowly unclenches his fingers, stretching them carefully. He cannot let this man down after everything. Looking back up at Sam, the youngster nods. “…Okay. Okay, Sam. I’ll try not to let you down.”

“Yeah?” Sam smiles and pats Jack softly on the cheek. "Good. That's good. Now, what didja manage to find?" He clears his throat and moves papers out of the way to sit next to Jack on the archival floor.

Jack focuses back on the files he had brought out, scooping up a few of the papers he had read. “Well, there is nothing so far about killing archangels, but I think there might be a way to—stop up or take away the angel grace in Dean so he can take control again.” Jack holds up a box labeled 1138. “I found this, and it said there’s such a thing as—”

“—Curing a demon. Yeah, I tried doing that a few years ago. To the king of Hell, actually. Wait—are you telling me there's something in here on curing an angel too?”

“I don’t know for sure. Haven’t found one yet, but that is what I was thinking.” Jack passes the box over as Sam scoots backwards and holds up his hands to take it. The Winchester grabs a file to help look. Jack’s forehead creases again. Something Sam had just said… “Sam, the king of Hell that you tried…curing…was that—was he Rowena’s son?”

Sam’s head shoots up in shock and he stares at Jack. “Uhh, yeah! It was. His name was Crowley. How do you know about him?”

Jack presses his lips together. “Rowena told me. She was upset after we did the spell to take you to the Cage and get your brother and Michael out. She said she tried to get her son back after he died because she…she loved him and never told him that.” Jack squints his eyes and tilts his head. “But…I thought his name was Fergus.”

Sam chuckles. “Yeah, it was. Rowena named him Fergus, but he hated it so he changed his name to Crowley when he sold his soul.” Sam’s eyebrows draw together. “I knew she was upset that she couldn’t bring him back, but I guess I didn’t really consider WHY….” Sam pauses, digesting the information Jack just gave. Tipping his chin down, he added “She never told him she loved him, huh?”

“Yes. I mean, no, she didn’t. That’s what she said to me. So she was upset that other people get the chance to fix things like that. And I thought... maybe…you would understand.”

“‘Other people’ meaning us,” Sam huffs and shakes his head. “Ah, Rowena…,” he sighs, tapping a file against his bent leg. Continuing aloud he says “I do understand, and I don’t know why we keep getting these chances, because it always seems like something else gets screwed up whenever we take them. But that’s what we’ve gotta do, right?” Sam clears his throat and smiles at Jack, but his eyes are pained. “…Just gotta keep trying.”

Jack can tell that Sam is upset but is trying to put on a brave face and hold on to hope. Which is why Jack knows he needs to help; why Sam had begged him not to lose his own hope. So Jack nods back at the Winchester, hoping against hope that things will get better.

Chapter Text

Michael stands in the field surveying the bodies of more zealots he had just razed. Humans were such pathetic little creatures with so many wants and needs, and their desires ran rampant with their bodies and emotions. Everything is so…MUDDY where humanity is concerned. Morality exists, pretending to make the world cut and dry; urges people to make the “correct” choices, but so many of them do not. Give a human being two options, and he will choose the wrong one every time. AFTER dithering endlessly over it. So wasteful. So unnecessary. And here Dean Winchester is shouting inside his skull I’ll TAKE the friggin mess! Life ain’t supposed to be easy, it’s supposed to be— “Blah, blah, blah. As Moses said, I am slow of speech and slow of tongue; and your incessant yammering bores me,” Michael straightens his shirt cuffs and brushes a minuscule fleck of dust off the left shoulder of his long dark jacket. Dean goes silent as a rustling occurs and several beings step out of the shadows and over all of the bodies, baring teeth and flashing their eyes as they pass to stand at Michael’s feet.

The archangel spreads out his arms. "An offering to you," he begins. "Welcome to the demonstration of what a world looks like without complications, without mess, without HUMANITY." He trains his finger at each of the multiple creatures before him. "I will create a perfect world, and you -each of you - are going to help me. You will need to gather all of your followers, your brethren, and take these." Opening his jacket, he withdraws several glowing vials that clink against one another in his pockets. "For...insurance purposes." Michael smiles, baring his teeth as each of the beings takes a jar of pure unadulterated Grace and a stiff wind blows around them all.

The sound of thunder splits the clear blue sky and the creatures disperse as another entity appears in the vicinity, blue eyes blazing. "Michael," a loud voice calls. "This has gone on long enough!"

The archangel tips his grey newsboy cap and lifts one hand lazily, beckoning for the newcomer to move closer. “I suppose you are here to stop me?” His tone is incredibly bored. “Well come on, then.”

The blue-eyed being roars and throws spiraling shots of white-hot Grace at the body of Dean Winchester, its bright light searing and crackling with the scent of ozone. Michael’s coat flies like gigantic raven wings as he is blasted back, arms out. He lands flat on his back, skidding backward into the ground with his eyes shut. He creates a divot in the grass and dirt, and there is silence.

The other being steps closer warily, and a low rumble begins to rise beneath the Earth. The ground shakes and starts to crack, sending splits spiderwebbing out from the archangel’s fallen form. And then Dean’s eyes snap open and a hunk of dirt and grass and stone larger than a car hurtles at his adversary. Michael laughs and charges, flinging the slighter being away as stones explode against his body and face. “This is not your world!” the other screams as the wind rises.

Michael flies and grabs the other’s throat, stopping breath and squeezing life away with Dean Winchester’s strong hands. “Nor is it any longer yours,” he retorts. Punching the other back, Dean’s body is browbeaten again by Grace that sizzles and crackles across his skin, leaving burns that shine an ugly, angry red before fading. An archangel blade would be useful for this… flicking his right wrist, the other world’s archangel takes the metal bodkin out of his sleeve and slashes the other across the face with it.

It is then that he is tackled from behind.

***

Adam rolls over and spits saliva and blood as he is thrown free from Michael’s iron grip. That archangel blade hurt like a sonofabitch. He presses his hand against his face, feeling the wetness of blood and feels a split-second of relief that the blade had missed his eyes. He rises up with a pained grunt to see the body of his half-brother rolling over and over in a tussle with someone wearing a large overcoat. Is that…

The Michael inside his body initiates a grab for the archangel blade as Alternate Michael and his new adversary continue struggling. Adam had let Michael take the lead initially, but now he is here and in control, treated to the sight of a wide-eyed dark-haired angel pleading for the same response from Dean.

“Dean!” The gravelly voice of Castiel gasps out as he is punched repeatedly by the Michael wearing the body of his friend. “Dean, I know that you’re in there—fight him off! You can do it!”

Alternate Michael laughs, sucker-punching Cas in the abdomen. “I’m afraid Dean is not at home right now.”

Castiel gasps for air and blocks Michael’s arm with his, lifting his feet and pushing the other away. “No—Dean, please,” the seraph slurs as blood coats his teeth and drips out of his mouth from an upper-cut to the jaw, causing him to bite his tongue. And then Adam-Michael is there, grasping Alternate Michael by the shoulder and flinging his body sideways.

Cas cannot help but wince as the shout of surprise from the archangel is DEAN’S yell. He does not get the sense that Adam is as concerned about Dean being hurt in this battle as he.

***

Dean has zero tolerance for being an angel condom at this point. Michael is not bothering to give him a happy place, or even a fake case to work inside his head. There just aren’t any exits from within his brain, and he is treated to a high-definition big-screen view of his own arms and hands shooting out bursts of power and pummeling the crap out of—Cas. He hears his best friend’s agonized cries and sees bright blood coating his face. The dumbass angel has never had a problem getting hurt in order to help Dean, but none of this is Dean—he is a prisoner inside his own head. His melon has been perforated, Bobby would say. Dean hears his surrogate father’s voice from so long ago: “And when it’s your time, go. Don’t let it be anyone else’s turn to save the world.” Dean has to wake up. He has to get out of this, fight the archangel off.

But how? Every chance he’s had up until this point, every time he throws himself at the walls inside his head and beats his mind – his everything – bloody, Michael forcefully clams him up.

But now Dean focuses on Castiel’s bloody face and pleading blue eyes, and remembers the first time he saw those eyes, staring at him in Bobby’s old barn. He thinks of everything that Cas has done for him—recalls his own laughing relief and their first hug in Purgatory; Cas eating burgers with the biggest, goofiest grin; Cas and that stripper; Cas saying he, Dean, was a friggin ROLE MODEL—Dean feels a shudder inside him, feels the blows from Michael slowing down and stopping as the angel blade is wrested from his hand by…is that Adam?! Dean’s shock allows the archangel to take back control, blasting Adam backwards and once again clocking Cas, but as the asshat wrests control back, Dean feels a searing painful emotion that he knows all-too-well: regret. With a smattering of guilt on top of it.

Because I have a family, Dean thinks. “I have a family, and your actions WASTED yours, you sadistic son of a bitch!!! All I wanted—the ONLY damn reason I let you in—was to SAVE them!” He thinks of Sam and Jack, of their faces when they saw him after Lucifer’s death: Sammy’s huge, real, relieved smile; he sees Jack beaming and waving in greeting, hears the kid’s excited voice as he found out information about a case; he hears Sammy laugh and feels the strength of his bear hugs, Sam’s voice saying Dean, you deserve a life. He feels his mother’s hand cup his face and sees the love in her eyes as she called him her little angel so long ago. Dean feels a warm tightness in his chest, and it expands as Michael screams and throws himself at Adam and Cas.

The heat rises to become a sharp pain starting in Dean’s side and radiating throughout the rest of his body. A searing white light shoots outward from every part of him as the Winchester man falls, crumpling to the ground.

***

Castiel blearily opens his eyes, blinking blood out of them. A light brighter than the sun lights up the sky above him and he moans, trying to lift his head, and sees Adam holding the inert body of Adam’s eldest half-brother and Castiel’s best friend.

“Dean,” Castiel intones softly at first and then louder as he rolls to an upright sitting position and cannot find any evidence of his friend's vital signs with his powers. “DEAN!” He crawls over to him on hands and knees and grabs the Winchester by both of his shoulders. Shaking them, the seraph hauls Dean’s body over so that he lies on his back with his head in Cas’s lap.

Cas puts his hand to Dean’s forehead as Adam scans the area around them and mutters “…We should leave….”

The angel is desperate. He knows the ground is crumbling around them from the angelic onslaught and that other-world Michael’s Grace and presence are now gone but may yet return, but all he can do is call out to Dean and bend his face close to the other’s, checking desperately to feel for breath exiting from his mouth or nose.

And then with an enormous intake of breath and a cough the Winchester’s eyelids flutter. “Are you gonna give me a kiss, Cas, or blow my ears out? Make up your mind.”

“Dean!” The angel pulls the human to him in a hug that is tight enough to stop Dean’s just-returned breath.

“Okay, Cas…hey,” Dean wheezes and the other lets him go as Adam, shoulders stiff and eyes aglow again courtesy of Michael, puts his hands on each of their shoulders and transports all three to the Bunker.

Dean collapses instantaneously to the floor after he arrives. Michael’s archangel blade protrudes from his right side. “…Huh. Wondered why that hurt so bad,” he mutters as blood soaks his coat and shirt, dripping onto the floor.

Pounding footsteps emanate from other parts of the Bunker as Cas grabs some gauze from the ever-present first aid kit and without preamble, Michael gets Adam to remove the knife. Dean grunts as the blade is withdrawn from his side, slicing the muscle and flesh and increasing bloodflow. “Apply pressure to the wound,” Adam raps out. “To stop the bleeding you’ll need to stitch it. And you’re welcome,” he adds as Sam comes rushing in from the Archive Room with Jack right behind him. “Michael Number Two is still out there,” Adam informs the room at large.

Sam gasps “Dean???” blinking hard and going to his knees, staring at his brother intently but leaving some space between them as Cas binds up the wound. “…Is it really you?”

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean gets out weakly, sweating now from the pain in his side as well as a litany of other hurts that are now making themselves known. “Yeah, it’s me. …We’ve gotta get that bastard.” He tries to stand and his eyes bug out. “Ahhh, nope. I’m just gonna—sit for a second.” His fuzzy pain-filled gaze finds Adam’s and he nods. “Thanks for the help, kid.” Adam nods back. “I—we owe you way more than one.”

