Named {PART NINE, a}

[mclachland]

The last time he was in New York, they'd been in pursuit of a vampire. Dad had been driving, Dean acting as co-pilot in the passenger seat and dousing some knives in dead man's blood. It had soaked through his jeans and clung to his skin, and Dad had warned him not to spill any on the seat; they were going to need every drop to take down the sonuvabitch they were after.

His name was something faggy and French, probably Corbeau or Lamont, and he was over 1500 years old. That Corbeau (or Lamont) was a millennia-old vampire wasn't the reason they'd been after him; old Corbeau (or Lamont) had a sick appetite when it came to pretty young men. And what better place to find beautiful men for the picking than in New York City? Corbeau (or Lamont) had left a strewn of fucked out, dried out bodies in his wake, enough to stir panic on the streets. But it wasn't until Dan Forest, a hunter and contact of Dad's, had been fucked and sucked dry that they sprang into action.

They'd split up to search, and Dean'd finally cornered Corbeau (or Lamont) in a club near Broadway, pulled him off of some twink's neck with every intention of staking the bastard. Until Corbeau (or Lamont) had glamoured the fuck out of him. And, embarrassingly enough, it was Dad that saved the day, shoving a foot-long knife through the guy's neck and twisting it around until Corbeau (or Lamont) had no head and Dean was left to haul up his pants, red-faced and unable to look Dad in the eye for weeks

The more he thinks about it, the more he's sure the vampire's name was Thierry.

Now, he's standing in front of one of NYU's sixty-thousand buildings in broad daylight, Castiel a couple paces ahead of him, and is pretty convinced that this time is going to be a fuck of a lot worse than Thierry.

"This is the 'human college'?" Dean squints up the façade of the building, which reads 'Palladium Hall' above revolving doors. The whole thing is fucking ugly; it looks like a giant Connect-4 game. A group of girls walk out and throw him flirtatious grins; all of them are wearing Daisy Dukes and ugly sheepskin boots.

"Gabriel said this morning that she resided in the platinum dormitory."

"Dude, this is brick."

Castiel looks over his shoulder at him. "Palladium is an element in the platinum group, Dean."

Obviously. "So, what do we do? Walk in and ask for Sariel? She's gotta have an actual name, like Anna did."

"She goes by Sara Campbell here," Castiel says stiffly, shoulders slowly rising from an almost-relaxed state to DEFCON-5. Great.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" he asks, annoyed, but Castiel doesn't even make mention about not knowing what panties are.

Ignoring the looks of some more students walking past them, Castiel storms up to Dean and practically punches him in the face with his two-fingered whammy, and --

He's not on the street anymore.

"Can you warn a guy before you do that?!"

Taking a step back, Dean looks around. This isn't the first thing that comes to mind when he thinks 'college dorm'; he's never been one to appreciate art, but there's something almost beautiful in the way the walls of the hallway are lined with photography. Big frames, small frames, no frames, lambasted into the walls themselves, it's completely everywhere. Black, white, color, just this whorl of silver doors and images.

It's pretty impressive. He turns in a complete circle, studying it, while Castiel stands stock still and does his super angel mind-search thing, totally unmoved by their surroundings.

"Cas --"

"Be quiet."

Dean sniffs and rotates his shoulder. "Fuck you, too."

"I'm attempting to find her," Castiel says, voice low, eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration. "She is in this building, on this floor, but I cannot pinpoint where."

Which means they're going to have to knock on some random person's door and hope whoever answers it knows where Sara lives. With their luck, they're going to be knocking on every door until they get to hers.

Dean sighs and turns his head, watching as some kid walks out of a room, jiggling the door handle to make sure it locked. Just looking at the kid makes Dean feel fucking old; he remembers when he used to be that bright-eyed and youthful, hair deliberately tousled and dressed like he'd thrown on any old thing but in reality had taken an hour to decide on the shirts. Except Dean's jeans weren't bought ripped and frayed.

The kid's good-looking enough that he probably has no trouble finding a date for a Friday night, and he probably plays some kind of team sport. But he has an air about him, like Sam does, that screams "NOT JUST A PIECE OF ASS, BUT ALSO SMART".

And he's giving Dean and Castiel the stink-eye.

"Shit," Dean curses under his breath before pasting on a friendly smile as the kid starts walking in their direction. "Cas, you wanna wrap it up?"

"Can I help you guys?" The kid inquires, somehow shoving a world of suspicion into the question. He must be an RA. Sworn to protect the college residents in return for free room and board. Perfect. It's like dealing with a mall cop, only not as funny.

Dean discreetly elbows Castiel in the back. "Yeah, hopefully." He needs to think of a good lie, quick. "Uh, we're looking for Sara Campbell. She had the, uh, front desk buzz us up, but forgot to tell us what room she's in."

The kid cocks an eyebrow. It probably makes all the girls swoon, but it leaves a vaguely bad taste in Dean's mouth.

"You know Sara? How?"

"Uh." Think, think. Fuck. "He's --" Dean jerks a thumb in Castiel's direction. "-- her brother. And we're, uh, here to have dinner with her to celebrate her birthday."

"Her birthday's in January," the kid says. What RA knows that?

"Her birthday, which we missed this past January," Dean recovers smoothly, elbowing Castiel one more time. "Isn't that right, Cas?"

Dislodging Dean's elbow from his spine, Castiel turns neatly on his heel and fixes the kid with a cool stare. If he were the kid, Dean would have no trouble believing that Castiel was Sara Campbell's over-protective brother. Her smoking hot, over-protective brother.

The kid leans back with a disbelieving laugh. "Wow, okay. Yeah, you're definitely Sara's brother. Can't mistake those eyes. Well, it's great to meet you. I'm Alex Wood, Sara's RA."

He thrusts out a hand for Castiel to shake, the poster child for the all-American boy, and Castiel gives it a look that suggests he might either shake it or bite it off. Luckily, he goes for the former, and the kid smiles weakly as his hand is crushed in Castiel's firm grip.

"Cas," Dean hisses, then turns a smile onto the kid. "So, Al, if you don't mind, could you point us in the direction of her room?"

