The night's entertainment was in full swing when Dean and Castiel reappeared backstage. Loud music clashed with the noise of the crowd; whereas Dean winced at the sounds, Cas didn't show the slightest bit of discomfort as he made his way down the empty corridor. As they neared the front of the stage, Dean saw props had been arranged to show a background of a place he knew well: Stull Cemetery. He frowned. He didn't remember seeing them before.

Castiel crossed over to the center of the stage. He glanced at the floor, nodded to himself as he turned. "Dean," he called. He extended the jug to him when Dean joined his side. "I need you to surround me. Make the circle wide enough for two."

He bowed his head. Cas remained frozen in place as Dean made a slow circuit around him, the sound of the oil striking the floor unusually loud despite the outside noise. The steady stream had turned to droplets by the time he was done. The empty jug only served to remind him that this was it.

"Excellent," Castiel approved. He carefully stepped over the border- Dean noticed he chose to exit right by he stood, indicating that Cas had lost sight of the oil- and turned to him. "Do you still have the lighter?"

"Huh? Oh, right," Dean said, shoving his hand in his pocket. As he presented the golden Zippo he noticed the watch at Cas's wrist. At recognizing it as the same brand he wore, his approving smile fled the instant he saw the brief flash of pain in Cas's eyes. Deciding to let the matter drop, he clapped his hands, looked around. "This is it then, huh? The big showdown."

"Yes. You should hide yourself somewhere soon. I don't want him to see you."

"Yeah. Take this," he said, pulling the angel blade from his jacket. "I didn't see that you had one. Never hurts to be too careful," he added. Another, uneasy pause passed as Cas tucked the blade out of sight. Dean was suddenly reminded of how he felt the night in Detroit and forced another smile. "Well. Good luck. Break a leg I mean. Don't do anything too crazy," he advised lamely, knew it was lame and didn't care.

"Dean."

The sound of his name checked him in mid-turn. He glanced over at Cas, found the angel watching him as intently as ever. After a moment he extended his hand. Dean gripped it without a second thought.

Cas was nodding. "I wanted to thank you again for all you've done for me," he began. There was a little tremor of emotion in his voice, causing Dean to swallow past the lump in his throat. "I wish you the best of luck in finding your Castiel. And when you see him, tell him the truth, Dean. Tell him you need him."

Everything around them seemed to shrink in on itself, go mute, as the power behind Castiel's simple request sank into Dean's heart. Unable to find his voice to answer, he only nodded. Cas smiled, very softly, placed his hand over their joined ones. They remained like that for a moment before Dean managed another smile and nod, and turned away. He didn't look back.

Castiel watched Dean slip into the shadows, bowed his head and sighed. After a time he wrapped his hand around the watch, tightly. He closed his eyes.

I will be seeing you soon, Dean. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long.

While Dean didn't worry too much about being seen by the angels- he hadn't spotted any after he left Cas- demons were a different story. After ducking past the third one backstage alone, Dean knew Crowley must have discovered they had gotten loose. Now he was sending his goons to track them down. Frowning, he wondered where the hell that storeroom was. And Sam, for that matter. He peered through the heavy curtains, saw Crowley's VIP box. There was no sign of the King of Hell, his lackeys or his brother.

Come on, Sam- where the hell are you?

Suddenly someone grabbed the back of Dean's collar and dragged him forward. He was soon face to face with a black-eyed bastard, who flashed a broad, sinister smile.

"Well, well," he began, chuckling. "Time to go back to your cage, Winchester. Mr. Crowley still has use for you."

Dean, cursing his lack of a reliable weapon, chose brute force instead. He stomped on the demon's foot with as much strength as he could summon; it was enough to loosen the demon's hold on his shoulders. An arm free, Dean swung at his would-be captor. When his fist connected with the demon's cheek it caused his head to snap to the side. A sharp pain shot down the entire length of his arm, forcing Dean to cup his knuckles as he put some distance between them. The demon looked back at Dean, grinned again and gestured.

An invisible force sent him crashing through a set piece. As he struggled to get his bearings, the demon was on him, hands locked around his throat. Dean shoved against the demon's face, grunting, gasping, as he fought to get the bastard off. He could see darkness creeping along the edges of his perception.

A blade abruptly pierced the demon's throat, spraying droplets of blood onto Dean's face. The demon gave a pained, guttural sound and slumped over. Dean looked up, and a wave of relief washed over him.

"Sam," he gasped, accepting his brother's hand. Sam pulled him to his feet effortlessly. "Thanks, man."

"What happened?" Sam asked worriedly. "Where's your angel blade?"

