Part Two

After Les Mis was done, other shows popped up. Michael had apparently decided to start working with another theater, and Dean was immediately cast as Don Lockwood in Singin' in the Rain, which surprised and delighted him. Sam was proud as ever, and with all the work put into the production, which now had complicated dance numbers, the disembodied voice was pushed to the back of Dean's mind.

The night of the premiere, Dean was prepared. Sam was twitchy, however. "Come down right after you're changed, okay? Don't shut your eyes, don't lay down, nothing."

"Yeah yeah, I get it," Dean responded by thumping his brother soundly on the back before heading backstage.

The production was wonderful. It wasn't so heart wrenching as Les Mis, but it was fun and Dean enjoyed wearing a funny suit and dancing in the water falling from above. He went out to receive the fans, and all the praise made him smile. "You were awesome!" "You have a great voice!" "You can really dance!"

He was still happily surprised that people liked his performance so much, but he couldn't help but hear some words from a month-old dream. Your voice is like a summer breeze. It is warm and clear, and incredibly beautiful. Breathtaking, in fact. A shiver passed through Dean just at the memory.

"Come down quick, okay?" Sam trailed behind him as he approached the stairs.

"Yeah, I get it Sam. Don't make you wait." Dean took the stairs two at a time, his tuxedo from the last scene creasing. The more stairs he climbed, the more he thought about the dream he had had, or the not-dream. It felt real, but it couldn't be.

Dean unlocked his dressing room and shut the door behind him. His heart was thumping loudly in his chest, but he didn't dare move. He was listening for any sound, anything to alert him that something else was there. His pulse was racing and his palms were sweating, but what was he expecting? The angel thing was a dream and even if it somehow wasn't, Cas was not a friend. He was a disembodied voice that kidnapped him. Still, he counted out a full three minutes of absolute silence before sighing and turning back to his duffel. Disappointment wrapped around him. He knew it was stupid, but for some reason he wanted to see, or rather hear, Cas again.

His phone was tossed onto the chair and one of his cufflinks was off before he heard it- the humming. A grin spread across his face as the melody became stronger. It was real. Cas was real.

This time, he relaxed into the sound, letting his mind go fuzzy and his eyes glaze over as Cas sang. "Come with me, join me..."

Dean blinked several times, clearing the haze from his mind. He was in the warehouse basement thing that he had been in the last time, in the same spot. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

"Cas?" he called quietly. Silence. "Cas!"

"You look lovely in a tuxedo, Dean," the low voice murmured.

Dean barely tried to squash down the grin that spread across his face. "This is real. I'm not crazy."

"Of course not," Cas sounded taken aback. "Why would you think you're crazy?"

"I thought this was a dream," Dean responded, starting down a path between the furniture. "I mean, the last time I was here. Like a weird lucid dream or something."

"Have you dreamt of me?" Cas asked.

Dean decided not to respond to that. Technically he had, but he didn't need to give Cas the disembodied voice any notions about how much he'd been thinking about him. "Same rules as last time?" he asked instead.

Cas chuckled. "Yes, the same."

"Man, Sammy's gonna kill me," Dean rounded an unfamiliar corner, meandering farther.

"Your brother," Cas stated rather than asked. "He is the one that uses his height to his advantage when he cheers for you." Dean laughed. That was exactly what Sam did- he towered over everyone and held his hands out like a megaphone. Dean could never miss his voice. "Is your brother upset with you?"

Dean's smile fell and he sighed. "He freaked out that I disappeared for about four hours last show. And since it's about to happen again..." he shrugged.

There was a pause. "Would you rather I stop calling to you?"

There was another pause. "No," Dean said carefully. He gave no explanation and Cas didn't ask for one. "Are you a angel?" he asked suddenly.

"No," Cas replied in that calm manner of his.

"Then what exactly are you?"

"Sing to me." Dean smiled, remembering the rules of the previous time. Cas would answer questions after Dean sang to him.

"What would you like to hear this time?" he leaned against a nearby wooden desk.

"Something that makes you happy."

Dean thought for a moment, then began. "Calm down," he sang softly, "Deep breaths, and get yourself dressed, instead..." He felt his lower register vibrate in his chest. He didn't much listen to Jason Mraz, but he enjoyed the song. It made him feel like everything was going to be okay, no matter what the situation. "Hearts will hold..." he trailed off, wondering if Cas would compliment him again. Not that he needed compliments, they just made him feel so warm.

