Who: Michael & Dean What: The Inevitable Confrontation When: 3/9 Where: Lucifer's place Rating: High for violence and language Status: Complete
It was only a matter of time really. After their jabs on Friday had crossed the line into too personal a clock had started. It ticked down the seconds until their inevitable clash and both likely knew it, could hear the ticking and might have even been eager to get to it. Michael had dealt with his frustrations and anger at Dean by taking it out on Samandriel’s body, he had pinned the angel to the mattress and fucked him into it until he himself came with what probably sounded like a roar. There hadn’t been words but it had certainly meant ‘fuck you, Winchester’, and while his body had been sated his mind was still fixated. He buried it down when he spent the next day with Gabriel but it was still lurking in him and most of that night he had spent at a twenty-four gym pummeling whatever bag was free until exhaustion hit him.
Still, it wasn’t enough. Michael was still on edge and anxious and needing to deal with it all in the only way he really felt able to. For his own sanity he made the decision to deal with it. He waited until Samandriel and Lucifer were out then sent Dean a text:
‘Let’s fucking finish this. Lucifer’s. Out back. Any time you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.’
So Michael waited. Stretching at first, doing a quick drill or two, then eventually simply meditating as he leaned back against the house close to the corner, arms folded. Whatever he may have looked he was ready for Dean.
Dean didn’t respond at all to the text. He simply looked at it, looked at Scud and went, “I need to handle this shit,” before he left work. Smudged in grease and oil as he pulled his baby up the long drive, Dean was sure he looked more like he had in the sandbox than ever since he got home. The dark, violent look on his face definitely helped to get that message across. This was a fight nearly a decade in the making. It didn’t matter that he’d apologized to Samandriel for calling him a toy. Their respective lines had been crossed and the only truly good thing about their lovers’ ability to teleport or fly was that they couldn’t actually kill each other. He parked and slammed the door of the Impala behind him.
It wasn’t as if Michael wouldn’t hear the engine as it roared up the drive anyway, a sound completely different to the Aston or Lucifer’s fancy ass Lexus. “We shouldn’t be doing this here,” he said, voice run even more gravel than usual with the amount of anger running through him. Samandriel and Lucifer both would have words if things happened here in a way they shouldn’t be. “I was gonna tell you to meet me in the desert. It’d be like old times.” He kept his eyes on Michael, keeping a safe distance as he studied the man who had once been his CO. Michael might’ve been all lithe and quick, but Dean was a powerhouse, thick and heavily rooted to the ground he loved so much. Lucifer had called him fire. Nothing good could come from fighting fire with fire in this case. Someone was going to break. Neither of them was going to give up before anything less.
“My head isn’t cracked enough to think that letting you pick the place and time was a good idea.” Even if he burned in the same way Dean did he was outwardly calm, at least if one didn’t realize what they were looking at when he started fiddling with his ring. He had slipped the ring from his left hand to his right, spinning it one direction for a few turns before stopping it and turning it the other way. He was studying Dean the same way he was him, his mind racing through all the tactics and moves and holds he had learned since he had become a combat instructor. Dean may have been strong and had a nearly immovable center but Michael had no doubt he could use his own strength and tactics against him.
“Did you leave your guns in the car or did you want to make this more interesting?” Of course Dean had weapons in his car, Michael had a few in his own though they were all blades and blunt objects, no firearms. He prefered to work up close. He was spinning his ring even faster now, turning himself ever so slightly to make himself a smaller target as he taunted him. “You can still walk away from this, you know. I won’t tell your husband that you’re my bitch.”
Dean knew exactly what he was looking at when it came to Michael. He watched himself being sized up by the other man and drew up in response, making himself bigger only so he could shrink down when he needed to to provide Michael with a suddenly much smaller target. Between the man’s continued combat training and all the muscle memory Dean was gaining in the dreams, they had to be evenly matched in a way they never would be once Michael started dreaming.