“Yeah,” Sam rasps as he pulls a chair out for Dean, guiding him into it with a hand clamped on his shoulder. He can’t stop touching his older brother on the arm and shoulder and back as Jack stands by grinning widely. “Adam, we really owe you.”

“Damn right you do. I didn’t forget. Right now I’m going after Michael, but then I want my friggin life back.”

Sam and Dean look at each other with guilt in their eyes. It is Sam who nods and clears his throat before saying softly as he blinks with emotion, "Okay. And, Michael—"

Adam's shoulders stiffen and Dean automatically reaches out to Sam without thinking. Sam pats his older brother's hand and swallows hard, but all that Michael's flat voice says as he turns towards them is: "I know."

Then he is gone, using his archangel wings to chase down the other and leaving Dean to sputter, "Did...did he just...make a Star Wars reference?? Because dude,"

Sam shakes his head. "... Pretty sure it was unintentional, Dean."

As Dean looks put-out, Cas continues tending to him and Sam at last enfolds him in a gigantic hug.

Chapter Text

"I can't believe it was too late for us to stab his ass," Dean grouses as they sit around him on the couch in the front room to where he had been moved, grimacing as Cas carefully threads a stitch through the flaps of his still-open skin. "Ouch - dammit, Cas!" He flinches as the needle tugs on his very tender nerve endings.

"I am sorry, Dean, but this must be closed in order for your bleeding to stop," the angel reminds him.

Dean rolls his eyes. "I know, man." Looking around at everyone he adds "-Seriously, my organs felt like they were bein' char-broiled, and that asshat just disappeared!"

"How DID you manage to get away?" Sam asks slowly. "...I mean, you ousted him, right?"

"Hell, I don't know WHAT I did. All I was doin' was thinkin' about you guys, I swore to myself I was getting back, and then my chest felt like it was burning, I blacked out, and woke up to fifty decibels of Cas screaming in my face."

"I'm sorry, I panicked!" Is Castiel's reply. "The power of Michael's essence burning out of you overwhelmed my senses so I couldn't tell whether or not you still lived."

Dean sighs heavily. "Coulda just checked my pulse, Cas."

"I will do that next time."

"There'd better not BE a next time."

"Let's just hope Adam can find Michael again. Did either of you see where he went?" Sam asks.

Cas and Dean shake their heads. "I was just gettin' flashes, and Cas was pretty occupied by bein' knocked out after Michael clocked him. Did get the initial take-down with a good running tackle, though. Cas, you been watching football?"

"...Not really," the seraph's eyes narrow in thought as he ties off and knots the final stitch. "I did see a rugby match on one of my excursions. It was extremely educational."

“I’LL say,” Dean chuckles fondly. “That was great, Cas. I uh—augh!” His voice breaks off with a shout of pain and he curls in on himself abruptly, hands shaking as he grips tightly at both sides of his head.

“Dean?” Sam is up and moving closer to him as Cas leans in and Jack does too, and suddenly they are all dead, sprawled out on the floor in grotesque poses. Sam’s skin is veined and bloody with dark cracks, his chest torn apart; Jack’s neck is snapped; Cas’s eyes are burned out. Dean squeezes his own eyes shut.

Michael’s voice hisses through his head: You have crossed me, Dean Winchester, and your family will not make it into my new world. You will watch them all die. My Sword, I will be back for you…and everyone you love.

Dean’s stomach lurches and he hears his little brother’s panicked voice: “Hey hey hey! Dean, it’s me. What’s going on? Are you—”

“Move, Sammy,” Dean grunts as his eyes snap open and he lunges forward off the couch. Sam’s brows knit in confusion and worry but Dean does not explain. He can’t. Lunging to his feet and grabbing the closest garbage can, he throws up, heaving and shuddering violently.

He wipes his mouth and then heaves again as he recalls Michael’s words and the bloody bodies on the floor…. Dean vomits until there is nothing but bile, and then he gasps and clenches his hands around the sides of the can beside which he had fallen to his knees. Sam is next to him with a wet washcloth, Jack with a glass of water, and Cas with a stabilizing hand on his shoulder. Dean wipes the washcloth on the back of his neck and across his face before taking a sip of water and standing with the help of Cas’s hand.

Sam’s eyes are wide and worried as he stares at the now lividly-pale face of his brother. “Dean, what happened? Are you all right?”

“NO, I’m not all right!” Dean exploded. “Michael’s friggin voice was just inside my head!”

Sam sucks in air and freezes. “Just…just now? What—how—what did he say to you?”

Dean has turned away and prepares to go clean the trash can out despite Castiel murmuring that he should sit down and rest. He breathes shakily and says “He’s - comin’ back for me, since I… ‘crossed’ him.” Dean swallows and squeezes his eyes shut, hands still shaking. “He said I’d watch you—all of you—die.” He opens his eyes and rolls them to latch onto his brother, voice plaintive and features still pale: “We’ve gotta find him, Sammy. He has to be stopped. We gotta end him.”

“He will be, Dean. I promise.” Sam steps over to his brother and squeezes Dean’s shoulder. “We’ll get him. But I think you need to rest. Here, gimme that,” he wrinkles his nose at the acrid scent of vomit as he takes the trash can from Dean and feels its contents sloshing around. Sam gently shoos the other toward his bedroom. Dean starts to protest, but truthfully he is aching everywhere and feels like he is about to face-plant into the floor. “Get in bed for a few hours, okay? I’ll wake you up if there’s any news.” Dean glowers and raises skeptical eyebrows. Sam smiles. It’s good to have him back. “I promise,” the younger man says. “Now go get some sleep.”

“Yes Mom,” Dean grumbles. And then “Wait, where IS Mom, anyway? Shouldn’t she be here?”

"Normally she would be, but she and Bobby caught wind of a case in Wichita yesterday. Something to do with Michael. Did -"

"Ugh." Dean puts his fingers to his temples and groans. “…Yeah, Wichita rings a bell. Tell them to check out – old churches. There’ll be bodies—” He shudders and almost falls. Sam leaps forward and catches Dean with a palm splayed across his chest. Cas wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulders and Jack grabs hold of his forearm. Dean looks around at all of them, bemused, and then he grins. “Aw, do you guys wanta hug it out or what? Whoa.” He gets slightly dizzy and would have fallen if no one was there. “I see what you mean, Sammy. ‘M hittin’ the hay. Wake me up before ya go-go,” Dean laughs as they walk him down the hall. “George Michael was pretty great.” He begins warbling way off-key: “So wake me up—”

"There ya go, Dean," Sam says gently and lowers his brother onto his bed. The second Dean's head hits the pillow he is out like a light. "I'll go call Mom and Bobby. Cas, do you - ?"

"I will stay with him," the angel says, lifting Dean's shirt and checking the status of his newly-stitched wound. "I need to apply some antiseptic ointment and gauze. My powers will not work on wounds from archangel blades."

Sam nods solemnly. It figured. "Thanks, Cas." He looks over at Jack, who is standing on the opposite side of Dean’s bed, studying the man as he snores softly. “Jack, what are you gonna do?” Jack does not answer immediately, simply staring as he thought of what he had said about Dean needing to die so that Michael could be stopped. He is glad that Dean is here, and knows that Sam understood what had made him say what he had; but Michael is gone, in the wind as he had feared, as they all had feared, and— “Jack!”

The nephil blinks and looks up to find Sam inches away, staring at him in some concern. “You okay?”

“Yes.” Jack nods sharply. “I will help Castiel with Dean, and then look for a way to find Michael.” His face brightens into a smile as he adds “…Perhaps Rowena has a spell that can track him.”

Sam smiles back, ecstatic to have a plan again. He remembers the spell they had been prepared to cast with Gadreel’s residual Grace…it seemed like a lifetime ago. Hopefully this time they can actually get it to work. “Sounds good, Jack. That sounds really good.”

***

Some time later, Mary drags herself wearily into the Bunker with a groan, rubbing blood-spatter off of her face and dropping duffel bags to the floor. Bobby enters behind her and slings their guns and knives down onto the table. “Where the hell is everybody?” he rumbles.

“Getting some rest, I hope,” Mary says and then her hope is slightly dashed as Jack hurtles into the main room with a book clutched in his hand. He blinks at the sight of them and then starts to grin. “Hey, Jack.”

“You seem…stimulated.” Mary and Bobby glance at each other in slight confusion. His eyebrows go down and hers go up. Something must have happened.

“Sam!” Jack calls. “Your mother and Bobby are here!”

Footsteps jog from the bathroom down the hall, where Sam had been deep-cleaning the trashcan Dean barfed in. He runs up the stairs to freeze in the doorway and stare blankly at Mary and Bobby for a split second until a huge smile splits his face in two. "Mom," Sam comes around the world table and puts his hands on her shoulders. "Dean's back. He's here in the Bunker. Cas and Adam helped get Michael out of him."

Mary sucks in an enormous breath and searches her son's face for clues on how Dean is doing. "Really?" She breathes. "Is he okay?"

"He's... resting. Had an episode where he said Michael was in his head and coming back for him."

Mary's face grows taut. "And Michael? What happened to him? Where is he now?"

Sam lifts his shoulders high in a helpless shrug. "I - we don't know yet. Adam and our Michael went after him, and Jack suggested talking to Rowena and seeing if a spell might help us track him down. And if Dean can remember anything without causing himself too much pain...," Sam trails off and his mother nods, squeezing his arm. They will finish this and find Michael somehow.

But right now - "I want to see him," she says. Sam brings her to Dean's bedroom door, which she taps on and peers around to see her eldest son curled up, bundled in blankets and sheets with Castiel watching over him from a chair close beside his bed.

Castiel moves as if to stand upon greeting her, offering his chair, but Mary waves for him to remain sitting as she comes to the opposite side of the bed, gazing down at Dean and caressing his face from temple to chin with her finger tips. "...How is he doing?" She asks Castiel quietly.

"He has slept uneasily. I've soothed his head a few times, but Michael's grace still seems inbedded into his psyche, or at least still retains some control. It has at the very least left an imprint, which I hope will be depleted over time. We may be able to extract the rest of the Grace once Dean gets stronger, though grace extraction is not without its dangers." Cas lifts his eyes to Mary's and nods at her, his expression serious and truthful. "But we will find a way to heal him. It will be fine," he says.

Mary nods and her lips lift in a tiny smile that belies worry yet also relief. She has her son back. "I'd like to stay with him," she tells the angel.

***

And now I smell the rain - and with it pain
So I've got to be a-movin' on [...]

Got no time for spreadin' roots
I feel I must be gone.
Though our health we drank a thousand times,
It's time to ramble on...

Dean hears the crash of Bonham on the cymbals and Jones's mighty riff as though from a great distance that is shrinking steadily. He feels warm and sees golden light behind his closed eyelids. Opening his eyes slowly, Dean sees his mother in the chair beside his bed, a spot he could have sworn Cas had just occupied. Seems like Sam had just put him in bed five minutes ago...how long has he been out? Licking dry lips and clearing his throat, Dean cracks a smile. "Hey, Mom. You're a sight for sore eyes."

“Dean,” Mary’s face and voice are suffused with loving relief as she smiles back at her son and reaches over, cupping his face in one hand. “I could say the same about you, honey. You want some water?” She lets go of him and hands his glass over as Dean hauls himself up into a sitting position and gulps down the refreshing liquid. “…You’ve got some good tunes on this tape,” His mother nods to the speakers from which Zeppelin still softly plays. “I can see why these are your top songs.” Dean lifts his head and notices his handwriting on the side of the tape as the last strains of the final song die and Mary ejects it from the player.

“But that’s—” Dean recalls telling Cas: It’s a gift. You keep those.

“Castiel put this on while he was here watching over you. He said he thought the sound of these songs might be helpful; make you feel better.” Dean’s mother smiles again. “They certainly bring back memories for me.”

What a sentimental sonofabitch Cas is. Dean has always suspected it, but now he knows for sure. To stop mulling over the angel’s ridiculousness, “Got some good memories?” he asks his mom.

Mary nods, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees, fingers lacing together. “I remember driving in the car with your father, screaming along to ‘Immigrant Song’. He’d look over at me during the aah-aah parts.” She laughs and shakes her head with affection. “What a goofball. And he sang the entirety of ‘Since I’ve Been Loving You’ on the way to Reno, but I told him he wasn’t getting any pre-marital nookie.” She gasps and blushes as she realizes who she is talking to. Hearing that sort of thing is likely to make her eldest son uncomfortable. “Dean, I’m—” she starts.

