Note: This story is set directly after the Burn Notice season 3 finale.  Title borrowed from the song "Lawyers, Guns, and Money," which I heard in the car on the way home from work on the last day of April and thought, "Hey, that would make a great story title." I couldn't resist crossing over the Supernatural characters, despite the name confusion (Michael, Sam, Gabriel).  This takes into account all of SPN Season 5, although I've retconned various elements to better fit the story.

Extra note: There's also a prequel, one moment in mind, that I wrote for starandrea's birthday. It explains the whole netbook thing.

*****

Michael was gone.  A  helicopter again, and her brain shied away from thinking about where they would take him, what they would do to him, what he would have to promise to get away again.  

She narrowed her focus to more immediate concerns.  What would need to be destroyed, and who would need to be notified? She and Sam were both known associates, but they weren't the only ones.  Michael had left his fingerprints all over Miami.

"One of us should go get Madeline."  Sam's voice broke through the lists in her head.

Fiona ignored him.  Since they were both in the same car, and the police station holding Madeline was between them and all of the most likely alternate destinations, there was really no need to respond.  Obviously they were both going to get Madeline, unless he was thinking about getting out and walking, which she would veto if he brought it up, and he knew that.  Sam was just talking to talk.  He was probably trying to be subtle and use his imaginary "intuitive understanding of women" to figure out how likely she was to walk into the station guns blazing.

"I'm fine," she said.

Sam glanced briefly in her direction, then back at the road.  There was a long pause.  "Right," he said finally.

Madeline climbed into the backseat without a word and handed over her phone.  She was learning.  And far more devious than she acted when Michael was around.  They were all quiet until Sam peeled out of the parking lot, and then he said, "How are you holding up, Maddie?"

"When do we rescue Michael?" she asked.

Fiona exchanged a look with Sam.  "We don't," Sam said uncomfortably.

"Pardon?" Madeline asked.  It was her 'I'm sure you couldn't possibly have meant to say what I just heard you say' voice.  

Fiona shifted in her seat to look Madeline in the eye.  "We don't," she said.  "The people who've taken Michael aren't just --"

"What?  What is it?" Madeline asked, craning her neck around the seats for a better view.

"Traffic jam?" 

"No ordinary traffic jam; the road was clear a minute ago.  It's like those cars came out of nowhere."

They went from traffic jam to parking lot in no time.  The radio was all static when they tried to get a news report; nothing on any station they tuned in.  People eventually gave up on their horns and just got out of their cars to wander around.  The A/C worked overtime as the minutes turned into hours.  Some enterprising kids wandered by, selling bottled water.  

And then, as suddenly as it had ground to a halt, the traffic started moving again.  The jam seemed to melt away until the Miami freeway was once again flowing smoothly.  The radio sputtered back to life, and Fiona felt a chill run down her spine.

"That was definitely weird," Sam said.  

By silent consensus, they headed for the loft, not discussing either Michael or unusual traffic patterns until they were safe behind closed (and locked) doors.

"Michael needs our help," Madeline said once they were inside.

"Michael can take care of himself," Sam said firmly.  "We need to focus on that for now."  

"No beer?"  Sam's exclamation at the refrigerator drew Madeline's attention from her alarmed perusal of Michael's favorite chair  Personally, Fiona thought the duct tape added character.  

She used to worry that the state of Michael's living arrangements was an indicator of his sense of impermanence in Miami.  If the loft was full of junk, he wouldn't have to care about it, and it wouldn't hurt when he inevitably left.  It turned out Michael just really liked junk that no one else wanted.  It no doubt still said something alarming about his psyche, but it wasn't saying 'I'm counting the days till I leave,' and that was enough.

"There is no way I'm staying where there's no beer," Sam said.  "Maddie, how's your refrigerator stocked these days?"  

*****

She took the Charger.  No unusual traffic jams or grocery store riots occurred, and she found herself adding yogurt to the cart because she thought it would hurt worse not to.  Everything seemed fine, right up until the club came into view and there was a car parked with its nose to the gate.  There were two men leaning against the car, clearly waiting for something -- or someone.

Fiona tapped her phone.  "Sam," she said, as soon as he picked up.  "Meet me back at the loft.  Leave Madeline if you can; we have company."

"Feds?" Sam asked.

Sam's volume dropped, like he was trying to keep Madeline from overhearing.  "Yeah, well, neither was the guy who nearly garroted Mike.  Don't do anything stupid."

"I don't think that's the proper use of that word as a verb, Sam.  Got to go."  She hung up on whatever he said next, opening the door and stepping out.

