“Go then, there are other worlds than these.”
- Stephen King, The Gunslinger
The world had changed but no one had noticed.
A slayer had died, the demon Glory had been destroyed for all time, cursed by the weakness of her human shell to die a mortal death. The destruction that would have been caused by her plan to bring her hell dimension to the plane she had been imprisoned had failed but the balance of the world had been affected. For a short time, all the dimensions had shared the same space and the convergence of time, space, mystical energy had caused subtle shifts in the order of things.
No one had noticed, not at first.
The changes were subtle and went about completely unnoticed for the first few years. The Watcher Council reported a new kind of vampire, one that couldn’t be killed by a stake. They had to be decapitated and could only be killed by silver. They seemed to react badly to the blood of the dead. The Turok-Han had proved that vampires could evolve and while this was disturbing, it wasn’t entirely unheard of. The new vampires were not prolific and they seemed to be isolated in small groups. They didn’t hunt the way the line of Aurelius had done and thus their numbers were kept low.
Then three years ago, the world had been gripped by a supernatural maelstrom of biblical proportions, seas had turned to blood, tornados, hurricanes and floods had ripped across the planet. Whole towns were wiped out and ominous portents began to appear with revelations that something terrible had entered the world. Demons who were considered allies were suddenly opening portals back to their home dimensions, fleeing this nameless terror. The Watcher Council was at a loss to explain what it could be. Suddenly their texts and resources appeared to have gaping holes as supernatural beings appeared that had never been encountered before.
Then all of a sudden it stopped.
In a place called Stull Cemetery, in Lawrence, Kansas, a climax had been reached. The slayers had converged on the place, trying to find the source of the great evil but by the time they’d arrived, it was all over. The destruction and chaos came to an end. Peace was restored and the world exhaled with a sigh of relief as things returned to some semblance of the former order. The Watcher Council chalked it up to their home dimension regaining balance following the disruption caused by Glory in her attempt to bring forth a hell dimension.
Whatever it was that had almost turned the world inside out, was gone and everything was back to normal.
So it seemed.
You get a sense of how a day’s going to turn out by the first ten minutes after walking up.
When she opened her eyes, conscious of the fact that she’d been awakened by the tweeting of birds and the honk of a car horn somewhere down the street instead of her alarm clock, she knew it wasn’t going to be a good one. The display was flashing 0.00 am which meant a power failure had reset the thing and she was late to work. Refusing to compound a bad event with another, she refused to surrender her morning shower and stepped into the cubicle.
Only to slip on a splatter of shampoo on the tile and crash into the glass wall. Her elbow went through the cubicle and it shattered, leaving a cut along her skin and glass everywhere. That had taken ten minutes to clean up and a further ten to dress the wound she knew would be healed by the day’s end. She got dressed in a dark pencil skirt and a silk shirt that splayed open at the collar and grabbed her handbag, headed towards her little red Yaris, hoping that being 30 minutes was all the late she was going to be.
Then the car wouldn’t start.
While collecting groceries from the back seat the evening before, she hadn’t quite shut the car door properly and so the interior light in the vehicle had been left on all night and her battery was properly drained this morning. There was a moment when Buffy Summers wondered if some demon had hexed her before realising no demon could ever this diabolical. Forced to enlist the assistance of her elderly next-door neighbour, Mr Croft, a skeevy guy who always seemed to be peering through her window whenever she looked out of it. Desperate to get moving, she’d asked for his help to jump-start her car, convinced he was going to ask for a lap dance in payment.
Buffy drove to work at Lawrence High School in Lawrence, Kansas.
Three years ago, she had come here leading a band of slayers to find some big bad the Watcher Council had never identified from presumably ripping the world apart. Whomever the mystery enemy was, he was powerful on a scale that had every soothsayer they knew running for cover and every medium refusing to tap into the spirit world for fear of burning their eyes out. Whatever this thing was, it had affected the planet in a way that neither the First nor the Glory had been able to do.
By the time she and Faith had arrived, it was all over. Whatever the trouble was, it had burned itself out at a place called Stull Cemetery. The entity for all effective purposes was gone and none of their resources had been able to track it down again. The global catastrophes had stilled and Buffy chalked it down to the Powers that Be, getting off their collective asses and taking responsibility for their own screw-ups for a change.
She had planned to leave Lawrence but after a few days in town, enjoying the local food, the small-town atmosphere, Buffy found she rather liked the place. It had no Hellmouth to speak of and Faith was more than happy to take the lead on the new slayers.
“You’re crazy B,” Faith had said in her usual flippant matter, “this place is like the middle of nowhere. You’ll go stark in a week!”
Except she hadn’t.
Dawn was now graduating from law school. Her little sister was fielding job offers in New York at a prestigious law firm. Little Dawnie, a lawyer. Buffy was inordinately proud of that. Xander had gotten married a couple of years ago and now lived in London with his wife, Catherine who had been a librarian in the Watcher Council at the time of their meeting. These days, Xander helped Giles train potential slayers while Catherine had given birth to their first child, a girl.
They named her Joyce. Buffy wept when Xander told her.
Meanwhile, Willow had set down roots in New England, training new witches. She and Kennedy were still together. The last time she had spoken to Willow on the phone, Willow had mentioned that she and Kennedy were thinking about adopting a child. Occasionally, Faith would stop by, they’d go drinking and Faith would make a half-hearted attempt to get Buffy back in the game. Being put in charge of baby slayers had changed Faith, made her less of a maverick, more of a teacher in ways Buffy had never imagined she could be.
Giles had understood why Buffy had stepped away. While she didn’t use the cookie dough analogy, she did feel her life had been stunted somehow by being the Chosen One. She’d been the Slayer since she was fifteen years old and being the Chosen had laid waste to almost every other aspect of her life; college, family, relationships. None of it had been able to withstand her duties and Buffy who was on the cusp of turning thirty at the time decided if she didn’t start her life soon. She never would.
She’d made an effort to finish college some years back and had a degree that cemented her desire to become a Guidance Counsellor. She’d enjoy her brief tenure as Sunnydale’s counsellor and always thought she would like to go back to it if the opportunity came. Three years ago when she had chosen Lawrence, she’d finally dusted off her degree and put it to good use. Robin Wood had been kind enough to give her a recommendation, as did the big wigs at the Watcher Council, though they didn’t represent themselves that way. The Council had enough academics of note in their ranks to be able to bluff a good reference for Buffy.
Her father Hank had surfaced long enough to help her, using money to make amends for nearly a decade of absence. Buffy had taken his help and bought a nice little house in a good neighbourhood in Lawrence, with her own back yard and a white picket fence. She’d always wanted one of those. It was the epitome of normalcy and if necessary, could be used as stakes if the need arose. Once a slayer, always a slayer.
Still Buffy relished the chance to be on her own. Years ago, Giles had told her she needed to take charge of her life. She’d gotten an apartment, a car and had was settling into the routine of a young, single woman on her own for the first time without worries about her duties as a slayer. It was nice and Buffy was rather surprised, she didn’t miss slaying at all. Okay, sometimes she got a bit dull and ran up the bills for overseas phone calls to Giles and Xander but for the most part, she was rather content.
***********
Buffy arrived at school only to discover that she’d been late for the staff meeting held that morning. In a move that could only have been punitive for her tardiness, Principle Blake had chosen to bestow the singular honour of running the school bake sale. Despite having no interest in baking and not at all wanting to give up a Saturday in the company of soccer moms, Buffy had no choice but to accept. Her attempt to get out of it had resulted in the son of a bitch giving her a smarmy smile and saying, “Well next time you’ll know not to be late, Miss Summers.”
Asshole.
The day hadn’t improved when she got to her office.
Her first appointment of the day was Milton Wasserman who told her for the umpteenth time why gym class was ruining his life because without a passing grade in Phys. Ed, he’d never get into Harvard. She consoled him the best way she could, promising to talk to Coach Bannerman about make up (could you do make-ups for Phys. Ed even?) and there were other colleges almost as good as Harvard.
Following that, Sarah Cambridge came to see her. As she sat across the desk from the girl with her perfectly styled hair, makeup, expensive clothes, manicured nails and equally perfect teeth, she was visited by images of Cordelia Chase. In comparison, Sarah Cambridge made Cordelia appear positively charming.
What followed was an hour bitch session about how she’d received detention for calling Betty Foreman a fat pig. Everyone knew Betty was a porker and she was just pointing out the obvious. Sarah had continued to reveal that pointing out the obvious meant daily taunts to the girl’s face, scrawled across her locker, Twitter and Facebook. Just in case anyone missed it.
Buffy was eternally grateful that she had escaped high school by the time social network had gone mainstream. She couldn’t imagine going through what kids endured today. In any case, she’d done her best to explain to Sarah that bullying was not something that looked good on a college application. Besides Buffy thought secretly, it was the bullying that often resorted to spells and raising ghouls to get some payback. None of this registered with Sarah and Buffy was promptly accused of being insensitive before leaving in a huff.