Dean waves away the words. “Mom, it’s okay. I’m glad you guys got to make those memories.” He waggles his eyebrows. “But come on, you didn’t seriously hold out on him after he sang that WHOLE SONG, did you?”

Mary faux-gasps and then her eyes twinkle. “Well, not the entire way,” She allows. “We pulled off at a trucker campground for about an hour.”

“All right, well –” Dean feels uncomfortable NOW....

“Dean! You’re awake!” Sam sticks his head in the doorway as he had been passing by and heard their voices. Thank god for Sammy. Dean nods rapidly and beckons for him to come in.

Sam looks from his brother to their mom, registering the discomfort in the room as Mary presses her lips together and looks down at her lap to hide her smile. “Uhhh…I talked to Rowena, and she says she can use a tracking spell to find Michael after we get his residual Grace out of you,” Sam tells him.

Dean shudders. “Eugh. When all this is over, somebody needs to remind me to take the hottest possible shower like, ever.” He carefully swings his legs out of the bed and stands, rolling his shoulders. “I feel dirty with any part’a that asshat still affecting me.”

After Dean gets dressed—SOMEone had taken Michael’s sleazy stockbroker duds off of him already, thank goodness—but once in his own clothes, he feels a little better. A bit more like himself again.

“Ah, Dean,” Rowena says as he comes into the main room. “So good to have you back. You’d not believe how mopey everybody got without you! Especially your brother.” The witch tilts her head with a small smirk curving her mouth upward. “Well then again, with him maybe you would…”

Sam huffs out an exasperated sigh. “Rowena—”

She bats her eyes innocently. “Yes, Samuel? It’s all right, you can admit to being a wreck while your big brother was gone. There’s no shame in that.”

“There IS shame in taunting him about it, however.” Castiel’s tone is frosty as he enters the room with Jack behind him, carrying spell supplies. “We were all distraught. But be that as it may, Dean is back now, Rowena – and we must locate and subdue Michael before it is too late.” He places a large bowl on the table and gestures with one hand at her. “Please begin your tracking spell.”

Rowena purses her lips and slowly prances past him to the table with her nose in the air. “Have a flair for the dramatic, don’t we? I like that. You could use a wee bit more of a sense of humour, though.” She leans in towards Castiel and strokes one finger down his tie. The seraph squints at her. Looking up at him through her lashes and realizing her words are having little to no effect, the redhead leans back and grows businesslike. “Very well. You know that this tracking spell is also a binding spell, do you not, Dean? Michael left a lot of Grace inside you. If it is removed, you will be very weak. But Michael is lacking power too. If he returns here via the binding – and you give your consent – this time,”

“…Our Michael can kill him,” Dean finishes. “Or I can.”

“Yes,” nods the witch. “That is the hope.”

Dean looks around at everyone in the room, committing their faces to memory in case this goes sideways, and cracks his neck. “Okay then. Let’s do this.”

***

Cas is able to extract four syringes-worth of archangel Grace from Dean, inserting a needle into the side of Dean's neck and plunging out the power. As he gathered the Grace, Rowena spoke her spell and Dean gasped and clenched his hands, thrashing his head from side to side as the power inside him diminished.

"This spell not only tracks and binds alternate Michael, but ours, as they have the same signature of power, Dean. I hope you—"

It is then that a loud crash sounds against the Bunker door and they all jump. It is Sam who goes to open it, clutching his gun as he climbs the stairs. He lets out a slight exclamation as he opens the door.

"Who is it, Sammy?" Dean calls gruffy. "The friggin Easter Bunny?" Cas, still standing close by, squints at his friend in confusion. Dean shrugs. "Honest question."

But Sam tramps back down the steps with not the Easter Bunny, but Adam. The young man pans his eyes around at everyone with raised eyebrows as he stalks into the space. Dean lifts his head and clambers to his feet a trifle unsteadily. "Alright, I'm here," the Milligan man remarks. "We're here. What do you want?"

Dean figures he needs to be the one to explain what they're doing, so he clears his throat and goes over to Adam, picking up one of the four reserves of Grace. "Uh, Adam, I need to speak to Michael if that's cool." Adam blinks. Dean takes that as the only positive response he is likely to get from the guy and so he presses on, holding out the needle: "...Michael. I want you to take this grace to power yourself up and possess me."

"Pos—what??" Adam sputters. He notes the sincerity in Dean's expression and adds "Oh NOW you wanna get possessed by this ass clown?! ...No offense, Michael," he adds.

His voice deepens and shoulders stiffen as the angel inside his body utters "Some offense was taken," with snide irony. Huh. Must have learned something about humor in the Cage, Dean thinks. He is not impressed for long, because Michael's voice demands of him sharply "Explain."

Sam's brows lower and his mouth stretches in bewilderment at the sheer oddness of seeing a vessel having a verbal conversation alongside the being doing the possessing. He glances at his older brother and Dean catches his eyes, dipping his own head to one side. "This is a new one on me too, Sammy."

Their mother smiles slightly at them both and Bobby appears impassive as ever behind his beard. Jack hangs on every word as he and Castiel pass spell ingredients to Rowena as the witch bends over her bowl and continues to murmur the remainder of the spell.

Dean settles his own shoulders and spreads his legs in a strong stance. "Possess me so you and asshat you can duke it out and we can end this. But Adam goes free. Understand?" Dean's voice is shaking a tiny bit. "I don't want all the crap we pulled...to force him into this fight, and us leavin' him behind - that shouldn't be the only thing he remembers. This kid deserves a life," Dean adds firmly, chin coming up and eyes blazing as he adds with a wave of his hand "Normal apple-pie, white picket fence, whatever. ...The rest of my family does too." His voice has grown lower, a deep rumble as the Winchester takes a breath. "And I'm gonna give them one." He holds out the first needle and nods for Cas to bring over the other three receptacles of Grace. "What do you say?"

Adam stares Dean down coldly, eyes flickering back and forth as he takes in what the other said. Then he reaches out slowly and takes the needleful of Grace from Dean. Carefully he injects it as one would an I.V. and then reaches out to Cas for the second batch.

Light blooms in Adam's arm and extends through his body under his skin as he inserts the grace, and then his entire body clenches as the third syringe enters his system. Bowing forward and gasping, he grits his teeth and plunges the last portion into his vein. The syringe drops from nerveless fingers and shatters as Adam moans, pressing both fists against his thighs as his skin glows brighter and brighter. Everyone else covers their eyes and ducks as he lets out a yell and a cold wind blows through the Bunker as the power coalesces and stabilizes.

Dean lowers his forearm from where he had flung it across his eyes and rises to one knee as the radiance dies. Adam's body turns to face him, but it is Michael's voice that asks "Do you want the interloper out of this world?"

Dean clenches his fists and his voice is low and rough with furious conviction. "More than anything, yes, I do."

The younger man locks eyes with him and steps closer. "Then I shall help you," he says.

"Okay," Dean spreads out both of his arms and tries to keep his stomach from dropping. "Let's dance. I give you my permission to possess my body."

Adam's eyes snap wide and blaze blue before a blue-white glow travels out of him and envelops Dean completely. Adam collapses.

Sam leaps forward to catch him and the youngest blinks, his body jerking violently and his eyes completely clear, and completely his, for the first time. "Dean..."

The Gracelight has diminished around the eldest Winchester and a voice half-his and half-Michael's says "You are free to go. You can live your life now, Adam Milligan." He blinks and chokes out his next words, now completely Dean: "Take care, okay?" And then to Sam: "Get him out of here, Sammy—all of you need to leave right now." His eyes rise up to the roof as Rowena says the final words of her spell and the Bunker lights flicker. "Michael is coming!!"

"No, Dean," Sam protests, eyes full of determination as he continues to clutch Adam to his side. Everyone has moved into a knot in the center of the room, even Rowena. "I'm not gonna leave you!"

"...You have to," Dean croaks as his lips tremble. "I'm sorry. Love ya, little brother." Fighting back tears and hearing Sam let out a sob of his own, Dean locks his eyes on his angel. "Cas, get them outta here."

Castiel nods. "Grab hold of each other." His voice is steely. Mary and Bobby take each other's hands, Jack grabs onto Sam and Rowena, and Cas stands close beside them, placing one of his hands on each of Jack's and Mary's shoulders. "Good luck, Dean," he intones.

And then they are gone.

Chapter Text

Castiel teleports everyone into the dungeon Panic Room where years ago they had imprisoned Crowley. "What—no!" Sam screams, letting go of Adam at last. He runs to the door and pounds furiously against it. "DEAN!!!" He slams his palms flush to the metal and looks around wildly. "We've gotta do something - we have to help him!"

Castiel's light eyes are huge and heartbroken. "I'm sorry, Sam. He told me I must keep you—all of you—safe. And this is the best way."

Sam shakes his head in disbelieving horror. "No...,"

"He has a binding spell on him, Samuel. Not to mention being full of Grace stolen from that archangel. There is nothing more that we can do to boost your brother's power and help him in this fight," Rowena speaks up.

"So what?" Sam snarls, whirling on her with his hair flying. "I'm not going to give up on my family and let them die, Rowena! Not like you did with yours!" The witch's eyes bulge and her body jerks as if he had slapped her. Jack looks up at Sam with horrified reproach, and both Mary's and Bobby's expressions are disappointed. Even Adam whistles and shoots him a look like: Wow, Sam. That was pretty fucked up. Sam closes his eyes. "I'm - I'm sorry, Rowena. I didn't—"

"—Didn't mean it? Well, you said it. And however true it is, for your information, Sam; do you think that monster will simply let your brother go? If he gets the opportunity, he will kill us all. So I for one am GLAD Castiel decided to bring us down here." She lifts the bottom of her dress off of the floor and tosses her hair, turning away to sit in the chair beside a small table that stands against the wall. "Now," the redhead focuses on everyone else in the room, carefully not looking at Sam. She withdraws a pack of tarot cards from her bag. "Would anyone care to have their fortune told while we wait?"

***

Dean closes his eyes as he hears Sam’s frantic shout reverberate up through the floor and walls of the Bunker from the safe room. “Now it’s just you and me,” he mutters to Michael as alarms begin to blare and the Bunker starts to shudder, lights all snapping out and the red emergency beacon blinking. “Let’s finish this.”

He transports himself topside and waits on the roof of the power plant. The sky above him swirls with dark grey towers of cumulonimbus clouds, hanging menacingly, and a figure appears, touching down in front of Dean with its clothes – and skin – in tatters. He and Michael both do a double-take, because Alternate Michael’s new vessel… is Nick.

They had carried his body back to the Bunker—Sam and Jack had, to ensure that Lucifer was truly gone for good—to try and discover what had become of Jack’s stolen Nephilim grace. If it was still inside the body somehow. They had housed the body outside, a ways from the Bunker once it began to decay, and thus to smell.

All of this is news to Dean, so his response to the sight is: “What in the holy hell?!”

“What do you think?” Alternate Michael smirked. “I already know this suit, and his body is… resilient, if I say so myself.” He cocks his now-blond head and his eyes flash at Dean. “I see you didn’t come alone either.”

Dean lifts his chin and snarls “That’s right, you kinky sonofabitch—this time, I’ve got home-field advantage.” He clenches his fists and then throws both arms forward, opening his hands and extending his fingers, shooting Grace directly into the other’s face. Nick’s body somersaults backwards off the roof and hits the ground far below with a solid THUD. Dean dives down after him as it starts to rain.

Lifting his now-misshapen head from the dirt, Alternate Michael grins. Bloody saliva drips between his teeth, and a large piece of flesh from his lower lip drops off of his face. “…Perfect. I am not alone either…,” As Dean grabs the archangel’s tattered shirt and hauls him to his feet, Michael whistles. Out of the woods steps a quintet of monsters. “First human on the menu,” the archangel calls, voice grating in Nick’s corroded vocal chords. “Dean Winchester, the killer of so many of your kind.” He spits out phlegm and more flesh, and teeth as the Grace that had hit him does its damage. “...As I promised. Hope he doesn’t disappoint.” Pulling himself away from Dean’s hands by heating his body with Grace, the alternate archangel winks and whispers, “Have fun.”