"Thank you," Cas whispered. That wasn't what Dean was expecting. Cas must have been able to see him, because he continued. "I needed that. That message, it makes you happy?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded at the air. "Makes me feel like I'm not alone, like everything's going to be okay somehow. Like even if I feel different, everyone is different and so we're all alike, and that's okay." Why was he saying all this? He shook his head at himself. Real feelings were not something he was well versed in.

"You continue to amaze me," Cas murmured.

"How so?" Dean asked, standing straight and continuing his meanderings down the path.

"There are quite literally hundreds of happy songs being sung in the world, yet you pick a song that comforts others. The thought of others being made to feel better is what makes you happy." The voice paused. "That is rare in an individual. Rare and precious."

Dean smiled at his shoes. He wondered why Cas thought so highly of him. His song choices didn't necessarily define his identity, though that little evaluation hit pretty close to home. "Thank you," Dean said again. Stop that, He chided himself for his breathlessness. He cleared his throat and begun his questions. "So you're not an angel..."

Cas chuckled. "No."

"What are you?"

Cas was quiet for a long time. Dean situated himself on a chair and got comfortable. "I am much like you, in most respects. I have arms and legs, a torso, and a head." He said this matter-of-factly.

"Do you have anything else?" Dean asked, even though he was nervous about the answer. Cas was quiet for so long that Dean was no longer sure that Cas was there. "Cas?"

"Some questions I cannot answer, Dean," he sounded resigned.

What kind of answer was that? "Well if you can't tell me, then show me." Dean's voice rose, frustrated. "Let me see you."

"No." Cas' voice was harsh. "You may not see me."

To Dean's surprise, Cas' tone hurt. Why did that hurt? He had met this voice twice and now he felt a weight in his gut like he had been rejected. Instead of answering, he turned sharply and continued mapping out his surroundings.

"Dean," Cas sighed. The older Winchester didn't answer. "I apologize."

"You don't have to yell," Dean said quietly, like a petulant child.

"I am not experiences with this kind of conversation. Personal facts and the like," Cas murmured.

"You could tell me about yourself, you know," Dean ran his fingers along a cement wall that he had finally found. "We can start with little stuff. You have eyes, right?"

Cas laughed a little. "Yes, I have eyes."

"What color are they?"

"Blue."

Dean smiled. He was a sucker for blue eyes.

"How about your favorite food?" Dean walked with his finger against the wall until he came across a pile of props and had to release the wall.

"I don't eat much," he began. "I had a hamburger once. It was delightful."

Dean grinned. "You should try pie, of any kind. Sweet inside, flaky crust, mmm." His mouth was nearly watering. "How, uh, how long have you been here?"

"A while," was all he said. The silence hung like a weight.

"Did you see the production? Singin' in the Rain?" Dean asked to lighten the mood.

"I did," Cas' voice brightened. "I didn't know it was possible to be attractive in heavy, wet clothes."

Dean chuckled, then stopped. Had Cas just called him attractive? He felt his face color and thanked the lack of light. "Do you, uh, do you like the wet suit or the tux better?" Shit. You do not flirt with the disembodied voice, Dean, he reprimanded himself.

"The tuxedo," Cas' voice was just a notch lower than before, and Dean felt it. "Your voice isn't the only beautiful thing about you." Dean bit his lip to keep any noise he might have made in. Cas was flirting with him. And he liked it. Maybe he really did have Stockholm Syndrome. "I also saw the rehearsals, and I find that I enjoy your sense of humor."

"You saw every rehearsal?" Dean asked, surprised.

"Not every one, but many of them. I see you."

"And I want to see you. Not that I'm insisting you come out here or anything," he added quickly. "I just want to see you, s'all. It'd be nice to talk face to face."

"I understand," Castiel murmured sadly. "But not today." Dean sat back in the chair he had before. "Shall I sing to you?"

Dean contemplated saying no, that he wanted to stay longer, but he knew Sam would be freaking out, and he needed to deal with his brother. "Okay. Good night, Cas."

"Good night, Dean." Dean closed his eyes. Cas said his name very nicely. It sounded meaningful in his voice. The strange language and soft melody sent him off almost immediately, though he swore he could still hear the singing in his dreams.

"What the hell?" Dean's eyes blinked open. He was in the dressing room, on the couch just like last time, with angry Sam standing over him.

"Ugh. Shut it, Sammy, I know what you're gonna say," Dean muttered, shucking off his tux and into jeans and a t-shirt.

