A/N: This story is complete in five parts. I'll post a chapter a day. (HinekoAkahi? The shoes you ordered are here...)

And the Walls Come A-Tumblin' Down
By San Antonio Rose

THEN
The Golden Siren

December 2002
Palo Alto, California

Tyson Brady was incredibly stressed over finals. He was so stressed, in fact, that a guy colliding with him briefly on campus didn't register for more than the time it took for him to regain his balance; the guy's "Sorry, dude!" didn't register at all, and Brady never connected the incident with the mysterious small cut on his wrist that he noticed once and promptly forgot about. Socializing was right out, and the only thing he drank for days was coffee because he'd read that caffeine aids short-term memory.

"Dude, chill," Luis advised. "You know this stuff forward and backward. You've been studying all quarter. You're gonna give yourself ulcers if you keep this up."

"You don't understand," Brady groaned. "This is the weed-out quarter for pre-med. If I don't make As in all of these classes, I can kiss med school, my scholarship, and my future goodbye."

Sam Winchester huffed. "And if you have a heart attack from all the coffee you're drinking, you can kiss your future goodbye anyway."

"That's easy for you to say. You're pre-law. And your parents haven't been telling everyone what a great doctor you'll make since you were two."

Sam winced. "My dad had some pretty insane expectations himself. But he's also the reason I know what obsession looks like and what it can do to people. I'm giving it to you straight, man. You've got to relax sometime."

Brady shook his head. "After finals. We can go do something fun after finals."

"Not we, dude. Soon as I'm done on Wednesday, I'm meeting Gil and Agatha for lunch, and then we're flying Gil's new plane to Beetleburg. The Clays haven't met Zeetha yet, so we're all meeting up at their house for Christmas. Ardsley might be coming, too; I haven't heard."

Luis made some sort of disparaging remark about the British, to which Sam objected, but Brady tuned them both out to keep studying his Organic Chemistry notes.

In fact, the haze of sleep deprivation, information overload, and blind panic didn't lift until Wednesday afternoon, by which point Sam and the Wulfenbachs were already gone and Luis had plans to go clubbing with some friends of his from Latin American Studies. Brady nearly fell asleep in his lunch at the dining hall, but he decided to stop long enough to check his mail before going back to the dorm and sleeping as long as he possibly could.

There wasn't much in his mailbox, mostly junk mail. He nearly threw all of it away, but one glossy postcard flyer stuck to his fingers:

ONE NIGHT ONLY!

Direct from the Moulin Rouge
The European Enchantress – The Toast of Paris

LA SIRENE D'OREE

She sings – she dances – she does it all!

Don't miss this fabulous French sensation!

He flipped the card over to find that the venue was a "gentlemen's club" in Oakland and that the only shows were that very night at 8 and 11.

Brady was normally very straight-laced. He'd always been active in his parents' super-strict Reformed church; he was planning to become a medical missionary. Once in a great while he'd go with the guys for a few drinks, but he'd always left the room whenever someone suggested watching porn and never even considered going to a strip club. But the longer he stared at this flyer, the more intrigued by it he was. He had been under an awful lot of tension lately, and he was still smarting somewhat over his girlfriend having broken up with him two days after coming back from summer break. And though he tried to come up with reasons he shouldn't choose this particular mode of relaxation, every one of them sounded like the harsh voice of his parents' red-faced, pulpit-pounding, blood-and-thunder pastor, whose usual theme was that only those whose lives were perfect would enter the Kingdom of God.

But isn't God loving and forgiving? a little voice in the back of his mind asked. Surely he'll forgive you if you sin just a little, just this once. He knows you love him.

Brady frowned a little. He'd never thought of God that way before; all he'd ever heard were rules for staying away from sin and out of Hell. In fact... he wasn't so sure he did love God. If serving God meant working himself into an early grave, was it worth it? But on the other hand, if the little voice was right, would God really send him to Hell for one night of relaxation?

He bit his lip. His RUF leader was already gone for Christmas; so were most of the students from the other campus fellowship groups he attended. And the club was in Oakland. Maybe... maybe he could get away with it, just for one night. If he went to the late show, he could get over there without much risk of running into anyone from church outside or on the way. He could just watch, not have more than one or two drinks, try to keep clinical detachment—after all, if he went into surgery, wasn't he likely to see at least parts of women's bodies on the operating table? This might actually be good practice!

