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Published:
2019-01-19
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2025-04-04
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59/?
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Not All Good News

Summary:

Michael is caged inside Dean's mind for now. But there's grace leaking from the cracks, banging on the doors, and Dean knows what happens at the end of this story. With borrowed (and confusing) Archangel abilities, a group of mistrustful Apocalypse Universe Hunters, and too many Michael Monsters to deal with, Team Free Will 2.0 is ready to clean up the mess that Michael's left behind and stop another apocalypse. Not all the danger is locked inside a bar's walk-in freezer, though - and the Winchesters need to watch out for old and new enemies around every corner.

And at the end of it all, Dean needs to decide how far he'll go to get rid of Michael once and for all.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Dean stumbles a little on the kitchen doorframe, and Sam stares at him like Dean just tossed himself into a woodchipper.

“Dean? You good?”

“Lord’s fuckin’ name, Sam. I spilled coffee on my arm this morning, you want to call an ambulance for that too?”

Sam dusts off a classic bitch face from his repertoire, doubles down with an eye roll. “Jesus. Someone’s testy.”

“Testy? What are you, a hundred years old?”

Sam’s mouth quirks at the corner, but slowly the humor drains from his eyes. Dean doesn’t know what Sam is seeing on his face, but he doesn’t like it. Dean takes a step around Sam, and opens a cabinet at random for something to do.

“Where are we on tracking the escaped Michael Monsters?” He asks, grabbing a box of cereal. It’s colorful and bright and looks like it’s 95% unhealthy sugar. Perfect.

Sam is silent for a moment, and when Dean turns to face him, he catches the tail end of an exasperated sigh. “Uh, nowhere, I guess.” Sam answers. “I mean, Monica and Jeremy are putting out the bat signal, but no other hunters are reporting any massive swarms of supernatural monsters, like, anywhere.”

Dean digs a hand into the box and tosses back a handful of cereal, considering. “You think they’re going underground?”

Sam shrugs. “I think that Michael didn’t leave backup instructions in the event of getting locked into a bar’s refrigerated walk-in.”

Dean chews in silence for a thoughtful moment. “Guess there might be a generational gap there. I've always planned to be locked in a bar refrigerator.”

That gets a huff of a laugh out of Sam, and Dean smiles to himself. He shakes the box in Sam’s direction, and after a moment, Sam takes a handful of the offered cereal. “Anyway,” Dean continues, “my guess is, with Michael on the outs with his monsters, we’ve bought ourselves a few inches of breathing room. Though can’t say I like the idea of – “

Bang.

Dean winces and his hand freezes halfway towards the box. It’s the sensation of a heart skipping a beat. The sensation of not knowing whose heart beats next.

Sam’s voice comes from underwater. “Dean?”

An inky silence fills Dean’s head, and it’s almost worse.

Almost.

“Toothache.” Dean lies easily, and shoves the box into Sam’s chest.

Sam catches it before it slides from his grip and his eyes scan the box mechanically. “Wait, isn’t this Cas’ cer – “

But Dean’s already out of ear shot, already trudging down the hallway. He’s exhausted suddenly, and his vision swims like it only does when he’s awake for over 48 hours.

Locking away an Archangel in his head was the closest to a full-time job that Dean’s ever had, and the dental plan sucks. Dean can’t close his eyes without sensing something wrong about the dark, and he worries at the bad feeling like a loose tooth in a mouth full of blood.

He can feel Michael prowling inside his cage at all times with no reprieve. Dean knows that it’s a mental game. The concept of Michael is trapped, just as Dean had been drowning for weeks his first go-around as an angel condom. It’s an abstraction. It’s a metaphor.

But when Dean closed his eyes last night, he could feel the physical sensations of muted footsteps pacing in a metal cage. He could feel beer kegs bouncing off shelving, and hear the roars and clamor reverberate off the walls like alarm klaxons.

Michael is going to shake the cage until the top blows off, and then he’s going to stick Dean so deep inside his own mind, there’ll be nothing left to find.

