First off; I'm really sorry I took me so long to update, but I have two main reasons. Since I started back at college I've had tons of work and I haven't got back into the swing quite yet. Also, I was kind of worried about the lack of reviews, and I wasn't very happy with my writing, so I went and rewrote a load of stuff to make it better. I kind of figured that people agreed that it wasn't so great. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, and I hope I can keep people interested, and a big thanks to all of you who read, review and leave favourites, I really appreciate it. And on another note, did anyone watch the season six premiere? Unfortunately I have to watch it on the internet 'cos its not out in England for ages. :) :)

On the day of the party, Miriana had been restricted to her room by her aunt, who spent most of the afternoon dashing around the house, yelling at Nate for not laying the table properly or not putting the banner up in the right place. She slouched on her bed in her scruffy pyjamas for most of the day, not in the mood to get ready. For reasons she couldn't fathom, she felt an odd sense of foreboding, like something bad was hovering just around the corner. She just put it down to nerves over the party; she never liked being the centre of attention. She flicked through several of her books, trying to get her mind off the coil of anxiety in her stomach.

When seven o'clock started drawing a little closer, she heaved herself off the bed and stumbled into the shower, scraping shampoo and conditioner through her knotted hair, loosening the tangles. She wrapped herself in a fluffy towel and roughly dried her hair into a casual disarray of soft spikes, spraying copious amounts of hairspray to keep the style in place. She emptied her make up onto the bed and rifled through the contents, unsure of what to do. Her aunt would tell her to do natural make-up, but she loved her eyeliner too much. She brushed thick grey metallic eye shadow onto her lids, and blended thick black eyeliner into the silver, working until her eyes looked suitably deep set and smoky. She applied a layer of mascara and foundation and stepped back to admire her handiwork, fluffing her hair a few last times.

She turned to her wardrobe, staring at the clothes, sorely tempted to throw her jeans and thick jumper on. She didn't dare; she knew full well if she didn't glam up, her aunt would march her back upstairs and jam her into the nearest dress.

She eventually settled on a backless black dress that was gathered around her waist and stopped just above her knee, the material layered with net so it fluttered and flounced around her thighs. She pulled a pair of elegant black stilettos from the bottom of her wardrobe, walking around her room a few times to get used to the sudden increase in height on such precarious footing. She scrutinized herself in the mirror, surprised by the way she looked. She hadn't felt so...pretty or feminine in such a long time. She'd bought the dress in a boutique a few years ago, but she still fit into it perfectly, the material clinging in all the right places, the perfect length to show off her legs without her feeling like a tart. She pulled slender silver earrings and bracelets from her jewellery box, applying one last coat of lipstick before she went downstairs for her aunt's opinion.

She froze on the landing when she heard voices from the kitchen, feeling suddenly vulnerable and overly made up. She glanced at the clock at the top of the stairs; she hadn't realised how close it was to seven o'clock. She crept down the stairs, lingering in the hallway to try and work out who was there by the sound of the voice. She instantly recognized them the closer she got; Sam and Dean.

"Well, you certainly brought plenty of beer," her aunt was saying.

"Yeah well you know, I can hold my liquor," Dean said cheerfully.

She poked her head around the doorway of the kitchen, determined not to let them see her outfit.

Sam was leaning against the counter, taking up the entire corner of the kitchen with his muscular bulk. Dean was sat on the countertop, clutching a beer and kicking his legs back and forth like a little kid. Bobby was parked in his wheelchair next to Sam, wearing a clean shirt for a change, but with his grotty trucker cap still firmly lodged on his head.

"Oh hey Miriana," Sam said, a wide grin breaking out across his face, "Happy birthday."

"Err...thanks," she said nervously, "Aunty, I just need to talk to you for a sec."

Her aunt looked up from slicing a cheesecake into neat eighths, "What about, hun?"

"Errm...my dress."

"Why?"

She glanced at Dean, who winked at her, "I just need you to make sure I look okay."

Eve rolled her eyes and wiped her sticky fingers on her apron, following Miriana into the hall.

"Oh sweetie," she gushed, "You look beautiful."

"Are you sure I don't just look like a tart?" she asked.