She countered with her best Southern damsel, going so far as to flutter a hand up to her chest.  "My goodness!  Federal agents!  Well, you boys have come to the right place.  Why don't you just help me carry my groceries up, and then I'll get you a cold glass of iced tea.  I'm sure I've seen all sorts of unusual things I can tell you about."

She moved next to the stairs -- no clear shot from the windows, cover if she ended up needing it.  The men turned around to find a gun pointed at them.  "I am fast enough to shoot both of you, and you're not federal agents.  Lucky for you, actually, because the government's not exactly on my good list right now.  Who are you, and what are you doing in Miami?"Neither man looked surprised (or worried) to be staring down a handgun.  

"Jesus, Dean, you sure can pick 'em," the tall one said, throwing his hands up.

"Me?  It was your email penpal that got us into this.  And I thought we agreed to no religious references."

"Whatever."  'Dean' turned to her and gestured at the gun.  "Are you really planning on shooting us?" he asked.

Fiona looked back and forth between them.  "I haven't decided."

*****

By the time Sam arrived, they'd made some significant headway on the explanations.  "Agents Schellan and Perry" were actually Dean and Sam Winchester.  And -- according to them, at least -- they hunted the supernatural for a living.  

Dean seemed to be the designated explainer, while Sam -- Winchester, not Axe -- mostly stood around looking uncomfortable.  "Look, I don't know if you noticed, but we just went through the freaking Apocalypse.  End of days, and all that?  Miami was an Apocalypse-free zone, and no one knows why.  Except for now, it's like something flipped a switch, and suddenly you've got demons up the wazoo.  People start noticing; word gets around.  Seemed like someone should check it out, and it's not like a trip to Miami's really a hardship, you know?"

Almost like an afterthought, he added, "Plus we'd heard Miami had been wiped out by a giant twister, and it seemed like someone should confirm it was still here."

"What?"

Dean waved a hand.  "Bunch of the networks picked up the story without fact checking.  They were reporting disasters all over the world; we're pretty sure it was just Lucifer's influence.  So far none of them have checked out.  We should have known, really -- he's the Prince of Lies, not lord of the weather."

It had taken considerably longer to work around to the point that "people start noticing; word gets around" really meant "people get scared and start praying to their god/goddess of choice."  Winchester said he'd gotten an email out of the blue from a pagan goddess they'd met once, telling them to figure it out or she'd smite them, or something like that.

"So that's it.  Has anything changed in the last week or so; any big weather event, or political change?  Could be a religious figure dying, a bishop or something.  Something was protecting Miami the last few years, and now it's not.  It's gonna be a little tough to search the whole city for something that's not here anymore.  But if you look back, the lack of supernatural activity was strongest around here.  We asked around, got directed to this address.  'Weird shit goes down; they're involved.'  That was enough for us.  Thought you might be hunters."

"Not exactly," Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck.  They exchanged a look.  "It figures," Sam said.  "Mike leaves town, all hell breaks loose."

They exchanged a glance.  "You don't think..."

"No.  No way.  Mike's the last guy to be involved in anything supernatural."  Sam frowned.  "Supernatural...  Hang on a second, I recognize those names -- Dean and Sam are the characters in those books; the Supernatural series!" 

In an instant, Fiona's gun was trained on the strangers again.  "Want to try those explanations again?"

The tall one sighed.  "We're them.  Sort of.  The author, Carver Edlund, his real name is Chuck Shurley, and he's a prophet.  He saw visions of us, but he didn't know what they were, and he wrote them down and sold them as novels."

"Really bad novels," the other one added.

Winchester -- if that was really his name -- grimaced.  "Yeah.  You've read them?"

Sam looked uncomfortable.  "Not all the way through or anything.  You're saying you're those Winchesters?  All those things really happened to you?"

It was like they were having a contest for who could look the most awkward.  But Dean shrugged, and Winchester said, "Yeah.  Pretty much."

"Prove it," Sam said.

Dean groaned.  "Please tell me this doesn't end with him showing us an anti-possession tattoo on his ass."

Fiona felt her eyebrows go up.  Sam's did too, and Dean got an elbow in the side.  "I don't think I even want to know," Sam said.  "Look, fair point.  It's pretty hard to prove something like that."

"So you believe us?"

"No," Fiona said. 

"But that's not a 100% necessity for us helping you," Sam said. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, but it looked like he might actually be buying their story. Or maybe he was just a sucker for a good fairytale.