Dean wiped the blood from his face. He had a feeling all he did was smear it, didn't particularly care. "I gave it to Cas. Figured he'd need it more than me. What about you? Did you do it?"

"Yeah, barely," Sam responded with a frown. "Crowley's got his demons hunting us down like crazy. I had to take a few out. We can't leave him there," he said, indicating the dead demon.

"Got a hiding spot?"

"Yeah. Come on."

After the brothers stashed the body, and they raided the storeroom for another angel blade for Dean, the two set out to look for a good vantage point to watch the show. They avoided Crowley's demons for the most part, though there were a few they had to take down to maintain secrecy.

"Anything from Gabriel?" Dean asked, closing the door on the bodies they had hidden.

"Nothing yet. I've tried calling for him but he hasn't answered."

"Yeah, I know how that is," Dean remarked with a little smile. "Wait a second," he said, turning to look up at his brother. "Doesn't Gabriel do the play too? What happens if it's showtime and he's not here?"

Sam's face paled slightly. After a moment he shook off his concern. "He'll be here," he told him, though Dean wasn't sure if Sam said it to convince him, or himself. He also knew what it was like to worry about a missing angel- especially when the whole plan hinged on his being here. "We can't give up on him, Dean."

"I'm not giving up on him, I just need him to hurry the hell up," Dean answered crossly. The echo of the orchestra warming up sounded outside. He stepped closer to the curtain to peer through. At seeing the flood of people headed their way he exchanged glances with Sam, saw the realization in his eyes.

Sam was nodding. "He'll be here," he repeated.

The seats began to fill. The orchestra strummed a tune that sounded a lot like the Devil Went Down to Georgia. Dean glanced at the upper tier, saw the box seats had also started filling. Crowley himself stood there, glass in hand as he watched the action below. Dean smiled, wished he could see Crowley's face when he realized he'd be walking right into a trap, and looked back at Sam.

Sam was pacing now. He flexed his hand along the handle of the blade. "Come on, Gabe," he murmured to himself. There was a world of hope in the word.

"Sam Winchester."

At the sound of a deep, baritone voice Sam spun round. Dean barely realized none other than Raphael stood across from them before Sam roughly shoved him behind some scenery. He bit back a curse as he watched the scene from around the corner. Great. Just great. Like they didn't have enough problems.

Sam was tense as Raphael approached him. Dean saw his brother's hand tighten on the blade.

"What do you want?" he asked in low tones.

Raphael was smiling. "You were once called upon to play a part my father scripted for you. In light of recent events, you are to undergo the role once more."

While Dean frowned at what the ninja angel was referring to, Sam stiffened.

"No," he rasped. "What did you do with Gabriel?" The emotional inflection on Gabriel's name was undeniable. It echoed of every instance Dean thought Cas was in danger or hurt. Hearing it in Sam's voice was twice as bad, and he wanted to stab Raphael in the neck for upsetting his brother.

"What we had to. Now, come along," Raphael said, gesturing toward the stage. He was still smiling, easy, amused. "It's nearly time for the curtain to rise."

Sam hesitated; Dean could tell he was resisting the urge to look in his direction. When he gave a short nod and started off, Dean glimpsed Raphael's smug smile widen before he fell into step behind him. Alone now, Dean drove his fist against the wall.

"Son of a bitch," he grumbled, and emerged from his hiding place. He found a dark corner that was out of the way of passing employees, but afforded him a nice view of the stage. An angel relieved Sam of the blade in his hand just as none other than Michael approached him. Sam stood as still as a statue. Castiel was also there, his posture just as stiff as Sam's. Dean gritted his teeth, hating his helplessness.

I don't know if you can hear me, Gabriel, but if you don't get your ass back here soon we're all screwed.

Upon seeing Sam on stage, an angel to either side of him, Castiel chastised himself for not expecting this move. Without Gabriel to assume the dual roles of Lucifer and Michael, the archangel had gone with the real thing. The last thing Cas wanted to do was place Sam in danger. He met Sam's eyes, tried to reassure him with a little nod. But Sam just stared past him. There was something in his face that worried Cas; at seeing where his gaze rested, he had the horrible feeling that Michael had done something to Gabriel. The tremor of panic that shook his heart was quickly repressed. He had to stay focused.

Michael signaled for the angels to escort Sam closer. Cas couldn't be sure if he was also in the circle of holy oil or not. His one consolation was that if he was, he could jump over the flames without fear.

"Sam," Michael greeted cordially. He tilted his head, studying him. "I see you have recovered well from Lucifer's taint. Though there is still a darkness about you. It seems Gabriel has not been able to eradicate it completely."

