Naturally, a lengthy conversation follows, because this goddamned show apparently decided to become a dispiriting chatfest at some point during the Olympic hiatus. I'll not bore you with the details, but know that Dean promises himself to Michael in exchange for Sam and Adam's lives. Zachariah practically piddles himself with glee before unleashing a bit of extra-fancy Latination to summon the archangel, but what's this? Dean's locked eyes with Sam, and he winks! DUN! And then, just as Heaven's Greenroom begins to rumble thanks to the shock wave heralding Michael's descent, Dean announces, "Of course, I have a few conditions." "What?" Zachariah bites. "There's a few people whose safety you have to guarantee," Dean states, deadly serious, "but most of all, Michael can't have me until he disintegrates you!" Dun-dun-DUN! "You really think Michael's gonna go for that?" Zachariah scoffs. "Who's more important to him now?" Dean retorts. "You, or me?" Zachariah, enraged, snatches Dean up by his jacket's lapels and seethes, "You are nothing but a maggot inside a worm's ass!" Tasty. "Do you know who I am," Zachariah demands, "after I deliver you to Michael?" "Expendable," Dean smirks. "Michael's not gonna kill me!" Zachariah insists. "Maybe not," Dean shrugs, "but I am!" And with that, he whips out the angel-smiting scimitar he'd been hiding in his coat this entire time and jams the thing up through Zachariah's skull! "ZZZZZZ -- eeeeeeeeeeeee! -- ZZZZZZ!" And guess what? Turns out anyone can kill an angel now, apparently, because it works. Zachariah crashes to the floor, dead, the scorch marks from his immense and now-cremated wings spread from one end of the room to the other. Understanding they haven't much time, and with Michael's piercing whine now threatening to blast out his eardrums, Dean first hauls Adam to the latter's unsteady feet and, after confirming that the adorable little bastard can walk on his own, moves to drag the apparently worse-off Sam out the door. The legitimate Winchesters somehow manage to escape, but alas! No sooner have they crossed the room's threshold than the door slams shut in poor Adam's face. And as The Littlest Bastard pounds and pounds in vain against the paneling, Michael's horrible incandescence expands to sear Adam's face from the screen.