"Sam, can I talk to you for a minute?" They stepped onto the balcony, both Winchesters still clearly in sight. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Come on, Fi, haven't you ever seen anything that made you wonder? Those kids, they look like they've just come out of a war zone. They could use our help."

"Michael would never go for it."

"Yeah, but Mike's not here. And doesn't it seem just a little suspicious to you that these guys showed up right after he left? What if there's a connection?"

She thought about it. Couldn't deny it was possible. "Fine. They can stay the night."  They'd certainly taken on stranger clients.  And it was Michael who usually needed the money -- mostly because he kept giving it back once the job was done, which was -- well, she'd tried to talk sense into him about his business model in the past.  

The Winchesters seemed perfectly at ease in the disarray of the loft.  They both ate like they were starving, but shared stories of various run-ins with the police like they knew they were in the company of people who thought laws were merely suggestions.  After dinner, Dean sprawled out on the balcony with Sam and a six pack.  Winchester was glued to his computer ("It's a netbook," he'd insisted, like that made any difference at all).  It was actually the furthest apart she'd seem them since their arrival.  As it was, they both kept glancing towards each other, like a visual check was required to make sure the other was still present and accounted for.  She'd seen it before, in people who'd been through something traumatic.  Hell, Madeline did it with Michael every time they were within a square mile of each other.  Fi had done it herself.  Sometimes you just can't quite believe it's over.  

On the balcony, Sam tipped his head towards Dean.  "Heaven," he said.

Dean nodded.  "Been there."

"Hell."

"Ditto."

She could imagine Sam's raised eyebrows.  "Angels."  What were they doing, word association?

"Dicks."

Winchester's soft snort showed he was following the conversation as well.  "God?" Sam ventured.

"Which one?" Dean replied.  "Capital G God was a no show.  Bastard set us all up and then skipped town."  

It was possible Dean was drunk.  She'd seen some crazy things in her life, and certainly cursed God's name more than once.  Nothing that made her think anyone on Earth was meant to have a close personal relationship with the Creator.

Sam tipped his bottle back.  "Satan."

Dean shot a loaded glance at his brother.  "Accounted for," he said.  "Sammy kicked his ass back to the Pit."

Winchester kept his eyes glued to the computer screen.  Clearly the devil was a conversational sore spot.  And she thought her family had issues.

A slow smile stretched across Dean's face.  "I ate pizza with Death in a Chicago diner."

That wasn't the weirdest part of the evening.  No, the weirdest part was when Winchester laid down a line of salt along all the doors and windows.  She thought about protesting, but after she'd verified it was actually salt, and not some sort of explosive or accelerant, she couldn't find any reason to make a fuss.  It wasn't like Michael ever cleaned the place.

Both Winchesters offered to sleep on the floor, but since Fiona and Sam were planning to sleep in shifts anyway, they let the brothers take the bed on the main floor, and moved their things to the upper level. Fi sat with her feet on the railing, listening to Sam snore behind her. She hadn't expected their guests to shift sleep too. Dean was out cold, but Winchester (it was way too confusing to have two Sams, even in her own head) looked wide awake, typing away on his tiny computer. She wondered what he could possibly be doing on it.

Then Dean twitched. All of Winchester's attention shifted instantly to the left. When Dean merely resettled, the typing resumed. Five minutes later, it happened again. Dean twitched, then started to mumble. Winchester watched intently, then reached out to shake Dean's shoulder. Dean woke with a gasp. "How long?" he asked.

"Couple of hours," Winchester replied quietly. "You want to go back to sleep?"

"No, I'm good. Your turn."

"Goody." Winchester handed over the computer and they switched roles, easy as could be. Fi frowned. So, they weren't guarding each other against threats, they were guarding each other from nightmares? Must be a hell of a dreamscape. Or maybe they just didn't want to wake their hosts.  She watched the switch twice more before waking Sam for his turn at guarding.

*****

Morning brought no new revelations, except the knowledge that the Winchesters could pack away a lot of breakfast. It wasn't until Dean went to retrieve something from his car that the trouble became apparent. No sooner had he stepped out the door than he ducked back inside. "Uh, guys? I think we've got a problem."

The parking area -- behind the still-locked fence, she realized -- was crowded with people. "Not people," Winchester said. "Demons."

"You're sure?" Dean asked, and got an eyeroll in return.

A quick check revealed that the space under the balcony was equally guarded. "Is there another way out of here?" Winchester asked.

"Well, it's possible to get in and out through the roof access, but you'd have to scale the side of the building to get down," Sam said.

