While Dean felt it necessary to go backstage to check on Cas (he hadn't looked so good after that encounter with Raphael) he didn't have the time. Resolving to ask about how he was doing later, Dean turned away. After spotting the nearest demon bodyguard, he started up the aisle again.
The demon was distracted by the happenings on stage, giving Dean the perfect opportunity to dart into the open doorway at the back of the room. As he peered over to gauge the distance between them, he became aware of a faint humming in the back of his head: the key. It was a strange sensation, like a cross between knowing when someone was watching you and the feeling you weren't alone in a room. The sensation increased as he gradually slid along the wall. Standing behind the demon now, Dean's ears ringing with the sound the key made, he spotted it hanging out of the other's pocket and snatched it. As soon as it was in hand he ducked into the nearest stairwell.
Exhaling his relief, Dean glanced at the rather ordinary-looking iron key, shrugged and shoved it into his pocket. He then hurried up the stairs until reaching the sixth floor. As he set foot into the hall he heard the orchestra strike up a tune. Gabriel, still disguised as Sam, just appeared on stage and leered at the small audience. The few employees milling about the upper floors had turned to watch and listen. Dean wasted no time in using it to his advantage.
Once he reached the other side of the floor he felt the key vibrate. It increased as he drew nearer the right stairwell. Dean took it in hand, watching as the key's close proximity to the entrance highlighted all the wards and hexes surrounding it. He inserted the key, carefully turned it. The lock gave, and the door swung open on its own. He greeted this with a little grunt. Typical Crowley.
A small set of stairs rose up ahead. After ascending the landing he saw the stairs opened into a long hall. The decorations here were as weird as the rest of the place, complete with portraits of Crowley. At seeing one of him in a Nazi-esque uniform Dean made a face at it and moved on.
After passing through an open doorway he found himself standing in what could be none other than Crowley's office. Dean spared the interior a single glance before he moved toward the desk. He rifled through the drawers, the papers scattered on its surface. He paused long enough to sample a glass of whiskey from the sideboard (damn good stuff, too) before searching the bookcases. As he pushed titles aside he frowned. Where would Crowley put an angel's Grace? He had half expected it to be a paperweight or in a trophy case. At finding a lock box on the bottom shelf he grinned. Bingo.
He had just laid a hand on it when a voice said from the doorway, "I think what you're looking for is right here."
Dean spun on his heel and found Crowley standing there, a small vial propped between his thumb and forefinger. He wore a small, easy smile, as if he were expecting this meeting.
He thrust his hand out. "Hand it over, Crowley," he ordered gruffly.
"Sorry, mate," he replied, slipping the vial into his suit jacket. "The angel's Grace isn't up for negotiation."
"Dammit, you son of a bitch, give it-"
Crowley made a bored gesture. Dean was automatically thrown into the chair by the desk. He sat up, struggled at the feel of invisible bonds. He watched as Crowley calmly strode into the office, his hands in his pockets.
"Dean Winchester. Been a long time, hasn't it? Or," he said as he peered into Dean's face, his eyes searching his. He smiled. "Not at all, in fact. You're not from this reality."
"Says you," Dean grumbled, wishing he could take a swing at the King of Hell.
"I do," Crowley assured him. He took in the splash of whiskey on the sideboard, shook his head as he plucked the glass Dean had sipped from and tossed it into the trash. He twisted the cap off to pour a helping into the remaining glass. "It's not just the stench of decay, blood and dirt sticking to you, either. You're here by accident, aren't you?"
Dean smirked. "What the hell makes you think I'll tell you anything?"
"The same presumption that you expect of me to just hand over what's rightfully mine," Crowley riposted. He settled into his chair and smiled as he sipped his drink. "Don't insult my intelligence, Dean: I've known you've been here the moment you blundered your way into my club. And since baby brother wouldn't send you up here tearing my office apart, it's Castiel."
"Okay, fine," Dean conceded through clenched teeth. "Yeah, I'm here for Cas. Let him go."
"And why should I?" Crowley countered. "He's brought in more business than any of my boys. None of them have quite the sex appeal he does. Then again, you would know all about that, wouldn't you? Or at least you would if you were the prince to his mermaid," he said, punctuating the remark with a little smile.
Dean thought about how much pain and suffering Cas endured since his other self agreed to let Michael wear him, and felt his temper rise. It was with some effort he pushed it back. "You just gonna talk all day or are we gonna deal?"
"Deal?" Crowley gave a derisive snort. "What could you give me? Your soul? Not a good bargaining chip. There's more filth clinging to it than what you're carrying around on your clothes. There's also the small matter of you not being of this reality. You're not an asset, Dean; you're a liability. And I eliminate liabilities."