"Of course not," she grabbed hold of Miriana and steered her into the kitchen, which was painfully bright after the dim hall. She squinted under the bright spotlights, feeling like some specimen in tank about to be dissected.

"Doesn't she look beautiful, boys?"

Both Sam and Dean were staring at her legs like they weren't aware she had any.

"Yeah," Bobby said gruffly, "Real pretty, Miriana."

Sam coughed loudly, forcibly moving his gaze up from her legs and to her face, "You look stunning. Doesn't she Dean?"

Dean blinked a few times, the expression on his face similar to that of someone who'd just been whacked round the back of the head by a baseball bat. Sam cast him a furtive glance, then stomped on his foot, as subtly as he could manage.

"What?" he said dazedly, "Yeah, uh...you look great."

"Not like a hooker," he added hastily.

"Thank you," she said dryly. That was the highest of compliments, coming from Dean.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Sam said suddenly, breaking the slightly awkward silence, "Happy birthday."

He handed Miriana a package wrapped sloppily in newspaper and sealed with great quantities of cello tape.

"Sorry about the wrapping," Sam said apologetically, "I told Dean to leave it but..."

Dean turned to Sam, looking affronted. "What's wrong with it?" he demanded,

"It looks like a two year old wrapped it," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

Just as Dean opened his mouth to argue, she said hastily, "Guys it really doesn't matter what the wrapping's like."

Dean flashed his brother an 'I told you so' look.

Miriana pulled the newspaper off, struggling with the thick bands of cello tape, revealing a smooth black leather box. She flipped it open, revealing a crimson velvet lined box in the middle of which lay an elegant silver charm bracelet. She pulled it out carefully, scrutinizing each of the charms; there was a delicate pentagram, a tiny replica of a key of Solomon and a pair of intricate angel's wings, among other things.

"It's like my mom had when she was young," Dean said, taking a swig of beer, "I thought you'd...you know, like it."

"I love it," she breathed, feeling slightly choked, "It's beautiful."

She hugged the both of them tightly, then fastened the bracelet around her wrist, admiring the way the silver looked against her pale skin. At that moment, the doorbell rang and Eve shrieked and trotted off to answer the door.

"You just gonna forget about my present, girl?" Bobby growled, handing her a small leather box. Inside the box was a pair of slender earrings fashioned in the shape of thin, delicate wings.

"I love them, Bobby," she exclaimed, swapping her crystal studs for them.

"Thought you might appreciate them, since you and angel boy are so close," he said, a knowing tone in his voice. She blushed furiously, glad Sam and Dean were bickering and couldn't hear them. Bobby tipped her a wink.

"Miriana!" her aunt squawked suddenly, "Guests!"

She took a deep breath, and stepped out into the hall.

Being the centre of attention wasn't quite as bad as she had thought. It was nice to not feel like she was just part of the wall.

Her aunt's house was full of people, all of them hunters. Ethan and his group of hunters had come, laden down with beer, and Nate had invited several of his friends from the local hunter's bar, the Night Shade. Truthfully, she avoided them most of the night; they eyed her like she was a piece of meat, and when she tried speaking to them, she noticed their eyes stayed distinctly south of her face.

Everyone had brought presents, and Miriana felt slightly spoiled. Her aunt and Nate had saved up between them to buy her an iPhone, which Dean spent most of the night fiddling with until she eventually stormed over and took it off him, worried that in his slightly inebriated state he might spill beer on it or drop it.

Nate had set up a pair of speakers and he pumped his music through them so loudly the foundations of the house seemed to tremble. Miriana was amazed to find that Eve didn't complain once about the volume, although she suspected the amount of alcohol she was consuming helped. Several times people had tried to pull her onto the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room, but she bluntly refused each time. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to make get up and dance. As Dean got progressively more and more drunk, he attempted to pick her up and drag her onto the dance floor, and it took Sam and his immense strength to prise him off her, after which he promptly collapsed into the nearest chair, yelling something about more beer. Sam simply rolled his eyes and dashed off to find another bottle before his older brother started breaking things.

She was enjoying herself far more than she thought she would, but she felt oddly restless. Cas hadn't come. She wasn't sure that she had really expected him too; social situations were not exactly his forte, and he knew it, but she would have liked to have seen him, at least briefly. He meant as much to her as her family and Sam and Dean, and she couldn't imagine her birthday without any of them. He had seemed so pleased to be invited too.