Sam's throat flashed at Gabriel's name, but he kept his peace.

"You are no doubt as well-versed in this play as Castiel," Michael continued. "I expect you to respond to the cues you are given. We are charged with giving this audience a memorable experience. I do not intend to disappoint."

At this Sam smiled, faintly. "And if I say no?"

Michael considered this. "Then I will see to it the suffering you experienced while under Lucifer's influence will be nothing compared to what I arrange for you. You are an abomination, Sam Winchester. I do not promise mercy."

Sam's face paled, very slightly. Castiel knew that Lucifer had not been kind to him, and despised Michael all the more threatening him.

Michael, apparently satisfied he had succeeded in convincing Sam to participate, turned to address Raphael. "Inform Crowley I am ready to begin."

The look in Raphael's eyes indicated pleasure, and he vanished. The other angels drifted to the opposite corners of the stage. Cas knew they were boxed in now.

Suddenly Sam rushed toward Michael and grabbed him by the shoulders. He spun him around with one, swift movement. His eyes and face expressed desperation, panic. "Dean!" he cried. "Dean, it's me! I know you're in there- fight him! I know you can do it! You-"

Michael thrust Sam from him as if he were tainted. As surprising as this was, it was doubly so at the expression of rage in Michael's eyes. In all the years Cas had known him, he had never once seen Michael look like that.

As Sam hit the floor and was subsequently seized by the two angels there, Castiel's gaze was then drawn to the sudden glow that emanated from within Michael. His breath caught in his throat.

He knew that light.

Dean!

"No," Michael said when an angel went to strike Sam. His voice was rough. "Leave him to me." When the angels obliged him the archangel sent Sam a piercing look. "Be ready to begin," he warned, and started for the side of the stage Cas occupied.

His resolve strengthened by the sight of that faint glow, Cas slid his hand into his pocket and palmed the Zippo. He met Sam's gaze, gave a slight nod. Though his chest heaved and his face expressed rage, he responded to Cas's nod with one of his own. When the orchestra struck up the opening tune, and the curtains slowly drew back, Castiel prepared himself for battle.

Crowley hadn't questioned why Michael wanted to participate in the play. His thoughts had been on other, more pressing matters. But after his ace in the hole managed to escape and he was forced to turn his own place inside out to find them, he began to suspect something was amiss. This nagging suspicion had only grown with every passing moment. It was at its breaking point by the time he strode inside his VIP box and sat down. He stared down at the stage, drumming his fingers on the arm rest. He had been in the business long enough to know when betrayal was at hand.

He signaled for one of his boys. "Barricade the doors. I want angel wards on every wall," he ordered.

The demon looked at him curiously. "Sir? Is that wise?"

"When I want your opinion I'll ask for it, you moron," Crowley responded in a warning tone. The demon relented and stepped back.

The play had started. So far so good. But it was the sense that the demon hadn't left yet that drew Crowley's attention.

"What?"

The demon, who had been looking up, swallowed nervously. "Sir, I think you might want to see this."

As Crowley lifted his head to see the devil's trap on the ceiling, he scowled. At peek beneath his footrest showed another.

A full moment passed. The other demons present looked at one another anxiously. Left with little else to do but wait, Crowley, King of Hell, gave a rueful shake of the head, leaned back and rested his chin in his hand.

Leave it to a Winchester to foil a perfectly diabolical plan.

Dean watched the play with an increasing amount of concern. So far things were going by rote; the audience tittered at the comedic bits, the lines were delivered with the same amount of overly done drama, and hell, Sam made one damn convincing Lucifer. But Dean couldn't shake that something was wrong. His whole body had tensed, as if he expected a knife in his back- or in his heart. Every time Cas got near Michael he silently urged the angel to light the fire, light it now so Sam could have a chance to get away. He'd heard every word Michael said to his brother, and he'd be damned if that son of a bitch hurt him.

And just where the hell was Gabriel anyway? Did Balthazar send the pieces into outer space or what?

A deep chord sounded from the orchestra. Sam had fallen to his knees in front of Michael, as expected. Michael stood over him, one hand gripping Sam's collar. He delivered the line, and the audience held its breath. Cas lay on the floor directly behind Michael, also as expected. But as Dean shifted his gaze from Michael back to Cas, he saw he had risen to a knee. The audience didn't seem to notice.

"Do it, Cas," he murmured, watching Cas reach inside his pocket. Dean's attention went back to Michael and Sam, his heart thudding in his chest. There was something in Michael's eyes he didn't like. When he realized the archangel had every intention of hurting Sam his hand tightened on the curtain. "Now, Cas," he said, louder this time. Michael's arm was drawing back, fingers curling into a fist.

