Dean was still on the floor when the door opened. He turned, and saw John blown back against the wall as another boy entered the room. He was taller than John, with brown hair and intense dark blue eyes. He was wearing a white shirt tucked into black trousers with a blue tie, carrying a long coat in his arms. His glare was smouldering.

He took three strides into the room, and then stopped sharply, looking around in what appeared to be annoyance. He ignored John, nodded at Sherlock and his eyes froze on Dean. He tilted his head slightly to the right, with something not unlike a half-smile appearing on his lips.

Dean scowled and the smile was gone- if it had even been there in the first place. The boy stood with a strict stance, and clenched jaw. His expression was zealous, but there was softness in his eyes.

"Castiel." Sherlock was the first to speak. He also tilted his head, mirroring the boy. "Is there a problem?"

Castiel? Thought Dean, this is that bitch Naomi's son.

Castiel moved with surprising speed and silence as he stood over Dean. "Who are you?" He asked, ignoring Sherlock's initial question.

Dean stared up at him uncomfortably, and clambered to his feet. There could be no mistake- the boy spoke with an American accent, and his voice was deeper than expected. This was definitely the kid whose name he had laughed at an hour ago. He wanted to laugh now, but he couldn't find the confidence to do so.

"I don't have to answer to you, Brando." Dean said flatly, and he turned to head back to the dormitory.

"Actually, you do."

Dean turned around to see the boy indulging in an open smirk. "Oh yeah?" Dean shot back. "And why's that?"

Castiel firstly turned to Sherlock, but he did not look up from tuning his violin, then turned to John instead. John was still standing back against the wall by the door, swallowing. He seemed uncomfortable.

"Castiel is Prefect." Said John, narrowing his eyes at the authoritative boy. He then lowered his voice and muttered, "Every damn year."

Dean shrugged. He didn't know much about the British school system, but he knew this kid wasn't going to be bossing him around for a moment longer. "Guess who gives a crap- not me."

Castiel smirked. "I think you'll find 'giving a crap' about my authority will prove itself useful."

"Kiss my ass." Dean then left the common room and slammed the dormitory door behind him.

Castiel smiled at the shut door. Nobody who knew Castiel for more than a day would dare to cross him- let alone defy him as publicly as this. The other American would receive a stroke for this, and three would lead to detention with Naomi. This was something Castiel knew would change the defiant boy's mindset, and bring him down a notch or two.

Preparing to enter the dormitory and gracefully hand out punishment, a voice stopped him.

"Oh leave it, Castiel. Haven't you got a mother to trail after?" It was Sherlock who spoke, with proud contempt.

Castiel could feel his face burn red and he clenched his fists. Any other student would have received a stroke for disrespecting his authority, but Sherlock Holmes was the only person exempt from this very strict rule. The first reason being they seemed to have no effect on him. Strokes, detentions, suspensions, he laughed in the face of jurisdiction. However the second reason, the more intimidating one, was the fact that the man who raised Sherlock has a higher authority that anyone else- Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's uncle.

Castiel narrowed his eyes and shot a glare at John. "Did you lock that door?"

John looked back blankly. "Er, no."

"I am the only person who has the authority to use that key."

"I know."

"Did you lock that door?"

"No."

"Did Sherlock lock that door?"

"No." John didn't hesitate to speak the lie. And he didn't shift his eyes even slightly from Castiel's.

"Tell the truth."

John clenched his jaw, and could feel Sherlock looking at him. He counted each second of the pause, willing himself to say something.

"Oh sod off, you idiot." Said Sherlock, standing up, and moving swiftly across the room in front of John. "I'm thinking and you're hurting my brain with your irritating personality."

Castiel swallowed, preparing to say something else, but Sherlock wasn't finished.

Sherlock leaned forward, and whispered into Castiel's ear something that John didn't hear. Castiel's face paled, and John noticed- just for a second, a change in the boy. The esteem he had mastered a few moments ago vanished briefly, and he seemed something much less that what he had always painted himself as. A skinny boy holding a smelly coat, completely out of his depth. Then it was gone, and Castiel moved silently from the room, and left for the dormitory, allowing the door shut behind him.

"Ain't got money

Ain't got no gas

But we'll get where

We're goin' if we

Swing real fast"

Dean sang the words under his breath, with his headphones plugged into his ears, relishing the awesome song by Warrant. He had his head resting on his pillow comfortably with his eyes shut. He hadn't bothered to close the partition, assuming the other guys had gotten the message.

Instinctively he opened his eyes, and jumped up, to see Castiel sitting on the end of his bed with his eyes narrowed.

"WHAT THE HELL?" Dean yelled, angrily firing a badly aimed kick at him. It missed by a few inches, and Castiel did not flinch. He was staring at Dean again, the same way as before- head tilted slightly, with his eyes focused on some point of his face, studying him like a book.

"You should learn to have respect." Castiel said in a voice more sober voice than the one he had used before.

Dean sat up fully, looking Castiel right in the eye. "Let's get something straight. I don't just give you my respect. You earn it. And there's only one person on this damn planet that's done that so far, so I wouldn't hold my breath."

Castiel was confused. This was not a problem he encountered before. Maybe it was because no-one had ever felt like going to the effort of defying him before, or maybe it was because no-one had the guts to, but this rugged American with the dry attitude was something he didn't recognise, and couldn't quite compute. He decided to use a different tactic.

"You've missed two days of classes."

"Oh cusses." Replied Dean flatly, picking up his headphones again.

"You should get the work you've missed."

"Whatever."

Castiel considered leaving, but instead paused and sighed, staying where he was. The bed Dean had chosen was the bed Castiel would have taken- first on the left. So instead he went for first on the right, and crossed over to it, laying his coat on the bed. He realised Dean was watching him.

"What's with the pervsuit?" Dean asked loudly, obviously automatically raising his voice over the music blaring in his headphones.

Castiel blinked at him. "Pervsuit?" He asked blankly.

Dean pointed at the coat. "The trenchcoat, dude."

Castiel frowned. "Technically it's an overcoat."