Fiona counted at least three dozen people milling around outside the loft.  It figured.  A job Sam was in favor of that turned out to be unexpectedly complicated and dangerous after they were already involved?  Just like old times.

Dean was talking again.  "The good news is that the demonic activity was up before we decided to come, so they're probably not being drawn to Sam."

She blinked.  Her hand itched for her gun.  "Was that a possibility?"

The Winchesters looked at each other, then quickly away.  Dean didn't quite meet her eyes when he said, "No, of course not.  Definitely not."

Sam glanced out the front door and gave a low whistle.  "What are we supposed to do about them?"

"If we could trap them somehow and hold them there, we coud probably do a mass exorcism," Winchester offered.

There was a pause.  "Can we do that?" Sam asked.

"Um, no.  Not without help."

"Can we shoot them?"  Fiona thought it was important to get all their options on the table.

"Demons possess people; the host is still in there.  If we can get the demons out, the people will be okay."

Dean looked doubtful at his brother's use of the word 'okay.'  Still, seriously in need of therapy was probably better than being possessed.  

"We could always try asking them what they want," Winchester offered.  "I mean, this isn't exactly normal demon behavior."

"Demons aren't usually team players," Dean agreed.  Then he shrugged.  "What the hell -- why not?"  Opening the door, he stayed carefully behind the salt line and yelled, "Hey!  Demon scum!  What do you want!"

"Bite me, Winchester!" 

"The apocalypse is over; not everything's about you!"

There were jeers and catcalls from the crowd.  And then, chillingly, "Where's Michael Westen?"

Dean slammed the door shut.  "Something you forgot to tell us?"

Sam shook his head.  "Hey, don't look at us.  If Mike was making play dates with demons, he certainly didn't share with the class."

Both Winchesters looked suspicious -- talk about role reversal.  The tension in the room was interrupted by renewed commotion outside.  Just as Dean was reaching for the door, they heard a loud knock.  "It's Nate -- let me in!"

They all looked at each other.  Sam had a gun in his hand, and Winchester had produced a knife from somewhere.  "It's open," she called.

*****

Nate stepped easily over the threshold and took in the scene that greeted him.  Two familiar faces, two strangers, no Michael, and an array of weapons, mostly pointed at him.  He did raise an eyebrow at Winchester's knife, but seemed to accept it all as part of the weirdness that was generally better not to ask about.

"Where's Michael?" he asked.  His tone said he was asking in the "what's he done this time" way and not just the "it seems like he should be here" way. 

Sam noticed it too.  "Why?" he asked.  Rude, yes, but it wasn't like they weren't under pressure.  She heard someone flip the safety off their gun.  Probably Dean.  She'd noticed he wasn't very patient.

"Because I've never in my life received a letter from him, until out of the blue I get these in the mail."  He pulled out a set of keys -- Michael's keys for the Charger.  She'd wondered where those had gone.  She and Sam had their own copies, of course, but it was good to wrap up a loose end.

And wasn't that just like Michael.  She knew there was a chance he wasn't coming back this time.  In typical Westen tradition, he'd backed out of actually talking with his family and settled for passing the car around like it made up for everything he wouldn't say.  

"And of course," Nate continued, picking up steam.  "That doesn't even begin to cover getting here and finding you under siege by demons, with the Winchesters.  What's going on, guys?"

"Who is this?" Dean asked.

"Nate Westen," Fiona said, just to find out what he'd do.  "Michael's brother."

Dean threw a glass of water on him.  Nate spluttered.  "Was that holy water?"

"Just checking," Dean said.  "You got through those demons pretty easy."

"I live in Vegas," Nate said, as if that explained everything.  Fiona hated to admit to anyone that she wasn't in control of a situation, but this was pretty far beyond the usual 'international terrorists trying to kill us with guns' situation.  When Nate seemed to be the most knowledgeable about anything, that was a problem.

"Vegas?" Nate repeated, when it became clear no one had any idea what he was talking about.  "It's like Switzerland.  Neutral territory.  Everyone loves gambling, man."  He reached into his shirt and pulled out an amulet.  "The demons recognized me because of this.  It IDs me as a Vegas resident.  It's a strictly 'no possessions, no exorcisms' deal."  

Sam looked like -- well, like Michael's little brother had just turned out to have a whole other side to him.  She wondered how it was that it was this, of all things, that he'd managed to hide.  "You know how to do an exorcism?" 