"Doubtful," Sam growled.

"I wasn't here and then I was, right?" His brother glared. "I don't know how it's happening either. Let's just go home, okay?" He felt bad lying to Sam, but he knew that Cas was real, somehow, and he wasn't going to go telling everyone he knew. Cas kept himself secret for a reason, even if Dean didn't know what that was.

The brothers stewed in their emotions for two days before having an all out scream-fight in their apartment. It blew over quickly once Dean agreed to let Sam come up to his dressing room after the next production.

Dean auditioned for Grease less than a week later, and received the part of Danny Zuko. It wasn't his usual character, but the rehearsal schedule only lasted for three weeks and that meant he could visit Cas sooner. It was agonizing, waiting so long to hear that voice again. He dreamed of it almost constantly. Your voice isn't the only beautiful thing about you.

The memories stirred deep physical feelings in him, feelings he hadn't experienced in a long time. Only when he was in the privacy of his own locked room that he let himself drown in the pleasure that Cas' voice inspired. To his embarrassment, this happened fairly often, and Sam was none the wiser.

They also stirred up something Dean refused to touch with a ten foot pole: honest-to-god emotions. In Lawrence, Dean went through a phase of one night stands, emotionless hook-ups, and general slutty behavior. That had been his M.O. since he dropped out of college. For a while, his escapades distracted him from facing real life- getting a job, working for a better life, making a family. When Sam returned from Stanford, he made sure Dean sobered up and got him back into acting. He was the one who pushed Dean to actually go for the big dreams, which landed him in New York, being kidnapped and seduced by a strange voice in his theater.

Every night before Dean went to bed, he tried to remember that song that Cas sang him to sleep with, the one in the language Dean had never heard of. He remembered the first little bit of it, and he sang them to himself, pretending that it was Cas there singing. It was soothing and hypnotic and maybe Dean was going crazy, but he missed that voice much more than he should have.

During the three weeks of rehearsal time for Grease, Dean asked around the staff of the theater about Cas, or rather, 'the angel of Heaven's Theater'.

"It's just a stupid story," a businesswoman named Naomi shooed him away.

"I couldn't tell you," the receptionist shifted papers around. "But there's something here. Sometimes I'll come back and all of my lists will be alphabetized by last name, and I always alphabetize by first name."

"I know him," the janitor, Gabriel, replied as he was sweeping up one night.

Dean's mouth dropped open. "You know him? How? What-"

"Whoa there, slow your roll, Dean-o," Gabriel said, holding up his hands. Dean frowned at the nick name. "What I should have said is that I've met him before. I started working here about ten years ago and I was here alone one night, fixing a crack in the stage's floor boards, and one of the big lights fell." Gabriel leaned against a wall. "It would have killed me if someone in a big black cape hadn't pushed me out of the way."

"And you're sure it was him? Did you see his face?" Dean leaned forward eagerly.

"I saw him run off after. And I heard a voice that said, 'Be more careful.' So something's real, all right. Why do you ask?"

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. Telling Gabriel about Cas might earn him some more information, but... no, he wouldn't say anything. If Cas wanted to stay a myth, he wasn't going to spoil it. "I love spooky stories," Dean lied. "And this one's my favorite, so far."

Gabriel's face darkened. "Don't go looking, you hear me? He may be a really great guy, but that doesn't mean he's a good guy."

"But you said you only saw him once," Dean backtracked. "How do you know that he's great?" And also not good?

Gabriel sighed. "I guess, he takes care of this place. When this place tanked almost six years ago, a mysterious envelope of money 'To the welfare and protection of Heaven's Theater' showed up and saved us from going bankrupt. Sometimes free tickets to the productions will be sent to orphanages and shelters when no one here has sent them. Messes get cleaned up, things will be moved around, stuff like that. He... keeps a close eye on the management too."

"What does that mean?" Dean followed Gabriel as he packed up his cleaning supplies.

"Sometimes, people go missing. Granted, these people would have been horrible to the theater. Company men wanting to buy us out who wouldn't take no for an answer, production assistants stealing money and harassing the staff... Actors he thought weren't worthy of their roles." He gave Dean a pointed look.

Actors that weren't worthy of their roles disappearing... "Michael and Lucifer?" Dean asked. "Ca- The angel got rid of them?"