The irony was not lost on Buffy.
By the time lunchtime rolled along, Buffy was suddenly longing for the days when the worst thing she had to deal with was the Mayor turning into a giant snake and terrorising the student body. Deciding she needed a timeout off-premises, she drove to Veteran’s Park and the diner called the Slice that sat across from it. Aside from having the best pies in town, to which she had little interest, it was a cosy little place that served great food where she’d sit quietly against the glass windows and watch the world go by.
“Hi Buffy,” Mary, the regular waitress on shift at this time of the day, greeted her when she walked into the place. They’d gotten to talking over the last year and Buffy now knew that Mary was a single mom, with a thirteen-year-old, whose husband had left her for a younger woman,
“Hi Mary,” Buffy said smiling brightly at her when she stepped through the glass doors of the front entrance to the diner. “Can I grab my usual table?”
“Sure,” Mary replied, waving her through to the table in question which Buffy was relieved to see was unoccupied. The lunch crowd had yet to flood into the place and there were only a handful of other diners in the red, vinyl booths. Buffy liked the Slice for that very reason, not merely because if she got in early enough she could miss the crowd but also because it had an old-world quality to the place. Not one of those trendy places that added the word ‘fusion’ to everything in the menu. It was a sign of age she supposed that Buffy preferred to stay away from those.
Its décor was very much in the vein of the traditional American diner. With Formica flooring, wood panelling and vinyl booths, Buffy loved the Slice’s retro look, though she wasn’t entirely convinced that it was intentionally retro as much as it was just old. Her high heels clacking across the linoleum as she passed by the counter and studied the pies on display, from the savoury to the desert and her stomach perked up at the sight of apple.
Buffy slid into the booth and gazed out the window at the people in the park. Mothers were pushing babies in prams, old men were nestled comfortably on park benches, feeding ducks breadcrumbs at the pond nearby. There were a few teenagers sprawled on the lawn, seniors she guessed, enjoying their lunches while dogs were playing Frisbee with their owners. The scenery allowed Buffy to relax, and with a deep exhale, she expelled all the things that had gone wrong today and also staunched the desire to kill something.
“I’m telling you, Sammy,” the voice of a man invaded her thoughts from the booth behind her. “This town gives me the creeps.”
“This is our home town, Dean,” a second male voice returned with a hint of exasperation. “You can’t get jittery every time we come back here. Besides, we’ve got a job to do.”
“Alright, alright,” the first guy conceded defeat. “Give me the lowdown. What are we dealing with here?”
Buffy chided herself for eavesdropping, resolving to go back to watching the park and the people outside. She checked her phone and started to scroll through the messages to see if there was anything from Willow or Xander. Xander had taken to sending her pictures of Joy on a daily basis and despite herself, Buffy delighted in receiving them.
“….where was the guy killed again?”
Buffy’s spine straightened immediately.
“At the back of an alley.” The conversation continued. “His throat was ripped out but judging from the crime scene pictures I managed to get a hold of, it’s pretty messy for a vamp. Could be a rugaru also. It isn’t a full moon so it can’t be a werewolf.”
In the same breath, the guy had identified at least two monsters and a…what the hell was a rugaru? Furthermore, he spoke about the creatures as if it was the most normal thing in the world like he was trying to identify a strain of bacteria or something. Buffy was burning to find out who these guys were.
“A rugaru would eat the whole thing, Sammy,” the response came promptly. “It wouldn’t stop at the throat.”
“Not unless he’s just getting started Dean,” ‘Sammy’ countered. “If this is its first kill, there’s bound to be some hesitation. The next one if there is another one, will be a lot messier.”
“Okay,” the one named Dean agreed with a sigh and eased back into the booth. Buffy could hear the vinyl squeaking behind him. “So we backtrack the victim’s movements to see where this thing could come into contact with him and hopefully we can gank the son of a bitch before it takes another poor bastard.”
Gank? Buffy asked herself. What the hell was gank? Buffy resisted the urge to turn around to look at the two men. Who were they that they were chasing monsters? And what the hell was a rugaru? She’d never heard the creature before and she was pretty convinced she’d heard them all. Wanting a good look at them without giving herself away, Buffy rose to her feet with the intention of heading towards the ladies room since it would take her right past their table.
Brushing down her skirt, Buffy caught her first glimpse of the two men. While she only caught the back of the head of one, she was able to see the other clearly. She estimated that he was a little younger than her and he was very good looking, not mention seriously tall. She had no doubt that if he stood up, he’d be at least a foot taller than her. Even with that unruly floppy dark hair and sideburns that needed shearing badly, he was good looking with a nearly irresistible cleft in his chin. Faith would love him, Buffy thought to herself.
He was dressed in a checked shirt and jeans and workmen’s boots. Definitely not Watcher Council, she decided and then wondered if they were from the Initiative. No, there was something in their speech that did not seem to fit the military either. They spoke the way she and Faith sometimes discussed slaying, like they were used to the fight but not bound by any particular discipline. Whoever these guys were, they were something new.
When they made eye contact, Buffy curled her lips into a small smile of acknowledgement before she kept going. She entered the ladies room and freshened up, fixing her makeup and lipstick before stepping out again so she could get a look at the second guy at the table.
Their eyes made contact the instant she stepped out. His gaze was fixed on the door, almost as if he’d been waiting for her to emerge. He had dirty blond hair that was cut short, full lips and hazel eyes. Squared jaw, chiselled features, he had ‘bad boy’ written over every inch of him, even down to the weathered jacket he was wearing over his broad shoulders. Buffy swallowed thickly as their eyes met, attempting to feign nonchalance when all she could think was, he was predatory and sexy as hell.
It had been a while since she’d been so affected by any guy at first sight.
After Angel and Spike had died in Los Angeles, Buffy had sort of shut down where men were concerned. She dated every now and then and each encounter told her that dating didn’t work for her. How was she going to tell a normal guy how she used to spend her nights? Faith had told her she shouldn’t look for relationships when it was far more interesting to sample a variety of men without getting too attached to them.
Bang ‘em if you dig ‘em B and then Adios Muchacho.
Buffy continued the walk back to her table, holding his gaze and waiting to see if he would pull away. He didn’t and the continuing eye contact brought a cocky smirk to his face like he was challenging her to break away first. Never one to flinch when it mattered, she had no idea what she would say to him if he decided to speak to her. Her last date had been a year ago and she knew she was out of practice with the art of flirtation. She used to be so good at it too.
“Hey darlin’,” he greeted her when she as close enough. His voice was deep and husky with a drawl to it that was so masculine, it made her want to listen to him all day. Jesus Christ B, she imagined she heard Faith’s voice in her head, try and hold yourself together. You’re the slayer for fuck sake. “You know a good hotel around here?”
“What?” Buffy looked at him, her cheeks beginning to bloom with indignation. Did he just try to pick her up with such a crass pick-up line? “Excuse me?” She stuttered.
His eyes were dancing with mischief as he regarded her. Obviously the innuendo in his question had achieved the desired results and she could swear he was trying not to smirk at her.
“I said do you know of a good motel around here,” he repeated himself, “Me and my brother just hit town and need a place to crash. I figured you being a local might know?” The corner of his lip curled with amusement like he knew exactly what she was thinking and was crowing because he’d led her right there.
Buffy stared at him with narrowed eyes, infuriated that she’d walked right into that. It annoyed her to no end that he could disrupt her radar so easily and he didn’t he know it. Spike used to do that all the time and it often led to her pummelling him into submission followed by really great sex. Even as the thought crossed her mind, Buffy groaned inwardly at her own weakness.
“Sorry, can’t help you,” she replied, trying to regain her composure. “You’re better off asking Mary over there for recommendations. I’ve only been here for three years and I haven’t had much time to check out motel rooms.”
Oh God, did she really say that? Buffy winced inwardly.
“Now that’s a shame,” he grinned at her.
Buffy blushed involuntarily, once again reading him loud and clear. He was so forward and brash that it made her want to slug him. Reigning her annoyance in, she reminded herself that she had wanted to know who the two were and catching this guy’s forward pass might be the way to do that. Besides, if there was a monster in town, she had an obligation to find it and put it down. Even if she was a semi-retired slayer. Letting these guys go off on their own would just get them hurt.
“I’m Buffy,” she flashed him a smile.
An odd thing happened then. The cocky grin he was wearing changed somewhat and his eyes softened. For a minute she thought he recognised her or something but the look faded almost as suddenly it appeared.
“Buffy?” He said with genuine surprise. “Really?”
It wasn’t the first time she caught that reaction to her name. Truth be told, it was nowhere as bad as what she’d caught from some of the kids who’d come into her office for the first time.