All of the monsters lunge and Dean dives out of the way, sending a fist flying to connect with a loosening jaw. Shifter. Second one flying at him is a vampire, and Dean whips around, charging towards his car. Thank god Sam had been using Baby and left her parked outside. And that he had grabbed his keys the second he woke up. Where are you going? Demands the Michael inside his head. The fight is THAT way!

“Well, unless you know a better way to gank a vampire,” Dean grunts as he unlocks the Impala and rummages inside it for the ever-present vial of dead man’s blood. “…I need my machete. Pucker up, buttercup.” Dean grabs the blade and slams the glass jar against it with his right hand, sending pieces of shattered glass flying and blood spattering the blade, the trunk, and his face. A sharp pain pierces his palm from a large shard but he ignores it. Instead he whirls around with a shout and slices through the throat of the snarling vamp.

As the vampire falls, Dean too staggers backwards, a werewolf upon him now, claws shredding his shirt and the flesh of his chest. Snarling he pumps three silver bullets into its chest from the gun he grabbed out of the trunk. “Michael,” he gasps as the wolf rises, utterly unfazed. “What the f—” and the angel riding shotgun shoots out Dean’s left hand and clamps it around the lycanthrope’s face, smiting it. “Oh,” Dean’s lips purse and he nods as the now-lifeless body crumples to the ground beside the car. “…that’s helpful.”

He has given them his Grace! Michael seethes. That is an abomination, to beget more abominations. He MUST stop!

“Whoa –” Dean feels himself stand and stride around the car. The final monsters have decided not to rush him individually, but dive upon him at once. Whipping out both of his arms stiffly, one to each side, Dean’s green eyes blaze with angelic light and the monsters explode. Now there is only one, the shifter, who had fallen back after Dean punched it….

“ENOUGH!!” Alternate Michael roars. Dean blinks. Well, damn. They really ARE the same person. “ENOUGH OF THIS! Why do you fight me? We are the SAME! I want to rule rightly, to make this world simple and well-ordered.”

“You are creating abominations out of your Grace!” this world’s Michael shouts with Dean’s voice. “That is unconscionable. We are meant to SERVE humanity! I have—faltered in that recently,” he adds as Dean lets out a disbelieving snort. “I was imprisoned, which is the ONLY reason you are here and have thus far survived!”

A self-satisfied smirk lifts what is left of Alternate Michael’s lips. “Ah, but the difference between us is that I am a far better soldier and leader than you will EVER be.” He flies forward, fist connecting with Dean’s face. His teeth are bared. “That is precisely why you remained in prison, why your Father did not save you.”

Dean winces. He has never been able to feel sympathy for Michael before, but hearing that has got to be rough. The archangel stills, lowering Dean’s head and closing his eyes. The other archangel stretches out his palm and splays his fingers across Dean’s chest, and then raises his hand to his shoulder. At that touch, Michael snaps the apple-green orbs back open. “No. No, we WERE the same,” he whispers, grabbing Alternate Michael’s arm and flipping him over his body.

Dean stomps on Nick’s chest, feeling the bones crack as he grinds his heel downward. “Now—” the Winchester man’s teeth are clenched so hard that his jaw hurts, and blood vessels stand out on his forehead as Michael commands his voice “But now, you - you are twisted, and cruel, and unnatural. The reason my father did not save me is because in doing what I did—” Dean feels tears prick his eyes because of Michael’s emotions as the archangel squeezes Nick’s arms, causing the other to grunt in discomfort as cracks spread beneath his fingers. “I did not DESERVE to be saved,” Michael whispers, his eyes full of regret and sorrow over what he had planned to do to Lucifer. What he had done to the innocent boy who consented to be his vessel. “I do not deserve forgiveness,” He says now, dragging the other Michael to his feet. Nick’s head lolls and Michael cannot stop seeing his little brother and what he had gone through. What they had both gone through together. He gives the other world’s archangel a brutal shake. “But that does not matter. I will defeat you, and I will RIGHT THIS WRONG!” Michael roars and uses his borrowed Grace to blast Alternate Michael away.

Nick’s body flies through the air and collapses, arms and legs akimbo, for a brief moment before his head turns almost all the way around, now cocked at an impossible angle. Rising, the archangel inside him hisses, as though he had not heard a single thing the other just uttered: “Humans are so messy, so complex, so unsure. As, evidently, are you. I can fix that.”

Dean takes control of his voice now, his entire body vibrating in fury: “What, by EATING us –or making us your slaves?! Yeah, I heard that little tidbit when I was being ridden by your psychotic ass, pal. We’re all good here. Oh, and fuck you.”

Alternate Michael roars, his eyes, the entirety of his face, glowing with what Grace he has left. He opens his mouth and expels it, blasting Dean with blue-gold light, almost a flame. It sears across the Winchester’s skin and burns, burrowing beneath with the help of the residual Nephilim power that is reanimating Nick’s corpse. At least, that is what Dean guesses is happening as he is blasted back into the wall of the power plant, cracking it all the way from the place his body hits down to the foundation.

…He is stronger than we thought, Dean. Michael, once again letting Dean take the lead after lowering his body off of the building, speaks up wearily.

“But we’ve got his Grace,” Dean snarls, shooting blue-white lightning at the blond archangel. “So why don’t you buck up?” he adds scathingly.

Silence, then …I suppose I deserved that.

“Ya think?” Dean is seriously pissed off now. “You can have your self-suffering pity party LATER, Michael! AFTER we waste this asshole!”

The rain is coming down much harder now, pelting onto and punishing their bodies and turning the ground into muck. Raindrops soak and freeze the skin. Dean can handle it, slogging through the mud to beat the crap out of Alternate Michael, but Nick’s body has decayed so that the droplets not only mark his skin but perforate it, giving his exposed flesh and innards the consistency of chunky chili or tomato soup. “I’m gonna throw up,” Dean says, and Alternate Michael – his residual amount of Grace dwindling in earnest now, snarls and throws himself on top of Dean, bashing him in the chin with his now mostly-exposed skull, strips of hair and flesh entangling the Winchester.

Dean hits the ground and rolls, his teeth clacking together and causing him to see stars. Mud splashes and spatters, soaking his clothes and face. With a guttural sound he clutches Nick’s swiftly-deteriorating body and yanks it to the ground, rolling over and pressing the body into the mud with something beyond fury. He is fighting blind; the rain and mud that coat his face render his vision opaque. But he feels the teeth and skin of Alternate Michael’s vessel fall away, and then with strength borne of violent, animal desperation, Nick’s fingers of now mostly bone wrap around Dean’s throat and archangel strength flips Dean onto his back, pinning him to the ground and slamming him downwards, over and over, into the mud.

Thick glop oozes and sloshes into Dean’s hair, his ears, drips down his neck and underneath his collar; it is clammy-cold as it coats his skin. He struggles mightily, thrusting his legs and arms and torso upwards to throw his assailant off. The sight of Nick’s rictus grin and the shine of bones in his face as rainwater sluices over it, dropping flesh off with wet, sickening plops as lightning illuminates the area around them…well, it is probably going to haunt Dean’s nightmares for a long damn time.

If he ever has nightmares again, or gets the chance to have any dreams at all—Dean’s vision is fading around the edges as his thrashings grow weaker beneath the basically bare bones of the relentless angelic vessel. The knife, Dean, a voice in his head whispers urgently as his vision goes black. Use the archangel blade! Dean blinks water and mud from his eyes once and his mouth opens, body going slack as Nick’s cold bones cinch around his neck. Come on, Winchester—FIGHT!!! The words rise to a howl, and Dean’s nerveless fingers scrabble to unsheathe the blade he had carried inside his jacket, but as he touches the metal, the being choking him lets out an inhuman scream, belting the knife away. Its bright silver length sparkles as it spins through the air above them both, and Dean can BREATHE—his throat has been relinquished.

Dean’s eyes flash blue and his body snaps upright, both hands outstretched as that same voice within him speaks, aloud this time: “That was a mistake. And it will be your last.” Dean grabs Nick’s deteriorating face in his hand, fingers jamming into the other’s eye sockets, pulping the orbs as he drags himself to his feet and the archangel screams, arms flailing wildly. Lunging sideways, Dean flings his other arm out and takes up the archangel blade with a vicelike grip. He stabs it through Nick’s neck, snapping his esophagus and the last spurts of dark blood drip as a white light blasts from the aperture and from Nick’s eyes and mouth as well, Dean having wrenched his other hand away.

Alternate Michael screams and as his essence burns away, he lifts bony hands, thrusting them at Dean’s chest and floundering, attempting to tear his stolen Grace out of the Winchester by physical force, but he is too late. Nick’s nearly decapitated body falls and breaks apart as the last of the archangel is destroyed. The imprint of gigantic wings is burned into the mud, creating strange black stone inscribed with the marks of feathers. Dean bows forward and falls to his knees, choking and spitting out clots of blood. His eyes scan the surrounding area blearily as he tries to wipe them clean of mud and water and blood, but stops as he feels the jellylike remnants of Nick’s eyeballs stuck to his fingers. “Is he…is he really gone?” Dean gasps, frantic and shuddering, curling into himself against the slick cool mud. …Yes, intones a thready voice from deep inside his skull. Michael. And now…I too must go. Thank you, Dean Winchester. And I am sorry. Dean croaks “Where—wait!” But the archangel expels himself and the Winchester watches a thin thread of Gracelight leave his body and disappear, catching the closest tree on fire.

Dean continues to cough and spit gore, trying desperately to move, to figure out where Michael has gone and follow him; to ask what in the hell his apology meant, but falls onto his hands and knees instead, hacking and shuddering. He feels as though he blacked out for a second, maybe more, but opens his eyes to find his cheek pillowed on the mud and hear footsteps sloshing and crunching over to him.

A panicked voice is calling “Dean! Dean, hey, it’s me. Hold on, I’ve gotcha.” Sammy. His brother has crouched to one side of him and grunts, grabbing Dean’s shoulders and hauling him out of the mud. He cups Dean’s face and looks him over critically before his eyes bug out and he says “Put your arms around my neck—we gotta go,” and hauls his older brother against his chest as he takes several huge steps and the burning tree falls with a crash, shaking the ground where they had just been.

Sam breathes hard and puts his brother down gently as the rain plasters his hair to his face and neck, extinguishing the remaining flames nearby. Dean groans and drops his face against his brother’s broad shoulder, going limp. Sam wraps an arm around him and picks him back up. “Okay,” he sniffs. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay, Dean.” Lifting his brother’s now-totally-inert form, Sam clomps back through the downpour and the mud to the main door of the Bunker.

Cas holds it open for them, his blue eyes the only real color in the landscape as the seraph's gaze travels over Sam and Dean. Jack immediately goes to the bathroom for towels and washcloths as soon as he hears Sam’s squelching shoes and sees Dean’s mud-encrusted body. Adam follows him to help. Mary moves books and coats off the couch and Bobby spreads out an old sheet for Dean to stretch out on.

Sam carefully lays his brother down and steps back as the others swoop in to clean Dean off and begin the arduous process of healing.

***

Dean's vision fades in and out as he feels warm wet cloth rubbing over and cleaning his skin. He shoots into full consciousness for an instant from pain stabbing through his chest like a hot knife. He feels hands gripping and holding his shoulders tightly before slipping into unconsciousness again.

When he wakes up completely, Dean feels like all of his major organs have been dug out, his insides flash-fried and then pumped full of acid before the organs were stuffed back in. His face tightens and he mumbles "...Now I totally understand your pureed-tomato-in-a-blender-of-salsa analogy, Cas." Dean squeezes his eyes shut with a jolt of agony as he lifts his torso to lean upright against the pillows and back of the couch. Breathing heavily even after that single small movement, Dean takes a moment to blink dark spots out of his vision and then finds Castiel standing in front of him.

"The way you are feeling is a result of prolonged exposure to archangel Grace energy, Dean. You should heal - in time."

"That's great, Cas. Awesome. But how long do I have to feel like crap first??"

