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Michael hated the plan.
He loved his father more than anything, but the plan meant his little brother was trapped in hell, suffering for not-even-god-knows how long. The plan meant the whole world was gonna die, with all its wonderful people and trees and mountains, everything he and his father created. The plan meant that dicks like Uriel were gonna rule heaven.
Michael had never liked the plan, but he upheld it out of loyalty.
But when God left, it was worse- the plan was just an echo of something his father had wanted, something his father had been willing to sacrifice for, something his father was doing for his children; not just the humans, for once, but the angels, too.
Michael hated the fucking plan, it sucked! What the hell did being loyal get him?! An absent father, a lost brother, and a sucky apocalypse that'd destroy everything he'd worked to protect? And who was in power? It sure as hell wasn't him, no, it wasn't even God. Those like Uriel and Raphael pretended he was supreme, but they went off with their own selfish little plans to rule heaven in God's place, lording it over everyone with promises of salvation. Everyone with any shred of decency and loyalty had left, even Gabriel.
So, Michael told heaven he wanted to be left alone. They could call him when the apocalypse started.
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"Dean? Dean?" Dean groaned and rubbed his eyes, rolling onto his side and hiding in his pillow.
"Shut up, Sam."
Sam snatched the pillow away, and Dean sat up. "The hell's wrong with you, man? It's 5 in the fucking morning," Dean said angrily.
"I found something that might get you out of your deal," Sam replied.
Dean sat up warily, despite his sleep-leaded eyes.
"This better not be another zombie thing. I'm not wasting the last days of my life on another goose chase, Frankenstein," he cautioned,
"It's not. I swear."
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It was. Sam's last attempts at saving Dean's life went to hell right with him.
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Dean hated the plan.
His first days in hell turned into weeks, which turned into months, which turned into years, which turned into decades of intense, indescribable torture at the hand of a demon with a kink for the sound of screams.
Sick bastard.
Who could blame Dean for breaking?
Only Dean could. Despite the relieving lack of physical torture Dean felt, the pain which pulsated in a place far back in his mind was more real than the tendon ripping and skin peeling had been. He knew, somehow, what he had done. He wasn't just torturing innocent souls, no, he was setting the stage for humanity's destruction.
Dean didn't know how that could be, so he slashed the guiding voice in the back of his head just as he slashed the throats of his bloody, skinless victims who lay pleading on the rack.
In hell, Dean couldn't afford to think for himself.
So, when a bright light and a searing pain on his shoulder came to pull him out, he decided that was just what he was going to do.
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Dean couldn't do it, not anymore. What was the fucking point of thinking for yourself when it would, quite literally, destroy billions of people?
"For starters, I'm bringing you with." Sam stood and started to walk toward Dean.
"Excuse me?"
"There are too many of them. We can't do it alone, and you're pretty much the only game in town."
Dean looked incredulous as Sam removed his handcuffs.
"Isn't that a bad idea?" Dean said knowingly, almost smirking,
"Cas and Bobby think so. I'm not so sure."
"Well, they're right. Because either it's a trap to get me there to make me say yes, or it's not a trap and I'm gonna say yes anyway. And I will, I'll do it - fair warning."
Sam didn't know how sincere his tired brother was. Dean hated the fucking plan, and he just wanted it over with.