Alex snatches his hand from Castiel and shakes it out. "Good grip."

"Thank you," Castiel says flatly. "If you would show us to Sara's dormitory?"

"Of course. It's actually back down this way," Alex says, pointing in the other direction. He beckons them to follow him. "I pop down to see her a lot; she and her roommates are pretty cool. Sara helped me with my laundry our first semester here. So, I'm standing there in front of the washing machine like an idiot, because my mom always did my laundry and I had no idea how to separate my clothes or what settings to put them on, and Sara comes breezing in and shows me like she invented it. She helps me prep for my history class, too; God, it's like she was there for some of that stuff!"

Alex glances back at Castiel, then keeps his eyes forward. Oh, hell, the kid's buttering Castiel up, trying to win over big brother's approval so he can pursue Sara with permission. What is this, the 1950's?

"Of course," Alex goes on nervously, "I help her with lots of things, too. Her health-science homework -- I'm in Sports Law."

He seems like a nice enough kid, but Dean's going to die of boredom before they even reach her dorm, crushed to death under the mundaneness of whatever Alex is going on about. It's probably all the shit a worried parent, or over-protective brother, would want to hear, and Dean can appreciate that there are stand-up kids like Alex still around, but he doesn't give a shit about Sara Campbell's little stalker. Dean would put money on Alex having a shrine to Sara in his closet.

They stop in front of a door marked 329, and Alex turns to them proudly, almost as if he's expecting a tip for his help. "Here it is."

Now Dean just kind of feels bad for the kid. "Thanks."

Except Alex doesn't move, just waits expectantly, grinning at Castiel. "Could you guys do me a favor and tell Sara that I said hi?"

For the love of fuck.

Luckily, some stocky kid comes waddling down the hall, pudgy cheeks red with exertion, his Steelers jersey stained with things Dean can't even identify. "Al, you gotta help Pete, man. Mac dared him to eat a ghost chili and he did and, dude, I think he's dead, man."

Alex heaves a long-suffering sigh and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "I should be so lucky" before smiling apologetically at Castiel. "Sorry, but I have to go take care of this. Have fun with Sara!"

Dean watches as Alex ambles after the pudgy kid. As they disappear around the corner Dean turns to Castiel. He's got his game face on.

"You wanna do the honors?"

Castiel blinks. "The honors…?"

"Never mind. I keep forgetting you're a robot." Dean raps his knuckles against the door a couple of times, loud bangs that will be heard no matter where Sara is in the dorm. Satisfied, he takes a step back and waits.

From beyond the door, someone shouts, "Mora's back!" It's followed by loud cheering and the thump of footsteps, growing louder and louder until the door handle bends down. The door swings open and a girl with one of those short, indie haircuts pokes her head out, the light from the hallway catching the vinyl red of her headband. She's a thin, reedy thing. Fuck, she's probably a vegan. All college kids are fucking vegans. Bunch of faerie-loving hippies.

She steps onto the threshold with bare feet, toes painted bright ugly yellow, and huffs. "You're not here to ask me to join the Mormon Tabernacle Choir NYU Chapter again, right? It's nothing personal, but it's just that the only thing I hate more than Mormons is singing."

Her shirt says "Bug". It's probably supposed to be ironic.

This better not be Sariel.

"Hello, Sariel."

Fuck.

A look of indignant fear crosses her face, a quick flash that's there and gone, and Dean knows that they're not supposed to be here and using that name. She slips into the hall and slams the door behind her, back and palms pressed against it, barring them from entering and messing up whatever life she's made for herself.

"You can't be here," Sara hisses, her 'must run in the family' eyes burning with rage. She fixes Castiel with a glare that could flay a man alive. "And you can't call me that. That's not my name anymore."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Man, if I had a nickel for every time I heard someone say that this week."

"It will always be your name," Castiel interrupts stonily, the words absolute, burning themselves into the walls around them as fact, immortal. "I would not presume, Sariel --"

"No, seriously. You need to go, or I'm going to call campus security and make a huge scene."

"Do it. You won't."

"Buddy, do you even know who you're talking to? I'm an angel --"

"I thought you don't go by that name anymore. Either you do or you don't."

"Watch your mouth before I punch it through the back of your head."

"You don't scare me."

"I'm sure we could fix that really quick."

"Jesus Christ is dead."

The words hit like a bomb. The blood drains from Sara's face, her pale skin becoming practically see-through, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. She looks less like a pretentious college student and more… normal. Well, the only kind of normal that Dean can recognize: devastated and on the edge of a knife.

Dean smirks. "Ready to listen now, Sariel? Or, should we still go fuck ourselves?"

Her gaze drops to the floor, then lifts, and she opens her mouth to say something but the door swings open before the first syllable even gets out.

"We're starving! You'd better not be out here eating all the -- Oh. Oh."

The tableau they make must be something spectacular: a skinny chick with Jaime Lee Curtis hair, an android in a trench coat, and a devilishly handsome guy wearing ripped jeans and a Led Zeppelin shirt. Standing in the doorway are two girls, both in pajamas, one with her hair wrapped up into a towel-mountain on the top of her head. They blink owlishly at Dean, and he's starting to regret his ability to pickup and charm the pants off of girls any shape, size, and age.

"Sara," the girl with the towel-mountain says slowly, eying both Dean and Castiel like they're the last two chocolate bars on the planet. "Who're your friends?"

Head lowered, Sara closes her eyes, breathes deeply through her nose, and visibly steels herself. If he squinted, he could probably see the metal plates shifting over each other, forging impenetrable armor. Her head snaps up and she beams at both Dean and Castiel, and that is not a happy smile. That's a smile that Alistair would be jealous of.

"Becks? Rose? This is --" She glances at Castiel, squinting for a second. " -- Cas, my brother. And this is --"

Dean frowns at the look she gives him, as if she's trying to place just what he is. It's not like she could introduce him as 'Dean Winchester, former Righteous Man and half-responsible for releasing the Devil.' There really isn't anything she could say about him that he wouldn't agree with.

"And this is Dean, his life-partner."

Except that.