The angel shakes his head. "I don't know precisely. There are no precedents for a person being possessed by not one, but two versions of an archangel. Your brain functions are fine - you are not vegetating, as Raphael's earlier vessel did. Nevertheless, you require ample rest." Dean opens his mouth to protest, but the angel continues "- that is not a request, Dean. Your body is not physically strong enough to do anything else right now." Cas leans in and puts a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "Sam, Jack, and I will search for our version of Michael. You'll have to...stay here." He presses his lips together and peers worriedly into Dean's face. Expecting a shouting match at the very least, but the Winchester sighs. He really does feel awful.

"Yeah, well, what am I gonna do while I'm stuck in here? Become the ultimate housewife - or the next Martha Stewart?"

The other blinks. "I...hope you don't intend to take Martha Stewart as a role model, Dean - she was imprisoned, was she not?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yes, I know that, Cas. I just meant, whaddaya want me to do? Start BAKING? Forget it, it was a joke...."

"You COULD do some baking, Dean," the angel suggests, his gaze thoughtful. "I know how much you like food."

"Yeah, I like to eat it," Dean interjects, but Cas has him. He does honestly enjoy cooking for everyone, and he really needs to learn how to bake his own pies. At this point going to the bakery every week is just sad. Not to mention all the times Sammy forgets to actually do that. "Alright, if someone wants to get the ingredients, I will rest up and bake some friggin pies. Okay, Cas?" The angel legitimately BEAMS at him. "Why the hell is this so important to you?" He demands gruffly.

Castiel squeezes his friend's shoulder, tone of voice sincere and gentle: "Because you mean much to me, Dean Winchester. And I want to see you happy and living a long, healthy life."

"Have you MET me?" Dean cracks. "Uh, 'long and healthy' ain't exactly a part of the hunter lifestyle, man."

"But happiness is," Cas responds fiercely. "Or it can be. I firmly believe that, Dean. And I know that pie makes you happy. Pie, and taking care of your family."

Dean works his jaw and lips, looking down. Cas is one perceptive bastard. "...What about you, Cas?" He asks finally. "What makes you happy?"

The seraph's eyes are full of warmth as he answers "You do, Dean. You and Sam and Jack, and your mother... You Winchesters are my family, and being with - and able to help - you is all I could ever want."

Dean's throat clicks with emotion upon hearing that. Damn. He wonders if all his pain is making him hear and feel things, but his friend is still just standing there looking sincere and sweet and serious. "Ah, shut up, Cas." He wavers and stands, holding out his arms to the angel. "C'mere." Pulling the other in for a hug, Dean holds on to him as tight as he can.

Chapter Text

Breaking up their hug at last and patting the angel on one shoulder, Dean adds with his own voice a trifle shaky, “Thank you for everything, buddy.”

Castiel nods. “Of course.”

“No, Cas, I mean it.”

“So do I, Dean.”

“I’m heading to the grocery store,” Mary calls, sticking her head in the doorway and beaming as she sees her oldest son on his feet. “Any requests?”

“…None that a mother could fill…,” Dean mutters.

Cas, however, goes over to her. “Mary, could you purchase the ingredients to bake a pie?”

Mary blinks. “Well sure, Castiel, I suppose. Of course I can always just grab a ready-made one from the bakery—”

“No need,” inserts the angel. “I have talked with Dean,”

“…And Cas says I oughta start bakin’ pie.” Dean makes his way over to his mother with a swinging gait, hands thrust deep in his pockets. “He thinks it’ll help me.” Shrugs. “I think he’s a few bricks shy, but hell – what else am I gonna do while I’m stuck in here trying to heal?” Can’t watch porn ALL the time, he adds in his head and tries to look innocent.

Mary smiles from Castiel to her son and then touches Dean’s cheek. “Pie ingredients it is. And I know we need more beer, because let’s face it – we ALWAYS need beer. Maybe some cuts of meat too. Does Sam have enough veggies for his salads?”

Dean snorts and shrugs again. “I have no idea, Mom. I’ve stayed away from that crap ever since he made me eat kale.” He shudders. “I still don’t know what the hell it IS.”

“It’s healthy, is what it is,” comes Sam’s voice. He had been in the workout room and on the firing range with Jack and now blots his sweaty face dry with a towel. “Whoo! What a workout. You want any company getting groceries, Mom?”

“Only if you shower first, hon,” she says.

Dean chokes on a laugh. “Oooh man, she’s sayin’ that you smell rank, Sam!” His brother shoots him a bitch-face.

“That is not what I said,” Mary speaks coolly, giving her eldest son a stern look of her own. “I only wanted to make sure you’d be comfortable while shopping, Sam. If you WANT to walk up and down aisles in those sweat-soaked clothes…” She lets the tail-end of her sentence hang in the air.

“Point taken, Mom.” Sam nods with a tiny smile, and Dean has the decency to appear contrite.

It is then that Adam passes by wearing a pair of headphones. Sam had given him some as soon as he came, pretty much. Being without Michael after having a voice and presence in his head for so damned long is a major adjustment to make, and Adam spends most of the time blocking outside noise or listening to music.

Sam ducks his head to catch the younger man’s eyes and greets him. “Hey, uh…hey, Adam.” The other stops walking and pulls one side of the headset away from his ear slowly. “Um…do you need anything from the grocery store? Mom’s going.” Adam glances at Mary, who smiles at him. He swiftly looks away, a pained expression flashing across his face.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet a couple of times, he says “Uh…no thanks. Unless they’ve got—a blank notebook or something…. I’ll eat whatever you get to eat. And what you remember to feed me, since you’re doing that now.” The last sentence is acerbic but his tone remains flat and matter-of-fact. It is a simple statement but causes Sam and Dean to glance at each other. Castiel puts a steadying hand on the eldest Winchester’s arm, as Dean had been about to open his mouth and say something he would likely come to regret.

“I’ll look for a notebook, Adam,” Mary promises gently.

Still not quite looking at her, Adam nods and says “Thank you,” softly before turning and leaving the room. There is silence after his exit that is only disrupted by Mary clapping her hands and heading out to the garage. Jack takes up his coat and follows her after looking to Cas and Sam for permission. Both nod at him, Dean tells him to be careful, and then Jack and Mary depart.

Sam goes to take a shower and Dean sits back down on the couch, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. He does not want anyone to take note of him, but Castiel brings him a glass of water and a blanket: “You need to stay warm and hydrated, Dean.”

“I’m FINE, Cas. Jeezus.” But Dean takes a begrudging sip of water and drapes the proffered blanket across his legs.

***

Dean doesn’t recall falling asleep, or even closing his eyes, but when he opens them Cas is nowhere to be seen and it feels like some time later. Here comes Sammy with his hair almost dry, which tells Dean that he was asleep for at least half an hour. “Feel better?” Sam asks.

“A little. How long was I out?”

“Almost an hour.”

Whoa. “Where’s Cas?”

“He wanted to let you get some rest and thought it would be a good idea for him to check for a lead on Michael, since we haven’t heard anything from him in a few days.”

Dean scoffs. “A few DAYS? Sam, it’s been more than a week. And since he set Adam free, he’s got no reason to return here for a vessel ‘less he thinks I’d accept his ass in again.”

“Would you?”

“What do you think?” Dean snaps. The other cocks his head. Dean's temper flares. “NO! Don’t be stupid, Sam – that was a one-time thing.”

Sam shrugs. “Just asking.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my answer. Oh, and since we’re doin’ some askin’,” Dean stares angrily at his younger brother and raps out “—why in the HELL did you keep Nick’s body around, unburied like that? You know why we don’t do that sort of shit!”

Sam sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “…Yeah, I know, Dean. So that kind of possession doesn’t happen.”

“And?” Dean demands heatedly.

Lifting both of his hands in a helpless gesture, the younger man replies: “And this time I just—Jack was so upset after losing his powers, and I wanted to do something about it. Nothing else was going right, and I thought maybe I could siphon the nephil grace out of Nick's body, but couldn’t. We weren’t finding anything out on you, and I guess…I just needed a win, Dean.” Sam’s voice is soft and he bows his head, feathery tufts of hair hanging down over his eyes.

Dean’s voice lowers to a growl. “So you’re fully aware of how idiotic that was? ‘Harvesting’ him for Jack, or whatever—that’s pretty sketchy, Sam. Not to mention it almost ended up as a loss for all of us.”

“Is this going somewhere?” Sam asks, biting his lip. “Because I already feel crappy enough about it, man. And about other stuff. So if you’re going to say something—”

“I was GOING to tell ya that you’re an idiot. But hey,” Dean reaches over and grips his brother by the arm, softening. “…you were an idiot for the right reasons, okay? You took care of everybody while I was gone, the way you always do. I spend so much’a my time taking care of you that I never really realized…” Dean clears his throat and pauses, causing Sam to blink and raise his eyes. “…never realized how good you are at it.” He pats Sam’s arm and then releases him with a nod. “Ya did good.”

Sam pushes back his hair, bashful. “I learned it from you, Dean,” he says softly.

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, you did this better than I could’ve, Sammy. You talk to everybody, know how they’re doing and how to keep their spirits up. I’m giving you a compliment, dude. Can’t’cha just take it?”

“No.” Sam shakes his head and shifts on his feet a little, sitting down next to Dean finally and looking his older brother dead in the eye. “No, I can’t. I was going crazy trying to find you, D. I didn’t eat, couldn’t sleep for days – and when I DID sleep I had nightmares that were …horrible.” He sucks in a shaky breath and continues “What I’m trying to say is… they all took care of me. Everyone else did. Jack, Mom, Bobby, Cas – even Rowena helped a bit.” Dean snorts in disbelief. “I’m serious, man. She did that binding spell and sent us into the Cage to rescue Adam—”

Dean's expression hardens again. “Yeah, I was gonna ask about that. What went into that spell, Sam? Did you have to make a deal with her?”

“No, Dean. That’s what I’m trying to tell you – there was no deal. We just…explained everything to her about what we wanted to do, and…and she helped.”

“She helped.” Dean shakes his head, incredulous now, not to mention increasingly suspicious. “Out of the goodness of her freakin’ heart? Rowena? Are we talkin’ about the same witch here?”

“Yes, Dean. And I DO have a heart, contrary to what Fergus would have had you believe.” The witch herself now leans in the doorway with a slight smile.

Dean glowers at her. “Is there no privacy in here anymore?!” he demands.

“Not if you’re going to shout, no.” Rowena smirks. Dean continues to glare, his eyebrows lowering. “So touchy.” The witch raises her own brows and strolls into the room. “Same old Dean. Still don’t trust me, eh?”

“Hell no,” he snaps.

Rowena staggers to one side and puts one hand to her heart. “Really, after all I’ve done for you boys? You wound me, Dean Winchester.” Stepping over to the couch where they are sitting, she leans in and squeezes Sam’s left shoulder. “You trust me though, don’t you, Samuel?” Sam coughs. Clearly in this moment she has forgotten - or more likely chosen not to think about - what he had said to her in the Panic Room. He shoots her an awkward smile as she lets go of him with a pat and heads over to the bookshelves.

“Can we help you with something?” Dean grouses.

“Not at all. Don’t mind me; continue your bit of brotherly melodrama, by all means.”

“Rowena…,” Sam sighs.

The witch presses her lips together and then spins around to face them, her skirt flaring with the movement. “Well, I have been doing some research, if you must know. Your little experiment to cure an angel? It may also have some benefits against the lasting effects of …Grace poisoning.” She tilts her face with a significant look at Dean.

Dean’s eyebrows snap together and Sam leans toward her. “Grace poisoning? Do you mean – is that happening to Dean?”

“Dude, I’m fine,” The older Winchester protests. He glares at Rowena. “I’m not being friggin POISONED.”

“Oh, really?” Rowena crosses her arms. “When is the last time you were truly hungry, Dean? Or legitimately thirsty for anything? You are eating and sleeping, yes, but food doesn’t taste like anything at all, and your rests only leave you slightly less exhausted. And that feeling, like your organs are swelling from acid inside them? The burning in your chest is because they ARE, dear. All that angelic power has to go somewhere, and since it isn’t being used anymore….” Her words hang there.

Dean finishes for her: “…I’m gonna blow in a greasy hydraulic disaster.” He stares at her bitterly, expression wretched. “How’d you know?” He asks. “About me eating?”

Sam stares at his brother in horror. Dean isn’t even trying to deny the witch’s words. He must feel awful. Why wouldn’t he say anything? Because it’s Dean. Sam answers his own question.

