Author's Notes: Thanks again to Mikiya for the beta. That was performance above and beyond. As always. All remaining mistakes and run-on sentences are all mine. Mine! All mine!

There is more to this chapter. It's done and being edited. Should post soon.

As always, any comments, good, bad, or indifferent are more then welcome.

Life is like a carousel
You aim for heaven
And you wind up in hell
To all the world you're living like a king
But you're just a puppet on a broken string

Oh, I will face the sun
Leaving shadows far behind
And together we'll go on
Through time

~Bad Company – Crazy Circles

It was raining when Dean turned up the long gravel lane to Bobby's place.

He didn't know exactly how he expected to feel, coming here again. Bobby's place had always sort of been shared territory for him and Sam. They had, periodically, spent part of their growing up here, and the falling out between Bobby and John had happened before Sam went away to college. After that, Dean hadn't seen the man again until he and Sam were back together, so Dean had never really been here for any length of time without Sam.

And it was… strange, to be here without Sam either with him in the car, or on his way. And he still didn't know quite how he felt – other than the fact that the falling rain suited him, at the moment.

It was pouring, too. But in a gentle way; the rain was falling constantly and heavily, but with no wind and no storm. What his dad had always called a good soaking rain, the kind that makes plants come to life, and washes the streets clean. He and Sam had played in the rain when it was like this; darting out onto motel blacktops, the tar hot and sticky on their feet, as the rain fell in cool sheets and their dad called to them to keep their guns dry…

Dean sighed as the windshield-wipers swished again, and in the brief clear patch he could see Bobby, leaning against the rail on the covered front porch, watching the rain and waiting.

Dean pulled the Impala to a stop, and took his time getting out – rolling up the window he'd cracked, twisting to grab his bag from the back seat, checking it needlessly.

Finally there was nothing left to keep him in the car. He had no idea why he was so reluctant to get out. He wanted to see Bobby, he really did…but some part of him didn't want to go into that house where Sam wasn't.

Not that waiting would change anything.

Dean took a breath that only stuck in his throat a couple of times, and opened his door.

He didn't bother to hurry, rain or not.

Bobby stood quietly on the porch, letting him take whatever time he needed. And eventually he clomped up the steps, damp and strangely nervous and not quite able to smile as he said: "Hey, Bobby."

The older man simply pulled him down, and hugged him, and Dean felt his eyes closing as something cold and heavy that was lodged in the bones in the back of his neck melted and flowed out of him like the rain fell, cleanly and gently.

He leaned his head on the older man's shoulder for half a second, almost shaking with the break of a tension he'd had no idea he was feeling. Then Bobby pushed him back and shook his head. "Not hunting doesn't mean you can't call every now and again, dumbass."

The laugh was shocked out of him; and though it was weak, it was as close to real happiness as he'd felt in way too long. "I know. I'm sorry. I was busy trying to be a suburbanite."

Bobby nodded, his expression amused. "How's that working out for ya?"

"About as well as you'd expect." Dean's slight grin offset the bitterness of the words.

"Uh-huh," Bobby, snorted. "Shave a wolf to look like a poodle, and you all you'll get is a pissed-off wolf." He thumped Dean's shoulder a couple of times, then turned toward the door. "Let's get on in, out of this rain. Coffee's on, and I bought pie."

Dean felt yet another smile – small, but there. He was shocked by how easy it was to smile with Bobby when it had been so damn hard for the past few months. "You must have expected me to be in bad shape if you went out to buy pie."

Bobby actually looked embarrassed. "Yeah, well, it's been awhile since I entertained."

He tried to turn it into a joke, but the words were heavier than either of them expected. Dean could read the truth: that Bobby had expected Dean to be in need of comfort, and was unsure of how to give it.

And it soothed something in Dean, knowing that Bobby had been so concerned for him that he'd gone out for pie. It warmed him, and the warm ached, like fingers exposed too long to the cold suddenly plunged into hot water. The pain was deep and aching, and felt good anyway.

Bobby led them through to the kitchen. Dean dropped into one of the chairs, while Bobby set out familiar chipped mugs – one with the logo of a local radio station, and the other with the unlikely caption: Life is tough, put on your big girl panties and deal with it.

Bobby filled the first mug for Dean, and claimed the second for himself. He put the pie on the table with knives and forks, and then pulled out the whiskey. He gestured at Dean's mug, and added the liquor to both cups when Dean nodded.

"So…" Bobby started awkwardly, taking his own chair. "How's that girl of yours?"