The Bunker is at half-capacity, and it still feels crowded to Dean. Sam sent off half the hunters to follow up on reports of Michael Monsters in the surrounding area, but it’s a half-hearted attempt. The Michael Monsters aren’t settling down – they’re spreading like a disease culture, going underground, and waiting for Michael to rise from Dean’s ashes.

God. He’s morbid when he’s sober.

Dean heads slowly towards the Bunker’s living quarters. The day is ticking towards nightfall, and the hallways become more crowded as hunters head to their bunks for an early night before an early morning. Andrea nods at Dean as she passes by, and he holds up a hand in a half-hearted greeting. Dominic passes by, and glares at Dean like he wants to slip a blade between his ribs and leave him to bleed out somewhere dramatic, like an ocean shore, or a rainstorm. The old Dean would throw a wink in his direction, something outrageously saucy or recklessly inappropriate.

But he’s tired.

Bang.

Dean flinches.

He’s almost made it to his room unmolested, when Cas turns the corner. Dean sees the flat blue gaze cross his features, and Dean is suddenly very cognizant that he’s wearing yesterday’s clothes with yesterday’s shave, and the bags under his eyes are packed for a European vacation.

Cas’ mouth opens, and Dean can already hear what’s going to pour out: how are you Dean, Dean how are you sleeping, do you need to talk Dean, Dean are you okay, you don’t look so well Dean, Dean, Dean Dean.

Dean slaps an interrupting hand on Cas’ shoulder without slowing down. “Sam is eating your cereal.” He says, and is two yards down the hallway by the time he senses Cas turn around. Everyone knows that Cas is most effective six inches too deep in your personal space and rumbling gruffly with heavy eye contact. He’s missed his window, and Dean is around the bend in the corner before Cas can decide whether or not to push the issue.

Two doors away from the relative safety of his own bunk, Dean pauses outside Jack’s room. The door is shut, and it’s like facing the expanse of a canyon. Dean’s hand raises hesitantly towards the smooth wood, but he can’t bring himself to knock. The kid’s hardly spoken three words to Dean since they locked Michael away in Dean’s head, and Dean doesn’t know what that means. Usually, Sam is the one with oppressive silences and broody looks. Dean’s always been shit at figuring it out. Dean raps a knuckle inaudibly against the door before his hand sinks to his side and clenches into a fist. Jack’s been through a literal soul-draining experience, all because of the beast thrashing around in Dean’s head. He doesn’t blame Jack for wanting to recharge by himself.

He just hopes that’s all it is.

Dean shuts and locks his door behind him. He toes his shoes off and drops heavily onto his stomach on the bed in the space of two seconds. His teeth feel mossy with cereal sugar, but he doesn’t feel motivated to grab a toothbrush and go through the motions. He shuts his eyes, but the darkness is oppressive.

He turns his head to the side and his eyes catch on the dresser shoved into the corner. Dean studies Billie’s book where it’s tucked under nudie mags and old coffee mugs. He wonders how he’s even going to pull this plan off. If he even has remotely the amount of time required to pull off the one plan out of a million other written possibilities that doesn’t end in Armageddon. He needs to keep it together. The cage has to hold.

The cage has to be real.

It’s real, because if it’s not real, then Dean is already lost.

 

Cas turns the corner into the kitchen and gives Sam a suspicious look. Sam’s nursing a cup of coffee, ready for a late night coordinating with the hunters positioned around the county, and is taken aback at the dark look.

“What’s up, Cas?”

Cas’ skeptical eyes leave Sam and flick to the closed cereal cabinet. “Nothing of import. But I did want to talk to you about…” The angel trails off as Dominic and Jeremy enter the kitchen and make a beeline to the freshly brewed pot of coffee.

Sam sees the apprehension in Cas’ eyes, and nods at the hallway. “I’m headed to the server room.”

Cas steps through the doorframe, and they walk together down the hallway. There’s a few moments of silence as they walk out of earshot of the caffeine-starved hunters. Finally, after a hot sip of milky coffee, Sam asks, “This about Dean?”