Rowena taps the side of her nose. “A witch can always tell these things. Your energy just isn’t quite the same. Usually it fluctuates but remains relatively stable. But now…how to put this?” Rowena steeples her fingertips and tilts her head, red curls falling away from one cheek. “Your life light is going out.”

Dean scoffs at those final words, trying to laugh them off, but he feels a weight of dread settle in his chest and stomach. This is ridiculous. Just once, can’t they have an easy win against these damn angels without any far-reaching consequences?? No, of course not. And when this sort of crap happens, there is always someone who is raring to make the hard choice, to make the deal or do the job that will fix it, and that only serves to make things worse –

Sam clears his throat and blinks hard, rolling his lips and swallowing repeatedly as he tries desperately not to cry. “Okay, what can we do to stop the poison, Rowena? Tell us what – whatever it is, and I’ll do it.”

“No!” Dean spins and grabs his brother’s shoulders. “What are you talkin’ about? I did this! It’s my light goin’ out or whatever, and you’re not doing anything stupid to save me, okay?” He shakes Sam with ferocity. “I mean it, Sam.” Sam's shoulders heave and his nostrils flare as he stares at his brother and presses his lips together, hazel eyes pleading. Dean licks his lips and blinks, tipping his head towards the witch. "Lemme guess, there's a spell that you can do, but there's a catch, yada yada. Let's hear it, Rowena." The Winchester lowers his chin and raises his eyes to stare her down. "Name your price."

"Oohoo, my price?" The witch comes over and slams her palms down flat on the coffee table, leaning forward and getting into Dean's personal space. He jerks backwards as she snarls "My price is for your little nephilim to help me. Once his pwers are back in full swing, I want him to bring my son back."

Sam and Dean both blink. "Come again?" They ask at the same time.

"Oh!" She stomps her foot. "Do I have to say it again???"

“I just wanna make sure I have this right,” Dean states slowly, blinking and extending one hand. “You want your son, who hates you with a passion equal to the one Sam feels for hair clippers, to be brought back to life so…what? You can kill him again?”

“No!” Rowena shrieks. “I don’t want to kill him; I gave that up ages ago! Oh, can’t you get it through your thick skull, Dean Winchester – I need my boy. I just – I want to tell him that I’m sorry! For leaving him when he was young, for hoarding my powers, for…everything.” She lets out a sob. “I know what Billie said, but I can’t accept it. I don’t believe…I can’t believe that it’s too late.” She grits her teeth and lifts her eyes upward, hating herself for being weak in front of these men. Again. The witch sniffs and wipes her eyes, throwing out her hands and then hitting them against her sides. “There, that’s it. Will you help me?”

Dean looks at Sam, who widens his eyes and tips his head a bit, settling his shoulders. Dean closes his eyes. He knows that he is definitely going to regret this, but “Fine!” he snaps. “Fine fine fine, we’ll help you. Gotta ask Jack first though. It’s his power.” Sam looks at Dean with his eyes widening, shocked. Dean scowls. “What? I’m not pimping the kid out! If she wants his help so bad, she can ask him for it.”

“…Fair enough.” Rowena nods and settles her shoulders, chin rising in satisfaction. “Now that’s settled, shall we have some tea? I will need to compile my ingredients for the spell to withdraw the poisoning grace, and that will take quite a bit of time.” She heads for the kitchen, humming, and Dean leans over to Sam.

“Well, that’s definitely gonna bite us in the ass. How big a trap did we just lay for ourselves?”

Sam shakes his head. “…I don’t know. I keep telling myself she’s turned over a new leaf.” Dean shoots him a look. “It helps me sleep at night,” the younger protested. “But, Dean, this might actually work, whatever Rowena plans to do.”

“Whatever you say, Sammy,” Dean sighs. He doesn’t believe it, but Sam has always been the hopeful one. Why stop him now?

Sam looks down at his lap and then touches Dean’s arm lightly. “Dean, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“You know what.” Sam’s response is sharp, but his eyes are full of sorrow. “That you’re not hungry, food doesn’t taste good to you, that you’re—” That you’re dying.

Dean groans. Is he really getting asked about this? Now? “Seriously, Sam…” His brother is just sitting there flashing the puppy eyes. Dammit. “Because I’m damn grateful to be here, okay? I just wanted a solid win against Michael, but of course THAT’S friggin impossible!”

Sam snorts and his lips rise. “…Yeah, I know. When have things ever been that simple for us, huh?” Dean huffs out air in amusement and then starts to cough, doubling forward and feeling a tightening in his chest. Heat and the feeling of liquid rising and pressing against his ribcage, constricting his lungs. He feels like he is drowning. “Dean—” He feels Sam’s hands latch onto his shoulders but he falls forward off of the couch and onto his knees, the coughs ripping through his chest and throat until he finally hacks up a viscous liquid that is thick and glowing as it drips from his lips. A strange cobalt blue with flecks of purple that show up red splattered on the floor. Blood.

Dean’s blood. “Sam,” the elder gasps out and then crumples to the side. His younger brother slides off the couch too just in time to stop Dean’s head from striking the floor. Dean turns his eyes to focus on his brother’s and feels a wet trail of bloody spittle sliding out of the corner of his mouth and onto his chin. “Well, I’d say that this is pretty simple,” he croaks. His throat clicks and rattles a little as he breathes in. “I’m dying. Look at that…thing that just came outta me. Rowena's right. And I’m sure—I’m sure that Michael’s laughing his ass off right now. He warned me, said that other him was stronger than we’d anticipated. I told him to buck up.” Closing his eyes, Dean wearily adds “Look what good that did. This is on me.”

“No,” Sam sniffs and shakes his head vehemently, voice frantic and hair swinging as he lifts Dean upright. “Stop that. This isn’t your fault, and you are NOT going to die. Not now, not after everything. I won’t let you.” He spits the words, lips trembling and teeth bared.

Dean swallows and lifts a hand to pat his brother’s cheek. “…What’re you gonna do, Sam? Huh? Take Rowena up on her crazy deal? We’ve got no idea how long it’ll take for Jack to power up again, and based on this,” he gestures at the still-glowing sludge on the ground and wipes his lips on his sleeve “I highly friggin doubt I have that long.” He groans as he stands up, Sam holding onto his arm. Truthfully, Dean is exhausted. He doesn’t want to live like this, but he does not want to die either. He is just so damn tired of someone always making sacrifices. Where the hell does the buck stop? How does this end? He recalls something his brother had said to him when Sam was at one of his lowest points: It ends bloody. It ends bad. No. Hell no; that's not gonna be the case this time. Dean won't allow it. "But I'm not gonna give up, okay?" He speaks fiercely. "I'm gonna keep fightin' no matter what, Sammy. I promise you that. I'll be around and you're gonna be a pain in my ass til I'm ninety."

Sam's eyes snap up to stare into Dean's and his expression brightens as he sees the intensity of his older brother's gaze. Softly he responds, "Well, I'll just have to stick around and be a pain in the ass then."

***

Again, Castiel is searching for signs of Michael. So far this world seems to be picking itself up after the alternate incarnation of Michael attempted to rule. He has heard several reports of stronger-than-typical monsters, which is unsettling to say the least, but his focus is on locating his eldest brother.

If the de-powered and disgraced archangel were to show himself in Heaven, there could very well be an uprising...or at the very least, an inquisition about his alternate self's crimes. The seraph shudders. He knows and understands Heaven's ways all-too-well, and with so few angels left, the rest of his brothers and sisters are desperate. He must be the one to find Michael first, but where could the archangel possibly be? There is naught but a low-grade hum, almost akin to static, over angel radio. It is to be expected with the dearth of communication as of late.

But as Cas calms his mind and listens more closely, he hears lilting words in a tone that sounds... Can that be possible? He feels as though he is hearing ...music...:

Out there, there's a world outside of Yonkers
Way out there beyond this hick town, Barnaby -
There's a slick town, Barnaby -

Out there, full of shine and full of sparkle,
Close your eyes and see it glisten, Barnaby
Listen, Barnaby....

Castiel tries with all his might to pinpoint the source of the voice he is hearing and transports himself to the place that he believes it to be. He appears amongst the stones of an ancient ampitheatre outside of the city of Athens, Greece. But no one is there but a gaggle of befuddled tourists.

Again, he listens.

There's no business like show business, like no business I know -
...The headaches, the heartaches, the backaches, the flops -
The sheriff who'll escort you out of town....

Castiel disappears and reappears again, this time on the thatched roof of the Globe Theatre. In London. He slides off of the rushes and lands hard on the cobblestone street below. Michael. Cas must talk to him, because clearly the signal of his presence is not strong enough to lock on to at this rate. Should he begin singing too? He guesses that the archangel's songs are show tunes, but does not know any of those. Perhaps a theme song will do? It will have to, because it's the only song he is certain he knows by heart:

Look at what's happ'ning to me
I can't believe it myself;
Suddenly I'm up on top of the world,
Should've been somebody else...

Believe it or not, I'm walkin' on air,
Never thought I would be so free -ee -ee
Flyin' away on a wing and a prayer, who -oo could it be?
... Believe it or not, it's just me -

There is a beat of silence over the radio in his head, and then Castiel hears a nearly inaudible query. -Castiel?

Believe it or not, it's just me, Cas finishes. - Hello, Michael. Are you all right?

The archangel's reply is heavy. I... I did not expect any angels to hear me; there are so few of us left.

-I am not certain others did, but if they have, I'm afraid you'll have to leave the place you are currently inhabiting, Castiel advises. I will reach you if you'll let me. He closes his eyes and waits to sense whether or not the other will provide his exact location. After a moment he has the location inside his head, manifested from Michael's thoughts. He must go to it now before the other’s consciousness fades out of his reach.

Cas transports himself to a small playhouse. Its auditorium-style seats are covered with dark red cloth that has clearly seen better days. Thick with dust, a curtain hangs halfway across the stage, as if it had been pulled open but the person on fly had given up halfway through. Castiel's footsteps echo as he crosses the floor to the raised wooden platform of the stage itself, bisected by a trapdoor in the middle and fronted by a shallow orchestra pit with several empty music stands and a lonely piano. "...Michael?" the seraph calls softly. "Brother, are you here?"

***

They nearly have to call the fire department when Dean bakes his first pie.

After his mom and Jack returned from the store and unpacked all of the pie ingredients, Mary went to give Adam the notebook she had found and Jack decided to get some more time in the workout room. Being human has its interesting moments, but Jack has also become aware of how physically weak his body is without powers. He wants to be as much help as he can, and therefore needs to be as STRONG as he can. He promises himself that he will not be a burden.

Dean swears he is going to make the best pie if it kills him. Crap. Poor choice of words, but the sentiment stands; if he can’t get back into hunting right now, he is going to be the best damned chef his family has ever met or heard of. And he definitely won’t be hunting if he keeps spewing Grace and having hallucinogenic flashbacks to when Michael was possessing him. Luckily this world’s Michael didn’t leave him with horrifying mental images – apart from the sight of Nick choking him out with bony hands, flesh sloughing off his body and eyes boring into Dean’s as the Winchester gasps for air and his life ebbs…no. Not cool, stop it, Dean. He bends over the kitchen sink, retching and gasping, and then he hears Rowena trill “Hello there, Dean.”

He whirls and charges over to her, grabbing her with a hand around her throat and lifting her up with a muffled growl. His mouth is clenched tight but his eyes blaze with fury. The witch claws at Dean’s hand with both of hers, eyes widening and mouth opening in a breathless, soundless scream. “You’re going to fix me,” Dean snarls at her. “No backpedaling, no deal – you’re gonna do the fucking spell and get this archangel crap OUT—!”

Dean’s tone has risen to a shout and Jack comes pounding into the kitchen with Sam close behind. “Rowena,” the youngest being gasps, and then “Dean, stop! You’re hurting her!” The nephil runs at Dean with arms outstretched.

He touches the eldest Winchester’s shoulder as Sam says “Wait, Jack—” but his warning is too late; with a roar Dean spins and throws the petite woman backwards into Jack, his knuckles colliding with the young being’s cheek. Jack falls, holding Rowena in his arms to break her topple backwards and Dean gasps, mouth agape as he heaves out heavy breaths. His eyes flicker over and catch sight of the bruise already forming on Jack’s cheek, sees blood bead up where the young man had bitten his lip as he fell.

