"Michael." Zachariah lowered his angel blade and looked at him. Sam, Dean, Castiel, Claire, and Meg could also only stare at the most powerful angel in their city. Michael reveled in their awe but did not let it go to his head.

"Zachariah," he said as an acknowledgment. Zachariah nodded in response before Michael turned his attention to the group of four. Varying degrees of fear flashed across their faces and despite this terror, Castiel seemed to be the calmest and least fearful.

"Castiel," Michael said, hands in his pockets. He glanced at the fallen angel, from head to toe. "So you did come back."

"Only to cause trouble," Zachariah responded. There was no other reason he could see for which Castiel would return.

"I believe there's more to it than that," Michael said, his eyes trained on Castiel. He folded his arms and tilted his head. "You were supposed to provide us with information, not the other way around."

Michael's tone was one of a belittling parent who lectured a toddler: strict, disappointed, but Castiel – unlike a toddler – could spot the fury behind his eyes and the hostility in the tone. Michael had never liked to lose angels for whatever reason, and Castiel would undoubtedly be punished for his disobedience.

"That was unforeseen," Castiel responded. "You should not have let me go if you did not want me to fall." Castiel would not have had the chance to fall if it weren't for the mission that brought him freedom. If this hadn't gone through, Castiel would still be a loyal angel blindly following the leader's every command.

"You were going to be one of the best," Michael said. "Our only real option. Nobody was as zealous or ambitious as you were. But they came and ruined you." He glared at Claire, Meg, and Sam, who were still standing together. "It was indeed unforeseen, but I should have seen this coming. Now, it is only fitting I end your mission."

Michael drew his angel blade. Everyone stared at it, but nobody was courageous enough to stop it, and it started its descent.

Nothing happened. The looks on Michael and Zachariah's faces turned from happiness and glee and, in Zachariah's case, dread. Michael slowly lowered his blade, briefly forgetting about the murder. Castiel realized they must have received important news from angel radio.

Michael turned to Zachariah. "You told me they were dead."

"They were," Zachariah tried to defend himself, flustered. He didn't understand why this happened. "We killed them all—"

"You didn't," Michael snapped, "because Crowley is currently with them at the gate."

Castiel had gone through to Crowley, but his words only changed his mind long after Castiel had recruited Sam. The angels would not be expecting an attack so soon after they obliterated the resistance. There was no better time than 'soon' to dethrone the angels. Luckily, he knew where to find the few people that survived the attack because they were not at the party or because they had survived the massacre. Everyone he contacted agreed to help. After all, they had nothing left to lose but their lives. When he had confirmation Castiel had entered the building, Crowley gathered his troops and launched an attack. The angels were not unprepared, but they hadn't seen it coming and there was no time to figure out the best strategy to beat their attackers, as it all came so unexpectedly.

Zachariah narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What?" Crowley, in their building?

Michael came uncomfortably close to Zachariah's face. "You said you had it under control. You fix this."

Castiel decided to use the opportunity and the confusion to attack Michael. Claire and Meg were ready to fight as well, while Sam prioritized his brother. Dean was still hanging from this uncomfortable position, chained to the ceiling by his wrists. Sam could not let Dean hang there and be an easy target. Once he was freed, Dean could also help them beat these angels or die trying.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked him, worry in his eyes. He reeked of sweat and blood, the latter clotting together on his leg, to his side, on his head. Everything in his demeanor suggested exhaustion. Dean nodded.

"Nothing I can't handle," Dean said, bringing about a weak smile. He did not mention his aching wrists, numb arms, painful wounds. That did not matter – he was far more concerned about his little brother. "How about you?"

"I'm fine," Sam said, inspecting the chains. There had to be a weak link between them.

"You sure?"

"I'm handling it." There it was: a weak link, relatively close to one of Dean's wrists. One hit with a decent hammer could easily break it.

"Still that bad?" Dean wondered, a frown on his face. Sam nodded, looking for the tool that would allow him to free Dean. One hammer was lying near the wall. Sam needed only to pick it up and use it.

"Watch out!" Sam turned around too late; Zachariah rushed towards him, grabbed Sam's neck and slammed him into the wall. He tried to pry Zachariah's strong fingers loose, but he was not strong enough and it didn't help how he couldn't breathe properly. Deann called out his name and swung around, hoping to hit Zachariah, but they were too far away to deal any damage.