They live in a suite, which is nicer than pretty much all of the places Dean's ever stayed in his life. Three bedrooms with all the furnishings, a full bathroom, a full kitchen, and a living room. Everything's state of the art, all shiny black and silver appliances that probably do your algebra homework as well as they make perfect meals. The living room area is his favorite, with its soft-looking carpet and its newish couch, the lined art in a frame on the wall, the flat-screen television paused on some movie with a picture so clear that it might as well be happening in real time. He totally should have gone to college, and he really can't blame Sam for doing it.

Dean whistles low. "Nice place."

"We really lucked out on the lottery draw," Rose says brightly, holding out a hand. "Can I take your jacket, Dean?"

Creepy. "Uh, yeah, thanks."

He relinquishes his jacket to her, hoping that he doesn't look as creeped out as he feels when she giggles into the leather and disappears somewhere with it. If it comes back stained, he's shooting her.

Becks, with the towel-mountain, just stares unabashedly. He shifts awkwardly and looks to Castiel for help, but he's too busy trying to figure out the exact color of white the living room walls are painted to actually give Dean a hand. Worst fake life-partner ever.

"Becks," Sara barks, bumping Becks with her shoulder. "You look like you're gonna have him put the lotion in the basket."

Yeah, no shit.

"Sorry," Becks simpers, smiling so widely that her face might rip right in half any second. "It's just that -- Okay, have you ever heard of this book series, Supernatural?"

This is not his life. This can't be his life.

"Because you look just like how I always pictured one of the main characters," she goes on. "His name is Dean, too! And, god, you're just how I pictured him. He and his brother fight all sorts of monsters and stuff."

No. His brother fights monsters; Dean babysits demon spawn and visits college dorms.

He's obviously back in Hell. They must have done some revamping, because there are a lot more annoying teenage girls than he remembers being there.

"Sorry," he says awkwardly. "Never heard of those books. Not my kind of thing."

Sara pads lightly to the fridge and opens it, knocking the door into Dean's hip, because she's a bitch. He would be too if he had that hair.

She glares over the top of the door at him, like she can hear everything he's thinking. Well, angel, so she probably can. Good. "Can I get you anything to drink? Cas is always telling me how weak you get when you're dehydrated."

Bitch. "Got any beer? Oh, wait, forgot. You can't have any, because you're not of age yet. Sorry. I'll take some water."

Rose returns from wherever she stashed his coat, her face flushed. He so doesn't want to know. If she looked like Heidi Klum, then he'd want to know all about it, but until she shoots up another foot and grows a different head… no.

"Sorry, got tied up!" Gross. "Sara, I can't believe you didn't tell us about your brother!"

Sara shuts the refrigerator door with enough force to rattle the dishes in the strainer next to the sink. She cracks open a bottle of water and shrugs. "I have a big family. It's almost like I've never met him."

Castiel stands in front of the painting in the living room, studying the shit out of it. He doesn't even glance their way when she says that, which means he's definitely not paying attention. Or he doesn't care, still in that 'follow, fight and fall' mentality.

Becks gasps. "Sara, you're the worst sister on Earth."

"Not just on Earth," Dean mutters.

"You know," Sara says sweetly, like serial killers are sweet, "ecstatic as I am you decided to pay me a surprise visit, we were getting ready to have a movie night. Just us girls."

Rose smacks Sara on the arm, affronted. "Sara! Your brother and his life-partner came all the way here to see you and you're making them leave? They can stay! They can take Michelle's room."

Becks snorts. "And maybe have sex in her bed, if we're lucky." She leans toward Dean and whispers conspiratorially, "Michelle's über religious and is totally against gay marriage. Two guys having sex in her bed is, like, poetic justice at its best."

"That would almost be worth it," Sara agrees musingly, sipping at her water. She glances to where Castiel has abandoned the painting and is now standing on the invisible line that divides the kitchen and the living room. She sighs. "You can stay if you absolutely have to. But Mora's coming back with pizza and we're watching rom-coms until we either fall asleep or kill ourselves, so…"

This might be the most surreal conversation that Dean's ever had, and that's including the one he had with Sam after the thing with the succubus mayor and the Slim Jims. Somehow, stuck in all the college minutiae, the impending war between Heaven and Hell, and the possibility of Heaven being totally corrupt, doesn't seem so immediate. They're far away, unable to penetrate the walls of Palladium Hall, stuck in the outside world to wait until Dean and Castiel are done here and venture back into reality.

A few hours watching shitty chick flicks won't kill him.

He catches Castiel's stare and smiles, jerking his head toward the girls. "Yeah, we can stick around."

"Great," Sara grumbles, pushing away from the fridge and heading into the living room. "Well, go make yourselves comfortable. We were in the middle of While You Were Sleeping."

Castiel follows her. "I was hoping to speak with you about --"

"Later." She plops down onto the couch, reaching underneath herself for the remote. "Take a seat and learn just why Sandra Bullock is going to rule the world someday."

Becks scrambles to grab a seat on the floor at Sara's feet, and she flails an arm at Dean. "Dean! Come sit next to your partner and watch the movie! Oh, and can you bring me a bottle of water, too?"

Sighing, Dean grabs her a bottle out of the fridge and allows Rose to lead him to the couch and force him to squeeze in between the arm of the couch and Castiel, who shifts slightly to accommodate him but not by much. They're pressed together, Dean's arm almost forced down against Castiel's back, and Sara glares at them for all the movement they're producing. He's going to punch her by the end of the night, he just knows it.

"Cas, take off your coat and stay a while!" Rose trills, sitting against the couch and leaning against Dean's leg.

Castiel glances at Dean, then leans forward and shimmies out of the trench coat, leaving the fabric bunched behind him. Dean takes a moment to drink in the smooth shoulders beneath the dress shirt, the graceful neck bared to the world. God, this is getting ridiculous.

"Listen, Lucy, when I told my mother I was getting married to my wife, her intestines exploded. You tell them the truth now, you may as well shoot grandma," the guy on screen says, and Dean barely stops himself from saying that it needs to be a shot to the head, or else grandma will be up and walking again real soon.