“Guns and knives are staying in the car,” he said roughly. “I’m not going to be the one who pisses the birds off by ending this before it begins.” Samandriel and Lucifer would never forgive him for opening fire on Michael. Samandriel’d barely forgiven him for doing it on Gabriel and that little fuck had been told. Multiple times. “Better not let your little sparrow hear you talking like that,” he growled, “There’s certain language he doesn’t take kindly to and I’d hate to see you in the doghouse for just you words.” In a way, Dean was glad that Michael had picked this particular place for them to have it out. It’d give him a leg up on defending his actions to Lucifer, especially since the guy could go through his head and see that he’d actually suggested neutral territory.
“Oh I’m sure I might as well move in to the dog house after this, what’s a little more fuel to the fire?” Dean was too smart to come at him after such a taunt, not when Michael was very clearly trying to get him to come to him. At least he could see the obvious, which Michael could respect though it wouldn’t save the loudmouth from anything Michael would do to him. ‘Don’t kill him’ that was the only rule Michael had set for himself, and given that he and Dean were drilled and forced and made to think it was the only way a fight should end, it might end up being more difficult than one would think for the both of them.
“Of course if you want to talk ending this before it begins then let’s keep standing here trying to piss the other off enough for him to get stupid and come at the other.” Michael took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. “They’re probably fucking now,” he suddenly stopped spinning his ring and looked back to Dean. “Your husband and my angel. Trying to take comfort in each other because they’re tired of us just not getting along like we should. I don’t know about you,” he said, moving forward, stopping just beyond the reach of Dean’s fist if he thought to throw a punch. “But I’d rather be finished with this before they get to round two.”
Dean circled, shifting smoothly back in a fucked up dance as Michael moved forward away from the garage. If they were going to do this, it was going to be in open space, or at least as open as possible. “It bothers me a lot less than it bothers you to think about them together. They have my blessing. Let them fuck if they want. Let them fuck all night.” They weren’t fucking then. Dean would have gotten a text telling him that Cas was going to see Samandriel or that the angel had come over. “But it’s a good thing for your paranoid head that Cas is at work right now and the kid’s at rehearsal.” Cas could’ve been at the hall listening to the orchestra rehearse but that didn’t really matter.
“You asked for this fight. You should probably get off your lazy ass and start it.” Dean was sick of waiting. There was a first step he wasn’t taking, not here. Not on this property. Michael was a goddamn idiot and there were probably angels gone all invisible girl around here watching them.
Fearing angelic displeasure was one thing, but he needed this. Dean needed it too, possibly more than Michael did as he had been the one to feel threatened and Michael generally got enough physical catharsis at work. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t going to happen unless Michael initiated it, he could take the disapproval from the angels and the tactical disadvantage, neither would last long enough to bother him as much as this going unresolved would. He would just have to carry himself through both of those temporary things with the image of Dean broken at his feet he swore he could see in his mind’s eye.
Jamming and bursting were out of the question, Dean hadn’t even lifted his hands yet, and still he was too far away to do anything effectively. That needed to be remedied. Michael was just as quick as Dean had assumed he was, he half dashed forward and instead of the usual flurry they had taught in the Marines when it came to unarmed combat he threw a punch aimed at Dean’s nose. Or so it looked. It was a feint in reality. One that would never actually collide, instead it was designed to get Dean defending or bursting at him in order to grab whatever came at him and twist it around to use the taller man’s strength against him.
Dean kept his guard close, doing his best to refuse to let Michael inside it. The rush and punch came at him and he ducked down and right away from it, letting his momentum carry his weight to one side while he retaliated not with his fists, but with his feet, striking low and in the direction of Michael’s shin. He’d grown up taking hits. If Michael thought he’d lost the ability to do that, the other man was going to be sorely mistaken. This house was his space. His. He was supposed to be able to be safe and let his guard down here. The angels who owned it clearly fucked up hard when the addition was made without consulting him. Any normal person might’ve just let it go without comment or avoided things so much that it simply stopped being a place to which they went.
Dean didn’t know how to let things go without a fight. Even when he’d walked out on his brother, he’d fought. As he saw it, there were two courses of action when it came to Michael. Either he took the man’s advantage of speed out of the equation completely or he wore him down. He’d try the former first, and if that didn’t work, he’d steel himself for the latter.