Dean comes toward the other, voice and gaze soft and contrite as he reaches out to help Jack up. “Hey, kid, you…”

“Stay back!” Jack spits, getting to his feet on his own and deliberately taking Rowena’s hands to help her stand as well. “Are you okay?” he asks her quietly. Jack rubs the witch’s shoulder soothingly after she nods, and then he turns his head to glare at Dean, raising his chin and speaking in a manner not unlike Sam’s: “What the hell were you doing, Dean? You could have KILLED her! She has been helping us the entire time you were gone and possessed by other-world Michael. She was here trying to get you back. Why would you hurt her after she did all that?!”

“You don’t understand, kid,” Dean gritted, blinking hard to dispel the after-effects of his flashback and his rage, trying to focus. He sees Jack’s disbelieving, wounded eyes and tries to explain “—she wants to use your power to bring her son back from the dead, and—”

“—And what’s wrong with that?” Jack fires back. “She’s a mom who wants to see her son again. I - I understand that. More than anything, I understand." His voice catches slightly and Dean looks away. Jack lowers his head and continues, louder "...and if I still had my powers I would do it right now.” He looks from Rowena back to Dean. “Even if you don’t like her or want her son back, that’s not your choice, Dean. It’s mine.”

Dean’s chest feels heavy. Sam jerks his head at him in a knowing way. “…I know it is, Jack.” Dean sighs.

Jack levels a serious stare at both of the brothers. “What did you ask her to do that caused this deal, anyway?”

“We didn’t ASK her anything—” begins Dean.

“—D is dying from an excess of Michael’s grace,” Sam speaks up. “And Rowena says she has a spell that she found in a Men of Letters text that might be able to heal him with some minor tweaking. She said all she wanted was for you to bring back Crowley when your powers return, and she’ll cast it. And Dean, you said you'd ask Jack -”

“Well now I say she can shove it,” Dean spat. “I’m done makin’ deals, because whenever we do we get screwed, every damn time! I’m tired of it. No more ‘you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ bullshit, okay? The last time I did that our world almost got wasted by a winged asshat so SCREW this! I’m done!” There is a tremor in Dean’s voice that grows more and more pronounced. He blinks and his voice finally breaks. “I can’t—I can’t do it. I’m sorry, Sammy, but I’m not makin’ this deal.”

There is silence.

Then Jack clears his throat and says “Well I will.” He nods at Rowena. “I promise—when it’s at full strength—to use my power and bring your son Fergus back from the dead.”

Dean closes his eyes and drops his head. “You don’t even know when or if your power’s gonna recharge, kid….”

Jack ignores that and continues speaking to the red-haired witch. “Now how are you going to heal Dean? What do you need, and what can I do to help?”

Rowena preens. Rubbing her neck she says “See boys, THIS is the kind of deal I like to make." She smiles at Jack. “So polite. Clearly he didn’t learn that from you,” she cuts her eyes at Dean, who has the grace to appear slightly uncomfortable, if not ashamed. “I have some ingredients that we can find in the stock room, but a few others might be a wee bit difficult. No time to waste, chop chop! I’ll get myself some tea later.” Her voice is slightly hoarse but she appears unfazed as she departs the kitchen with Jack beside her.

Once they leave, Sam looks after them and comes across the kitchen to stop beside Dean, reaching out to his older brother and asking “Are you all right, D? What was all of that?”

Dean blinks and shakes his head with a deep sigh as he looks down at the floor, at his feet, and at his hands. “I…I don’t know, Sam. I don’t know. I was so...angry.” He sniffs and swipes a hand underneath his nose, catching his brother’s eyes briefly. “I just know that I’ve got to get rid of this Grace, man. It’s screwing with my head in a major way and I feel like I’m drowning.” Sam nods, putting his hand on Dean’s shoulder, eyes full of concern.

From the doorway, a voice drifts over to them. “Yeah, and like any drowning person, you’re dragging other people down with you.” Dean whips his head up to see Adam standing there, his face registering what appears to be disapproval. Or possibly disgust. “…When I was – in the Cage, I was banging my head against the wall for so long, wondering why I was stuck, why no one ever came for me.” He chokes on his words and then swallows, continuing “But after seeing…that…just now, I know why.” Adam bounces a little on his heels, eyes shifting. “You – you both are so focused on each other, wrapped up in each other’s feelings and all—” Adam lifts his shoulders in a rueful shrug as Sam rolls his lower lip and looks down, chastised. Dean clears his throat and looks away. “…It is what it is, guys, but you’ve gotta realize – that isn’t healthy. At all. And it hurts people.”

He leaves the rest unspoken, but the words you haven’t just hurt Rowena, and Jack, and me, but everything that has happened over the years, all of your losses BECAUSE you wouldn’t, couldn’t bear to live without each other are clear as day. Sam and Dean glance at one another as their half-brother comes the rest of the way into the kitchen and says “Uh, I just – came to get a glass of water so …where do you keep the cups?”

“Uh, here, in this cabinet,” Sam says, walking over and reaching up to open the cabinet on the wall closest to the fridge. As the young man nods in thanks and takes down a cup to fill with water, the tallest Winchester adds “Adam, what we did – not rescuing you sooner, it’s – it was unforgivable. I know that.” He presses one hand flat against his chest and then curls his fingers inward before dropping it and shaking his head. “There’s no excuse for leaving you down there as long as we did to suffer…. But – now that you’re here,” He trains sorrowful but genuinely interested eyes on Adam, wearing almost the same expression he had when asking Adam to talk to them after he had been raised from the dead so long ago. “What do you want from us? What can we do?”

Adam sips some water and then lowers the glass, blotting his mouth dry on his sleeve. He looks from Sam to Dean, raising his eyebrows. “…What do I want?” he repeated.

Sam nods soulfully. “Yes.”

Dean adds with his tone gruff, “Yeah kid. If there’s anything ya want us to do for you, just name it.”

Adam rocks backwards and stares at them. “You’re actually serious. Okay.” He leans forward. “First off, quit calling me ‘kid’. It’s Adam. And you know what I want most?” His voice rises and hardens. “I want to LEAVE. I want you to drop me off in some town with a hospital and a community college so I can get some EMS training and go to school and get my life back.” Or make a new one, he adds in his head, drinking more water. Your move, assholes, he thinks.

“…You’re sure?” Sam questioned. He receives a bitch-face to rival one of his own.

“I’d say he’s pretty damn positive, Sammy,” Dean says. “Okay ki—Adam. Once we get the lowdown on Michael and I’m back to ass-kicking power, we will take you somewhere to restart your life. Deal?” He holds out a hand for Adam to shake.

The young man looks at the proffered limb and eventually shakes it. He does the same with Sam after a beat. “No forgetting about me.” Adam says.

Sam huffs with a pained look in his eyes. “No,” he croaks. “No way.”

Dean’s voice is louder than his brother’s, and fierce: “We won’t.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Adam returned as he departed the room as well.

Chapter Text

A sound of rustling emanates from a dim corner near the left-stage side of the curtain in the old theater where Castiel stands. Cas withdraws his angel blade from his coat sleeve, just to be safe.

A shadow rises and steps out from behind the curtain, manifesting itself as a slight, dark-haired young man. “Hello, Castiel,” he says with his voice barely audible. Wavering and putting out a hand to steady himself, the being that must be Michael’s new vessel, though his power is so low that Cas can hardly recognize his brother’s form, steps forward unsteadily. “This is…Matthew,” he adds. “He is…not an ideal vessel, but was kind enough to invite me in. He’s the caretaker of this place and sleeps here sometimes. It is cold for humans. The strange problems they face…,” Michael’s voice trails off and his light eyes linger on the walls and curtains around him.

“Michael, are you—human, now? I can barely sense your Grace.” Castiel steps forward and squints, reaching out to offer assistance as he tries to keep the other on track.

“Merely, pathetically, yes.” The archangel bobs his head. “The altercation with my…other self…seriously depleted my Grace. And so I floated free from Dean Winchester, and cannot return to Heaven… It took me many days to anchor myself down again.”

“And now your Grace is poisoning Dean,” Castiel responds. “I felt his body weakening because of it when I attempted to heal him, and so came to find you.”

Michael sighs heavily into the silence as he folds his arms and comes to the edge of the stage. “…I was afraid something like this would occur,” he says.

Castiel’s tone hardens and his eyes flash. “Then why did you run? If you were aware this would happen—”

Michael skitters backward a pace as he lifts his vessel’s chin, his own eyes cold. “I said that I was afraid of the possibility, not that I was certain of its occurrence. And I had absolutely no assurance that I would be permitted to replenish my strength whilst possessing Dean. He has made it ABUNDANTLY clear how he feels about being an angelic receptacle.”

Castiel bows his head a little. Michael makes a valid point. “Still, why have you not spoken up or reached out before now? I could have assisted you.”

The archangel sighs and folds his legs to sit flat on the surface of the stage. “I needed time to replenish some of my energy, Castiel!” He turns his head away, as if ashamed to speak the next: “…I was as weak as I have ever been, save upon my collapse after initially exiting the Cage. And I was but a means to an end for you and the Winchesters. I am fully aware of that fact. They brought me back for the sole purpose of destroying myself – so I thought I would oblige them.” He leans closer and looks into the seraph’s eyes directly. “I have not come back because I know that I am neither needed nor wanted. I must discover, or rediscover, my place. So what is your purpose here? Why have you come to find me? You cannot expect me to be able to heal Dean - I have only barely regained the strength to infinitesimally lessen my OWN aches and pains. I cannot possibly remove the Grace that is poisoning him.”

Castiel is at a loss. Michael clearly is not able to amass his powers for any assault on, or even a return to, Heaven. He appears so incredibly diminished. The seraph wants to help the archangel, to provide some reassurance or comfort, but what can he possibly say that would make any difference?

“Michael,” he eventually tries. “…there may be a way to replenish some of your Grace by taking it from Dean.” Castiel pauses and Michael bows his head slightly, listening. “If that were possible, if we can make it happen, would you…would you be willing to return to the Men of Letters Bunker with me?”

Michael stares stolidly at Castiel. “Only if such an option is certain.”

The seraph withdraws his cell phone from one of his trench coat’s pockets and says “I will check and make sure.” He calls Sam.

The Winchester picks up on the second ring. “Hey Cas, what’s up?”

“Hello Sam. I have located Michael. Is there a way for us to heal Dean of the excess Grace in his system?”

Sam lets out a pent-up shuddery breath. “So, uh, you know? About the grace poisoning?” There is a small beep from the phone. “You’re on Speaker, Cas.”

“Yes I do,” the angel says. “I became aware of the poison's effects when I began to heal Dean.”

There is a shuffling noise in the background and then Dean calls in an irritated tone of voice: “Well, that’s great. Thanks for the news flash, Cas! Didja even THINK about sharing that information with the class before ya left?!”

“I’m sorry, Dean. I thought it would be more prudent to search for a solution before –”

“You know what, save it. I don’t care.” The eldest Winchester snaps. “Why’re you calling now?”

“I…I have located Michael,” the angel repeats.

Sam’s voice: “Is he okay?”

Cas glances sideways at his elder brother, who is currently staring at the hand of his vessel. The seraph lowers his voice a little. “He is as ‘okay’ as can be expected. He is extremely weak, angelic grace almost nonexistent. But he has a vessel, and if there is a way to siphon Dean’s excess Grace into him, Michael says he is willing to come back.”

“Great. He’s willing to grace us with his presence again, huh?” Dean snorts.

“C’mon, Dean,” Sam sighs, pleading.

“No, Sammy! Don’t ‘c’mon’ me! That bastard ditched us with absolutely no explanation, and I’m pissed!”

Michael hears this exclamation and his voice is ice-cold as he says “I am not required to explain myself to Dean Winchester.” He rises and straightens his shoulders as if to depart. “If that is all, Castiel—”

“Michael, wait. Please.” To Sam, Cas asks “Can Rowena work something? An incantation?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sam clears his throat. “She and Jack are getting ingredients together right now for some sort of Enochian spell.”

Castiel tilts his head a little. “Do you hear that, Michael?”

“Humph.” sniffs the archangel. “I suppose that will be …satisfactory.”

