Disclaimer: Same as before. Still not mine. Still not getting anything.

A/N: Sam's a bit perturbed by the turn of events! The epilogue takes place post-endgame. (I know some people wanted to see the actual throwdown, but let's face it, ain't no way Lucifer is taking out Michael. Not if I'm writing it, anyway! lol)

Epilogue: I Want My Brother Back!

The door to Bobby's house practically flew open. Sam stormed in, eyes blazing, followed by his older brother, who met Bobby's startled eyes with an exasperated eyeroll.

"Sorry, Bobby, but Sam's being too much of an emo bitch to remember how to knock," Dean said in a placating tone. "And before Sam starts whining at you, the Apocalypse is over." Dean smiled broadly and spread his arms out wide. "The good guys—and Sam the Annoying—won." He ignored Sam's bitchface even as his expression turned pensive. "Seems sort of anticlimactic, doesn't it? Then again, Lucifer was never as tough as he thought he was. It wasn't even close last time but he'd managed to forget that."

"What the hell's going on, Dean?" Bobby asked, puzzled. He wheeled his chair around to face the brothers.

Sam whirled around. "That's not--."

Dean, without taking his eyes from Bobby, flung out an arm and chopped his hand down in a clear "shut the fuck up" gesture. "Time for Sammy's snit in a minute. First things first."

He stepped over to Bobby and placed a hand on the older man's shoulder. From somewhere beneath his jacket, he produced a battered motel Gideon Bible. Raising his eyes, he intoned, "Lord, Lord, this poor man comes before you today, a supplicant for your blessing!"

Bobby's felt his mouth gape open and from the corner of his eye, he could see a matching expression on Sam's face. A movement behind Dean showed him Castiel staring in his usual unblinking fashion, a hint of an amused smile on his face. Dean glanced around once at the angel and then turned back to Bobby, a broad grin on his face.

"Dean!" Bobby finally sputtered. "You idjit! What the hell are you doin'?"

Dean winked at him. "Hey, let me have a little fun. Just go along with it, okay?" He again looked heavenward. "I ask you, Lord, to work your mysterious ways! Let this man rise. Let him throw that chair away. Let him walk again!" By the last word, Dean was doing a creditable imitation of a television evangelist.

For a moment there was silence, then a sigh was heard, followed by an exasperated female/male/something else voice that said dryly, "Very funny. I'm going to regret your time there, aren't I?"

If Bobby's mouth dropped any farther, he'd be able to fit the Impala inside. Dean just grinned again and looked up again. "Probably," was all he said.

Then he made a "c'mon on" gesture with his hand. "Okey-dokey, Bobby, rise and shine."

"I ain't got any idea what the hell is going on with you, boy, but you damn well know I can't!" Bobby snapped.

"How much you want to bet, old man?" Dean asked with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Come on, get up!" Then he sighed. "At least, try, okay?"

A myriad of emotions flashed through Bobby then he growled, "Boy, if this is some kind of joke, you ain't gonna live long enough to regret it!" Then, drawing a deep breath, he placed his hands on the arms of his wheelchair and pushed up. And up. And up.

Staring at his legs in disbelief, Bobby released his grip on the chair and began to move forward, without even a wobble. He raised his head and stared at Dean, wide-eyed. "I, I don't understand, Dean. How did you do this?"

"Well," Sam said, apparently trying for a reasonable tone of voice and failing miserably, "it's because he fucking isn't Dean!"

"How many times do I have to tell you, Sam?" Dean yelled back. "I am the hell too!"

The imminent Winchester argument was forestalled by a loud boom!, followed immediately by two more. "What the goddamn hell is that?" Bobby snapped.

Dean laughed. "That's Cas. He's pretty happy about getting his powers back."

"So the idjit is blowing up my inventory?" Bobby asked, totally pissed now.

"Well," Sam pointed out nastily, "he has been hanging around Dean for two years."

Dean made an "aren't we clever?" face at his brother, then turned to Bobby. "I'm sure he's only picking the stuff that nothing short of a major miracle would ever get to run again," he said soothingly.

For some unexplainable reason, Bobby didn't find that particularly comforting. He continued to glare at Dean until the younger man moved over to the open doorway.

"Hey, Cas, hate to have to tell you this but you're pissing Bobby off. Maybe you could find some boulders or something, to blow up?"

There was sudden silence outside then, distantly, came the sound of something blowing up. Looking satisfied, Dean walked back to Bobby. "Okay, I know you want to know what Sam is wrong about this time--."

"Am not!" Sam said through gritted teeth.

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Enough!" Bobby roared. "You idjits are making me sorry I didn't run your Daddy's ass off my property the first time he showed up! Now what the hell has your damn panties in a twist?"

"Okay, okay," Dean said, holding up both hands in a "calm down, everything's okay" gesture. Then he looked pensive. "Sam is just not grasping the situation. He keeps thinking I'm two people."

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "And why would he think that, Dean?"

"Because he is," Sam jumped in. Then he glared at Dean. "And I want my brother back!"

"He hasn't gone anywhere! Just how many people did you have to screw to get into Stanford?" Dean sounded angry now, too. Then he turned back to Bobby. "See, it's really just like having amnesia and then waking up. Doesn't make me a different person, does it?" Dean was giving him an earnest, wide-eyed look that made him seem six years old.

Dean waved his hands around. "Let's say that there's this young emo bitch—we'll call him Little Sammy Winchester, just for the hell of it—and he's wandering around one day and accidentally gets to see a couple getting it on in a park and it blows his mind because, hey, what the hell is that and isn't it disgusting? And traumatized beyond anything even the most dedicated shrink could imagine, he gets hysterical amnesia—and he gets just plain hysterical because emo bitch, right?—and after stumbling around he gets taken in by kind people and he tells them he thinks he's Calvin Klein because that's the name stitched into his underwear."