Cas’ eyes track to Sam. There’s dread darkening the blue eyes in the dim hallway lighting. But there’s also faith and conviction. “In the millennia of my existence, I’ve never heard of a human being able to suppress an Archangel.”

“Well… there’s only like… four of them, so…”

Cas’ expression cuts off Sam’s attempt to lighten the mood. To crack a joke. Channel his inner Dean. The angel continues, “Dean’s fortitude is impressive. The Mark of Cain altered him on a cellular level. Biologically. Dean is also the Michael Sword, born from a carefully culled bloodline crafted through divine intervention. Physically, he should be strong enough to contain Michael for a while…”

“So far, I’m not hearing anything in the negative column here, Cas.” Sam adds, after Cas trails off.

“Think of it this way. We were able to overpower Michael in Dean’s mind.”

Sam slurps down another sip of coffee. “Right… all things being equal, Michael isn’t any more powerful in Dean’s mind than we are.”

Cas nods. “To a point, yes. But it’s a matter of perception. Michael is only as powerful as Dean allows him to be. He can only keep Michael caged as long as he believes that he can cage him. There is not a physical cage in Dean’s mind. It’s the… concept of a cage. It’s the intention behind the idea.”

“Dean’s already had Michael on lock-down for over 24 hours without second-guessing himself.” Sam points out uneasily. They’ve arrived at the server room, but neither makes a move to push open the door.

Cas looks uncomfortable, like he’s practicing an idea out on Sam before working his way up. “We cannot allow Michael to break out of the cage.”

“Yeah. Total agreement there, buddy.”

Cas holds up a hand to stop Sam from interrupting. “We need to keep distractions away from Dean. He can’t afford to let his attention slip. His resolve must not waver. He’s taken on a huge responsibility caging an archangel inside of himself, and we need to keep him as stable as possible.”

“You want to bench Dean.” Sam realizes, Cas’ point finally driving home.

“I want…” Cas picks his words carefully, “I want Dean to be able to concentrate on keeping himself safe without distractions.”

“Cas, you know he won’t go for that. He’s already…” Sam gestures vaguely with his mug, “he’s already talking about getting back out there to track down Michael’s army. You know he’s not going to hang out in mission control while everyone else is cleaning up Michael’s messes.”

Cas’ expression is regretful but resolute. “Sam, think about it. If Dean is injured, Michael could escape. If Dean is emotionally compromised, Michael could escape. Michael is lying in wait for the first opportunity he gets to take Dean’s body back. If he’s on a hunt with you, and you or Jack are injured, that could be all it takes for Michael to wriggle free.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, and he bites the inside of his cheek. When Cas puts it like that, Sam knows the angel has a point. Some hunts are milk runs, some aren’t. And with Michael’s graced up super-monsters out there, the fights are only going to get tougher and bloodier. Sam can’t send out the Apocalypse Universe hunters out into the world to fight and die on the front lines, if he isn’t willing to do the same. He still feels the twisting guilt in his gut about being teleported back to the relative safety of the Bunker while his team was out risking their lives. That’s not what a good leader does, and it’s not what Sam Winchester wants to do.

But on the other hand, how can he leave Dean behind? They’re a team. They have each other’s backs. They’ve been through it all together, every step of the way. Okay – most steps of the way. They’ve had their rough patches over the years, but Sam and Dean have never been broken apart for long, and they’ve always faced all the shit the world throws at them together. Sam can’t do this without Dean.

But he can’t watch an Archangel rip Dean apart from the inside either.

Sam scrubs a hand down his face, suddenly exhausted. Cas is still waiting patiently for his answer. But Sam doesn’t have one. Not yet.

“Think it over, Sam.” The angel says finally, and he raises a hand to squeeze Sam’s shoulder. Sam tries to smile in assurance, but it comes out as a mere twitch.

“Dean will be okay.” But Sam isn’t sure who he’s trying to convince.