Nate, on the other hand, looked like he wasn't sure what the big deal was.  "Yeah, of course.  It's not exactly something I'd use in polite company, though.  No faster way to get kicked out of a casino than whipping out Latin at a table."

*****

It turned out that the demons -- however much they were willing to respect the neutrality thing when it came to Nate arriving -- weren't willing to let any of them leave.  As the morning shifted into afternoon, they eventually ran out of explanations, and everyone settled in to wait.

Nate kept looking over at Winchester's tiny computer.  Finally, he said, "Is your computer possessed?"

Apparently they were at the point in the situation where inanimate objects being possessed wasn't off the table.  She found herself thinking, 'This sort of thing never happened when Michael was here.'  Which, as far as they could figure out, might be the whole problem.

Winchester exchanged a look with his brother, who just shrugged.  "Not... exactly," Winchester said.  "Why?"

"Because I can tell something's weird about it from all the way over here," Nate replied.  "It's not anything I've ever felt before, though.  The amulet can't make heads or tails of it.  What is it?"

Winchester snapped the cover shut but left his hand resting on the computer protectively.  "It's a Trickster," he said.  

"You trapped a Trickster in a netbook?"  Nate looked -- shocked, or maybe impressed.

"The Trickster is the netbook," Winchester said.  

"It's an improvement, actually," Dean added.  "He used to be a DVD.  One of these days we'll wake up and he'll have made it up to a stereo."  

"Dean."

Dean scowled at the netbook/Trickster, but backed off.  "Fine," he said.  

Nate shook his head.  "That doesn't make any sense."

"Welcome to our lives, buddy.  Every day is pretty much like that."  Dean looked considering for a minute.  "Or worse.  Sometimes worse."

Nate dropped it.  "Is there actually any food here other than yogurt?" he asked in a blatant change of subject.

There had been, of course -- that's why she'd gone grocery shopping.  But that was before they'd added two hungry guests for dinner and breakfast.  "There's beer," Sam offered.  Nate looked doubtful, but took the offered bottle anyway.

"We need a plan," Winchester said.  "We can't just wait here forever."

Fiona wasn't sure why he thought he was in charge of making plans.  Although it was probably important that between him and Dean one of them made plans, and Dean seemed more the type to just charge ahead without thinking.  He reminded her of Michael in that way, actually.

"We could still shoot them," she said.  Just to get it out there as an option.

"They're not actually doing anything," Nate said.  He looked out the window.  "They're just -- well, it looks like they're having a barbecue."

Dean said, "Look, what are the odds that Michael's going to be back anytime soon?"

"Before we run out of beer?" Sam asked.  "Not so good.  I think we're going to need some help with this one."

The Winchesters looked at each other.  "Don't say it," Dean said.  

Winchester ignored the warning.  "Just call him, man.  I don't know what the big deal is.  He'll probably be glad to get out of Heaven for a while.  Just promise him a cheeseburger or something."  

"I'm not going to bribe Cas.  Besides, his phone got blown up, remember?"

Winchester blanched so fast she thought he might actually pass out.  "Right," he mumbled.  

It was actually sort of fascinating to be around people whose problems were not only not her problems, but also interesting.  None of the boring 'my boyfriend cheated on me with the mailman' or 'I think the valet scratched my car,' but also nothing in the area of 'there are secret government agents trying to kill me and anyone I've ever spoken to.'  No, the Winchesters had problems more along the lines of 'does my ex-guardian angel get cell phone reception in Heaven,' and 'I feel bad about the things I did when the devil was possessing my body.'  It was creepy, and yet oddly refreshing.

Sam looked thoughtful.  "Cas is Castiel, right?  The angel?"  Dean nodded reluctantly.  "Is there any other way to get in touch with him?"

"There's a summoning ritual," Winchester said.  "But it's kind of complicated."

Nate frowned.  "Can't you just pray for him?"

"We're invisible," Dean said.  "There's these sigils on our ribs -- angels can't see us.  Or hear us.  Pretty useful when they're all trying to kill you.  Not so much for keeping in touch."

The solution seemed obvious -- just have someone else pray.  Unfortunately, while they were all willing to point guns at each other, and occupy the same space during a siege of demons, and compare near-death experiences, the concept of prayer made everyone uncomfortable.  

Except for Nate, apparently.  "Well, I can do it," he said.  "Unless you think he won't listen to me."

Dean sighed, and waved at Nate like he was washing his hands of the whole situation.  There was something they were all missing, but she couldn't tell what it was.  "Go for it."