Gabriel chuckled. "Most of the time, we get a call that the person missing was found, lost and confused, in some other state. They usually don't want to work here after that. But sometimes, only a few times, people went missing for good."

Dean shivered. He couldn't imagine Cas actually... doing that to anyone.

"As I said," Gabriel shut the closet door. "Don't go looking for him."

Grease was a hit. With all the dancing and tight pants, he was sweating buckets by the end of it. He may have gone just a bit too hard, but he knew that Cas was watching. Dean even threw in a wink to the audience at the very end. Well, maybe one particular audience member.

Wasting no time, he went out to greet the theater-goers quickly. Sam was talking animatedly to Jess, the actress that played Sandy, and Dean thought he might be able to slip out unnoticed.

He headed for the stairs, but soon felt a heavy hand on his back. "I'm coming with you, remember?" Sam's voice said behind him.

"Right, yeah Sammy. Let's go." Dean mentally cursed. He wondered if Cas would come for him if Sam was right there with him.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Don't you want to know what's happening to you after every performance? How are you not freaked out?"

Dean started down the hall, his face a calm mask. "Hey, whatever happens, I'm in one piece by morning. I don't see what I have to freak out about."

Sam huffed irritably but followed Dean into his dressing room. He had fully taken over the space, now that it was no longer Michael's. Dean now had a good idea of what had happened to make Michael leave. Sam closed the door and sat in the armchair, watching Dean carefully.

Dean took a towel and rubbed some of the gel from his hair. There was no sound apart from Sam's breathing and the soft whoosh of the air conditioner. The older Winchester loitered by his duffel when the idea hit him. He half-smiled at Sam and inconspicuously removed his phone from his pocket and set it on the table. Almost instantaneously, soft humming filled the room. Dean whirled around to watch Sam, but the taller man's head fell back against the chair, fast asleep.

Dean stepped forward and closed his eyes, letting Cas' melody take him back to his secret place.

Dean opened his eyes to find himself in the exact position he'd been in three weeks ago. "Hah!" he laughed. Why he was so excited to be back was a mystery.

A deep responding laugh came from the air. "You seem happy." Dean could hear the smile in Cas' voice.

"Yeah," Dean calmed himself. "I guess I am." The part of him that kept screaming, Do not engage the disembodied voice! No conversation! No flirting! was getting quieter and quieter.

"You did well tonight," Cas complimented. Dean grinned again. Grease was a particular sexual play, and Dean's dancing had perhaps exceeded those particular expectations. "I saw several people staring at you, Dean," Cas continued. "Men and women alike. I can't help but wonder who that wink was for."

Dean nearly skipped along another pathway. "You know, I was thinking of a particular spectator," Dean ran his fingers along a dusty end table. "I don't know where he sat though." He stopped and turned, though he had no idea where Cas was. "Where were you sitting?"

The deep voice hummed in satisfaction. "Somewhere with a perfect view. That ensemble you're wearing is much more revealing than your previous ones."

Dean shivered, plucking at the tight black t-shirt and equally tight jeans fitted for Danny Zuko. "It is, isn't it?"

"You are stunning," Cas murmured.

Dean blushed furiously, which was starting to get annoying. Dean Winchester did not blush. He cleared his throat. "Let me sing to you," he began walking again.

"Turn left," Cas told him.

"Huh?"

"Turn left, right where you're standing. I have a gift for you, in a way." Dean obeyed, turning left and squeezing between a bookshelf and a greek-style pillar. "Keep going, now left again." He continued until Cas finally said, "Stop. There, to your right, is an old piano. I fixed and tuned it yesterday. I know you play."

"Of course you do," Dean smiled. He often played in the theater after rehearsals.

"Play for me."

Dean sat on the bench, meticulously clean. The piano was an old baby grand, chipped and worn, but shiny, like it was recently cleaned. He ran his fingers along the lacquered front. Tuning a piano took some time and effort, and fixing a broken string was nearly impossible without a professional and that kind of equipment. This was definitely a gift. "What would you like to hear today?"

"A love song," Cas said softly.

A love song- that was a very broad topic. Dean didn't have to think very long though. He remembered one evening when his mother was alive, before his father had begun drinking. Soft music had been playing downstairs in his old house. He was maybe four, but he remembered peeking through the railing bars and seeing his parents swaying quietly in the kitchen together. The thought brought a wet prickling sensation to his eyes, but he ignored it and instead began to play.