Before Dean could come up with a retort the phone on Crowley's desk rang. He picked it up with a sigh. "What part of I'm busy do you not understand?" The look of impatience faded after a moment, and his brow lifted. "Is that so. Interesting. Do away with the wards and send him in." After hanging up he glanced back at Dean. "Our chat will have to wait. I've other business to attend to."
Dean didn't get any further than Crowley's name before the King of Hell gestured, sending the chair across the room. The next thing he knew, he had been shuffled to the closet across the way. The doors slammed in his face. Dean found he could move in the seat, but his attempt to open the closet went nowhere. Trapped, he punched the wall in frustration and leaned back. He drummed his fingers on his knee. But at hearing the office door open, followed by a familiar voice, Dean peered through the vents with renewed interest.
He watched, awestruck, as Crowley rounded the desk to shake hands with a tall man in a black suit. When he sat down, enabling Dean to get a good look at his face, the hair, and the neatly trimmed beard, his mouth dropped open.
Son of a bitch. It's my Mirror Verse twin.
"Such a pleasure to meet face to face again," Crowley was saying. He had taken it upon himself to pour two drinks, slid a glass in front of his guest. "It's been, what, three years?"
"If this were a pleasant visit, I would be more inclined to reminisce," Michael replied, pushing the glass aside.
Dean couldn't get over how cold and automated his voice sounded when Michael used it. There was absolutely no emotion beneath it.
Crowley smiled, as if he wasn't at all bothered by the remark, or the direct refusal of refreshment. "You have me there. So, shall we get down to business then?"
"Yes." Michael folded his hands on his lap, studied them for a moment before looking up at Crowley. "I want to bring Castiel home."
Dean had a feeling his face mirrored Crowley's, though the King of Hell hid his confusion behind a lifted brow. "I wasn't aware he was welcome."
"Things have changed now that I have had the time to sort things out," Michael went on. "For years, we have turned a blind eye to the happenings in this establishment. We have enabled you to operate uncontested."
"I'm sorry, you enabled me?" There was no denying the insult in Crowley's voice.
"Further," Michael continued, as if the demon hadn't spoken. "You are in direct violation of our original agreement."
A muscle worked in Crowley's cheek. "Are you suggesting I did not stay true to my word?" he asked in a low voice.
"The agreement was to bring balance to the souls destined for Heaven or Hell. For every soul bound for Heaven, one would go to Hell. My father had always intended for us to be a check on each other's power, and your deal with Castiel has tipped the balance. Things cannot go on this way."
Crowley set his glass down, a little harder than he probably intended. "Your plan is to break a legal, binding contract between the kitten and I, just so you can achieve your balance." He made a little sound of disgust. "Are you certain it's just the balance you want back, or my pet angel? Forgive me- your pet angel."
Dean couldn't be sure, but he swore he saw something pass across Michael's face. It was gone as quickly as it came.
Michael's smile was small yet threatening. "I am willing to let this dishonor on our arrangement go. All I require is that you surrender Castiel to me. For if you do not, I will see to it personally that this establishment is razed to the ground, and you and yours returned to the Pit where you belong."
There was a tense moment. Dean found he was holding his breath; he wasn't exactly in the best place to be should these two decide to throw a few punches.
At last Crowley smiled. It was strained, sure, but he kept his cool. "Let's not rush to such drastic conclusions just yet. Stay awhile. Enjoy the entertainment. On the house, of course," he added. "Castiel has several appointments to keep tonight. Surely you can agree to letting him fulfill those little contracts. I do so like to run a...balanced business."
Despite himself, Dean smiled at Crowley's little stab at Michael. Just about the only thing he had in common with the King of Hell was an extreme dislike of haughty angels.
In response, his evil twin lifted his chin. "As you wish. We will reconvene after Castiel is finished." He rose to his feet. "I expect you will do the right thing."
Crowley answered with a little smile. "Don't we all," he remarked.
Michael favored him with a curt nod and vanished. Once he had gone Crowley looked to the closet. The doors swung open, and for a moment Dean half expected to be dragged across the floor. Instead he found Crowley watching him expectantly.
"Well?" he prompted. "Are you coming out of the closet?"
It took Dean a moment to understand he was the butt of Crowley's idea of a joke, and he smirked. Warily, he rose to his feet. When Crowley made an impatient gesture Dean strode out.
"Little trouble with your arrangement with the angels, huh?" he said, unable to keep from the jab.
Crowley gave him a tight smile. "Charming, as always."
"So what the hell was that about? Is Cas really tipping the scales?"
"In a word." Crowley appeared thoughtful. "Tell me, Dean: what do you think about Heaven?"
The question confused him. "What are you talking about?"