"Have you seen this movie, Cas? It's one of my favorites," Becks says, craning her neck so she can look up.

Castiel watches the movie with extreme concentration. Dean's seen crazy people stare at walls with less focus. "No, I have not."

"Well, it's about this girl who's in love with this guy, but he doesn't know it. And one day, she saves him from being hit by a train, but he winds up in a coma, and everyone thinks she's his fiancée. But she ends up falling for his brother," Rose says, and Sara yawns, leaning until she can rest her chin in her hand.

Dean snorts. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. That's like bad daytime soap shit."

"Watch a lot of daytime soaps, Dean?" Sara inquires sweetly. Her eyes are fixed on the screen, but she's smirking.

"It does seem very convoluted," Castiel says to Rose, tearing his eyes away from the television and shifting so that he's leaning against Dean, forcing Dean's arm further down, caught between Castiel's back and the couch, until his fingers crest Castiel's hip. When Dean presses his fingers down and squeezes lightly, Castiel pauses and looks at him, eyes wide.

Dean can't help but grin, relaxed as hell on this couch, Rose warm against his leg and Becks yammering about why the movie works on a fundamental level and she knows these things, Cas, because she's a film studies major, you know. Sara pulls out her cell phone from god knows where, checking the time and muttering about Mora and their long-awaited pizza.

"Hey, relax for a while," he murmurs to Castiel, bringing his mouth close to his ear, tightening his hold on Castiel's side. "We've got time."

Castiel's head turns, their faces so close that if Dean breathed deeply they'd be kissing. He tries not to breathe very deeply. "I would like to talk to my sister."

"If you don't chill out, they're going to know something's up."

"Dean --"

He tilts his head just so, enough that it touches the side of Castiel's. When they stop the war from happening, the rewards will probably be mind-blowing. Fuck them. He'd take an hour or two of this. "We have a little over three days. Just… relax for a little bit. We'll talk to her."

A soft gasp reminds him that they have an audience and he looks down to where Becks and Rose are watching them, their eyes wide and glassy, almost dewey. Becks has her hands clasped over her heart, and she sighs.

"God, you two are just adorable," she simpers.

"I wish I had someone like that," Rose adds, fanning her flushed cheeks. Maybe Castiel has the right idea in getting what they need to know and getting out as soon as they can, because this is just ridiculous.

"How did you meet?" Becks asks. Sara tilts her head enough that she can still watch the movie and watch them.

Castiel doesn't take the hint when Dean squeezes him in warning. "I gripped him tight and --"

" -- saved me from oncoming traffic," Dean slips in smoothly, nodding at Castiel. "Yanked me right out. Would've been absolute hell if he hadn't."

Sara turns completely to look at him, her expression unreadable, but from where he's sitting it doesn't look good. He meets her gaze head-on. If this is the only way he's going to get some fucking answers about this, then he's doing it.

Her mouth opens, probably to say something either bitchy or revealing, but the door opens.

"I come bearing pizza!" A dark-skinned girl is keeping the door open with her foot, balancing two boxes of pizza against her shoulder. Her smile freezes when she catches sight of Dean and Castiel on the couch, and for a second it looks like her eyes -- Her eyes definitely flash black. Black. Demon black.

Dean looks at Sara, but she's wearing a face that says she will kill him if he even says one word. Still glaring at him, she rises and moves to help the girl with the boxes.

Becks smacks Dean's knee as she stands. "That's Mora. You're gonna love her."

He somehow doubts it.

As Becks and Rose go to help Mora unload, Dean turns to Castiel and hisses, "She's a demon!"

"I can't say anything about it, Dean, but I trust Sariel to have good judgment when it comes to the company she keeps," Castiel murmurs, his eyes watching Sara as she begins dishing out pizza.

Of course Castiel would trust her; they're kin, after all. But being family doesn't automatically equal trust; he knows first-hand. Castiel had been the one to say that it wasn't a big, happy family in Heaven, but a class system. And for him to bow down to her, to put his trust into her, she must be higher on the totem pole. But while Sara the college student can be excused, Sariel the angel had no idea of Castiel's existence or Jesus's murder until they knocked on her door. She may rank higher, but Castiel's earned his right to speak, to judge, to act.

And Castiel will speak. He'll make sure of it.

"So." Mora, balancing three plates of pizza, takes the seat that Sara had vacated and hands them both a plate. It's plain cheese, which means Sara's not vegan. It also means that she's too much of a pussy to go all the way. "You're Sara's brother."

Castiel picks at the cheese, fascinated as it slowly drips back onto the plate, fingers covered in grease. "I am, yes. And you are her roommate."

Mora bites into her pizza and chews thoughtfully around the wad of melted mozzarella in her mouth. "It's funny, but I've been with Sara for a long time and none of her family has ever come for a visit. What's the occasion?"

Dean decides to answer this one. "Death in the family." No need to alert the other two about it.

"I'm sorry to hear that." She swallows. "Can I ask who it was?"

Rose sits on the arm of the couch next to Mora, smiling around her mouthful of pizza, and Dean glances at Castiel, who opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. "The… favored Son."

"Oh." Mora makes a sympathetic face. "Oh, shit. I'm really sorry to hear that. My condolences." At least she sounds sincere.

"Hey!" Becks comes over with her own plate. "Pepsi's on the table if anyone wants some. Let's finish this so we can get to Titanic!"

Sara sits at Mora's feet, plate balanced precariously on her knees, and leans back against Mora's legs. "We should save that for the very end. Best for last."

"Agreed." Mora reaches down, Sara reaches up, and they bump fists. Dean recognizes their relationship as something kind of like what he and Sam have, that easy camaraderie, the kind Castiel wished he had with his brothers and sisters. It's a relationship forged through hardship, through late nights spent wondering whether or not they'll live to see daylight, through change and pain and bullshit and laughter and horror.

Dean settles back into the couch, arm secure around Castiel, and takes a bite of his pizza. It isn't bad.


By the time Rose pries Jack's cold, dead fingers from her own and sentences his popsicle ass to a lifetime at the bottom of the Atlantic, the Rose that had plied Castiel with about eighteen cups of Pepsi has long since gone to bed, Becks not too far behind her.