So decided, he stuffed his mail into his backpack, went back to the dorm, and set an alarm so his nap wouldn't keep him from making the 11:00 show.

His palms were sweating when he finally arrived at the club that night, despite the definite chill in the air that gave him an excuse for wearing a scarf pulled up over his nose. Somehow, though, the host at the door seemed to be expecting him. Not only was he ushered inside without having to show his ID or pay a cover charge—which made him realize belatedly that he should have tried to find fake ID to hide the fact that he wasn't yet 21—but his seat turned out to be the best in the house. The scantily-clad server who took his drink order didn't ask for his ID, either, and smiled at him so flirtatiously when she delivered the drink that he gulped it down immediately out of embarrassment, without even checking to see if she'd gotten the order right. The drink had a slightly strange aftertaste when the alcohol burn faded, so he decided not to order another. She winked at him and took his glass away, and he tried to settle into his seat and not attract any attention.

Within a matter of minutes, he was feeling much more relaxed and at ease. Within minutes more, he was actually feeling good. Really good.

Too good for just one drink. He started wondering whether there had been something other than just alcohol in his glass.

He didn't have long to think, however, because the floor show began and captured his full attention with its flashing lights, pounding music, and gyrating dancers. A small part of his mind did wonder whether the floating colors he was seeing were entirely deliberate lighting effects, but the rest of him didn't really care. The longer he watched, the better he felt, liberated from the cares of the quarter and of his parents' expectations. If God didn't like his being here... well, maybe Hell might be worth it. Maybe he'd actually have some fun for a change. Maybe he'd even have a cosmic epiphany sitting right here in this club—this seemed to be the night for it.

Then the lights went out and the MC announced La Sirène D'Orée. A sultry voice singing in what sounded like French to Brady's untrained ear poured in rainbow tones from the speakers... and Brady was transported to another dimension. Rapturous visions swam before his eyes, offering ease and delight, even before the lights came up again to reveal a golden-haired, pink-clad angel in the middle of the stage. He found himself wishing this sweet dream would never end.

And then she danced. He watched spellbound as she spun from pole to pole, shedding more and more of the clothing that served only to obscure the blazing light emanating from her skin. She was radiant—the queen of the dawn, almost—and he craved even a single glance from her sky-colored eyes.

Finally, about the time his head was spinning as fast as she was, she stopped... came down off the catwalk... walked straight up to him... slid onto his lap... and began to dance again.

He'd never felt such bliss in all his life. Here was his cosmic epiphany, burning golden bright in his very lap, pressing against places that shot rockets of pure pleasure through him, warmer and more real than anything he'd ever felt in his wildest dreams. He longed to hold her close and never let go, but he couldn't even move his arms. But then, as the song ended, she put a hand behind his head, tipped it forward, and kissed him like he'd never been kissed before.

"Oh, my golden goddess," he breathed when she ended the kiss, "I am yours forevermore."

She giggled and ran a finger around the edge of his ear. "Aren't you going to ask me when I get off?"

"When do you get off?"

"In five minutes. Go outside. Walk around the building to the back entrance. Wait for me there."

"Yes, Mistress."

She caressed his cheek and got up, trailing sunlight after her as she went backstage.

His head reeling, he fumbled in his wallet for what he thought he must owe for the drink and the performance and left his cash on the table. Then he stumbled outside as if he'd had way more than one drink. The whole world was flashing neon colors, and he wondered briefly whether he shouldn't just hail a cab and go home. But no—he couldn't let anyone on campus see him like this. Plus, he'd promised his goddess he'd wait for her, and her looks and her light had promised him bliss and fulfillment. He couldn't face the cold darkness of his empty dorm room alone with only the memory of her lips and her nearness to torment him.

So he staggered around the building to the alley and thence to the back entrance, where there wasn't even a bouncer on duty. A sudden gallant impulse prompted him to station himself there to protect his golden love, and he propped himself against the wall and watched the streetlights swirl and dance like Christmas tree lights.

Before La Sirène D'Orée came out, however, a transformer down the street exploded, and all the lights except the ones floating in front of Brady's eyes went out. Suddenly the darkness itself became palpable like a sulfurous fog, billowing out of the shadows toward him. He gasped. Maybe... there had been...

something

in

his

d

r

i

n

k

.

.

.