“Yes Buffy,” she reiterated. “Do you have a name or don’t you ever get that far with the girls who pick up that line?”
He laughed. “Hey no offence intended,” he answered quickly, not wanting to spoil the nice flirt they had going on. “I’m Dean and this is Sam.”
“Hey,” Sam answered with a slight wave though his expression clearly revealing he wasn’t enjoying his brother’s attempt at a pick-up.
“So now that you’re on to me, how about a drink tonight?” He asked her.
Buffy thought she heard a sound of disapproval coming from his brother Sam but Dean silenced him with a look.
“Sure,” she answered giving him the same flirty smile as before and once again, she thought she saw his Adam’s apple bob nervously. What the hell was that about? “Where?”
“The Dynamite Saloon on Massachusetts Street,” Dean said without skipping a beat. “You know it?”
“Yeah I know it,” Buffy nodded. “About seven?”
“I can do seven.” He winked at her. “Don’t stand me up Darlin’.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she smiled and left him to pay her cheque.
***********
Sam Winchester waited until the cute blond had paid her cheque and left the diner before he turned to his brother. “Dean, we’re on a job.”
“I know that,” Dean retorted, still watching the girl sashaying away from the diner. Her skin-tight skirt emphasized her glorious ass as she moved gracefully across the parking lot to her car. The sunlight caught her hair in the just the right way and made each strand gleam like fine threads of gold. As it was, he was humming each time she had flashed him that smile. It had hit him between the eyes like a bullet to the brain, making his breath catch and his throat go dry.
Pity about the name.
“Look we’ve got no leads on Kevin, Cas is in the wind and you’ll need some R and R after we look at the scene and talk to the family. Trust me, you’re not looking so hot.”
“I’m fine,” Sam shrugged, ignoring Dean’s observation. “And don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not changing the subject,” Dean retorted defensively “Look I buy her a couple of drinks, do the wild thing, work the job and head off in a couple of days. What’s the harm, huh? Besides, she’s so frigging hot.”
But it was more than that and Dean knew it. He’d seen her walk past them at the table and had admired her shapely ass and gorgeous legs as she went to the bathroom. He admired her the way he’d admire any attractive woman walking by. However, when she’d come back out, Dean had simply melted. Maybe it was the pouty lips or that little thing with her nose but more than likely it was that smile, that lightning jolt to the heart, smile.
Sam stared at Dean’s pleading expression and found himself relenting. There was no changing Dean’s mind anyway. Besides, Sam had to admit Dean hadn’t been this interested in a girl for quite some time. After spending a whole year in Purgatory, Sam supposed his brother had earned a little recreation with the opposite sex.
“With that name, she was probably a cheerleader too,” Sam added.
“God, I hope so,” Dean sighed, his mouth suddenly gone dry at the prospect. The girl just got hotter. Sis Boom Bah baby.
The victim’s name was Warren Benson.
He was a Professor at the University of Kansas. He was single, in his forties and had moved to Lawrence from Oregon two years ago to accept the position on campus. Unlike most unmarried college professor in his early forties, he did not date pretty young co-eds as frequently as the semesters changed. Warren had moved to Lawrence with his fiancée Diane, who was paediatrician’s nurse by trade. Diane’s family lived in Lawrence and the move had been precipitated by his desire to keep his future wife’s family close by since he himself was an orphan.
On the day of his death, he and Diane had been shopping for homewares for their new apartment. They’d made the run of the specialty stores in downtown Lawrence, including pausing a few local galleries and an antique store. Eventually, they ended their day at Buffalo Bob’s Smoke House on Massachusetts’s Drive. In the middle of the entrée, Warren had left the table to use the restroom in the rear of the restaurant. It would be the last time that Diane saw Warren Benson alive.
They found him lying next to a dumpster twenty minutes later after Diane had gone to search for him when he’d failed to return to their table. His body lay on the grimy floor, blood pooling around it amongst the rotting remains of discarded produce with his throat torn open. Warren appeared as if he had been mauled by an animal. However, there had been no sound of an animal or for that matter Warren’s cries while he was being attacked. Whatever had murdered Warren, had done it without either making a single sound.
Sam and Dean’s first port of call was to investigate Buffalo Bob’s Smokehouse. Impersonating Agents Hope and Ehart of the FBI, another homage to Dean’s everlasting love of mullet music, they’d conned their way into the place and examined the crime scene. While the body had since been removed, the evidence of Warren Benson’s death was left within in the yellow police tape enclosing the spot he had fallen. The ground had since been scrubbed clean of blood and only a faint patch of clean remained of it in an otherwise filthy alley.
Dean’s nose curled at the stench of garbage and disinfectant battling for supremacy and creating an unholy odour that did neither side any favours. He walked up the length of the alley, trying to see where this animal could have come from. If it was an animal at all. Perhaps there was a pet shop or something in the vicinity. However, he discounted it because a dog would have attacked more than just the man’s neck and Warren’s injuries had been confined to one specific area on the man’s body. Nevertheless, it was smart to find a logical solution before deciding on a supernatural one.
“Dean,” Sam called suddenly. “Come look at this.”
Sam was standing at the wall next to the dumpster, staring at the brick wall. It was intact but the cement holding the bricks together had fissured in a half meter section of the wall from the top down to the base. The cracks in the concrete were not great enough to dislodge any of the bricks but a fine mist of mortar and cement dust had accumulated at the base of the wall. Sam ran his fingers along the concrete seam between the bricks and felt some of it crumble upon contact.
Dean stared at the wall from side to side and had to agree. “It’s just this section of the wall.”
“That’s weird right?” Sam looked at his brother.
“Pretty weird,” Dean agreed and produced the EMF meter tucked away in his jacket. He hadn’t thought they’d need this piece of equipment but like a boy scout, he liked to be prepared. Of course, if anyone ever called him a boy scout, they would be killed as a lesson to the others.
Flicking on the device he had built from bits he’d found at Bobby’s junkyard and an old Walkman, Dean’s eyes widened when the needle on the thing immediately perked up with life. The low cracking sound it made when it had detected unusually energy readings grew louder in intensity as he ran the EMF over the section of wall.
“Could we be wrong?” Sam spoke out loud, not really expecting an answer. “Are we dealing with a ghost?”
“This doesn’t feel like a ghost,” Dean retorted, lowering the device and considering the evidence before them. “But there’s something else going on here. We need to talk to his girlfriend, we need to see where he’s been.”
“Yeah,” Sam nodded, agreeing with him.
***********
Buffy’s first order of business after she had left the Slice was to head back to school and her office. She communicated daily with Giles, Willow and Xander through emails, instant messenger and Facebook. Faith usually checked in with a text message from whatever location she was at to tell Buffy she was dropping by and get ready for a night out on the town. While their conversations were mostly social, when something relating to slaying cropped up, Buffy found that a phone call was the usually the fastest way to get in touch.
It was 8 pm in England when Buffy called, hoping she got the mental calculations right before dialling. The last thing you wanted to do was wake up an old Watcher when he was trying to get his sleep. It made him really, really…wiggy.
“Hi Giles,” Buffy spoke.
“Hello Buffy,” Rupert Giles replied, the smile on his face as he sat at the desk in his study. “How are you?”
Hearing his voice made Buffy burst into another bright smile, akin to the one that had bedazzled one Dean Winchester a short time ago. She never tired of hearing that reassuring voice that could make everything seem better when she felt things were at their worst. Even if she had accepted Hank Summers’ financial restitution for being a non-father, Giles as far as Buffy was concerned was her real dad in every way that mattered.
“I’m good Giles,” Buffy answered, “but unfortunately this isn’t a social call. Something’s come up.”
“Oh?” He asked and Buffy imagined him sitting straighter in his chair, pushing up his glasses further along the bridge of his nose. “What is it?”
“I overheard two guys at lunch today, talking about tracking a creature that they think killed somebody in town. I checked the news and there was a killing four days ago. The police don’t have any leads and it could well be a vamp but these guys…” she thought of Dean with the voice that moved over her skin like molasses and shook her head, “these guys were talking like they were used to catching monsters and they mentioned something called a rugaru. Does the Council have a crew in town and not told me about it?” Buffy asked though she didn’t think that Sam and Dean were Watcher material. Still, it never hurt to ask.
“Of course not,” Giles said automatically, almost offended that she’d asked. He’d never sanction any team being sent to Lawrence without telling Buffy first. “A rugaru you say?” He asked again.
“Yes,” Buffy nodded.
“Hold on a moment,” he told her and Buffy heard him putting down the receiver. The comforting sound of old pages being flipped was transmitted across the Atlantic as Giles consulted his books.
As she waited, she considered what she would wear that evening to meet Dean. Woah, you’re there to pump him for information remember? Buffy groaned. She couldn’t believe her mind just went there.