Castiel has nodded off twice already, forcing Dean to shake him awake until the shaking just serves to make Castiel swat at him, irritated.

Mora exchanges a look that Dean can't read with Sara, then stands and stretches, her shirt riding up and baring a flat stomach. "Well, I'm gonna sack out. Want me to drop him in Michelle's room?"

"You're gonna carry him." She's 5'1, 100lbs when wet.

Taking more care with him than she probably needs to, Mora lifts Castiel easily and tosses him over her shoulder in a fireman's hold, grinning at Dean. "I'm sure you and Sara can find something to keep yourselves busy."

Sara, illuminated by the television screen, looks up at Mora and smiles. "If I need you, I'll wake you."

"Please, don't. Finals are next week and you need to let me get some fucking sleep." With that, Mora walks away, Castiel still asleep over her shoulder, and disappears around the bend. Sara watches them go.

Dean tries to concentrate on the end of the movie, but he really can't. The old woman's standing on the railing of the ship and tosses the diamond into the sea, like a fucking idiot. The thing was worth more money than he can actually imagine, and she chucks it into the ocean? That's just shitty writing.

Sara takes the DVD player remote and stops the movie. "Yeah, I always thought it was a stupid ending, too."

They sit in silence, and Dean watches the DVD maker's logo bounce around on the generic screen saver, before he turns to her. "Why does he need sleep if you don't?"

"I do need sleep," she says, like it should be obvious. "We both do, but I'm used to it. Got past the narcolepsy thing a long time ago."

He frowns. "He never needed to sleep before."

Sara moves around until her back is resting against the arm of the couch, knees drawn up to her chest. She looks comfortable, used to it. "Probably because his vessel's soul was still in there with him."

"What does that have to do with it?" Castiel had been really bummed over losing Jimmy, but Dean had thought it was because his promises to the guy were never fulfilled.

"When we inhabit a vessel with its soul still inside, we don't have to do a lot of things, like sleep, because the vessel's soul does that for us. A human body needs sleep to heal, to function, so while we're doing all the physical stuff the soul is sleeping 24/7 so we don't have to. Our grace keeps us from needing to eat and drink, but the vessel's soul allows us to refrain from sleep. Without that soul, we need to sleep or else we'll burn the body out." Sara shrugs. "I've been in this body for so long that I sleep like a normal human being."

Huh. "But you eat."

Sara grins, and there's a piece of pizza crust stuck between two of her bottom teeth. "I like food. I like tasting things. Do I need it? No. But I love it."

She sounds a lot like Gabriel, not needing to eat but bringing them a fucking smorgasbord from China so they can chow down. The human ability to experience senses must be a real sore spot for some of the angels, which would probably make it even worse since they'd be envying a bunch of mud-monkeys.

Her Castiel-blue eyes lose whatever human warmth had been in them all night, and she shrugs off Sara Campbell like a coat. He's looking at Sariel now.

"I have a question for you." Her voice is soft, but gravelly, like how Jimmy Novak's voice was higher and lighter than Castiel's. Trying to narrow an angel's true voice through human vocal cords must be a real bitch and a half. Probably murder on the throat. "When you told Becks how you and Castiel had met, you were lying."

Oh, thank fuck she brought it up. Maybe now he'll finally get some answers. "Yeah."

"How did you meet?" It's not a question, but a demand.

"He pulled me out of Hell." Saying it always trips some kind of switch inside him, an awe button that gets pushed at the reminder that a fucking angel of God yanked his ass out of the Pit when there was no hope otherwise. Pulled him out, remade him, and then gave up everything for him. It's a debt he can never repay; even if he could, he doesn't think Castiel would accept it.

Sariel's eyes narrow and go flinty, and she bares her teeth at him, cheeks flushed in the dim light from the television. "Now that's a lie."

"Fuck you," he spits. "I made a deal with a crossroads demon to save my brother, and I got sent to Hell. Forty years there before Cas came and pulled me out. On orders."

She says nothing.

"So now you can tell me just why that's such a big fucking deal."

Pursing her lips, Sariel tilts her head back and stares at the ceiling, presenting him with her thin neck. "Do you know what Hell is?"

He snorts. "Considering I've been there, yes, I know what it is."

"I meant fundamentally. Do you know what it is on a fundamental level? It's absence. It's the severance of the connection to Heaven. When an angel ventures into Hell, they're completely cut off from everything that makes them what they are. They are, effectively, alone. So, needless to say, angels don't go to Hell too often." She pauses and licks her lips, eyes on her knees. "The only time an angel ever pays a visit to Hell is when they're ordered, and those orders are very special, and very rare."

His chest thrums with a sick thrill, a need to know, and it feels like the one time he ever rode in an airplane, like he was in constant free-fall without any hope of ever hitting the ground. His heart's pounding, and for a second all he can hear is the roar of blood in his ears.

"What kind of orders?"

She lifts her gaze to him, her blue eyes glacial and without the smallest measurement of mercy. "Name three people you wouldn't want walking the earth again. First people that come to mind."

What? He has a hard enough time dealing with evil creatures walking the earth, never mind people of his own race. "Uh… Hitler? Stalin? I don't know… Uh… That Chinese guy? The Potts guy?"

"Pol Pot. He was Cambodian."

Whatever.

"Obviously, all of them, and many others like them, went to Hell when they died. And you never heard about them wreaking havoc again, right?"

Dean makes a face. Of course he hasn't. They died and went to Hell. "No shit they didn't come back."

Sariel's eyebrows lift. "Why is that so hard to believe? You did."

True.

"The reason they didn't come back is because their souls were destroyed." At what must be a look of total and complete confusion on his face, she continues, "Look, a body can be brought back easily, or another can be remade, or someone else's body can be used. Hell, provided it happened recently enough, their buried body could be used again. A soul, however, is what really matters. A soul still has a chance of living and getting out."

He really doesn't like where this is going. There's a point to this whole spiel, and he knows it's going to be a doozy once she gets to it.