His devil thought it appropriate to make an appearance. He'd folded his arms and grinned widely. He was amused – this may be one of the scenarios he'd foreseen.

"I did tell you you'd die if you came here," the devil said. This was exactly what he wanted – an opportunity to gain access to Sam's body, to do substantial damage, to possibly stay forever and rule with an iron fist or destroy everything in his path.

Zachariah was staring at Sam while he struggled. His gaze suggested intrigue.

"With such power," the angel declared. "You could be on our side. Instead, you waste away at the hospital."

"See? Even Zachariah agrees," the devil said. Sam tried to block him out, but with so many factors at play, ignoring him became harder and harder.

"You'll be on our side one day," Zachariah asserted. He tightened his grip around Sam's throat. "You will help your brother give up resistance names or do so yourself. And when we're done, you will be the one to kill Dean."

That was the last straw. Sam's devil was ecstatic.

"Oh yeah!" he shouted. "Here we go."

Sam was overtaken by rage. Those absolutes were false. But they were enough for his mind to take him down dark places where dark thoughts resided. He would never be one of them if he killed all of them. He did have the power, it was accumulating and swirling within him. Why not use it?

Zachariah was stunned by the surge in power, by the rising energy levels that overwhelmed his senses. He staggered backward, letting go of his prisoner.

Sam smiled. This felt good. This made him powerful and mighty. Nobody could stop him. The devil slipped away, slipped into his mind, ready to merge with his host. Sam did not resist, nor did he mind. They would kill the angels and would be glorious.

Dean called his name. Sam turned his head. The positive connotations of the power melted away and the bad implications stuck. He and the devil would not be equals and Sam would forever be a puppet, an empty shell of who he was. He could not let that happen.

Sam could not lose control.

"No."

He pushed the devil out of his mind, out of reach, but the power was still at his fingertips. It had been building up and Sam could not push it down. There was too much of it; the one way to get rid of it was to release it.

Sam extended his arm towards Zachariah and a white beam hit him. It blasted him to the other side of the room, slammed him into the wall. Zachariah fell to the ground and he did not get back up.

The energy faded and its absence almost made Sam faint. He could not keep his balance, but he was standing. He'd beaten his devil, he got it out of his system, Zachariah was knocked out. That was all that mattered.

Then, Sam went over to the hammer he'd seen and picked it up. He also grabbed an old wooden chair and walked back to Dean, pleasantly surprised and incredibly worried.

"I didn't know you could do that," Dean said. Sam positioned the chair in front of Dean and stood on it, looking for the right angle to break the weak link.

"Me neither—" Sam responded as he placed the hammer in the right position. Dean frowned.

"You—" He tilted his head. "Then what are you doing here? I mean, it's impressive, but also dangerous."

"I'm helping out," Sam said and he shattered the weak link. Dean fell. He tried to land on his feet, but after hanging from the ceiling for more than three days, his legs had become weak.

Sam tossed the hammer aside and got off the chair. He helped Dean on his feet and then embraced him. Dean did not so much hug back as he was holding on for dear life. This felt good – after two years, they could finally interact again.

"I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, Sammy."

Castiel charged at Michael. He was incredibly lucky the angels who had captured him had not thought to confiscate his angel blade, for they had been too busy discussing with one another. Finally, he had the chance to do what he came here to do.

Michael wasn't stupid. He was able to predict Castiel's moves because Castiel only was trained at the most basic level. Though they were both angels, Michael had the upper hand with the experience, with more abilities and better fighting skills. It was great that Claire and Meg decided to help. Whenever Castiel was pushed away or slammed to the ground, one of the women jumped in to continue the fight. By the time both women were thrown on the floor, Castiel had gotten up and fought Michael again.

Even though Michael was outnumbered three to one, he did not worry. He may have even believed it was funny how they tried to beat him in combat. He was the superior fighter.

"Is that the best you've got?" Michael asked, an arrogant smile on his lips.

Castiel reacted by stepping forward and trying to stab him, but Michael parried every blow. It seemed impossible to lay a hand on him. Even worse, Michael may be holding back and waiting for the right moment to strike, after he's had his fun.

Then, on the other side of the room, Sam fired some white energy beam out of his hand and hit Zachariah.

Michael may have waited for this moment. While Meg, Claire, and Castiel were distracted, Michael turned from a nuisance to a lethal force. He grabbed Castiel's head and slammed it into the wall. It was hard enough for Castiel to become disoriented and lose consciousness for some moments.