“Here it is,” Giles said a moment later, snapping Buffy out of sinful thoughts about Dean and his hotness. “This is very interesting, the rougarou is a shape-shifting creature from the French-speaking communities of southern Louisiana, ‘garou’ meaning ‘a man who transforms into an animal’.”
“Like a werewolf?” She asked still unhappy that she hadn’t known what the creature was, now that her mind was back on business.
“Not quite,” Giles returned. “They do not affect a physical transformation like a werewolf but they do have change eye colour, into black if this picture is correct. It appears the condition arose from three hundred years ago when some settlers lost in the Louisiana bayou. Starving, they were forced into cannibalism and it was somehow transmitted through their genetic line. The present-day rugaru are descendant of those settlers.”
“How come I’ve never heard of this?” She demanded, her tone almost accusatory.
“They’re very rare Buffy,” Giles huffed. “There’s been only one or two reported cases. You say these men were aware of it?”
“Not just aware of it,” she retorted. “They sounded like they’d come across them before.”
“Hmm…” Giles said in a tone she knew all too well. “If you’re willing to come out of retirement, it might be worth investigating who these men are.” He suggested.
“Oh I’m already on it,” Buffy replied. “I’m meeting one of them for drinks tonight.”
She could hear his disapproval over the phone. “Relax Giles, he thinks I’m some cute blond who finds he’s hot. I’m just doing it to get more information. I’ve handled vampires, gods and cyber monsters, I think can handle one cute guy in a leather jacket.”
“Oh really?” Giles retorted. “I seem to recall….”
“I’m hanging up Giles,” she said shortly and did just that.
***********
Agents Hope and Ehart had hoped to find Warren Benson’s fiancée, Diane Lee at campus housing at the University of Kansas where the victim had taught. However, the woman had given up the residence and gone home to her parents who lived in a nice home in Hancock. The nurse was still in a state of shock and it had taken some convincing by Sam and Dean for her parents let them talk to her. They were first-generation immigrants from China who still viewed American authorities with some suspicion and would only consent to have Diane greet them on the front porch but no further.
Even in her bereaving state, Diane was somewhat more hospitable than her family. While she did not disobey her parents’ determination to keep the FBI out of their home and their affairs, she did join Sam and Dean on the porch to allow them to carry out their interview. She was a young woman in her thirties, pretty and kind. The type of girl you spent your life with and Dean couldn’t help feeling angry for her loss. You get life all planned out and some monster with impulse control ends it for you from the time it takes to leave the restaurant table to the time it takes to get to the bathroom.
Life was a bitch alright.
“I’m not sure what more I can tell you,” Diane sniffed. Her eyes were red from crying and she was doing everything she could to maintain her composure as she sat on the swing porch in front of the two men in their dark suits. The tall one could use a haircut, she thought offhandedly. “I told the police everything I know.”
“I know ma’am,” Sam spoke kindly, “and we’re sorry to make you rehash it all. We’re operating on the possibility that this might not have been an isolated crime and we just wanted to check our bases before we make that determination.”
“Alright,” she nodded. “How can I help you?”
Dean dropped to his knees so that he could make eye contact and asked, “Can you tell us what you did that day. Was there anything out of ordinary? Anyone you might have come into contact with that seemed odd or out of place?”
She didn’t speak for a second, considering the question. “We were shopping for the new apartment. We hadn’t been there very long and Ren didn’t have new linens. We were just shopping downtown, went to a few of the department stores to buy things at the apartment. We stopped at the Framewood and Phoenix Galleries and our last stop was the Lawrence Antique Mall. Then we went to Buffalo Bob’s.”
“Did you buy anything at the antique store?” Sam asked. There were all kinds of mystical objects that could appear perfectly innocuous to the unsuspecting buyer until their true nature was revealed, usually to fatal consequences.
“No,” she shook her head. “We were just browsing.”
“Too bad,” Dean grumbled, drawing a puzzled expression from Diane before he recanted quickly. “I mean too bad that this happened to you, ma’am. I’m really sorry.” He apologised for the gaffe.
Sam frowned, thinking that antique store might be worth a look anyway but at present, this appeared to be a dead end. Unfortunately, the only thing to do now was to wait for another body and see if there was a pattern they could follow. Dean had fired off a few more question at the woman at where the antique store was and whether or not Warren had any enemies. However, other than a few students who were unhappy about their grade, the man had never harmed a soul in his life.
“Thank you for your help ma’am,” Sam said after Dean was done, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
***********
“What now?” Sam asked as they headed back to the Impala. Dean was already loosening the tie around his neck.
“Well, you look kind of wasted,” Dean said eyeing his brother. It concerned him that Sam’s condition as he completed each of the goddamn trials to close Hell’s Gates was taking its toll on him. “Let’s get back to the hotel, you can get some rest and we’ll check out the antique store tomorrow. It’s getting late in the day anyway.”
“You just want to meet up with your blond cheerleader,” Sam retorted, giving Dean a knowing look.
“Hell yeah,” Dean grinned. “That smile Sammy. Right here, right between the eyes.” He tapped the middle of his forehead.
“I think your aim’s off,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Try a little further south.”
“That’s cold man,” Dean returned with a smirk but didn’t deny it.
***********
Buffy had never been to been to the Dynamite Saloon even though she had seen a number of times when she was walking down Massachusetts Drive. It was situated across the Buffalo Bob’s Smokehouse and as Buffy parked her car and walked towards the place, she suspected that the only reason that Dean had picked the establishment was because it was across the street from the crime scene where the body of Warren Benson had been found.
If she had any doubt that she was out of practice with…well just about everything, it was how long it took for her to get dressed to make her date with Dean…what was his last name? Damn, she hadn’t even gotten his last name! Infuriated at her lapse, she was determined to get what she needed from him, one way or another. Keeping a different set of clothes in a tote bag on the back seat, Buffy dressed for a date. She wore a V neck kimono type blouse of pink Japanese silk that provided an ample but tasteful view of cleavage, a straight white skirt with a high slit and gold slingbacks.
If this outfit doesn’t get him talking, nothing would, she told herself.
Walking into the Saloon, its décor was a mixture of wood panelling and deep burgundy colours. The lighting was ambient and the seats were mostly private booths although there was a row of stools against the bar. It was a Wednesday night and the bar wasn’t as very busy. She sought him out among the faces leaning against the counter, ordering drinks. Buffy saw him standing up, his gaze meeting hers and once again, he gave her that look. The one that lacked the swagger of their first encounter, the one she couldn’t quite read.
Walking up to her in the middle of the saloon floor, Dean ran an appreciative gaze over her from head to toe. “Damn,” he exclaimed, clearly pleased by what he saw. “You look incredible.”
Even though this was supposed to be business, Buffy was rather flattered by the reaction and a bloom of colour appeared in her cheeks. “Thanks,” she offered him a grateful smile when she saw his sharp intake of breath.
“Come on let’s sit down,” he stepped back and gestured to an empty booth. “What are you drinking?”
“Uhm... I’m not so good with alcohol,” she confessed but didn’t want to seem like a complete dysfunctional. “What would you recommend?”
Dean tried not to smirk, “I’ll get you some iced tea.”
“That sounds good,” she said relieved that he hadn’t got her scotch or something stronger.
Dean went to the counter, ordered himself a beer and got Buffy a Long Island ice tea before returning to the dimly lit booth where she was waiting. When she’d walked into the bar, she’d literally left him jaw on the floor. The surge of desire that surfaced in him was so strong, he almost considered asking her if she really wanted to waste time with drinks when they could be doing the nasty right this minute. With all the crap that was going on right now with the trials and Sam’s deteriorating state as he tried to complete them, Dean would take all the comfort he could get from a pretty face.
And damn, what a pretty face it was.
“So what’s a gorgeous thing like you doing in a town like this?” Dean asked when he slid into the booth across her.
“Well that’s a little better than asking me if I know a good motel,” Buffy teased. “Really, is that your best pick up line?”
Dean laughed and leaned forward, a decidedly wicked gleam in his eyes, “well it definitely wasn’t my worst. I once tried to pick up a single mom with the line ‘kids are great’ like I had any experience of that.”
“Ewww,” Buffy made a face at him and joined in his laughter, liking it that he wasn’t afraid to make that revelation. “That one does kind of suck.”
“Told you,” Dean admitted smiling, “so now that we’ve established I suck at pick-up lines, what is a nice girl like you doing in Lawrence?”
“Rolled into town one day three years ago and decided this was a good place to settle,” Buffy replied.
Three years ago. She’d mentioned it before but he hadn’t realised its significance until he thought about it now. Despite himself, he couldn’t help wince inside. He had also been in Lawrence three years ago. When Lucifer had taken Sam and the Apocalypse had been averted. He’d lost Sam that day and had walked away from the life or so he thought.