Halfway through the night, as things got slightly rowdier, she gathered her presents together, deciding to take them upstairs out of harm's way. She struggled up the stairs with the heavy load, depositing them as carefully as she could on her bed. Turning to the mirror, she gave herself a brief once over, running her fingers through her hair a few times to give it back the volume it had lost. She tugged at her dress, straightening it over her hips, then she turned to leave her bedroom and walked straight into someone's chest.

"Arrgh!" she squeaked, almost losing her balance on her precarious heels. Someone grabbed her elbow to steady her, and she looked up straight into a pair of blue eyes.

"You should be more careful," Cas said.

"Jesus," she gasped, laying a hand over her chest, "I wish you wouldn't do that."

He took a few steps backwards, "Sorry. I forget."

With the distance between them, he seemed to properly take her in. His eyes travelled slowly, all the way from her smoky eyes down to her toes, his gaze like a caress against her skin. She could feel herself blushing furiously, the fiery burn in her cheeks crawling down to her throat and chest. She wondered if he could see it in the dim light of the room.

"You look..." he tailed off, his eyes still passing over her bare legs and shoulders, "You look..."

He paused for a long moment, and he seemed to be struggling to talk around the catch in his throat.

"You look beautiful," he finally said, forcibly moving his gaze back up to her eyes.

The blush intensified, the blaze underneath her skin suddenly painfully uncomfortable.

"Thank you," she whispered.

His eyes seemed to smoulder, the blue the colour of the night just before midnight, dark and fierce. The feel of his gaze on her made her knees feel weak, the fire underneath her skin to sink deeper, right into her blood and bones. She took a deep breath to ease her spinning head.

"Err..." she said weakly, "I should...probably go back...downstairs..."

He dropped his gaze back to the floor suddenly, and she let out a muffled sigh of relief.

"I...have something to give you," he said, reaching into his pocket. She wasn't sure if she was imagining the slight shake of his hands when he pulled a small box free.

"What?" she asked, confused.

He frowned, tilting his head to the side, "I thought it was customary to give presents on birthdays?"

"Yeah, it is," she said, "I just...didn't expect you to get me one."

He passed the box to her, his fingers brushing very softly against hers. He couldn't seem to meet her eyes now; he kept them fixed on the floor.

She flipped it open, revealing an intricate silver charm set with pale white stones, on an elegant silver chain, nestled on midnight blue velvet. She traced her fingers over the delicate piece of jewellery, feeling tears welling up in the back of her eyes.

"It's beautiful," she said in a choked voice, "I can't believe you did this."

He caught the sheen of tears in her eyes, and she saw disappointment flash across his eyes, "Don't you like it?"

"Of course I do!" she exclaimed, "It's just...you shouldn't have."

"I wanted to," he said softly, "It was my fault you lost the last one."

She removed her other necklace and pulled the pentagram chain from its box, holding it carefully and almost reverently. She laid it against her neck, fumbling to fasten the chain.

"Here," he said, moving to stand behind her, "Let me."

She was hyper aware of his body heat against her bare back and his fingers hovering close to her skin, lightly brushing against the nape of her neck, just once. She drew in a deep trembling breath.

"There," he said, letting the chain fall against her skin.

"Thank you," she whispered, suddenly unable to find her voice.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror, all flushed cheeks and dark, glittering eyes, the pendant gleaming dully against her chest, the silver a perfect match for her skin tone. He hadn't moved away from her, and he was staring at their shared reflection like he had never seen her properly before. She hadn't even seen herself with him; they looked good together, she thought. There was something very natural about the two of them, as if they were two halves of one whole.

She tensed when she felt his fingers run up her bare spine, teasing against the skin, tracing the shape of her shoulder blades. She unconsciously arched against him, her head falling back against his firm shoulder, melting from the inside out, tension simmering inside her. He pressed a soft kiss to her neck, his tongue flicking out just briefly, tasting her skin, his fingers still stroking the sleek line of her spine. She let her eyes flutter shut, a coil of desire flaring in the pit of her stomach.