When the fallen angel got up, the dizziness hadn't faded yet. Meg lay not too far away from him, having been caught in the crossfire, in a pool of her blood. Claire was backing away from Michael, who seemed to take pleasure in the chase. She was driven into a corner – Michael came closer to her, savoring every moment.

Michael drew his angel blade – the game was over. He glanced in Castiel's direction and grinned at him before turning to Claire. Claire could no longer back away, but she could make herself smaller. She seemed terrified, whereas she was once so brave. She screamed.

Michael would kill her.

Fury rose within Castiel. His mind brought him back to the burning house. He stared at the flames while Claire screamed behind him. She had needed him the most at that moment, while he had disregarded and discarded her. He let her down. He could not let her down again. He could not leave her there to die at the hands of such a cruel man.

Not my daughter.

Castiel stood up and flew.

It was a wonderful feeling that should last longer than the hundredth of a second; it was freedom and bliss, it was speed and calm. It was everything he thought it would feel like when he spread his wings and would enjoy it.

He landed on unstable feet, landed right between Claire and Michael. His mission was clear, his goal near. He had held his angel blade while flying – now, it was stuck in Michael's chest, where his heart was.

Michael did not know what was going on, what the pain was in his chest. He stared at Castiel, who glared back. He only noticed the blade when he looked down. He pulled it out of his chest, but the damage was already done. Castiel had struck Michael's heart, the one thing their healing abilities could not heal in time to save the angel. The blade dropped to the ground as Michael sank through his knees, never to get up again.

Castiel released his breath. The impossible had become possible. Not even the pain in his abdomen could take this one moment of euphoria from him.

But the pain overwhelmed him and he fell over. Michael's blade was stuck in Castiel's liver, and blood leaked out of the wound, stained the blade and his clothes. Claire called his name – or did she shout 'dad'? – and sat by his side. Sam and Dean joined her and stared at Castiel. Dean kept a respectable distance, but Sam came close to Michael's body and checked for a pulse.

"That was stupid," Dean said. "Brave, but stupid."

"I stabbed back this time," Castiel responded and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, that's obvious," Dean responded at the same time Sam stepped away from Michael's body.

"He's dead." Michael had no pulse; the leader of the angels was dead, and the vacuum would need to be filled.

Claire reached for the blade in Castiel's abdomen, to pull it out. When she placed the hand on the heft, Castiel put his hand on hers.

"Don't." This confused Sam and Claire, while Dean shook his head in annoyance.

"Not this again."

"What again?" Sam wondered.

"He's keeping the blade in there to keep him from bleeding out, but so long as it's in there, his body isn't going to heal itself."

"That's bullshit," Claire responded and she pulled. Castiel's firm grasp on her hand kept it in place, but he couldn't prevent the blade from being pulled out by two inches.

"No," Castiel said sternly. "Keep it there." It would prevent the bleeding. He refused to bleed to death in the dungeons of the angel headquarters.

Claire removed her hand from the blade. She noticed he was now bleeding more. She thought it was her fault and felt incredibly guilty. Why did she even try to do this?

In the meantime, Castiel became light-headed. Everything he heard became distant and his energy slowly slipped away. He was going to need help. Luckily, Dean noticed the same;

"We've got to get him out of here," he said and looked at Sam. "Can you fly?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so." It already was a miracle he'd been able to hit Zachariah with that raw energy. He wasn't sure if he could ever replicate that, or even if he could access these powers again.

Dean sighed and looked at Castiel. "Then we'll have to carry him."

Castiel barely remembered being taken out of the building. By the time they found a stable surface to put him on, he was already slipping in and out of consciousness. He was barely able to keep his eyes open when the sun shone on them. It wasn't bright, but it did lighten the mood for him.

He turned his head to the right. Three ambulances were lined up, waiting to transport anyone who was injured, as was usual. This must be the first time they came to the angel headquarters. Had there been more? Maybe, but that did not matter – there still was an ambulance there for him, and his friends were taking him there.

He was too tired to keep his eyes open. The wooden plank beat against his back with every movement, though nothing compared to the pain in his abdomen. They moved him to a more comfortable stretcher. Dean told the accompanying nurse what had happened, but he omitted many names and twisted the truth in such a way that it sounded like they had come in with Crowley's forces.

"What's his name?" the nurse asked.

"Jimmy Novak," Claire responded without hesitation.

And Castiel fell asleep as they rolled him into the ambulance.