Things slowed down then.

Michael's face was stone cold as he thrust his hand forward. Sam's upper body caved, shoulders hunching at the blow. Castiel shot to his feet, had the Zippo in one hand, the angel blade in the other. He lit it, let it drop. In the time it took for the Zippo to land on the ground, Michael's hand exploded out of Sam's back. Blood dripped down from his clenched fist to pool behind them.

Dean's eyes widened, his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. The roar of the fire, the resulting screams of shock and dismay from the audience, did nothing to drown out the anguished cry that tore from his throat.

"SAM!"

Castiel, standing behind Michael now, angel blade in hand and surrounded by a ring of fire, was well aware of the chaos that had erupted. The crowd now dispersed in droves, their panicked screams echoing all throughout. He could hear clashes of battle as demons and angels went at each other. But when Michael wrenched his hand free from the hole he had made in Sam's chest, and the younger Winchester slumped limply to the floor, everything else around them faded.

"Michael!" Castiel rasped. He held the blade out, challenging him.

Michael sent Sam careening for the far edge of the stage before he slowly rose to his feet and turned. Blood dripped off his hand. He regarded Castiel's offensive stance with something resembling pity, or amusement.

"Castiel." He drew out his name, each syllable dripping with contempt. "You dare use holy fire against your elder brother?"

Cas pushed back his fear. He couldn't stop thinking about Sam, about what he needed to do. "That's enough, Michael," he told him sharply. "Restore Sam Winchester and leave Dean's body!"

Michael laughed disbelievingly. "You still don't understand what I am doing here," he said, shaking his head. "This is our father's design! I had to destroy Lucifer's vessel. And now I will see to your punishment."

Castiel readied the blade, but Michael was suddenly upon him. Michael easily disarmed him with a single blow. Next his hand was at Cas's throat. He forced the other angel to his knees. There he used the butt of the angel blade to strike his face, over and over. Each successive hit sent vibrations through Castiel's body, splintered his vision, rattled his thoughts. But somehow he managed to grab onto Michael's sleeve. Turned his mind away from the pain as he sought that light he knew so well.

Michael's arm suddenly froze in mid-swing. Cas, blinking up at him through bloodied eyes, saw the internal struggle etch itself onto Michael's face. His teeth clenched as he tried to force his arm down. The glow Cas had seen ever so briefly before flashed just a little brighter now. When his hand opened to drop the blade, Cas's other hand shot out to catch it. He had it turned in a split second and, shooting to his feet, he slashed at Michael's left shoulder. Shreds of clothing and blood clung to Cas's blade. Michael cried out in shock as he was forced backward. He went to cover his wound- but not before Cas glimpsed the faint outline of the mark he set on Dean's soul all those years ago.

Castiel wasted no time. Sprinting forward, he seized Michael by the upper arm with his left hand and laid his right over the other's shoulder. He could feel the warmth of bare skin beneath his palm, felt it grow ever warmer in the light of his Grace. And yet something far more powerful lay under the surface, more powerful than an angel, a demon or even a god. It was the burning heat of a human soul.

Cas stared up at Michael's face, his hand tightening over the other's shoulder. The look of absolute shock in the angel's eyes drew a tiny, confident smile to Cas's lips. His brother might be the oldest and most powerful, but even he had underestimated the strength of the bond he shared with Dean's soul.

He started chanting in Enochian, saw recognition enter Michael's gaze at seeing Cas intended on exorcizing him from Dean's body. He finished the chant, drew in a deep breath. "Get out of him, you son of a bitch," he murmured darkly, and his Grace flashed.

The faint glimmer that Cas knew so well shone in response, and the spark that had been Michael's was instantly transformed to one far more brilliant. He thought he heard Michael give a faint, outraged cry.

Soon the glow receded, leaving both men breathing heavily. Castiel's hand had not moved from the other's shoulder. He searched the face before him, desperate to see if it worked, even as he feared it hadn't.

A hand slowly rose in his peripheral. Castiel couldn't help but flinch, for in those brief seconds he expected a blow.

Instead, the hand hovered by his cheek. Hesitant.

"...Cas?"

It was Dean Winchester staring down at him, a look of disbelief and astonishment on his face. Dean Winchester's voice that spoke his name. Cas had heard the other Dean say it dozens of times, but only his Dean said it with that kind of wonder. That kind of affection.

The gulf of years between them closed in that instant. Castiel gazed into those eyes and said, very softly:

"Hello, Dean."