He turned her around gently in his arms, moving his lips from her neck and up to her mouth, his kiss sweet and hesitant. She wrapped her arms around his neck, glad for once that she didn't have to stand on her tip toes. His hands were splayed across her bare back, feeling the flutter of her heartbeat through her ribcage. The party and the people downstairs faded away, the music little but a dull thud in her ears. Her fingers slid up into his hair, teasing through the short lengths, and he let out a contented noise into her mouth.

She pulled her lips away from his, taking a deep breath. "I have a party to get back to," she whispered.

He muttered an acknowledgement, then kissed her again, crushing her tighter to him, hands sliding right down to the base of her spine, just above where the line of her dress stopped.

"I really should..." she started, but his lips were against hers again, and all coherent thought was chased away. She wanted to be somewhere very far away from here, somewhere lonely and secluded with him. The tension inside her was winding tighter and tighter like a spring, and she was certain she would snap if something didn't ease it. Her legs felt weak, her stomach fluttering with nerves. She couldn't help but think she was very close to doing things she'd only ever fantasised about.

She was just about to pull away and ask him to take her somewhere when a loud voice cut through the hush in her room.

"Miriana?"

They both jerked away from each other, Miriana unconsciously straightening her dress.

"Yes?" she called, wincing at the very obvious shake in her voice.

A moment later, Ethan's head appeared around the door frame, "Oh...uh...hey. Your aunt wants to see you, something about a cake?"

"Oh right, tell her I'll be down in a moment."

Ethan's eyes moved past her and settled on Cas, "Oh hey. I don't think we've met, I'm Ethan."

He stepped into the room and held out his hand. There was one second of total awkwardness when it looked like he wouldn't return the gesture, but he shook his hand firmly. She inwardly let out a sigh of relief.

"Castiel," he said formally, releasing Ethan's hand.

"Nice to meet you," Ethan said, "You a hunter?"

"He's a friend of Dean's," Miriana said, cutting across him before he could reply, "He just...needed to talk to me about something."

"Right," Ethan said, flashing Cas a wide smile, "Are you gonna come downstairs?"

"Yeah, just give me a sec," she said, reaching a hand up to smooth her hair, hoping neither of them would notice how much she was trembling.

He flashed her another side smile and disappeared from the doorway.

"Errmm..." Miriana said, suddenly aware of the crushing awkward tension that had suddenly descended on the room, "You can...come downstairs if you want? They're a bit rowdy, but..."

He hesitated for a long moment, "If you don't mind?"

"No!" she exclaimed, a little too loudly, "No, of course not!"

He headed for the door, then stood to one side, gesturing her through it first. She tottered across the landing and down the stairs, her knees shaking uncontrollably. He was right behind her, and she was very aware of how close their bodies were.

Just before she reached the door to the dining room, where she could see the vivid glow of the candles on the cake, he caught her arm, long fingers gripping loosely around her wrist. He leaned his head down, so his mouth was right against her ear, and she could feel the whisper of his breath across it.

"I forgot to say," he murmured, "Happy birthday."

He released her arm and swept gracefully into the room in front of her, leaving her swaying on the spot, breathless and dizzy.

Cas was finding it hard to take his eyes off her. He felt like a blind man who had suddenly been given the gift of sight; he hadn't seen her clearly before at all. She looked like even more of an exquisite piece of art than ever before. He had arrived at the firm conclusion that she should wear dresses more often.

He stayed in the corner of the room most of the night, avoiding as much human contact as possible. He couldn't handle normal human conversation at the best of times, especially not when said humans were drunk. Miriana kept flitting over to him throughout the night, but her attention was soon captured by someone else wanting to talk to her, or dance with her. He was grateful in a way; whenever she did talk to him he spent most of the conversation straining to keep his eyes trained away from the smooth skin of her legs or the plunging neckline of her dress. He felt quite ashamed, and as much as he loved the view the dress gave him, he found himself wishing she would wear something that covered her up a little more. It might make it easier for him to keep his eyes on hers instead of wandering somewhere else.

