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Dean says yes with a damn simple plan, and he puts it in motion the minute there’s an archangel in his head. He’s dead-set on figuring out who bends first—the unstoppable force or the immovable object. Michael tries to make himself a stoic wall of loyalty to a father who has long since smoked all those cigarettes he went to the store for, but if he knows what to say to hit Dean hardest, then Dean knows what to show Michael to make him crack.
It’s Sam. Sam smiling and Sam watching his back and most importantly, Sam failing. Dean failing him right back. Sticking together anyways because they’re all they’ve got in the world.
You don’t understand, Michael tells him, stony.
I’m the only one who ever will, Dean argues right back. He’s your brother.
Little by little, Michael breaks.
By the time they’re supposed to throw down—and Lucifer is behind Sam’s eyes. Dean hopes he had as much luck with his angel.—Michael isn’t wavering anymore. He’s changed. Dean’s peeled the scabs off of grief and guilt like only a vessel could because they’re his too.
At the end of the day, at the end of the world, all Michael wants is his brother back. Dean understands that. He hasn’t seen Sam in weeks and he feels like he’s drowning without him.
Lucifer comes like a skittish animal, flinching from Michael’s apologies, rejecting the possibility of offering forgiveness with venom in his voice. (A sharp edge that softens each time he speaks again, like there’s a little voice inside his head calming him down. Dean’s never been so proud.)
Michael’s not willing to give up. Neither is Dean.
And they survive the Apocalypse, brothers still breathing.