Nate stood up and stuck his hands in his pockets, closing his eyes at the same time.  "Now I stand upon this ground," he began.  It was the cadence of the traditional nighttime prayer, but she'd never heard this particular variation.  "and pray that God is not around.  May the angel Castiel hear my call, and safely come to meet us all."

She was pretty sure she wasn't the only one with raised eyebrows when he opened his eyes again.  "What?" he asked.  "That's how we say it in Vegas."

*****

"Dean."

"Cas."

Just like that, there was an angel in room.  And wow, he and Dean were seriously inside each other's personal space.  Fiona watched with a combination of surprise and amusement.  There was a supernatural being in the loft, presumably to answer Nate's prayer.  On the other hand, this explained so much about Dean.

There was a long moment of silence as Dean and Castiel stared intensely at each other and everyone else awkwardly tried not to watch.  Finally Winchester cleared his throat.  "Hey Cas," he said.

Castiel didn't look much like how she'd assumed an angel would look.  He was wearing a hoodie, for one thing.  And it looked like he needed a shave.

They all stood there for another minute, watching Dean and Castiel watch each other. Finally, the angel broke the stare. "Hello Sam," he said. "It's good to see you." Fiona wondered if he always sounded so serious, or if surviving the apocalypse was a special occasion for solemnity.

"Yeah, you too, Cas." There was another long, awkward silence. Castiel looked back at Dean. "I assume there was a reason you called me."

Dean shook off whatever he was thinking.  "Yeah," he said, gesturing towards the door.  "There's these demons --"

Castiel went from mild mannered to wrath of God in a heartbeat.  He flung the door open and glared out.  The noise from below stuttered but didn't die out, and Castiel stepped back into the loft.  "They appear to be having a barbecue," he said calmly.

"The question is why?"  No matter how many times he did it, it still surprised her when Sam acted as the voice of reason.  "What do they want with Michael?"

Which led to recapping the whole situation, and then Castiel using his angel powers or whatever to try to get them some answers.  Then they waited.  Apparently angel powers weren't instantaneous.  

Sam broke out the yogurt, passing containers to Winchester and -- she saw raised eyebrows all around the room -- Castiel.  Dean cleared his throat.  "So Cas.  What's with the outfit?"

Castiel even opened yogurt calmly.  "I am attempting to encourage individual decision-making among the ranks by fostering a more casual appearance."

Dean and Winchester exchanged a look.  "Yeah?  How's that working for you?" Dean asked.

For the first time since he'd mentioned the barbecue, Castiel looked something other than serene.  "Not as well as one might wish," he said.    

Another person appeared in the loft.  She didn't even reach for her gun that time; it was becoming that normal.  The stranger ignored everyone except Castiel, and said, "Michael Westen is in Bogota" before disappearing again.  He was dressed -- down to the color of his socks -- identically to Castiel.

There was a moment of silence, as Fiona tried to figure out why Michael would be in Columbia, and Dean looked like he was trying not to laugh.  He nodded to where the angel had disappeared.  "They all dressed like that?" he asked, a smile breaking through.

"Yes," Castiel said, irritation coloring his tone.  "It is most vexing."  He put a spoonful of yogurt in his mouth and made an face she was pretty sure counted as un-angelic.  He handed the yogurt off to Dean and started pacing.  Dean just shrugged.

*****

It didn't take long for Fiona to get bored.  Luckily, Castiel didn't seem to be one for waiting around for things to happen.  "I would simply retrieve him," he said, as if answering the question no one had asked but everyone was probably thinking.  "But he is already on his way here."  He stopped suddenly and looked around.  "Have you seen Gabriel?"

If Winchester thought his expression looked innocent, he needed to look in a mirror.  She wondered at there being so many matching names between their groups -- Sam, Michael, Gabriel -- what were the odds?  Hopefully the Winchester's Gabriel wasn't an insane terrorist.

Dean said, "No, why?" and he was a lot better at lying than his brother, but nowhere near good enough.  Castiel narrowed his eyes.

There was a choked off sound from Nate, and Castiel whirled on him.  Nate's eyes widened.  "I don't know anything," he said quickly.  

Fiona hoped angels couldn't read minds.  Or that Castiel was polite enough not to do it.  Winchester jumped into the uncomfortable silence.  "Yes," he said.  "We've heard from him.  He didn't die when Lucifer killed him."

"I am aware of that," Castiel said.  "Because you are not a Trickster."

"What?"  Dean gave voice to what they were all thinking.