Dean felt his mouth twist, but he wasn't sure if it looked much like a grin. "Not mine anymore, apparently."

Bobby grimaced. "What happened? Thought you were happy trying to play house?"

Dean shrugged. "She didn't want me leaving. Said she wouldn't put up with somebody coming in and out of her life. That it wasn't fair to her, and it wasn't fair to her son. She said if I left, I shouldn't bother to come back." Dean took a good swig of the bitter coffee. The heat of the liquid chased away the chill of the rain, while the burn of the alcohol warmed him in another way. He looked up at Bobby almost timidly. "I never knew how much those words hurt, you know? For someone to just… shut you out like that."

Bobby swallowed, harder than just getting the coffee down required. For a second he couldn't seem to meet Dean's eyes. He fiddled with his cup. "We all have shit we have to live with, and most of it ain't pretty," he finally said, the words gruff but his voice distant – and sad. He looked up. "Speaking of not pretty shit, you bring the rings with you?"

Dean nodded, letting the subject change. He wasn't sure he wanted to wade into that water either; it was deep and treacherous… and there were things in there that could drag a man under. Instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet pouch. Opening it, he poured the four rings onto the scared table.

He'd called Bobby the evening of Castiel's visit, and clued him in. Now they both stared at the rings, knowing what they were capable of – the literal Hell they could unleash. Or might stop.

Bobby cleared his throat. "That angel of yours wants to use these to shut down the gate that the other one wants to open?"

"Yep," Dean said, and he wasn't aware his hands had clenched until they cramped.

Bobby's eyes flickered up, his expression was uneasy. "Have you thought…"

Bobby's voice drifted off, thought unfinished – but Dean didn't need him to finish to understand. "Oh, I've thought. You name it, I've thought it. But there's no way. If I open the cage, the dickhead twins will be the first through the gate. There's no way I can keep them in and get Sam out. Just… no way." He met Bobby's eyes. "Besides, I promised Sam I wouldn't."

Bobby shifted. "But, you won't be opening the gate, Dean. Raphael will. You won't be breaking your promise. If you're just a little slow to close it –"

"No." The answer was quick as he cut Bobby off, but he kept his tone understanding. "Trust me, Bobby, I've thought about that. I have. And even though it kills me, I can't do it. I drug Sam back once already. He made the choice…he could have killed Jake. He had him down, and he could have killed him. But Sam chose not to. He died rather than become yellow-eye's bitch – and I brought him back. I took him out of heaven, and I left him alone on the road that led to this cluster-fuck."

"You saved him, Dean," Bobby argued. "You gave up everything to bring him back."

Dean nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah, I did. But it was stupid and it was selfish – and I'd still do it again in a heartbeat if I thought I could get him clear without destroying what he gave up everything to protect. I would. But I won't take away what he laid his life down for. Not again. I can't."

By the end of it, Dean was struggling to get the words through the snarled knot that was his throat. Bobby's own face was turned toward the rain washed window. His jaw worked. The rain was loud in the silent house, a constant, firm rhythm.

And the hell of it that Dean understood so much now, about Sam, about what had happened, about the part he'd played in it all…only now, it was too late to fix any of it.

Eventually Bobby nodded, his face a set of grim lines. "You're right. It… we can't risk it. This isn't something to play games with." He met Dean's eyes. "I'm sorry."

Dean cracked a grin, or at least he tried too. "Hey, it's not like I hadn't thought about it too." He reached out, picking up the rings one at a time, and dropping them back in the bag, ignoring the little metallic clinks as they fell together. Out of sight, out of mind.

He would give anything if that were true.

"How long until Castiel gets here?" Bobby asked, absently turning his mug in tight circles on the table, making patterns with the rings. For all Dean knew, he was casting some kind of sigil, honoring the coffee gods.

The light outside the window was beginning to fade as night set in.

"As soon as he needs us," Dean answered, finishing off his own mug. The coffee had gone cold, but the whiskey in it still burned. "He was really worried…so it shouldn't be too long now."

Nether of them noticed how the shadows in the hall, muted by the rainy dusk, flickered… almost like large wings shifting restlessly.

xxxxxxx

Not too long ended up being about two days.

It was late on second day when Cas finally showed up. Dean had just gotten out of the shower, and opened the bedroom door – only to find the angel standing there. One second he was alone, the next, Castiel was next to him.

"Damn it, Cas," he groused, startled – and having to snatch a slipping towel back into place. "Are you ever gonna learn to knock?"