Shake it off Dean, he told himself, shake it off. That’s in the past and tonight is about the girl and her killer smile, not to mention her terrific body, he thought as he snuck a peek down the blouse she was wearing, tantalised by the creamy skin of her partially exposed breasts.
Recalibrating to the business at hand, which was the woman in front of him, Dean admitted, “I used to live here when I was kid,” he volunteered. “It’s a nice town.”
“You did?” She asked, feigning surprise when she recalled him saying so when she had been eavesdropping on him and his brother. “Why did you move away?”
What a question, Dean thought and decided he had opened the door in the first place. He was past the days when talking about his mom elicited sorrow and pain. He and Sam had been through much worse traumas since then. “When my mom died. My dad moved me and Sammy out of here.” Dean answered, deciding that the best answer was often a half-truth.
“Oh,” Buffy’s expression dropped, not wishing to bring back what was obviously a painful memory by the effort he took to hide in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I lost my mom a few years back too. It’s never easy is it?” Without thinking, her hand drifted to Dean’s.
Dean lowered his gaze to the hand across his and felt a rush of feeling. At that moment, he didn’t just want to fuck her, he wanted to spend the whole night making love to her. It was just so out of character for him.
“No it isn’t,” he said quietly, finding himself trying to regain his cocky demeanour. What the hell? In the past, Dean could use stuff like this to ride right into a chick’s bed. Why was it so goddamn hard to be that guy again? “But hey,” he perked up again, “life happens right? So you moved here three years ago and what do you do now?”
“I’m a guidance counsellor,” Buffy answered before taking a sip of the iced tea that was set on the table by the waitress. She noted his discomfort at allowing her to see his grief, even if it was mutually shared and let the matter slide. She could understand his need to be so guarded. There was a time when Buffy was similarly armoured but these days empathy was part of the job description.
Dean was just about to take a swig of his beer when she answered and he held the bottle still as his jaw dropped in surprise. “Get out. You’re a guidance counsellor? Man if they had guidance counsellors like you when I was in school, I’d be seeing you every day.”
“Oooh, you’re getting better at this,” Buffy said impressed.
Another grin escaped him and Dean retorted with typical confidence, “Darlin, you have no idea how good I can be.” He winked at her and drank.
It would be so easy for Buffy to get lost in his bravado and his voice but she reminded herself that she had a job to do. “So what do you for a living, Dean?” She asked as she took another sip of her iced tea. It tasted yummy and she had to give him credit for knowing how to order a good drink.
“Vermin control,” he said automatically. That wasn’t exactly a lie either, just a gross understatement of the job.
“Vermin control?” Buffy actually laughed out loud. She knew that he was some kind of amateur monster hunter and supposed vermin control could be a way of describing it. Thank God she never had to come up with an excuse to give people about the slaying. Then again, she had made some lame excuses in the past too. “And your brother?”
“He rides shotgun and screams whenever he sees a mouse,” Dean declared with a smirk and then added more seriously, “He’s my partner.”
“That’s sweet,” Buffy replied, suspecting that there was more to it than that, “like a family business.”
Dean stared at her and that odd smile crossed his lips again, “Yeah something like that.”
“Okay, what is that?” Buffy replied, catching the look and wanted to know what it was about.
“What?” Dean asked caught off guard.
“You have something face.” She pointed out.
“I have what?” He exclaimed, staring at her incredulously. This chick was crazy but he liked it. “What’s something face?”
“You keep giving me this look,” Buffy said half teasing and half wanting to know. “I can’t figure it out.”
“That just makes me mysterious,” he eased back against the seat, smiling cockily because she was so damn cute, even when she was trying to be serious. He liked her and Dean was surprised by how much.
“Mysteries are just stuff you haven’t figure out yet,” she returned with narrowed eyes. “Fess up Dean, what are you thinking?”
Okay, honey, you asked for it.
He was either going to get slapped in the face or get very lucky. Dean was gambling on it being the latter because he knew she was into him and to his surprise, he was into her as well. Not just for sex but that was a good start. “I’m thinking,” he lowered his voice and leaned forward, gesturing her close so she could hear him before saying huskily, “I’d like to get you in a room somewhere, where I can spend the night spreading you open and tasting you until you come screaming my name.”
Buffy turned bright red, trying to formulate thought when his voice created such vivid imagery in her head. He was trying to unbalance her like he did this morning. However, when he stared at her with such heated intensity, it was hard to avoid being affected.
“Does that whole…Uhm line… ever work?” She asked after a moment, somewhat flustered but still maintaining some semblance of control.
However, Dean was cheering inwardly. She hadn’t slapped him which meant she was interested and he knew the signs of aroused woman. “You tell me,” he spoke, still using the same seductive tone. “You’re still here .”
“I’m trying to decide whether or not you think you’re that irresistible or I’m that easy,” she finally managed to respond.
Despite her return serve, Buffy was uncertain how to take his brash manner. Angel had never been that way and while Spike was, she knew he was masking his own lack of self-worth and that evened out the balance between them. Riley was always so sensitive and well Parker was just an asshole. She was struggling to decide if Dean was being a jerk who just wanted to get into her pants or did he feel some deeper connection that had no need of the usual rules of courtship.
“Darlin’ I don’t think you’re easy,” Dean replied on surer ground. “I think you’re fucking spectacular and I meant every word I said. Come on Counsellor, take a ride with me on the wild side.”
That damn drawl again, the one that moved over her skin like molasses, making her heart pound and her breathing shallow. Had it been that long since the last time she had been with a guy that he was affecting her this way? Or was it the connection she had felt the instant their eyes had touched this morning? Buffy forgot all about her plan to learn more about him and attended to her own personal wants. When it came to men, she had the worst luck and she liked him, liked his swagger and the oh so obvious alpha male thing he had going.
She just didn’t want to make a fool of herself, again.
Buffy opened her mouth to answer Dean when suddenly someone started screaming.
The scream silenced the revelry in the saloon and any chance Dean Winchester thought he had of getting any action tonight.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean jumped to his feet immediately and hurried out of the booth, forgetting that he was on a date or that he owed Buffy any explanations regarding his sudden departure.
The screaming was coming from the top of a flight of steps near the restrooms in the saloon. A brunette was screaming hysterically when Dean reached her, shaking so badly and spouting out incomprehensible words through her wild gesticulation that Dean didn’t even bother to try and figure out what she was saying. Instead, he followed the direction of her flaying hands, down a short corridor that came to an end with a room that faced the front of the main street, judging by the view through the window. It was an office with a wooden desk and chair in the centre, a rug on the floor and a filing cabinet in the corner next to the window. The walls were adorned with newspaper clippings, posters of old bands and various licenses.
The body that lay half across the rug could only be identified as male-only because of the clothes he was wearing. There were no facial features left due to the bloody mess of flesh above the neck. The corpse was covered in a greenish fluid with parts of the flesh appearing to have been eaten away. Dean could see parts of bone through the gore of disintegrated meat. It was a grisly sight that was not aided by the near vomit-inducing stench that assaulted the senses the moment anyone stepped into the room. Reaching for his jacket pocket, he extracted a handkerchief and covered his nose when he went closer to investigate.
“What the hell happened to you?” He asked quietly of the dead man, not really expecting an answer.
***********
Buffy was suddenly visited by an odd and somewhat comforting sense of déjà vu when she heard the girl scream. Unlike Dean’s very forward pass, she had a clear understanding of what to do in this situation. However, before she had a chance to react, Dean had jumped to his feet and gone charging to confront whatever it was that had elicited that frightened cry. Without even a word to her, as he went, Dean was gone in a flash, running up the staircase, leaving her at the booth trying to figure out what had happened.
Whether or not it was going to blow her cover, Buffy was on her feet and following him barely a second later. Of course, he was wearing sensible shoes while she was in heels so naturally, she couldn’t move as fast as she liked. After the initial shock had lapsed, the crowd in the bar had started to react to the girl’s scream and Buffy knew that she didn’t have very long before they swarmed in on her and she would learn nothing.
Buffy clacked her way up the stairs, just ahead of the staff in the Saloon, cursing she hadn’t worn boots or flats. She saw no sign of Dean and suddenly had an idea of how Willow and Xander felt sometimes when she’d left them behind to go on ahead to fight some Big Bad. She reached the doorway and saw Dean hunched over the body, examining it.
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed at the sight of the body.
Dean immediately turned to her and his hard expression softened to one of concern. “Hey Buffy, you don’t want to be here…” he said when she cut him off.
“That’s not vamp kill.” She stated.
Anything else he had to say died with that statement and he blinked hard and stared at her, “What did you say?”