"Think of it as another layer to life. When you're alive-alive, you have a body that can die, but your soul lives on, kind of like a second life. It's a second chance, almost. But once your soul is destroyed, there's no coming back from it. No more chances. That's why you don't see Hitler or Stalin walking around, because they've been completely destroyed. Gone. It's death for the dead." She shifts on the couch again, stretching her legs out so the flats of her feet rest against his thigh. "The only ones with the power to destroy souls are angels. And the only reason an angel would ever go to Hell is to do that."

Wait. But that means --

"Are you getting it now? Castiel had orders, Dean, and they weren't to pull you out. They were to make sure you never left."

Oh.

God.

He's going to throw up. He's going to throw up all over the place, and he's going to cry, and he's going to scream and rage against a Heaven that can dispatch orders like that. He wasn't fucking Hitler. He hadn't killed millions of innocent people. He'd made a deal with a demon in exchange for Sam's life, and somehow that translated to --

There's no way he can wrap his mind around it. He's going to suffocate. He can't breathe.

God, Cas --

"Then why?" It doesn't even sound like him, just this wheezy breath of a voice, wrecked with tears and shock, floored at the prospect of --

He can't. He can't deal with it.

"Why?" Sariel echoes, watching him with hooded eyes, face obscure in the darkness, the television screen black as the DVD player goes into standby mode. "That's why it's such a big deal. Because pulling a soul out of Hell -- whether or not it's marked for destruction -- is just not done. It has to be why Castiel's still alive. There's no punishment for something that has no precedent."

"No," he snarls, choking on nothing, on everything. "Why? Why would he even -- He didn't disobey until I practically begged him to! But -- He didn't know me then! Why would he --"

A thin hand attached to a thin wrist attached to a thin arm reaches out and folds over his shoulder, solid and warm, keeping him from flying completely apart. He looks up, vision blurred, into Sariel's almost-sympathetic eyes.

"He must have seen something in you, Dean, that was worth it."

Dragging in a breath that feels like fucking glass in his chest, he rubs his hand over his mouth and sits back, pressing the back of his head into the couch, grounding himself. He closes his eyes and breathes into the silence, the new reality building around him.

He exhales. Okay. "Heaven declared war on Hell, blaming Lucifer for Jesus."

"Jesus's soul would have had to have been destroyed in order for that to happen."

"And you said only an angel could do that." He opens his eyes and sees her nod. "Lucifer was an angel."

She gives him a small smirk, the fight sparking in her eyes. They're on the same page. "But you don't think it was Lucifer."

He shakes his head and rubs a hand over his face. Fuck, but he needs to sleep for eternity. "Too many inconsistencies, too many vague reports from Heaven, not one news report on TV. Can't be him. Do you honestly think he could slip through the Gates of Heaven without being noticed?"

"Yes," she says, then shrugs. "But do I think that's what happened? No."

A yawn punctuates her statement, and she stretches, her back arching over the arm of the couch. Dean watches her wearily.

"We'll finish this in the morning when everyone's awake." In a graceful movement, she swings her legs over and stands, hidden in shadow, the white lettering of 'Bug' the only thing truly visible. It's not the first time he's been on his ass and at the mercy of an angel, and it won't be the last. He catches a whiff of mountain air and closes his eyes against the Pavlovian shudder that slithers up his spine. "Dean."

He inhales. "Yeah."

"Look, you seem like a real 'oh, my manpain, I'm Batman' kind of guy, and you'll probably blame yourself anyway, but he chose to do it. He chose, Dean, which for an angel still under Heaven's control is a fucking miracle."

Opening his eyes, he looks up and sees Sara's silhouette as she leaves the room. "I'm not worth that."

"He thinks you are," she calls from wherever she is. "Night, Dean."


The giant-ass crucifix on the wall is the first thing he sees when he drags himself to Michelle's room. There's an equally enormous Jesus nailed to it, his head hanging in resignation, abandoned by his Father and left to the mercy of some bloodthirsty assholes. Weird to think that he and Jesus have something in common.

He glances around. There's one window, and it's the kind that opens with a rolling handle. It's a single room, comprised of a shitty stock dresser, a shitty stock desk and chair, and a shitty stock bed. The only saving grace is that Castiel's asleep in that shitty stock bed, on his back, head turned to the side, chest not-quite-rising with each not-breath he takes, sheets kicked off completely. He's wearing boxer briefs.

Dean exhales, a whoosh of air going out of him, and sags like someone cut his strings. Stripping off his shirt and jeans, he throws them somewhere behind him. He hopes they land right on Jesus’s head.

Castiel stirs as Dean slides in from the foot of the bed, opens his eyes when Dean crawls over his outstretched legs. Knees on either side, Dean lowers himself down to rest on his elbows, breathing in the mountain air that clings to Castiel's neck.

"Dean --"

He noses his way to Castiel's jaw, heart pounding. "Shut up, okay? Just -- don't talk. I’m sorry I woke you up, but I need you awake for a second. Once I'm done, you can go back to sleep. But right now…” Dean pauses, swallows. “I need to kiss you, and you need to tell me that's okay."

This will decide everything. He's explicitly asking for this, and he's never been more present in a single moment in his life.

Castiel stares up at him with wide eyes, translucent in the dim light from the city that shines through the window; he's never looked so otherworldly or more human. Castiel's lips part, tongue darting out to wet them, and Dean’s distracted by the shine of spit left behind. He sways forward, down, unable to stop himself, rubs his top lip in it, wet and hot and going straight to his head.

A strong hand slips over his chest, sliding up, over his nipple, his collarbone, to cup his neck, Castiel's palm cool against his heated skin. Dean closes his eyes, and they shift together, thighs brushing.

Sweat beads on Dean’s skin, clinging to his back, trying to help against the heat. It’s just one more thing prickling at him, one more thing driving him crazy until the fingers of Castiel’s other hand drag through it as they clutch at him and, god, yes.