Castiel sighed.  "The powers of pagan gods are created by human belief.  They are not inherently connected to whatever being currently holds them.  Most prefer to have their powers passed to a chosen successor in the unlikely event of their destruction, rather than having them be, as you might say, 'up for grabs'."  He paused.  "There is a -- list, of sorts."

"And, what?  My name's on it?"  Winchester sounded like he couldn't quite believe it.  Nate looked like he might still be having trouble breathing.

"Yes," Castiel said.   "As is Michael Westen."

Dean was much less quick to pull a gun when Castiel was around, Fiona noticed.  He still spun around to glare at them, but the 'crazy angry man' look wasn't nearly as intimidating when it didn't include 'with a loaded gun pointed your way.'  "I thought you guys said Westen didn't have anything to do with the supernatural," he said.

"He doesn't," Sam said.  "Look, Castiel -- can you tell us which god he's supposed to be succeeding?"

"Svantevit."

"Gesundheit," she heard Dean mutter.

"Never heard of him," Fiona said.  Next to her, she felt Sam flinch.  He rubbed a hand over his head.

"Ah -- yeah.  Actually, I have."  Everyone stared at him.  "Look, I didn't know it was going to be some big thing," Sam said.  "Years back, we spent some time in Ukraine, and there was a forest, and some not so nice people, and Mike may or may not have spent some alone time with old Svantev."

"Svantevit," Castiel corrected, and she saw Winchester kick Dean in the shin when he opened his mouth.

"Cas, cut to the chase," Dean said, glaring at his brother.  "What's the deal with Westen?"

Castiel sighed, like he was tired of always having to be the one doing the explaining.  Sam handed him a beer, which he actually took, popping it open like a pro and taking a long swallow before speaking.  Fiona blinked, but neither of the Winchesters looked surprised to see an angel of the lord slumming it with grocery store beer.

"From what I have been able to discover, Svantevit was impressed with Michael Westen's courage and bravery, and granted him the favor of, essentially, a supernatural-repelling aura.  When he settled in Miami, it only enhanced the city's reputation as a supernatural 'safe zone'.  Apparently he was also chosen to be Svantevit's successor, though that seems to be separate from the issue the demons are here to discuss."

Fiona barely managed to repress a mocking comment, only because she couldn't decide whether to focus on the irony of Michael "settling down" anywhere, the idea of Miami as some kind of safe haven, or Castiel's audible use of air quotes.  The look he gave her said he knew what she was thinking anyway.  She shrugged.

"The demons currently surrounding this building," Castiel continued, "believe that Michael is here, but has discontinued his protection of the city.  They wish to know if he will reinstate it."

There was silence for a minute.  She guessed no one was really sure where to go with that announcement.  Finally, Winchester said, "Why do they think he's here?"

"Apparently he never leaves?" Castiel said, looking to her questioningly.  She shrugged again.  "Also, his car is here."

"No, wait," Dean said.  "Why would demons want to bring back a spell that keeps them out of somewhere?  That makes no sense."

"Well, it probably doesn't repel anything that's not trying to cause trouble," Nate said.  Then, seeing everyone's surprised expressions, he added, "What?  I can have knowledge.  There's plenty of supernatural entities that just want to kick back.  Earth has a lot to offer, you know."

Sam opened his mouth like he was going to respond to that, then just shook his head.  Fiona directed her question at Castiel, since it looked like he was the one who actually knew what was going on.  "So, what?  We're just going to sit around and wait until Michael gets here?"  

Castiel nodded -- he was back to looking serene, she noted.  "Yes."

*****

"Like what?" Winchester asked, seemingly out of the blue.  Possibly realizing that no one had any idea what he was talking about, he added, "You said there were reasons why the supernatural hang out, or whatever, on Earth.  Like what?"

Nate started ticking off reasons on his fingers.  "Retirement, R&R, live music, gambling, communing with nature -- lots of things.  They're pretty organized about the whole thing; there's a union and everything."

"They have a union?" Winchester asked.

Dean set his yogurt down with a thump and a glare.  "No way.  Why wouldn't we have ever run into any of these things?"

Nate gestured at the two of them like it was self-explanatory.  "You're the Winchesters.  I'm pretty sure your names and photos are in the welcome packet, right under the heading 'avoid at all costs.'  You kill supernatural beings.  They're not exactly lining up for a meet and greet."

Dean looked like he was ready to do some killing of supernatural beings right then and there, but he settled for a glare at Nate.  "New topic," he said.

Winchester gamely went for it again.  "Svantevit was one of the gods at the Elysian Fields Hotel, right?  So how come it's taken this long for his powers to be awarded?"