The angel looked… worn, somehow. Tired. His body language was edgy; and if Dean had to guess, he would have said he seemed almost nervous. But his eyes were fierce as he looked at Dean. "It is time. Raphael is gathering his followers. You have the rings?"

Dean nodded, automatically falling into hunting mode; he could feel the mindset click back into place like a missing piece of his self. His stomach tried to churn, but he ignored it. Gather information, make a plan, act – there was no time for nerves. "I have them. How are we doing this? Angel Express, or can I just drive?"

"He plans the ritual for Stull Cemetery, hoping that the energy that lingers there will help pry open the cage. How long will it take you to get that far?"

Dean ran the route through a rough, mental map. "Probably about five hours. Four if I push. Three and a half if I push hard."

Castiel nodded. "Fine. That should be enough time. Raphael's followers will need time to extract themselves from their barracks, and the ritual will not begin until dawn. I will be waiting at the cemetery gates for you. Just… hurry."

And the angel was gone as quickly and silently as he'd appeared.

"I swear to god I'm gonna put a bell on him," Dean muttered as he pulled on his jeans. "A freaking cow bell." He hurried down the hall to wake Bobby. "A big one. With a pink bow."

He and Bobby were in the car and on the road not five minutes later.

Dean made the drive in just under four hours. The sun was still a couple of hours from rising, and Dean parked the car behind some scrub trees, a decent distance from the old cemetery gate. He and Bobby sat quietly, as the engine ticked, slowly cooling. Dean was too focused on the coming job to want to talk, but not so much that he couldn't feel Bobby's growing restlessness…an edginess verging on anger.

"Cas is supposed to meet us here?" Bobby asked, his voice tight, his shoulders stiff.

"Yeah. He said he'd be here."

The weight of the silence in the car grew heavier and sharper as the minutes ticked by.

Dean turned the key back, and the radio started humming softly. Break On Through by The Doors kicked on. It was one of Sam's favorite tapes and Dean hadn't changed it in months.

Bobby shifted again.

Dean sighed, glancing over. "Got bladder control problems there, Bobby? Need to get out for a second?"

Bobby sneered. "You're a laugh riot, boy. Maybe you should shut the hell up before you make me split a gasket. One of yours."

Dean would have smiled, but the anger in the car was too thick, and made him anxious. And concerned. "What's going on here, Bobby? What crawled up your ass and died?"

Bobby grunted, still staring out the window. Dean could see his face from the reflection in the glass…and he looked pissed.

"Seriously, Bobby. What's going on, man? You go out there, into this, like this? You're going to get yourself killed."

"You're one to talk," Bobby snapped back.

"Dean is correct," Castiel agreed, suddenly filling the backseat. Both hunters jerked away from the unexpected arrival.

"God damn it, Cas," Dean muttered, glaring and putting his gun back away. "I'm starting to think you enjoy that."

The angel gave Dean a level look. "Enjoy what?"

Dean's eyes narrowed as he regarded the angel. Cas had changed a lot from his first forays into the human world… and Dean could see the very faint traces of humor in him now.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Right."

"So what's the plan, here?" Bobby suddenly demanded.

Castiel regarded him with cool eyes for a moment, then spoke. "Raphael's forces will be arriving at dawn. Those who stand against him are already in place. You two will hide in the cemetery. Stay out of the way… you will only be needed in the event that Raphael succeeds in opening the cage."

"About that," Bobby said, letting a little edge into his tone. "If Raphael opens the gate, that means his followers will have gotten past you guys, right."

"Yes."

"So, what's to stop them from tearing Dean apart atom-by-atom before he can use the rings?"

Dean looked aside; the danger to himself was something he hadn't even thought of… and really didn't care about. He knew from the dark look Bobby was shooting him that the older man had thought about it – and had noticed how little attention he was paying to it.

"The sigil," Castiel responded, either missing the by-play, or ignoring it. The angel's tone betrayed no emotion as he explained. "Bobby, you will have the Enochian ward ready – and when, if, Dean is needed to use the rings, you will activate the sigil. The angels will only be dispersed for a few minutes, but it should be long enough for you to close the cage, and run." Castiel hesitated then, looking strangely ruffled for an angel. "I ask only that you call a warning, so that those in our garrisons can depart before the ward is enacted. It is…an unpleasant sensation. And draining."

Bobby frowned. "So why don't we just do that to begin with? Use the ward and blow them all back to kingdom-come before Raphael can get anywhere near any pointy objects?"