He didn't recognize many people in the room, but he knew they were all hunters. They all had the same poised grace, the same look of people that lived dangerous lives, subtle signs; the gun calluses on their fingers, the flashes of silver charms and black ink tattoos, the scars on their skin. They all felt like hunters to him, they all carried the storm of guilt and hatred inside them that he had seen in both Dean and Miriana, the fire that drove hunters to a lifestyle of pain and blood. Many of them seemed particularly inebriated, including Dean, who kept grabbing hold of Miriana and crushing her in a tight hug, declaring to anyone who would listen that he 'loved this pretty awesome chick' and 'thought she had a nice rack.' He wasn't entirely sure what a 'rack' was in this context, but he had a feeling it was some sort of lecherous comment, knowing Dean' penchant for unashamed flirting with every woman in the room. It took a considerable amount of effort not to storm over and drag her away.

Eventually Dean released Miriana when Sam asked him if he wanted another beer, which she looked eternally grateful for. He snatched another bottle off his younger brother, then stumbled over and threw himself into the seat next to Cas's.

"Cas!" he exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder so hard he was almost knocked out of his seat, "I am so glad you're here, dude!"

"Thank you," he muttered.

Dean took a long swig of beer, leaning back in his seat. "She looks pretty hot, doesn't she?" he said, gesturing with his beer bottle in Miriana's direction.

"If 'hot' in this circumstance means attractive, then yes she looks quite good," he said, determined not to get drawn into a conversation.

"Quite nothing, man, you've been checking her out all night," Dean said, "In fact, you check her out all the time."

"I do not...'check her out'," he said in as dignified a tone as he could manage.

Dean snorted derisively, "Yeah you do. I might not seem like the type of guy that's into emotions and all that chick flick crap, but I notice stuff, dude."

He didn't say anything to this, just glowered at the wall. He decided he did not like drunken Dean.

"I don't hear you arguing," Dean continued, "You're head over heels in love with her, dude."

He felt his cheeks flush furiously with heat. He had no idea Dean was so perceptive; he had always thought he controlled his emotions around her quite well when other people were involved. If anything, he would have thought Sam would have been the more sensitive of the two Winchesters.

"I am not."

"You are."

"I am not."

"You are."

He rolled his eyes, bored with the childish argument; he was even more infuriating than normal when he had swallowed copious quantities of alcohol.

"I mean dude, come on," Dean said, "I saw the two of you months ago, just after we met Chuck, chewing each other's faces off. Not something I ever want to see again, for future reference."

"Sorry," he muttered.

"I know she gets all stressy sometimes," he said, watching Miriana as she wriggled out of her aunt's crushing hug, "But it's just the way she is. She loves you, man."

His heart gave a little flip in his chest. He glanced at Dean, who heaved a huge sigh.

"You're lucky," he said, and Cas could detect a note of longing in his voice, "I sometimes all the shit I deal with might be easier if I had someone like her to lean on."

He suddenly turned to Cas, clapping a hand on his arm, "You have to promise me something."

He nodded, alarmed at the sudden change of tone in Dean's voice.

"I've seen the future, Cas," he said, "I've seen what happens if Lucifer wins. And you and Miriana..."

He frowned; he wasn't sure he wanted to hear what was about to come.

"I saw the two of you," he continued, his voice hollow, "She was scarred and bitter and you were out of it on drugs, neck deep in women. She hated you. She wouldn't look at you."

The sudden revelation of his future made him feel sick; what was he going to do to Miriana that would make her feel so much hatred towards him? And neck deep in women? He had already established he had no interest in any way towards any woman but Miriana. She was everything to him.

"What did I do?" he asked urgently, "Why did she hate me?"

Dean shrugged, "I dunno. But you've gotta hold onto her, dude. Just...don't let it happen."

At that moment Sam appeared, "I'm sorry; I just gotta talk to Dean for a second."

Dean stood up to leave, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Wait Dean, what-" Cas started, but he was already out of earshot, supported by Sam, leaving him alone to obsess over his bleak prophecy for his future.

It was wonderfully cool outside, refreshing to Miriana's overheated skin, drying the perfumed sweat. She heaved the bulging bag of glass bottles into the recycling, letting the lid slam shut. She glanced up at the velvet blue sky, strewn with a handful of glittering stars. She loved nights like these, clear and cold enough that her breath frosted in front of her.