Thankfully Michael’s mind, or what was left of it, was faster than his feet. In the split second it took for him to realize that Dean was evading his feint he prepared himself for a strike from a different direction. It was what he would have done. It might not have been the done thing in say sparring or any martial art that worked on points and handed out belts, but he and Dean had been taught to kill. When you were trying to kill a man, or simply break him a bit, everything was permitted.
The way Dean moved told him leg so he was quick to shift his weight and meet the kick to his shin with his shin. It hadn’t felt good, he hadn’t had the time to curl his toes in the way that would have provided a bit more cushion, and it would slow him down a little though obviously not as much as Dean had intended. But in this position he had enough control to let his leg give a little and push back hard enough that should have opened up Dean’s stance more, something he would need if he was going to break the man’s center. He wasn’t so concerned with feet for the moment though, he had been able to twist his stance when he met the kick and was now easier to feign another punch at Dean, this time aimed at his stomach and hoping to draw his defence away from his face as he was prepared to drop his fist and bash him in the delicate bones and tissues of his nose with his elbow.
Dean was not about to take a hit to the face. He twisted with the momentum Michael gave him pushing back, lead foot landing solidly behind him. His guard opened enough to allow that strike at his core, but it gave him time to break long enough to keep the elbow away from his nose. Fingers clamped around Michael’s forearm, he refused to let go even when the punch itself landed square in his gut. His gaze met the other man’s, green on green through the haze of their mutual anger.
“You sparring with the boy scout you’re fucking on recess or do you let him do his homework instead?” he growled. Trash talking Samandriel wasn’t usually an option, especially since Dean was just as guilty of fucking the kid even if he’d never done it directly. His aim here was to throw Michael into enough of a rage that he could properly grapple with the man, that his concentration would be thrown from technique into anything sloppy he could muster.
“You and that bitch mouth.” Michael grumbled though it didn’t get a rise out of him, instead he focused on breaking that hold. He turned his arm, forcing Dean to expose the back of his wrist, a wrist he hit hard with the heel of his free palm. It forced him to let go of Michael but that wasn’t going to be the end of it. Throwing Dean was a better option than simply knocking him over, as fit and well muscled as he was Michael knew Dean was stronger and trying to grapple with that, especially on the ground where he couldn’t utilize his speed and flexibility properly was a terrible idea. But there was no momentum to redirect so throwing was out of the question for now.
With his one hand likely still reeling from the last hit Michael took the opening, instead of punching at that nose again he shot a hand behind Dean’s neck, grabbing the back of it. He intended to drag Dean down a little, get him a little off balance and knee him hard in the stomach, but in doing so he left himself open to both of Dean’s hands, if he was still able to use the one Michael had stuck before, and then there was the fact that in preparing to knee him he had shifted his weight to just one foot again. He was counting on the fact Dean would rather protect himself from a possible knee to the groin than realize that some points of Michael’s defense were down.
Reeling, yes, but not out of commission. With both hands free and Michael’s out of the way, he pitched himself forward, pinning his shoulder against the other man’s chest to force him back on the one foot that was holding him up and then to the ground. Injured hand on his waist and the other grabbing his thigh like it was the only thing that would matter for pinning the little shit in the dirt where he belonged.
“Little bitch how?” he asked darkly, “like the way your boyfriend’s sucks my balls for as long as I want or how he cries out when I fuck my angel into that little slut hole of his?” Those were the sort of taunts he’d never, ever use around anyone else. The ones you only got away with in the company of fellow soldiers.
Michael saw red, and it wasn’t just from the colors Dean’s voice had turned. A good way to get Michael upset was talk about his angel in any sort of sexual situation, adding degrading names to that only got the soon-to-be archangel raging. He was able to get his right hand enough leverage to start pummeling his fist into his side again and again, wanting more than anything to feel a rib break under his hand.