The King of Hell sighed irritably. "The angels' humble and overall boring abode. Heaven, you moron. Would you be willing to play a game of bait-and-switch with the clouds?"
Dean still didn't understand. "What happened to getting rid of me?" he asked.
"Circumstances have changed," Crowley replied. "Well? Are you interested?"
As the implications of what Crowley offered registered, Dean narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying you wanna use me? Make me pretend I'm Michael?" He laughed. "That's- well that's crazy," he said forthrightly. "Even for you, that's crazy. What are you gonna do, give me a Red Bull?"
"As usual, Dean, you lack imagination." Crowley turned to pour another drink. "I'm going to switch your bodies."
Dean balked. "Oh no. No, no, no," he told him firmly. "I saw what that witchy stuff did to Sam and I'm not gonna let you do it to me."
Crowley turned to level Dean with a look. "Let me put it to you this way: you do this, and all our problems are solved. I'll even release the kitten to you. You don't, I send Castiel upstairs with Michael, and all our problems are solved. Either way, I win."
Dean's hands clenched. He could feel the want to take a swing at Crowley threatening to take over. The King of Hell smiled, waited for an answer.
"I say no, you make Cas pay. Why not take it out on me?" Dean demanded.
"Because you don't matter. Because it's not as much fun. Your choice."
Unable to look at him any longer, Dean turned away, ran his hand down the length of his face. He stared at the stack of books on the edge of the desk, his thoughts racing. Suddenly he was reminded of the encounter in the Green Room, Zachariah's ultimatum. Then, it had been Sam's and Adam's lives that had hung in the balance. Now it was Cas's. Dean couldn't let the angels have him. He couldn't let Crowley have him either.
"I do this, you'll free Cas from his contract?"
He could feel Crowley's eyes on him, almost see his smile. "Yes."
Dean's jaw tensed, and he turned round. "No tricks? No hidden surprises?"
Crowley took on an affronted look. "I have a little something called integrity, Dean."
"Right. Integrity," he repeated, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Give me his Grace back, and I'll do it."
There was a brief moment where Crowley just watched him. Then he produced the vial from his inner pocket. "This is usually the time I'd make a literary reference but I doubt you'd understand." He extended his hand, the vial laying on his open palm.
Dean reached for it, hesitated. He then snatched it with a muttered curse. Dammit, he promised Cas he'd help him. What did it matter if he had to strike a deal with the devil to do it. At seeing Crowley take a step toward him he thrust a finger in his face.
"You're crazy if you think I'm gonna kiss you."
"Your loss," Crowley countered with a dismissive shrug. He gestured, and the door opened. "I'll send one of my boys to collect you when the time is right."
Dean gently slid the vial into his pocket. He gave a nod and started for the door. He had just passed through when Crowley called his name.
"I wouldn't recommend double-crossing the King of Hell," he advised in mild tones. He smiled, saluted Dean with his glass. "Toodles."
Dean scowled, turned on his heel and kept walking. As he continued on a tiny smile curled his lips. Double-crossing the King of Hell and Michael was precisely what he was going to do.
There were more employees present by the time Dean reached the bottom floor. Those that glimpsed his passage just looked away. Dean didn't doubt for a moment that the word had already spread down the demon grapevine. Glad that he wouldn't have to sneak around, he continued on toward the stage. He didn't see Raphael or the other angels in the audience.
As he went down the aisle he caught Gabriel's eye, gestured for him to meet him backstage. Gabriel acknowledged his summons with a small nod and turned away. Dean had just ascended the steps when he heard Sam call his name.
"Dean!" Sam hurried toward him, hugged him tightly. When he drew back he looked down into his face, his brow furrowing. "Did you get the key?"
"That and a little more," he answered. He paused, took in Sam's slightly reddened face. "Dude, where the hell have you been? You smell like a cheap bar."
Sam laughed sheepishly. "The demons were buying me drinks," he explained. "We were playing pool."
Dean gave an approving nod. "Hustling, huh?"
"Just like you- I mean, Dean showed me," Sam answered with a smile. "Best way to get information, too. Those demons don't like to lose," he added, and Dean laughed. "Where are you going?" Sam asked after their laughter subsided. Excitement shone in his eyes. "You got Cas's Grace?"
"Yeah. Do you know where he is? I want to give this to him first."
"Castiel would gladly accept whatever you give to him, Dean," Gabriel remarked slyly, and the brothers turned to find him sitting on the edge of the stage. He winked at Sam, then looked to Dean. "He's backstage in case you're wondering. First thing's first: did you get a chance to talk to Balthazar?" After Dean had explained their meeting Gabriel scowled. "Typical. I still think I should talk to him."