"It would be too soon," Castiel said quietly. "There will be many of us. If you activate the ward before the fight, it will wash through the lower ranks, its power dissipating as the lesser angels absorb the impact. When it fades, you will be left with the most powerful angels either still on the field, or returning much too quickly. Also, if the ward does banish Raphael before his sacrifice, he will make a second attempt."

"So if Raphael lives through this, we'll have to do it again?" Dean said.

"Yes. Used at the proper time, the sigil could stop Raphael from opening the cage, but leave him to simply begin again in a few hours. If he does complete the ritual, then he will be eliminated and the ward will clear the field of all angels long enough for you to relock the gate."

Bobby nodded, mollified slightly. Dean knew it was because this had just gone from suicide run to dangerous, but feasible, plan.

"You will have only a few moments after the gate begins to open in which to move," the angel warned them both. "Once the cracks in the cage begin to appear, both Michael and Lucifer will abandon their vessels in order to move as quickly as possible for the door. You must relock it before they reach it."

Dean felt a sudden lightheadedness. A sweeping sensation of vertigo – vague, but there. "Michael and Lucifer… they, uh, are still wearing their vessels?" His voice sounded pretty good, he was glad to note. Steady.

Or maybe not so good, as Cas' eyes filled with an uneasy mix or regret and something that seemed almost like shame. "Yes. I'm sorry, Dean. Michael and Lucifer have continued the fight. They use the vessels as…armor. The longer the vessels last, the less damage they each suffer to their own being. The fight has become interminable, until one losses a vessel."

Dean slowly realized that his hands had started to shake. He clenched them tightly around the staring wheel to hide it. "The ultimate cage-match. Let's get ready to rumble." Oddly, he couldn't feel anything. Not anything.

He laid his head down on his fisted hands.

"But, if the apocalypse is still going on, why aren't we getting hit by it?" Bobby asked. His voice was steady and businesslike, but there was a tone to it… one that made Dean's stomach knot.

"The cage," Castiel explained simply. "It is sacrosanct and inviolate by God's own will. Nothing can get out… it contains all of their rage, all of their destruction. And it will continue to do so, unless they manage to escape."

"So the apocalypse is only happening in Hell?" Dean asked, not bothering to raise his head.

"No. The apocalypse is happening in the cage. The cage was created by God to hold Lucifer. It is a pocket outside of creation. What you know as Hell is only the refuse of damaged souls that has built up around it. Nothing inside the cage can get out… and even Hell can not feel the storms that shake the cage, much."

Dean chuckled, despite the churning in his gut. "Supernatural urban sprawl. It's a bitch."

"So how do you know its happening?" Bobby interrupted him. And that was okay. He wasn't sure he liked the sound in his voice, either.

Cas frowned, looking away from Bobby. "We can hear it."

"Great!" Dean said suddenly, surprising even himself. His voice was almost cheerful. His heart was pounding so hard he was shocked that it wasn't physically rocking him; while a weird, wild feeling was pounding in his head. His hands had stopped shaking, and now felt damp and clammy, where they were still wrapped around the wheel. "Perfect. Michael and Lucifer are ripping each other apart, shredding the vessels to do it, and it means nothing." He looked between Bobby and Cas, catching their eyes. "We keep it there, you understand me? It can't touch us, it can't harm this world, if we keep them contained. So that's what we do. Nothing else matters. Let them kill each other forever."

Both of them looked at him with pity in their eyes, gleaming like shards of glass. And it cut as deeply as any glass Dean had ever felt. He wanted to growl at them, he wanted to hit them… he wanted to quit – throw them out of the car and turn around and just drive and drive and drive and never stop.

But everything Sammy had done stood to come unraveled.

"God damn it!" He hit the wheel. Hard. Cas frowned; Bobby flinched, but looked sympathetic. Their tolerance grated on his nerves. Sam would have rolled his eyes and asked if he was enjoying acting like a two-year old. I always knew it was a matter of time before you embraced your metal age, you freaking toddler. He could hear that voice so clearly – the amused irritation of it. And the love underneath. His heart clenched… a massive, physical pain. Brief, but terrible.

He closed his eyes. Drug his control back into place with mental hands that felt rope-burnt and bloody.

When he opened his eyes, he was calm again. He felt nothing.

"Let's just get this done. Okay?"

Castiel nodded, watching him carefully, but not warily. "I will show you where to hide. It is time to end this."

xxxxxxxxxx