He needed to calm himself, he knew that but was unable. He needed to get himself off his back and off the ground again to regain the upper-hand as he was far too vulnerable in this position. Thankfully Dean was between his legs and he was able to wrap them around the older man, and used that along with every bit of strength he had to turn them over. At least now that he was on top he could punch him more easily. “You worthless piece of shit!” Another punch. “You daddy-loving, waste of fucking space, son of a goddamn bitch!” And another. “You’re not worthy of even looking at him, you miserable fucking cunt! How dare you say one one mother fucking word about him!”
Dean’s only job was to protect his head and throat. His fingers sank and twisted into Michael’s hair, pulling roughly as he tried to block the man’s dominant fist. “I’m a worthless piece of shit?” he said loudly, doing his best to hide all the damage those fists were actually doing. “This from the guy who just moves in on someone else’s life! The one who isn’t man enough to keep his little pet out of everyone else’s bed! I’ve seen your dick, Mikey. You’re never gonna be enough to come close to satisfying him.”
He yanked Michael’s head down hard, going for his throat as he bucked his hips up. What happened instead was the abrupt impact of nose against the side of his neck and not teeth, the brushing of lips instead of the leaving of marks. It wasn’t tender and it wasn’t intentional, but it sent a shock through Dean’s system that the Winchester wasn’t ready for.
“Who gives a flying fuck about your insignificant little life!” He had known Dean had felt threatened but it was how threatened and exactly what over he hadn’t been completely sure of. His yelling back would have been enlightening if Michael wasn’t only focused on bringing the man under him as much pain as he could. He was so focused on in that he didn’t realize exactly what Dean was doing, even when he could no longer punch at him as he had been.
He couldn’t hit him anymore so he ground his hips down against Dean, trying to remind the man that he was pinned into the dirt even as he looked for another way to harm him. Of course with those lips on his neck it sent something else through him. That need to prove himself dominant over the other man changing in a way he didn’t realize even as he turned his head and found himself kissing those lips so hard that his own were going to be bruised as he still ground his hips against him.
There was only one way Dean could react to that kiss. He surrendered almost immediately to it. His lips parted beneath the other man’s allowing it before he found his senses again. “How many other people are you burying your micro dick in because you’re pissed off that you don’t get to have him to yourself?” he growled, hips bucking up hard to try to dislodge Michael or at least get his leg up under himself enough to grab the push knife hidden in his boot.
Dean snapping out of it seemed to snap Michael out of it as well. It shocked him enough that he rolled off Dean and simply stayed away, remaining on his hands and knees in the grass than probably longer than he should have. What the hell was wrong with him, he thought over and over. He didn’t want Dean, hell he didn’t even want to be near the bastard but there he was ready to fuck him into the earth because he had pissed him off. He had to be losing his mind, it was the only thing that made sense to him.
“Fuck off, Winchester.” he was breathing hard now and staring at the ground below him. “This ain’t got shit to do with your fucking insecurities. Do you even fucking know what your husband does to Samandriel in the dreams? You have any fucking idea how awful it is to see him tortured and then to die like that? You can bitch at me all you fucking want but I’m staying right goddamn here to make sure it doesn’t happen in this life! And you can fucking accept it or I can take that knife of yours and end your sorry life right fucking here!”
Dean lunged at Michael, throwing his full weight and speed he generally refused to unleash on anyone at his old CO’s side, needing to pin him down into the dirt again. Nobody talked shit about Cas like that. Not even Gabe or Sam were allowed to shit talk Cas. Between Michael’s legs again, he couldn’t tell you how he managed to get one hand up against the asshole’s jaw and another on one of his forearms. With anger like that coursing through him, pain was a non-issue.
That statement, though. Well, it definitely helped explain the time Samandriel came screaming over angel radio, Cas left and then came back confused and wounded when the kid had made him leave. “You haven’t even fucking seen them in the same room together you goddamn taint eating son of a whore!” he yelled, pressing as much of his weight as he could against the other man’s jaw. “Cas treats him like a fucking kitten and the kid curls up in his lap and goes the fuck to sleep.” If that didn’t speak to complete trust, then Dean didn’t know what did. He bent low, hips pressing his half hard cock against Michael so he could speak against his ear. “We both know that you’re gonna strap your wings on one day and not give a flying fuck about that skinny little twink you like bouncing on your dick so much. I gotta wonder if you’re gonna be the dick who breaks his hands so he can’t play for anyone else. Seems like something cruel and dumb you’d do. Question is, is it gonna be me molotoving you with Holy Oil or Lucifer simply fucking unmaking you when you fuck up that badly. You’re a bigger piece of sorry ass shit than I am and you know it.” He nipped at Michael’s earlobe and even though he knew the word might bite him in the ass, it fell growled out of his mouth anyway. “Sir.” All spit and vinegar like it might drive home to Michael that neither of them were anything but exactly the same.