She was shivering in her skimpy little dress, so she headed back towards the warmth of the house, picking her way carefully across the gravel. She rounded the corner of the house and walked straight into a broad chest, stumbling a little in her heels.

She looked up, half expecting to meet a familiar pair of blue eyes, but the eyes she met were considerably darker and colder.

"Hey baby," Reuben crooned, "You miss me?"

He placed his hands flat against her shoulders, shoving her hard against the wall. Her bare back slammed against the rough stone, grazing her skin, and she cried out in pain before she could stop herself.

He lifted a finger to her lips, "Hush, hush now. Wouldn't want to upset the neighbours."

"What do you want?" she hissed. She tried to sound fearless, but the shake in her voice gave her away.

"Oh nothing much," he said, his hands still digging into her shoulder so hard she knew he'd leave bruises, "Just came to wish you happy birthday."

"Charming," she spat, "Now you can leave."

"Oh not yet," he said cheerfully, "I've got the night off. Nothing to do for the big man. In fact, I've been promoted."

"Congratulations," she said bitterly, "You must be so thrilled."

"I am actually," he said, releasing his iron hard grip on her shoulders and stepping back, "All I've gotta do is work a little bit harder for a few months, and then I get all the rewards I want. And you know what's number one on my list? You are baby doll."

She felt her stomach drop right down to the floor, and her heart started to flutter with panic. She didn't like the sound of that. If he was working for Lucifer and he had promised him rewards, it didn't matter how well she hid herself from him, he would find her. She wouldn't be able to run, and she would have nowhere to hide.

"I've had you in mind for quite a long time now, sweetheart," he murmured, running his hand down the neckline of her dress, his fingers dipping beneath the fabric to trace the scar he had left her, years ago, "You're the perfect little infatuation."

He shoved her back against the wall again, closing his long slender fingers around her throat, constricting her windpipe. She couldn't breathe; lights began to dance before her eyes.

He pressed himself right against her, chest crushing hers, and she winced, squeezing her mouth tight shut to stop the disgusted noise that threatened to escape.

He leaned his mouth right up against her ear, and she felt his hot breath play across the skin of her neck, "Just a little warning, honey. You'd better watch your back, because when I come for you, not even your precious angel will be able to stop me."

"Are you really going to try something here?" she rasped, fighting to stop the trembling that was racking her muscles.

He stepped back, but didn't release his hold, "No. I'm not stupid. I know there's a houseful of hunters and an angel in there."

He glanced down at her chest, "Speaking of which," he began, "Did your little seraph get this for you?"

He lifted the pentagram with the tips of his fingers as if it disgusted him, "How sweet. You know the two of you make me sick."

He licked his lips, his eyes travelling slowly over her body, "I can practically taste all the lust in you," he lifted her wrist to his mouth, inhaling deeply like he was scenting perfume, "I can smell it in your blood. Not getting what you want from your heavenly little cherub?"

"Fuck you," she hissed.

"Oooh definitely all worked up," he crooned, "You know I could quite easily deal with all that frustration if he won't do it for you."

She lifted her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist, gripping her so tightly she felt certain she heard the bones crack, "Ah-ah. No violence."

He twisted her wrist savagely and she cried out in pain; the noise of it seemed to excite him. The handsome face of his host was twisted with sick desire, his eyes dark and pale cheeks flushed.

"Miriana?" came Sam's voice from around the corner.

Reuben froze for a brief second, then lifted her hand to the back of his mouth and pressed an uncharacteristically tender kiss to it.

"See you soon, sweetheart," he whispered, vanishing before her eyes, leaving her shaking and clutching her bruised wrist to her chest.

"Miriana?" Sam asked again, appearing around the corner.

She didn't respond at first, still feeling Reuben's cold hands on her skin, and Sam touched her shoulder lightly, wincing when she jumped.

"Hey," he said softly, "You okay? I thought I heard you shout."

"Yes," she said, aware her voice had a slightly hysterical edge to it, "I just uh...tripped in my heels."

"Okay," said Sam, frowning slightly, "You coming back in?"

"Yeah, just give me a sec," she replied. He nodded, flashing her a smile, then headed back inside.

She waited until she was certain his footsteps vanished, then she slumped back against the wall, hyperventilating, her heart throbbing a panicked rhythm in her chest.