Lowering his head, Dean inhales deeply, presses his lips against the soft skin at Castiel’s throat, right where shoulder and neck meet. Castiel makes a noise, a moan, a whisper, and tilts his head back, baring more skin -- uncharted territory that Dean claims as his own, mouth moving up, a slow crawl of lips and teeth and tongue. His heart threatens to burst out of his chest, blood pounding in his ears as thin hips drag over his own in a slow roll. Castiel lets out a ragged gasp, fingers tightening over the bare skin at his shoulder, digging in until it's painful, perfect.

Their noses brush as Castiel brings his mouth up to Dean's jaw, fingers sliding into Dean’s hair as his teeth scraping against stubble and skin, tongue licking up the sweat there, tasting and testing and yeah, that's real good. Dean's fingers drift down to Castiel's stomach, over the sharp cut of his hips, to cup Castiel's cock through the cotton. He drags his thumb across the head and rubs until the cotton is wet, dragging a low sound out of Castiel's throat.

You don't get any of my movie references., he thinks, scattering slow, open-mouthed kisses across Castiel's shoulders, moving his lips down to where Jimmy Novak relinquished his heart to the angel inside of him and pressing his mouth against the erratic pounding there. His fingers dip into the waistband of Castiel's underwear and pull, baring Castiel's cock to the air, immediately curling around it. It's hot against his palm, like holding burning coal in his hands, and he moans at the feel of it, thumbing the head again and relishing the way Castiel's hips buck into his touch.

You're fucking creepy when you stare. Dean catches Castiel's nipple between his lips and relishes the way it hardens under his tongue. You're going to get us arrested in Hawaii over hermit crabs.

Castiel's hand slides up to grasp the back of Dean's neck, forcing him to abandon Castiel's chest and look at him. They're breathless, flushed, hard. Dean can’t remember ever being this hard for someone. He hasn’t been. Not like this.

He wants to take Castiel into his mouth, feel the weight and the salt of him on his tongue, let him all the way inside.

You saw something worth saving.

"You woke me," Castiel gasps, rolling his hips, thrusting into Dean's grip. "You had purpose. Now do it."

You gripped me tight.

I love you.

He surges down, fingers roughly angling Castiel’s jaw up. Their mouths slide wetly together, open and hungry, Dean swallowing every noise, every gasp that Castiel has on offer until he breaks away. It’s just for a second, but it’s enough time to see the wild look in Castiel’s eyes before Dean captures Castiel’s bottom lip between his teeth, sliding up until he can shove his tongue inside, and claim, and claim, and claim. This is his. This is only his, because there's never going to be anyone else. They have three days, and he's going to stretch it out until there's not one second left to spare.

Castiel’s tongue slides into his mouth like fucking velvet, staking his own claim; it’s the best kind of possession. He angles Castiel's jaw and uses the easier access to plunder his mouth, slowing it down until it's a steady flow of tongue and breath, the world narrowing to small points of connection. Their mouths. Castiel's hands on his skin. Castiel's hips rolling in a simmer, dick hot and heavy in Dean's hand, building up to something that has been there for a long time.

Hands slide down Dean’s sides and reconvene at his underwear, fingers dipping inside and mapping out the terrain, wrapping around his cock and cupping his balls, moving even further until --

Dean drags his mouth away, dizzy, gasping and pressing the bridge of his nose to Castiel’s jaw as pleasure spikes through him sharply, like the sudden crack of a gunshot. Fuck, it’s good, it’s so good, Castiel’s hand on him, around him. Dean shudders, tongues a spot on Castiel’s neck that leaves him trembling under Dean’s hands as they writhe together, Castiel squeezing his cock. Stars explode in front of Dean’s eyes and his mouth drops open in a low moan.

God, they're like teenagers, giving handjobs in the dark, in the bed of some religious chick they’ve never met. Becks and Rose are probably recording everything from outside the door, and it's still the best he's ever had. Thighs trembling and aching with the strain, lips bruised and too wet, too sensitive, too hot. He's going to burn away to nothing.

Castiel’s right there with him. Under his fingers, Castiel begins to go stiff at Dean’s relentless rubbing to the leaking slit of his cock, close, so close. Dean’s half a step behind him, Castiel’s fingers mimicking Dean’s own movements against his dick.

"Fuck -- Cas --" His voice is fucking shot, wrecked as Castiel's mouth drops open on a soundless scream, his back arching. Dean jacks him through it, slick and sticky and perfect, until he's slamming right over the edge with him.

It's like being punched right in the gut, or having a bomb dropped directly on him. Michelle's room fades out, the high pitched sound of radio noise all that he knows. He's flying.

He's gone.

Okay, Cas.

Now you can go back to sleep.


There is a carnival. A ferris wheel. Popcorn on the ground. Laughter and the bells of music.

Amid the rides and the ice cream kiosks is a booth.

Step right up! Don't be shy! Pick a name, any name!

It is a naming booth, lit up with fat bulbs that blink in and out wildly. Beyond the booth is a wheel, like in Wheel of Fortune, with all sorts of titles in each colored section.

How about you, son? It is the man from the concession stand, from the roller coaster. He is wearing a hat and speaking in a language that has long since left the world. Would you like to take a spin? First one's on the house; after that, you need to pay a token.

Do you run the whole place?

I go wherever you do.

He spins. Years drip by as he waits for it to stop. Finally, the needle lands on a white space, between president and Jeremy.

There is no name there.

What does that mean, he asks.

It's not official, the man says. He made sure you wouldn't have the chance, but he forgot one important thing. You can still be Named.

Who are you?

I am the wind that screamed atop the mountain when he spoke to us. The sound of the telephone ringing in your house when you are not there to hear it. The death of every petal of every flower of every field, and the rebirth. I am the Lumen, the Luminary.

The man smiles and points to the Ferris wheel.

It flew up there.

He turns back, but the naming booth is empty of all names now.

I will turn up eventually.

Next

Comments

[sycophantastic.livejournal.com]

The roomates are fantastic, & Sara's WITH Mora, right? Not in a Sam 'n' Dean "we're brothers & pals" kind of way, but in a Dean/Cas "oh god you're hot, I need you to get naked" kind of way, right? That's the vibe I got.