"There is a lengthy process that takes place in awarding an inheritance of that sort.  It was not until quite recently that the powers were released from probate.  Some of the requirements are quite arduous."

Winchester frowned, and Dean sighed.  Pointing his spoon back and forth between Castiel and his brother, he said, "Translation: did you know Gabriel wasn't really dead right away?"  

"I did not."  Castiel blinked, like the idea hadn't even occurred to him.  "There was considerable debate about the source of Gabriel's Trickster powers after he revealed himself.  While he is on the list, it was unclear whether he truly possessed the powers of a Trickster, or if he was simply using his Archangel powers and his listing was merely part of his disguise."  Fiona was sure it was only his previous unflappability that made his eyebrow raise seem so ominous, as he added, "In fact, I believe you know considerably more about Gabriel's whereabouts than I do at this point."

 Winchester, honest to God, turned bright red, and what was she missing in that whole situation?  Dean opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but was cut off by more people appearing in the middle of the loft.

One of the was Michael.  "Michael!" she said, and someone muttered, "Finally" just loud enough to hear.  The second was someone she'd never seen before, who was clearly practiced in the art of looking non-threatening on cue.

Michael looked around.  "Fiona," he said slowly.  "Sam."  He eyed the rest of the people in the loft warily, even Nate.

The man with him threw up his hands.  "Oh, sure, them you can keep your mouth shut about!  Me, you have to announce to an entire plane full of people!"

"It comes and goes," Michael said, which made no sense at all.  And then, "Also, you're the antichrist."

"Jesse?"

"Jesse?  I thought you were eleven years old.  And in Australia."  Dean was staring at the man (definitely not eleven, though possibly Australian).  He wasn't reaching for his gun, though.

Sam noticed it too.  "Okay," he said, clapping his hands together and drawing everyone's attention.  "Mike -- good to have you back, buddy.  You need anything?  Yogurt?"

"Right," Sam said.  "Somebody get that man a beer.  You --"  He pointed at Jesse.  "Explanation time."

Jesse folded his arms across his chest and looked stubborn.  "You first," he said.  "I was minding my own business until he came along."

Fiona decided it was time to take action.  "Never mind that."  She pulled her gun for emphasis.  "Michael, I assume the two of you disappeared off a commercial airliner?  And that someone's about to come looking for you?"

Michael nodded.  "Vaughn.  It'll wait."  The look in his eyes said there was more to it than that, but then again, there always was.

"Can anyone tell if his demon repelling aura thing is back?"  Michael looked startled, which was good, because if he'd known all along that he was affecting the supernatural and never told her, they'd have to have another conversation.  Castiel -- and Nate, she noticed -- both nodded.  

"I'll go talk to them," Nate offered.  "Welcome back, bro."  He dropped the keys on the table next to the door on his way out."Good.  Now it's your turn."  She swung the gun up and pointed it at Jesse.  There'd been a sad lack so far of being able to actually threaten, shoot, or blow anything up.  The antichrist seemed like a good place to start.

 Dean and Castiel had slowly been inching closer to each other around the outside of the room.  She felt considerably less threatening with a kitten purring at her, but she caught Dean's eye anyway.  "We're going to go get food," he said.  "We'll be back before you know it."  He grabbed Castiel's arm and hustled him out of the loft.

Jesse sighed.  "You turn someone into an action figure one time," he said.  And then, "I never did apologize for that."

"Why are you even here?" Sam asked.

 "We're --" Fiona gestured at herself and Sam -- "not chasing any bad guy."  Michael pulled the bottle away from his temple and sent a possibly apologetic look her way.  "We are chasing a bad guy?"  He nodded.  "Ah.  And you... want our help?"

Jesse shrugged.  "Help, company, free snacks.  Sure.  That's what you guys do, right?  Help people?"

"Yes," she said, interrupting.  "That's what we do."  She passed the kitten -- now asleep -- off to Winchester, and put her hands on her hips.  "Why don't you two go make sure Nate's got the demons under control?"

"I'll go too," Winchester said quickly.  He tucked the kitten somewhere out of sight and hurried after Jesse.  She could hear them all talking -- arguing -- as they stepped out the door.  As long as they didn't kill each other, it was fine.

Michael was leaning against the bar.  He might be back on the government's leash, but she wasn't letting him off the hook on his other promises.  It was Michael who reached out first, though, and wrapped his arms around her.  "I missed you," she whispered.

His answer was quiet, but it was there.  "Me too, Fi.  Me too."

THE END