“You sick fuck!” Michael hissed as well as he could, pressed into the dirt with all of Dean’s weight on him. There wasn’t much he could do. He tried to squirm away but Dean was having none of it. And as angry as he was before being forced to hold still and endure feeling Dean against him and hear his taunts only made it worse. The absolutely unbearable part was that he could do nothing about it, that he had to lie there and just take whatever Winchester felt like doing now that he was the one with the upper-hand. He growled at the other man’s words, ready to jump up and strangle him if he could. “Get. The fuck. Off. Me.”
This time it was Dean who kissed him, needing to pay him back for that crushing pressure earlier. This wasn’t a fight he’d wanted to win. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that no matter how much he couldn’t completely admit it to himself now. His hips rolled forward again as his arms moved to either side of Michael’s head. There was too much testosterone in the air, too much anger and sweat and spit for him to keep from crossing the line there as he kept his hips moving, knew it would spur on another surge of energy from Michael. He’d end up on his back again. He wanted to be there this time. He wanted that asshole to take and he hated himself for wanting it at all.
Unlike Dean, Michael’s mouth didn’t open under the kiss, at least not in the way he would have wanted. Michael bit him. Not a love bite either, but he stopped when he felt the coppery taste of Dean’s blood in his mouth. He also bucked his own hips up to push at Dean, forcing him forward over Michael until he he was able to flip them over more easily. He could have taken what Dean was clearly offering him, could have fucked him into the ground so easily and have this whole mess somewhat dealt with. But no. Despite what Winchester had inspired below his belt he knew it was the wrong thing, that when he wasn’t half blinded by anger he would know it was a bad idea.
He punched Dean in the nose, it wouldn’t break it and really it wasn’t hard enough to do anything more than feel unpleasant and leave him with something that looked like a black eye the next day. Extricating himself from Dean he finally got to his feet and spat the blood in his mouth back at him, “Go fuck yourself, Winchester. I’m sure as fuck not gonna do it.”
Dean grunted, managing to avoid the worst of the spit as it came back at him. He stayed on his back, letting himself calm some before he reached for his keys. “You end up locked in a box in hell,” he said lowly, spinning slowly his valentine’s gift from Lucifer off the ring. “With Satan. Because of me.” Satan was the asshole who Sam said yes to. Lucifer was the one Dean did. There was a difference, but Dean didn’t care if Michael caught it or not. He looked up at Michael. “You wanna call me weak, fine. Whatever. Just know that I’m the damn reason the apocalypse you worked so fucking hard for got cancelled.”
He pushed himself to stand, tossing the house keys to Michael without looking to see if the fucker caught them or not. “Enjoy your stolen damn life, sir.” He’d talk to Lucifer about it later. Chances were that Lucifer already knew. He needed to talk to Cas about things first, needed to get all the dark, painful, triggery thoughts Michael had brought out and reaffirmed in his head tamped back down again.
Michael took a deep breath as he caught the keys and watched Dean walk away. He wasn’t going to stop him. He hadn’t wanted to force Dean away from the angels, hell he couldn’t care if Dean let Lucifer fuck him until Gabe blew his horn and the end came. As far as he saw it Dean was being the same stubborn, bitchy as all hell asshole he always was and made most of his own problems himself. Which would have been fine with Michael only now he was going to have to tell the angels what had went down and he knew they wouldn’t see it as only Dean’s stupidity.
After Dean was finally gone Michael suddenly felt very sore and tired, but he knew it wasn’t going to be anywhere as near as bad as he would feel when Samandriel would see that key.