And speaking of Dean/Cas, I honestly got all choked up when Dean was kissing Cas and thinking all those I LOVE YOU thoughts, then suddenly I was fanning myself because DAMN.

Another great chapter, will have to finish the tomorrow... apparently this is so epic that I can't finish it within 2 days like I'd planned!

[laura-trekkie.livejournal.com]

Wow, this chapter went on the emotional roller coaster, didn't it? Not that I'm complaining ;).

I loved Sara and her roommates, Sara's cattiness and making them sit through all those rom-coms before she'd talk to them. Those scenes made me smile and Mora carting Cas off made me grin :D.

But then we went plummeting down with poor Dean at the bombshell Sariel dropped about hell. What could Dean have done to deserve that? Was it meant to happen before he broke the first seal to stop the apocalypse, or was it meant to happen after so that there would be no vessel for Michael to stop Lucifer? No option is good here :(.

Dean and Cas finally taking things further cheered me right up, though! That was sweet and hot. I loved Dean's thoughts, especailly his 'I love you'. Did Cas pick up on them, or is Dean going to have to say it out loud at some point? *g*

Then there's Dean's new dream. Why is he having them? Is the Luminary the next clue? It's all terribly intriguing and I can't wait to see how all the threads tie together. But now it's off to work, again- not late this time, so your evil plan has been thwarted! ;)

Laura.

[cotymundi.livejournal.com]

This is really powerful stuff. I just stopped for five minutes and stared into space when I read the bit about Castiel disobeying the order. This changes everything, it's a bombshell. The dream is amazing; as the title of this piece is "Named", I gather this is really significant, but even with my planet-sized brain (yeah, modest, I know), I'm a bit confused; I'll have to re-read that bit when I get back later. You way you are writing this, I have to say, it goes deeper than the official version and it is affecting me in a different way, like Mr Kripke has just been glossing over the surface, almost lazy, compared to this. This feels more real; I feel you have invaded his universe and won.

[inlightofvisa.livejournal.com]

YOU HAVE ME CRYING. THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL.

[quenderra.livejournal.com]

Sara and company are great! ^^ Loved their intro; like Sariel. This whole chapter was brilliant. I think I may be repeating myself on that front, even, but what can I say? Brilliance is brilliance. And the way you write Dean/Cas is HOT - and I'm not even a Dastiel shipper. o.O

[aceofannwn.livejournal.com]

Luminary? What, like Lucifer?

Man, this fic is so awesome.

[gabs186.livejournal.com]

I was gonna wait until the end but I just had to say - this chapter left me a hot mess ;) I'm a total and complete wreck. My goodness, the HEAT and the feelings and the way he woke him just to kiss him and Ijustdiedandwenttoheavenbecauseyouareawesome.

Also, I love everything about this story. Every single voice, the tension between the 2 leads, the fantastic way you write the close but hilarious relationship between the brothers. Your Dean voice is probably the greatest thing since Bobby's hidden sliced bread ;)

Off to read the next chapter!

[destielfan06.livejournal.com]

Sariel Is My favorite OC From Any Fic that i have read period.
Her and Dean's Conversation rocked my very core.
Dean and cass's scene was Sweet and Sensual.
Dean's dreams keep getting more and More Deeper and Powerful i'm loving it so much.
This Being my 2nd time reading this. The Build up to what i already know Is Just Extraordinary .

[kellyanne77.livejournal.com]

Ok, I've just had to quickly scroll down to leave this comment before I carry on reading:

"his life partner" I am lolling all over the place. xD

[kellyanne77.livejournal.com]

This whole chapter was made of win!

It just kep't getting better and better with the roommates, Cas being useless at pretending to be a life partner and the Supernatural books ref, and then and then... Mora's a demon??? And from the sounds of it totally with Sariel, either as lovers or at the very least BFF's!!!

And we finally find out why Cas is sleeping and then she agrees with the whole 'it's not Lucifer' and to top it all off we find out the order that Cas disobeyed and it was to destroy Dean's soul!

I am blown away.

That has to be the best twist I have ever ever ever ever read.

That is just so epically fucking brilliant that I don't have any further words on the matter.

Apart from words re. what it leads to of course. Just absolute perfection.

[(Anonymous)]

Ok, just had to stop and leave a comment here because I didn't see anyone else say anything. About it (plus I have to go to bed and can't read more right now) but I wanna know more about this naming thing... I mean first Gabriel says something about Dean 'naming' Castiel 'Cas'. And then Sariel just somehow figures out their names by looking at them, but she comes up with just 'Cas' hmmmm. Anyways, love the story so far, it's really well written!

[mclachland.livejournal.com]

Hah! You're the only one to bring up that little easter egg.

Sariel using "Cas" ties in with the theme of personal belief. Remember in 4.01 when Castiel looks at Dean and says, "You don't think you deserve to be saved." That's Dean's personal belief, a core conviction that Castiel was able to suss out just by looking inside Dean. The same thing happens with Sariel -- she looks inside him and sees that he believes he is no longer Castiel, but Cas, and so refers to him as such.

Also, like she shortened her own name to Sara to ward off any comments about how unusual it is, referring to him as "Cas" just makes things easier and a bit more normal for her roommates.

Anyway, so glad you're enjoying it so far!

[mimi-sardinia.livejournal.com]

For some reason I can't help wonder if Sariel's room-mate Becks has the surname "Rosen".

[rubyrose804.livejournal.com]

Fuck, she's probably a vegan. All college kids are fucking vegans. Bunch of faerie-loving hippies.
^i burst out laughing at this, idk why.

SHE INTRODUCES DEAN AS CAS'S LIFE PARTNER
Dead.

LOL AT BECKY. You're perfect.

I love how you illustrate the pride Dean feels whenever he mentions Cas pulling him out of hell because it's so realistic.

Wow. Why did the angels want Dean's soul destroyed? That seems real dick-like of them. I am loving your plot. And I really like Sariel.

OH GOD. Cas and Dean. OH GOD. That was beautiful and perfect and OH GOD. Cas and Dean. OH GOD.

And I have to say again how much I love your dream sequences. They're mind-bogglingly beautiful.