“Satisfactory?? I’ll give you satisfactory, you son of a b—!” snarls Dean.

Sam speaks hurriedly “Okay, okay well if you’re coming you need to get here soon, Cas. Really soon. Things are going…a little nuts. Heh.” He is not going to tell Cas about what Jack had offered to do for Rowena, not yet. That will have to come later, if this works. And Jack should probably be the one to say it…. Plus he has to keep Dean calm.

The angel nods. “I understand, Sam. I will see you shortly.”

“That sounds good, Cas. Bye.”

“Goodbye.” Castiel hangs up and turns back to Michael. “Are you ready and willing to go?” he asks.

Michael smoothly rises from where he had leaned against the stage and faces the other angel. Castiel grows nervous as he sees the distant, superior expression in the other’s eyes, but the archangel blinks and settles his shoulders. “…Yes. I am ready.”

***

Rowena and Jack have been gathering spell ingredients in the storeroom and outside as well, including essence of wormwood and rosemary, oak wood and ash. The most difficult ingredient to locate is the root of a dogwood tree three days dead, but Rowena was able to fudge that a bit. It will still work.

Sam reaches the open door of the storeroom and clears his throat to announce himself. He scratches his head with discomfort as the witch turns to look at him, saying nothing. She simply tips her head to the side and raises her eyebrows pointedly as Jack crushes up some of the spell ingredients with a mortar and pestle.

The Winchester settles his shoulders and finally speaks. “Rowena, I…I just wanted to say that I really appreciate you helping us out. It means a lot, especially after Dean did—” he presses his lips together as his eyes rove over the purple bruises on her neck, now standing out starkly against her pale skin. “—what he did to you. And…I wanted to apologize for the way I acted in the Panic Room. I shouldn’t have said that about your family, about Crowley….” Sam lets out a breath and looks down, curling his hands into loose fists. “You’ve been through a lot,” he raises and fastens his eyes on Rowena’s again, wearing an open expression. “And I can’t say that I wouldn’t do some morally questionable things if I was in your shoes. I have been in your shoes, and done some bad things. Some truly awful things, but – what I’m trying to say, is...” he pauses. “Those things don’t define who I am, who I try to be. And the same goes for you. You may have done a lot of evil in your life, but wanting your son back is something good.” Blinking rapidly, the Winchester man smiles. “And I want to thank you for trying to help Dean again, to cure him of this Grace sickness. So – thanks.” He breathes out heavily and adds “Anyway, uh, I also... wanted to let you know that Cas found Michael and they should be here really soon. Like, immediately probably.”

The witch settles herself and lifts her face, looking down with a slight smile and a gracious dip of her head. “Well. I do appreciate the apology, Samuel. I suppose that you Winchesters have some manners after all. Now,” she turns to Jack and holds out her hands for the ingredient bowl and he hands it to her. Nodding for him to pick up bundles of logs that Sam now notices have been stacked around the storeroom, she heads back to the main room. Sam grabs three bunches of logs and follows her and Jack. “—I’ll be needing a room in which we can light a fire on the floor,” Rowena chirps brightly as she comes up the stairs.

Dean, who had been sitting at the table, glowers at her. “The hell—?”

“I need to light a purifying fire,” she tells him. “I tweaked a spell written by your famous Men of Letters. One was a bit of a biblical scholar by the name of…” she checks a small notebook and a slip of paper on which words are scribbled. “…Maxwell Thompson, assisted by a J. Dee. Does the first name ring a bell? It should.”

Sam and Dean glance at one another. “Um, Father Thompson?” Sam asks. “He – cured demons, if I remember right.”

“Look at you, smartie,” Rowena smiles. “Bingo! And now, with his assistance, I’m going to cure Dean.” She bops the end of Dean’s nose with her index finger and smiles. Dean wrinkles his face after she touches him.

“Uhh, Cas told Michael he thought you could also transfer Dean’s extra Grace into him.” Sam says. The witch stills.

“Can you do it?” Jack asks hopefully.

Rowena purses her lips and widens her eyes, brows lifting. “We will soon see, won’t we?”

They begin to carry the billets of wood into the room chosen for the site of the spell; it is normally an infirmary with beds and iron fixtures bolted into the floor. The central section is clear and can therefore house a brazier and a sturdy chair or two.

With a flutter of wings, Castiel and Michael appear in the middle of the main room as Sam prepares to haul another bunch of logs to the infirmary. Adam, who had been coming through the room to grab a book – and possibly some food – sees the two of them along with a large knife and other spell-casting paraphernalia and turns right back around. “…Nope.”

Sam’s eyes follow Adam with some concern before he smiles at Cas and Jack waves at him as Dean and Michael begin sizing each other up.

“You are looking rather pale, Dean,” intones the archangel slowly. “The Grace is wearing at you far faster than I expected.”

“Yeah? Well you don’t look so spry yourself, buttercup,” Dean snaps back. “Ya could’ve at least WARNED a guy!”

Michael glowers and lifts his chin. “I apologized. Clearly you need to learn a lesson in gratitude. I assisted in the destruction of my alternate self, as promised.”

“Can you believe this guy?? YOU need to learn how to be humble, Michael. Because, uh, from what I understand these people –” Dean rotates a finger around the room to indicate Jack, Sam, Cas, and Rowena “– pulled your ass outta the Devil Hole. Couldn’t do that under your own steam, eh? And no thank-you, not even a Hallmark card. Wow.”

Michael stares at Dean wearing a stubborn expression, but Dean refuses to back down until Rowena comes back in and forcibly ushers everyone into the infirmary where Jack has lit the fire. The witch seats Dean and Michael in chairs facing each other and instructs Dean to remove his shirt.

“…Is this a kinky thing?” He asks, but she shakes her head no.

“It’s for the spell. You must be bathed in rosemary water and spread over with wormwood. Besides, you're not my type, dear.” She lays out a knife on the table next to her ingredient bowl with mashed leaves, a vial of ash, and other miscellany. “You must sweat away that which is unclean.” Raising her hands, the witch intones “Ol sonuf vaoresaji, gohu IAD Balata, elanusaha caelazodi Sobrazod – ol Roray; tanazoda pesad, Giraa tal maelpereji, das hoel-qo qaanotahoa zodimezod, od comenahe ta nobeloha zodien—” Rowena nods for Cas, Jack, and Sam to continue feeding the flames. She places her fingertips against Dean’s temples after dipping her hands into the bowl of rosemary water and spreading a paste of crushed wormwood over the skin of his shoulders and chest.

Everyone in the room besides Michael and Dean chant together: “Torezodu torezodu Ne-el torezodu!” and then the witch pours the remaining water over Dean’s body. He gasps something inarticulate as the mixture soaks his hair and face.

Rowena picks up the knife from the table and makes a small cut in the skin at the base of Dean’s throat. “Zodacare, eca, od zodameranu! Odo cicale Qaa, zodoreje.” As Dean’s blood drips and mingles with the liquid and crushed wormwood covering his skin, she catches the mixture inside her bowl and continues with the spell, voice growing more strident as Dean gulps and gasps, hands clenching around the arms of his chair. Sweat shines on his forehead and chest as light begins glowing underneath the skin of his abdomen, arms, and torso. The brilliance extends outward into his neck, face, and hands.

The redhead moves her body into the space between Dean and Michael as she continues speaking. “Vi-i-vau el! Sobame ial-pereji i-zoda-zodazod pi-adapehe casarema aberameji tata-labo paracaleda qo-ta lores-el-quo turebesa ooge balatohe! Torezodu gohe-el, zodacare eca ca-no-quoda!”

The fire has been built up with such a high pyramid of dogwood and oak pieces that the room is sweltering. Sam has taken off his flannel outer shirt and wears an undershirt and jeans. Cas’s trench coat is hanging over the end of one of the infirmary’s beds, and sweat beads drip from his hair. Sweat shines over Dean’s entire torso now, and drips from Rowena’s brow. Her work is nearly done, however; Grace tendrils have risen from the innermost portions of Dean’s body at her call. Now it hums just beneath the surface of his skin.

“Zodir com-selahe azadien biabeos-lon-dohe. Norezoda cahisa otahila Gigipahe; vaunudel-cahisa ta-pu-ime qo-mos-pelehe telocahe; qui-i-inu toltoregi cahisa I cahisa-ji emozodien; dasata beregida od toreodul!” Dean’s head flies back and his eyes shoot wide open, pupils dilating before shrinking into pinpricks. He gasps as Rowena claps one hand against his neck and the other to his forehead, finishing the spell with a resounding “AMEN!!”

Coils of blue-white light exit Dean’s mouth and rise from his skin, undulating in the air above him as Rowena crosses to Michael’s chair and puts her hands on the archangel’s shoulders. The Gracelight suffuses his entire body with radiance and then Dean slumps forward senseless in his chair as the light around Michael dies.

“…It is done,” Rowena whispers, letting out a low whistling breath and folding her hands.

Chapter Text

"...Dean?" Sam drops his hands after pressing palms flat in front of his face, fingers scrabbling. His eyes shine with tearful hope. His breath comes heavy and his body is trembling as his gaze travels from Cas's to Rowena's and Jack's only to then snap and stay fixed on his older brother's limp and lolling body. "Is he gonna be okay? Can I -" help him, or even touch him, the words are in his face if not his voice.

Rowena, after returning her hair into its twist upon her head, pushing back wisps and seemingly catching her breath a bit, waves at him to go ahead. "You boys might want to put out that fire," she suggests to Cas and Jack. It is the youngest being who does so, Castiel's own gaze is transfixed on Dean.

Who inhales, and groans as Sam drops in front of him and Cas reaches out, catching hold of his shoulder at the same time saying "Dean!"

Firm, not sharp, not shouting; but as desperate as is Sam to see any sign of life, and is rewarded with a mumble of "damnit, Cas, that's th' second friggin time I've woken up t' you screaming in my face."

"I - wasn't screaming, Dean," the angel responds, but the twinkle of his dear friend's eyes and the soft curve of a smile lets Castiel know "ah, you're being facetious. Of course." And then, ducking his head to look into Dean's face and shifting closer, he continues, eyes steady and soulful "are you all right? How do you feel?"

Sam, kneeling now beside his brother, looks on with his puppy eyes of ultimate concern. Dean smacks his lips and winks as he inhales, tapping his chest. "I feel - good," he assures. Taking a breath and clearing his throat to take some more stock, he adds "yeah. Feel better than I have in a long damn time." Eyes tracking to the witch who stands near, swallowing as his eyes flicker, Dean manages "... gotta say, uh. Thanks, Rowena."

She cocks her head, lips pressing together as her eyebrows go up. "Oh, I've despaired ever hearing those words from you. Do mine ears deceive me?" She starts to smile, and Sam laughs from sheer joyousness and relief as Dean rolls his eyes and screws his face up.

"Alright, all right, you never thought you'd hear it. Hell, I never thought we'd be on the same side of dealin' with an archangel with power-up issues." He turns his head, seeming a little stiff, to look at Michael, who has opened his eyes and stares back, gaze clear. "...but here the hell we are," Dean adds gruffly. "This has gotta be the wackiest universe," he grumbles as he stands and sways. "Whoa"

But wrapping an arm under his, placing a hand on his chest, Cas and Sam steady him on either side, and Jack smiles with his usual cheery wave after doing as Rowena suggested and putting the fire out. Dean nods with a "thanks" and "hey, Jack" before glancing over at Michael again. "Well let's get this feathery ass and all'a ours movin' an' figure out -"

"... where Adam is going or wishes to go, when Jack's powers will return, what's the status of heaven, and what will happen to us," low and direct as always, as he still holds Dean fast, comes Castiel's voice.

Dean nods and looks at him, licks his lips as affection softens, fills, suffuses his face. Leave it to this guy to say things the way they are. He leans in, feels his brother by his side and gazes for a long moment into the eyes of his best friend. It ain't gonna be easy, never is, but feeling good is the first step towards, well. Sounds cheesy as any chick-flick, but it's a work in progress towards being good. And towards ... happiness.

He can figure out the rest. They can all figure it out, together. Because they're family.

"Bingo, Cas. Aren't you a ray of sunshine," he grins at him. Cas cocks his head and Sammy sighs as Dean tightens his arms around both of them. He's damn glad he's here, that they all are here together to figure things out.

Because that's what family is for.