"Sorry, Gabriel, but I don't wanna scare him off," Dean countered. He thought a moment. "Sam, Bobby's got a stash of holy oil?" At his the other's nod he glanced at Gabriel. "Cas told me Balthazar helps him get ready. Get me some of that oil. I'll take care of the rest. Trust me," he added with a smile. "I've bargained with that guy before."
"You got it," Sam assured him. "Gabe, can you bring the oil to him?"
"For you, anything," Gabriel replied with a smooth smile. He was gone with a snap of the fingers.
Alone, Dean turned to Sam. "Sammy, I gotta ask again: how exactly did you two hook up?" For a second it looked as if Sam was going to give him an explanation. Dean held up his hand. "You know what? Forget it. I don't think I wanna know."
Sam just shrugged.
Gabriel reappeared, a jug in hand. Dean didn't miss the way he handed it off, as if it would bite him. He accepted it with a nod. "All right. I'm gonna talk to Cas; as soon as he's powered up we'll meet at the barn to talk."
"Oh, there's one more thing," Gabriel said just as Dean went to walk off. "I saw Raphael talking with Michael earlier."
"What? Michael's here?" Sam gasped, dividing his glance between Dean and Gabriel.
But Gabriel wasn't watching Sam. Part of Dean suspected that all angels were capable of that soul stare Cas was so damn good at. Unlike with Cas, Dean didn't feel at all compelled to tell the truth. Not yet, anyway.
"If he's here then that means we gotta move," he stated briskly. He nodded to Gabriel, gripped Sam's shoulder and took his leave.
The area backstage looked even more cluttered than before. As Dean maneuvered his way through the tight corridors, he realized he had no clue if he'd just find Cas standing around, or if he had another dressing room down here. Luck, or that same, inexplicable pull that always seemed focused around them, had them nearly run into one another just as Dean turned the corner. For a moment they stared at each other before Dean shook off the surprising ache at missing the angel he knew and smiled.
Castiel's expression turned interested. "Were you successful?"
Dean was just about to answer when someone called Cas's name. He glanced past Dean, laid a hand on his forearm. "Wait here," he instructed. There was something about his tone that got Dean's attention. "I'll be right back."
"Sure, but-" Dean stopped, for Cas had already gone off. He stood there for a moment, tapping the side of the jug before muttering, "Screw this," and went after Cas.
Others appeared from all corners it seemed, each emerging to take their place on the stage. Dean stood in the shadows, angling his head past the edge of the curtain. Gabriel, again disguised as Sam, was already on the stage. When he turned round, his eye caught Dean's, and he slowly shook his head. Dean frowned, not understanding.
By now Castiel had joined the crowd. He stood a little ways from the others assembled there, but when he looked to the audience, and his face paled, Dean saw the reason.
Crowley, a pleasant smile on his face, stood beside Raphael and Michael. He was talking about the play, only Dean wasn't listening. He kept watching Castiel. Saw the angel's hands tremble when Michael's gaze rested on him. Found his hands had tightened on the jug in response.
Michael broke away from the others to approach the stage. Though he directed his questions at Gabriel- who Dean saw visibly tense as the archangel spoke- Michael's eyes never strayed from Castiel. He appeared more and more drawn as the minutes passed. Michael ended his discussion by shaking hands with all the employees. When it came time to greet Cas, he laid a light hand on his shoulder, leaned over to whisper to him. Dean would have given anything to hear what his evil twin told the angel; judging from the way Castiel tensed, it wasn't good.
After Michael strode away, and Crowley signaled to the others, Castiel departed the stage with almost indecent haste.
"Hey," Dean called as Cas brushed past him. He turned, tried to grab at his shoulder, missed. "Hey! Cas! Wait!" He broke into a run. "Cas!"
When he rounded the corner he found Cas leaning against the wall, his back to him, shoulders slumped. Dean encouraged him to face him. He couldn't help but react to the raw anguish in Cas's eyes, the panic.
"What the hell did he say to you? Come on, man, talk to me!"
Cas's eyes were fixed on the ground. He looked like someone who had just woken from a nightmare. "I didn't...I didn't think..."
"Cas, look at me," Dean insisted. He took hold of his shoulder. "Buddy, it's all right. I got your Grace. Crowley's gonna let you go. I've got a plan for Balthazar too. All we- Cas!" He shook him. Cas blinked and gazed up at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Dean tried not to think about how lost he seemed.
"Cas," he said, softly. Their eyes met. "What did Michael say?"
"He...he..." Slowly, Castiel shook his head. He then pushed Dean's hand off his shoulder, murmured, "I'm sorry," and vanished.
Once he was alone Dean swore. He immediately set off for the exit.
Come on, Cas. Don't lose it on me now!