"Wise men say only fools rush in," he sang softly, piano keys drawing out a softer tune of the original Elvis song. "But I can't help falling in love with you." Back in the deep recesses of his mind, that's what Dean wanted: someone to love him like that. It was over too quickly, and Dean sat back, waiting.

Cas' voice was rough, as if he too had been holding back tears. "Are you falling in love with me, Dean Winchester?"

Dean's mouth immediately went dry. His heartbeat increased rapidly, and his palms began to sweat. "I..." How did he respond to that? His immediate answer was absolutely not. He had been in this place only three times, and Cas had kidnapped him to begin with. He hadn't even seen this man! And yet here he was, ecstatic to by hypnotized and taken away from his brother just to hear the voice that haunted his dreams for almost two months. Could one fall in love with a dream? "I-I don't know," he stammered honestly.

Cas said nothing in return. Dean gripped the piano tightly. He didn't like these 'chick-flick' moments where he had to talk about feelings. He didn't like it, but he felt compelled to say more. "I've never seen you. I've heard you three times in my whole life, and the first time you brought me here I had no idea what was going on, but..." He stopped for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I think about you a lot. I dream about you. And I was so damn excited to see you after the show tonight. I was worried that you wouldn't come get me because Sam was there, but you came and I'm willing to endure his bitchface for hours just to be here again." He chuckled. "My stomach is in knots and I feel like I'm going to throw up and I never want to leave." As the words left his mouth, Dean's stomach twisted into tighter knots. It sure as hell sounded like love, judging by the strength of Sam's bitchface.

"I've never been in love before," Cas said after a while.

"It's difficult," Dean sighed.

"I can feel that," came Cas' quiet reply. Was that a confession? Was Cas in love with him? Dean closed his eyes. That made him feel very warm inside, and it probably shouldn't have.

"I met Gabriel today," Dean changed subjects rapidly.

"Oh?" Cas asked.

"Yeah, I asked about you. You never told me that you give tickets away to orphans and the homeless." Dean stood again and started walking again, coming close to a corner of the building.

"I did not think it of import," Cas sounded curious. "Why were you asking about me?"

Dean sat down on a chest of drawers. "You won't tell me about yourself much, so I did some research. Don't worry, I didn't tell anyone about our little parties."

"Thank you," Cas sounded like he was amused.

"And you know, I could have risen to stardom on my own," Dean teased, leaning back on his hands. "Michael and Lucifer could have stayed."

"I didn't want to wait," Cas said simply.

"Impatient, hmm?"

Cas chuckled. Dean glanced around. He was as close to the corner of the building as was possible, but there were at least thirty more feet to the wall behind the tower of junk. The Winchester stood on top of the chest of drawers and grasped the top of the bookshelf behind it firmly. "Dean," Cas said warningly, "What are you doing?"

"Exploring," Dean grunted, pulling himself up and climbing further. Maybe Cas was behind there. Maybe he could see him.

"Dean, stop!" Cas commanded just as Dean fell over the top of the stuff wall and slid down to the floor.

There in front of him was a makeshift room. A large four-poster bed was pushed against the corner, fluffy comforters and mismatching pillows strewn about. Dozens of books loomed in towers next to a worn writing desk with a lamp sitting atop it. A wardrobe lay open on its side, displaying a variety of pants and shoes, but nothing else. And no Cas. "Do you live here?"

"I do," Cas sounded cautious.

Dean paced around the room slowly, inspecting everything he could. Cas was silent. Dean finally came to stand in front of the inviting bed. It was huge and looked cozy, like he'd sink right down into it. "You can sit if you like," Cas said softly. Dean sat and sunk comfortably, just like he thought he would.

"Can I see you?" Dean asked carefully.

There was a pause. "Not today."

Dean huffed internally. "Then can I at least come back a little sooner? Waiting for a month every time is killing me."

Dean could hear the smile in Cas' voice. "Is it?"

"Yes," Dean swallowed.

"You may come back in one week's time, at midnight."

Dean smiled to himself. "I can do that."

"Shall I sing to you now?"

Dean shut his eyes tightly. "Can I have another minute or two here?"

A throaty chuckle echoed around him as he lay back onto the mattress.

"Cas?" Dean asked after a while.

"Yes, Dean?"

He picked at his nails bashfully. "Do you talk to other people? You know, like this, in here?"

"Only you." Cas then began to sing softly as ever. Dean struggled to stay awake for as long as possible, memorizing every note that fell into his mind, but as were the rules, he was asleep in minutes.