“I said,” Buffy walked past him, ignoring his stunned expression and winced immediately when confronted by the awful stench. “God what is that smell….” She complained covering her nose with her palm as she leaned in towards the body to examine it herself.
Dean was still standing there open-mouthed, staring at her, “I don’t know,” he muttered and then asked, “did you just say vamp?” He thought he must have heard wrong.
“Yeah, vamp,” she answered and then dismissed his shock because she had slipped so easily into slayer mode, that any self- consciousness she had displayed during their earlier conversation was gone. Now she was the Slayer again, on solid ground with no doubt or hesitation about what she needed to do.
Dean watched her astonishment as she marched to the body, dropped down to the same position that he had taken a moment ago and begin scanning the dead man’s injuries. The vibe of the cute, somewhat sexually repressed girl had vanished and had evolved into this new exciting creature in front of him. Confident, strong and completely unfazed by what she was seeing, Dean found that for the first time since he’d met her, the tables were turned and he was the one unbalanced and running to play catch up.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Buffy declared, reaching for a pencil that had rolled off the desk and landed on the floor near her. Using the pencil, she touched the viscous liquid that covered the man, attaching a thick pregnant drop to its tip. Even as she held it, it started to burn. “It’s like acid.”
She’s a hunter or something close to a hunter, Dean thought. That was the only explanation for how easily she was accepting what was in front of her. She hardly flinched at the sight of the victim, just the stench emanating from it. And she had said vamp like it was a common occurrence in her life. Was she a hunter? A hunter named Buffy? It sounded so ridiculous he almost laughed but here she was, conducting the same assessment of the scene that he and Sam would do if they were confronted by this.
Regaining his composure, Dean joined Buffy in studying the victim. “It’s just over him. There’s no splatter marks over anything, just him. I can’t see how they got it on him unless they painted it on,” Dean answered. “You said you never saw this before, what else have you seen?” He asked.
Buffy turned to him and gave him an enigmatic smile, “that’s a long conversation.”
There would be time to play twenty questions later but right now, there was work to be done and Dean returned to the subject at hand. “You’re right, it is some kind of acid. Look, we got maybe five minutes tops before the cops get here. Less before everyone else from downstairs to get up here. I need to look around, see what else is here.”
“We need to look around,” she corrected.
“Right,” Dean nodded with a taut smile not about to argue with the limited time they had, “We. You take the body and I’ll work the room, okay?”
“Okay,” Buffy agreed, guessing that he was used to working with a partner and saw that as an equitable division of labour to get through what needed to be done before they lost access to the scene. She continued her examination of the dead man and noted something on his arm. It was barely discernible and easy to miss because of the damage to the flesh and the fact that it was located in a place where there had been a tattoo.
“Did you see the bite mark?” She asked, pointing to the marks with the tip of her pencil.
“Bite mark?” Dean declared, paying more attention to the fine dust on the base of one wall. He ran his fingers along the paint finish and saw no sign of cracks or fissures of any kind that would produce such a layer. Yet it was there as if something had cracked. He looked about to see if there was any damage on the ceiling or surrounding walls that might have explained its origins but there was nothing. It was almost identical to what they had found in the alley. At the mention of bite marks however, he came back to her.
“Here,” she pointed to the man’s arm. “That’s not a vampire bite.” She said firmly, giving him no illusions as to what she knew and didn’t know. “I’ve never seen one that looks like this.”
Dean stared at her again and his smile broadened before he regarded the body again. “Me neither and not with this acid crap all over it.”
Suddenly, they could hear footsteps coming down the hall. Their time was up. The brunette’s screams had abated but the commotion of other people following them into the room was fast approaching. They wouldn’t be able to leave without running into the new arrivals and they’d have to explain their presence.
“I swear I’m not trying to cop a feel but play along,” Dean said quickly and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her to him in a close intimate grip.
Buffy was about to protest when the brunette along with the bartender and one of the waiters appeared at the doorstep. She had no doubt that the police would soon be next. She and Dean had to get out of here before the authorities arrived. The last thing she needed was the cops in this town questioning why a high school guidance counsellor was at the scene of a murder.
“Jesus Christ!” The bartender, a heavyset black man with a John Holmes moustache cried out at the grisly sight. His shock did not last long and was soon turning his attention to Buffy and Dean and demanding what they were doing there. “Who the hell are you?” Next to him, the brunette had started squealing again while the waiter doubled over, throwing up the contents of his stomach on the dark wood floor.
“Woah,” Dean winced at the sight of the man’s regurgitation, “Sorry man, I couldn’t stop the little woman from running up here and checking out the body,” Dean explained, slapping Buffy’s ass as he spoke. “She loves all this gross stuff…”
Buffy turned to Dean, ready to deliver her own slap (in the form of a right hook) before she recalled what he said about playing along with him and managed to offer the trio a look of embarrassment and apology.
“That’s just sick,” the bartender declared, appalled as he shook his head at Buffy like she was some kind of deviant. “That’s our friend over there! Have some respect.”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” Dean repeated himself, feigning a more sombre demeanour. “We’ll just be on our way.” He assured them and started steering Buffy towards the door.
“Get out of here!” The man barked at them, torn between outrage and grief, “we’re calling the cops!”
“We’re going, we’re going! I’m so sorry.” She said finally, letting Dean guide her towards the door, his arm still wrapped around her waist as they hurried out into the corridor.
“The little woman?” She glared at him when they were alone.
“Don’t worry honey,” Dean grinned as they reached the staircase leading back to the saloon floor “I’m sure they don’t think you get off on seeing all that blood….”
***********
Twenty minutes later, they were back at the Slice.
At this time of night, it was virtually deserted except for the waitresses on the late shift. Buffy had never been to the Slice at this time of night so she wasn’t surprised to see that Mary was gone for the day when she and Dean stepped into the diner. They’d driven here in his car, a gorgeous black Chevy that reminded her of Angel’s T-Bird that had a tape deck. Who had a tape deck anymore? They’d avoided all the questions that they were dying to ask each other and yet the silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable if anything it was liberating. Like there was no need for secrets, no need to lie about who they were or the darkness they were so obviously aware of.
Dean threw a sidelong glance at her as he had driven, studying her profile, trying to unravel the mystery about her. He was still rather stunned by the transformation of this rather prissy girl who blushed at the thought of raunchy sex into this confident, powerful woman who talked about vamps the way he and Sam talked about demons. He’d pretty much decided that she was a hunter but then again, she didn’t live like one. Hunters rarely held jobs as school teachers or settled in one place. However, the way she’d stepped up when they’d found that body, it was a glimpse of her he hadn’t seen when they were conducting their verbal foreplay.
He didn’t think he could get turned on more by a woman but he was.
“So,” he said finally after their coffee got served. “You’re a hunter.”
Buffy blinked. “A what?”
“A hunter,” Dean repeated himself, eyes narrowing. Either she was a hunter or she knew about monsters without knowing there were others out there who knew the same things that she did. It was a real possibility. Most hunters started out alone, thinking they were the only ones who knew what they did until they met someone who proved them wrong. Dean was certain that was how John got into the life before he met Bobby and all the other hunters. “You know, hunting monsters and things. That’s how you know about vamps right?”
“No, I’m the Slayer,” she answered staring back at him bewildered. Hunter? She’d never heard the term in that context except for the one time when she had hunted Oz but that asshole Cain had been all about the profit, not about helping people. She recalled what she had overheard between the two brothers earlier today when they had been discussing what kind of creature they were dealing with. They hadn’t been talking about it like they were trying to score some trophy, they were trying to stop the killing before another person got hurt. “What’s a hunter?” She asked.
“What’s a Slayer?” Dean countered and another lengthy silence followed as they contemplated whether or not they should answer. Finally, it was Dean who broke the deadlock, so to speak. “You first.”
“Why me?” Buffy countered.
“Because I asked first.” Dean pointed out, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips like he’d offered her some proverbial checkmate.
“I’m the Slayer,” Buffy sighed, wishing Giles was here to answer the question. He lived for telling people about the lore around the slayers. Taking a deep breath and exhaling it, Buffy started to recite what had been drilled into her head since she’d been called.
“In every generation, there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.”
“You’re kidding,” Dean exclaimed, almost laughing out loud. It sounded like something out of a bad horror book, like those things Chuck the Prophet might write if the guy’s stories weren’t about the Winchesters. “A girl?”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed, “you know you’re not so cute that I won’t deck you.”
Dean held her gaze and replied with a completely straight face, “so you think I’m cute.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and reconsidered for a moment the whole part about decking him. Instead, she picked up the metal spoon resting on her saucer and studied it for a moment. It was made from stainless steel. Glancing over her shoulder to ensure the eyes of the rather bored waitress at the counter was still fixed on the exploits of Kim Kardashian in her magazine, Buffy faced front and folded the spoon in half. With a look of perfect innocence, she dropped it into Dean’s cup of coffee with a loud plink.