Bobby was having enough trouble keeping the grin off his face when he made the mistake of glancing at Sam. The young man's expression almost made him lost it completely. Not to mention worry about whether he'd be trying to get blood stains off his floor.

Dean was in full swing. "Years pass and little Calvin grows up and finds a girl even more emo than he is and they marry and settle down and have a couple of kids who have the exact same pissy eye-rolling bitchface we're seeing on our Sammy Winchester at this very moment. And suddenly he realizes that the same sort of fun that produced those charming rugrats was exactly what he'd seen all that time ago in the park and what the hell had he made such a fuss about? Just like that, he remembers who he used to be but he also still remembers who he is." Dean leaned forward and looked at Bobby earnestly. "Okay, Bobby, now you wouldn't say that Sammy and Calvin were two different people just 'cause he remembers both lives, would you?"

"Is this a trick question, Dean?" Bobby asked. "'Course not."

Dean whirled and waved a finger at Sam. "Ha! You see?"

Bobby strode over and slapped Dean on the back of his head. Startled, Dean turned back and stared at him. "What the hell are you talking about, Dean?" Bobby growled at the younger man.

It was Sam who answered. "He's Michael, Bobby!"

Bobby blinked. "Michael? As in Michael, Michael?" He hated how squeaky his voice sounded. "You said yes?"

Dean sighed. "Well, I can see where Sam picked up his inability to listen."

Bobby didn't feel like squeaking anymore. He fixed Dean with a steely glare and said, "I can still whup your ass, boy, Michael or not."

"Yes, sir," Dean said, sounding contrite. "I didn't say yes, Bobby. I am Michael; I always have been. And I am Dean, and I've always been him, too. Michael just had amnesia."

"Yeah," Sam said sarcastically. "Think of him as Dichael."

"You couldn't at least go for Mean?" Dean said sourly. "It doesn't sound as dumb." He looked over at Bobby. "Actually, you can think of me as Dean Michael. Or if you're an angel, Michael Dean—though truth be told, they'll probably drop the Dean altogether."

"Did you fall? Like Anna?" Bobby interjected, trying to forestall the argument he saw brewing in Sam's eyes.

"Nah. It was always planned for me to be born human. Mom's way sneakier than Lucifer."

"Mom?" Bobby asked. "Castiel always says 'Father'."

Dean smiled but for the first time, Bobby could see something other than the boy he'd known for over two decades, something incredibly ancient and powerful. "I was created to be the essence of self-discipline. Of duty and responsibility and honor. I never needed a father, as most of my siblings felt they did." Then he gave a wicked grin and he was all Dean. "Turned out to be a good thing, didn't it? I mean, considering how many Daddy issues I ended up with!"

Sam moved with a speed that belied his size. He was in Dean's face and glaring at him. "But you're not Dean anymore. Not my brother!"

"I am, Sam! I will always be your brother. Nothing will ever change that."

Sam stared at him for a moment then his face seemed to crumple and he walked away to sit on the couch. Bobby was reminded of nothing so much as the Sammy he had first been introduced to, looking at his brother in misery over torn knee that had resulted from a fall. Dean or Michael or whoever he was at that second spread his hands helplessly and then joined his brother, crouching down in front.

"Sammy," he said gently, "what's really the problem?"

Sam swallowed a few times and he wouldn't meet Dean's eyes. "But you'll have to leave, to go back," he said in a small voice.

"That's it?" At Sam's nod, he smiled gently. "Yeah, Sam, I have other obligations now, too. I'm still the Prince of Angel and the Commander of the Host and the Right Hand of God and the Awesomest Badass in the universe. I've been away, not just the thirty-one—plus, forty—years I've been human, but even before that. Mom and I went away because, well, my siblings needed to grow the hell up!" He sighed at Sam's eye-roll. "Yeah, okay, that didn't work at all that well. Believe me, there's gonna be some asskicking. And Zachariah will be cleaning latrines for the next ten thousand years!"

That got a hint of a smile from Sam and Dean beamed at him. "Sammy, we'll just be sort of 'normal' brothers. You know, the kind that aren't in each other's pockets 24/7. But that doesn't mean they don't stay close, that they aren't in touch all the time." Then his voice dropped to a whisper. "And any time, Sammy, any time you need me or you just want to talk or say hello or spend some time together, you just have to call out and I'll be there. I promise."

Bobby watched Sam straighten up and grin. "So," Sam said, "I just stand there and yell, 'Dichael!'?"

"Only if you want to look like an idiot," Dean replied with an exasperated huff and Bobby grinned. Dean stood up and waggled his eyebrows at Sam. "It's not as if I'm in prison or anything. I'm free to visit you any time."

Dean began to stroll casually toward the door. His grin morphed into smirk. "Yep, Sammy. Any time at all. Night or day. Just pop in. One second not there, and the next, a visit from your brother."

Bobby watched as a horrified expression formed on Sam's face. "But, but you'll knock first, right? And, you know, wait until it's okay?" Dean continued to head for the door, throwing a "I'd better see if Cas has left anything that resembles a boulder standing" over his shoulder.

"You will, Dean, right?" Sam was sounding increasingly desperate, two years of familiarity with Castiel's tendency to ignore even basic rules of propriety fueling his certainty he was going to get screwed in this deal. "Dean?"

His brother's voice drifted back from outside. "Oh, so now I'm Dean!"

"DEAN!"

Bobby just sat back in his chair, feet up on an end table, and laughed as he hadn't in years. He could have sworn he heard another laugh, coming from all around him, and he whispered, "Good luck. You're gonna need it. After all, you're getting Dichael back!"