Dean blinked and fished out the spoon, staring at it. It had to be a trick, he told himself and then tried to unbend it back to its former shape. After a minute of trying, in which he found Buffy looking at him with a bemused expression, Dean gave up. He couldn’t even budge it.
“You should see what I do to shotguns.” She smiled smugly.
“Damn woman!” Dean said impressed, meeting her smirk with one of his own. “A slayer huh? I’ve never read anything like that in all the lore I’ve researched.”
“Well I’ve never heard of a hunter either,” she replied. “So what is it?”
“A hunter? Well, we’re mostly ordinary people who’ve run into some terrible creepy things and chose to fight it. I mean we didn’t know there were slayers out there doing this stuff. All we know is bad stuff happened to the people we cared about, usually involving some ugly monster that no one else can’t deal with.”
“And you do this all the time?” Buffy was astonished that the Watcher Council was completely unaware of any of this. “How many of you are there?” She asked.
Buffy had never liked the idea of civilians fighting monsters and yet according to Dean, there was a whole culture of them that had been defending themselves, doing the job of slayers with nothing but their wits and shared experiences to get by. She felt kind of ashamed that in the past she’d underestimate the ability of ordinary humans to deal. Then again, hadn’t Xander risen magnificently to the occasion when she’d needed help? Willow too even before she started practising magic.
“Lots of us,” Dean answered, “My grandparents were hunters so was my dad and my mom too. There’s a lot of us working jobs across the country. There’s just one Slayer?” He asked in return.
“There used to be,” Buffy explained, “but a couple of years ago, there was a spell that activated all the potentials, girls who could be slayers. When they all woke up, I wasn’t alone any more. For the first time since I was fifteen years old, it wasn’t solely my responsibility to save the world.”
Dean was still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that there was an army of girls with super strength running around the place, fighting monsters. No hunter had ever encountered them, not once. How the hell was possible? “So then you retired to Lawrence, Kansas? Really?”
His first choice would be California, near a beach with a lot of bikini-clad chicks.
“Well, I was here on a job three years ago,” Buffy laughed, understanding his scepticism. Her friends had been no less comprehending when she had first told them of her intention to settle here. “There was something going on in town, me and a bunch of slayers came here. The Watcher Council who looks after the slayers and gives us all our information told us something huge was happening in town here. They didn’t have any record of it but the signs were everywhere. Disasters, deaths, whole towns disappearing. There were also a lot of demons we’d identified as being non-hostile who got the serious wigguns and left this plane of existence. Like rats deserting a sinking ship. We couldn’t even get our psychics to tap into whatever it was. The few that did, got their eyes burned out…” Buffy stopped speaking when she caught sight of the expression on his face.
All trace of humour had drained out from it.
“Three years ago?” Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose, the realisation exploding behind his eyes like artillery shells. “This something huge, was it at Stull Cemetery?” He asked.
Buffy’s eyes widened, “Yeah, you know it?”
“The something huge you were trying to stop?” Dean said drawing back into his seat and meeting her gaze, “That was Lucifer.”
“Lucifer,” Buffy’s brow knotted. “Lucifer like in the Bible, Lucifer?”
“That’s the son of a bitch,” Dean replied nodding. “He got out of the cage he was trapped in, was about to bring on the Apocalypse. All that stuff that was happening, you know the wrath of god type catastrophes? That that was all him. There were angels and demons running around the place, killing each other. It was a real goddamn mess.”
The scale of it made Buffy’s head hurt and she felt angry that it had all taken place without her. “You know,” Buffy said unhappily a moment later, “something’s wrong here.”
“No kidding,” Dean retorted with a frown. “This was so not the way I thought this date was going to go.”
Buffy chuckled, finding his manner infectious. “You mean because I’m not in bed with you yet?” She asked teasing him. “I mean,” she swatted him on the shoulder like they’d known each other for years not hours, “that the Watchers haven’t heard of any of this or you hunters haven’t heard of the stuff we’ve been going through.”
Dean couldn’t deny that “well an army of super-powered chicks running around saving the day is definitely something that wouldn’t have stayed off our radar for long.”
“Well we can figure that out later,” Buffy shrugged, aware that she was going to have a very serious conversation with Giles about this. There were so many gaps in the Watcher Council records lately that it was becoming more than a coincidence. That a bunch of humans could have stopped an Apocalypse of biblical proportions without the Council or the slayers having any knowledge of it was either due to extreme incompetence or something was happening than neither camp were aware of. “Right now, something is killing people in my town and I want it stopped.”
Dean drank in the sight of her, thinking that she looked fucking awesome when she talked like that. She’d been cute before but now his attraction to her had been ratcheted up to such a level, it was almost painful not being able to do all the things he had suggested to her earlier. “You’re pretty hot when you’re doing your…slayer thing? You know the best way to end a great date is to…”
“Oh my god!” Buffy rolled her eyes. “You are a total man-whore aren’t you?” She declared smiling at him. “I thought we’re talking a job here.”
“We are but we’re not going to catch our monster until tomorrow? Unless you got some leads that I don’t know about.” He challenged.
“I don’t know anything,” Buffy scowled, disliking the fact that this had taken place in the town she lived in and had required a pair of ordinary civilians to bring it to her attention. It was never like this in Sunnydale. Then again, Sunnydale was nowhere the size of Lawrence. “You were at the first scene. Did it look anything like what we saw tonight?”
“No,” Dean shook his head. “That one had bite marks but those did look like they could have belonged to a vamp or rugaru. Nothing like this one.”
“There’s gotta be something connecting them,” Buffy insisted. “There always is.”
“I’ll get my brother to do some investigating tomorrow,” Dean replied, “our covers blown there after tonight. See if we can’t find the link. So you coming out of retirement to help us on this?” He asked her. “I mean I know it’s hard dragging yourself away from your nice office to get back into the game.”
“I told you,” Buffy said firmly, aware that he was snaking her again, “this is my town and I want it stopped. I’ve got vacation time coming to me, I’m going to work this with you.”
Dean noted that she wasn’t asking him.
“Okay then,” he nodded, leaning forward, “we should seal this partnership with a good hour or two of marathon sex. That will get us into the mood for a good night’s sleep and a fresh start tomorrow.”
Buffy kicked him under the table.
So let me get this straight,” Sam said, staring at Dean from across the small table in their motel room the next morning, “While I was sleeping, you managed to stumble onto another death and then blab what we do to your date?”
If there was one thing John Winchester had drilled into their heads, it was to never tell anybody their big family secret. Sam had lived with Jesse for a year and a half and never revealed the truth and the only time Dean had only ever done it was to the girl he had fallen in love with. The fact that he had revealed all to the cute blonde he’d met only yesterday was not only dangerous, but it was also downright astonishing.
In light of Dean’s revelation, Sam didn’t know whether to be astonished or angry. Finally, he decided to go with astonished because it was so rare that Sam had the high ground with Dean and even rarer when his brother appeared so completely flustered. Dean's reaction to Sam's accusation of blabbing was priceless and the younger Winchester even felt a twinge of guilt (though not much) at breaking his brother's balls. However, it was too much fun to sit back and enjoy the spectacle of Dean tripping over his tongue trying to explain himself.
“I did not blab to my date," Dean feigned outrage even though to his chagrin, that was exactly what he had done. However, Dean was convinced he was justified in his actions and was prepared to defend himself to his obnoxious brother. “Look,” he said trying to not sound defensive, which he was, “she knew her stuff alright? I figured her for another hunter. A hunter named Buffy,” Dean explained, a mental picture of the girl carrying a crossbow and nothing else temporarily scrambled his train of thought. With a start, Dean got back on track when he remembered Sam was watching him, “who knew she was actually a slayer.”
Sam did a double-take and demanded. “A what?”
“A slayer,” Dean repeated, growing ever more exasperated by the look of disbelief on Sam’s face. “Supposedly, there’s one in every generation, a girl who fights vampires, demons and monsters. From the way she tells it, the slayer was created when these Shamans called the Shadow Men got together and ran a spell giving a girl these special powers. Since then, it gets passed along when the slayer dies and another one is called.”
When Buffy had told him about the Slayers, he hadn’t much liked that part of her story mostly because it implied she had a finite shelf life or rather had when she was the only Slayer in existence.
“Special powers?” This was getting more far-fetched by the minute, Sam thought until he remembered that there was a time when he was the one who had 'abilities' and had no right to judge on this point.
"Hell yeah! She bent a spoon in front of me. I mean I couldn't even budge it." Dean insisted, ready to switch to violence to wipe away that smug look on Sam’s face. His brother could be such a dick sometimes, Dean fumed.
"Well that's because you're a pussy," Sam said automatically, receiving a punch in the arm for his trouble.
"Smartass," Dean growled at him and then replied in a more earnest tone. “Sammy I know it’s crazy but I believe her okay? You know me, I'm the most suspicious son of a bitch there is but this girl…I think she was on the level. She knew about vamps, she knew something went down here three years ago at Stull Cemetery. She wasn’t sure exactly what but she knew the slayers didn’t get there in time and missed it.”
Mention of Stull Cemetery made Sam sit up straighter.
There were a handful of people who knew what happened to Lucifer and to him that day at Stull Cemetery. While most hunters were aware that the war had ended due to the Winchesters, very few had any idea about the specifics and certainly none that knew it had taken place at Stull Cemetery, the location of Lucifer's cage. If this girl had access to resources that could discern that information, then maybe there was something to her story after all. Sam's greatest difficulty, however, was believing he could have gone through all the lore and missed something as important as the existence of a slayer.
Still, one incontrovertible truth remained if nothing else convinced him; Dean trusted her.
Dean didn't trust anyone. His brother had the best instincts of any hunter he'd know. Sam never voiced it but he often thought Dean was a better hunter than John Winchester. When he went with his gut, he was seldom wrong. Even when he put his trust in Benny, the vampire he'd met in Purgatory, it had served him well. So far, Benny had behaved like no vampire Sam had ever encountered, save Lenora and her cadre who had sworn off blood and then it was Sam asking for Dean's trust. His brother had given it and so if Dean believed this girl, assuming he wasn't doing it because he had a thing for blond cheerleaders (who didn't?), then Sam would give her the benefit of the doubt.
"Okay Dean," Sam conceded the point for Dean's sake of Dean’s continued sanity, "If you trust her then that's good enough for me. I trust you."
After the last few minutes of ballbusting, Sam's sudden vote of confidence took him back a bit and Dean settled down, recovering from what he deemed as one of Sam's 'chick' moments.
"Thanks," He said simply, wanting to leave the subject behind.
Still, Dean was grateful that Sam was deferring to his judgement because he was happy to get all the help he could get on this job. Despite his brother's assurances, Sam did not look well even after getting more than fourteen hours sleep. There were far too many dark circles under he still looked pale. Sam wasn’t concealing his exhaustion at all. The trials, which should have been Dean's to undertake, was taking its toll on Sam and he wasn't sure how much more his baby brother could take before his body gave out. If there was a way out for Sam, Dean was determined to find it.
"There is one thing strange though," Dean mentioned as he sipped substandard coffee from a Styrofoam cup, "she says she gets her info from a group called the Watcher Council who's there to help the slayers. They sound a hell of a lot like the Men of Letters and I wondered if you saw anything like that when you were going through the books in the Batcave?"
"No," Sam shook his head, certain on that. "I mean I haven't been through all the stuff in the bunker but I didn't see anything referring to a Watcher Council or a slayer for that matter. Something like that, I would have remembered. "
"Doesn't make sense then," Dean shook his head, giving up trying to figure it out, "nothing from the Men of Letters and her Watcher Council had no idea about Lucifer, other than the usual stuff in the Bible. I mean she was clueless about the angels and demons running around."
"That's a lot of gaps," Sam agreed, his brow furrowing in thought. He wondered if he ought to consult his father's journal and then dismissed the notion. Both he and Dean and read the thing cover to cover over the last eight years and they'd seen nothing to suggest the existence of a slayer or a Watcher Council. Then again, John Winchester had been unaware that his own father was a Man of Letters.
"Yeah right?" Dean stated when suddenly there was a knock on their door.
In typical Winchester fashion, they both went for their guns.
Dean stood up first, motioning Sam to stand by while he approached the door cautiously, the barrel of his '45 leading the way. Slowly, he leaned forward and peered through the peephole, seeing who it was. A fraction of a second later, Sam saw Dean's shoulder's slump, relaxing. He stepped back from the door a second later wearing a somewhat a sheepish expression on his face before lowering the gun.
"Who is it?" Sam asked puzzled, doing the same.
Dean didn't answer but opened up the door and stepped aside.
"Hi there," Dean's 'slayer' greeted them as she swept into the room carrying three cups on a cardboard holder and a brown paper bag. "So I took a week off work so we can work this job together. I thought we'd get started bright and early so I brought breakfast. I stopped at the Slice and got Mary to fill your coffee orders from yesterday. I figure we can start by talking to the second victims’ family since I’m guessing you already did the first one. I think unless the family is someone who saw us at the saloon last night, we can still do it. Although, if it someone who saw us then I think you’re right, Sam’s going to have to go in alone.”
She said all this without breath as she lowered their breakfast onto the table. The nice, wafting aromas immediately prodded both men’s stomachs to jump to attention.
Glancing at Dean, she concluded, "Can't believe you keep in shape eating the junk you do."
Staring past at her at Sam, Dean swallowed thickly, trying to maintain his usual swagger as he finally realised he paused to speak at last, "Hey Counsellor."
His first thought, other than ‘God she could talk’ was even in street clothes, she still looked spectacularly hot. She was wearing this cute girly burgundy jacket, jeans and boots that made her a little taller, but not much. She looked as good in pants as she did in that ass grabbing skirt she’d worn the night before.
Sam was still playing catch up.
"Working this job together?" He threw Dean a questioning look since this was all news to him.
"Well yeah," Dean cleared his throat as Buffy stood between the two of them, her eyes jumping from face to face in expectation of a response to her earlier plan of attack. "I mean this is Buffy's turf after all and she wants in."
"And you said yes?" Sam was more incredulous by Dean’s agreement than Buffy’s presence.
"Is there a problem?" Buffy stared at him, realising now that she'd barged into the room and gone off like some bossy drill sergeant (with nicer clothes and not so much moustache hair) without giving them both a moment to catch their breaths or process what was happening for that matter. "It is okay right?"
"Its fine," Sam replied good-naturedly, smiling at her and gesturing at Buffy to join them at the table. "I'm just wondering what you did with my brother. He's not usually this..."
"Friendly?" Buffy offered.
"Whipped," Sam said with a widening grin.
"Sammy I swear I'll kick your ass," Dean threatened as he sat down on opposite Sam. "Look we don't work jobs on other hunter's turf. This is no different." He said once again attempting to convince Sam that he wasn’t thinking with his hormones here. Well not entirely.
Sam laughed, taking delight in Dean's reddening colour before turning to Buffy, "Thanks for breakfast.” He said reaching for the bag, “please excuse my brother while he’s trying to regain his dignity."
"Bite me," Dean retorted, making a face at him as the three sat down.
Buffy relaxed a little once she realised that Dean's relationship with his brother was not all that different from her own with Dawn. They were constantly bickering but beneath it all, there was a bond stronger than steel. One only had to hear about how Dean talked about Sam to know that Dean felt as strongly towards his younger sibling as Buffy did. And like Dawn, Sam enjoyed getting seeing big brother tripping over his ego from time to time. She supposed she ought to be flattered since Sam’s ribbing gave her a clear idea of how Dean normally regarded his dates. It upped his cute quotient another notch.
"God, you're such boys," she teased, giving them both looks that could only be delivered by the female of the species.
"Guilty," Sam admitted and reached for the cup-marked 'latte' on the holder. Grateful to discard the stale coffee he’d been drinking, he popped the cover and took a long swig, before asking her, "So you're a slayer?"
"Yep," she nodded. "Every generation, one girl in all the world, blah, blah, blah," she trailed off hoping Dean would have given his brother the lowdown without her having to take someone else through it again. Giles was so much better at it than her and Faith’s response of ‘deal with it’ had its merits too.
"I've never heard of it," Sam confessed. "Not even once."
"I'm not surprised," Buffy answered, understanding his confusion. "I talked to Giles last night after you dropped me off," she glanced at Dean who was rummaging through the paper bag before turning back to Sam, "Something really freaky is going on. When we tried to figure out what was happened three years ago, we were operating under the assumption that we had all the books on the subject. I mean the Watcher Council had volumes and volumes of ancient texts. However, the books you mentioned didn’t exist for us until I told Giles to go find them. It seems they’re out there but no one had gone looking. The Watcher Council thought they had every occult book in existence in their library and somehow, they just missed yours."
"I wonder if it’s the same thing for the Men of Letters." Dean mused.
"Could be," Sam replied, more aware of the library at the bunker than anyone else. He'd spend most of their time in the place reading all the books there. It was the closest thing to home the two of them had ever had. "When this job's done, what we should do is try and run some kind of comparison against each library’s collection.”
“Okay, okay, you two can get off on your Dewey Decimals later,” Dean retorted, eager to get to the job at hand. You had to cut Sam off when he descended into research talk or he’d be like a winner at Oscar night, going on and on. Besides, it bored him to tears. "Right now, we got to work out this case. You need to get on the net and find out what you can about the poor bastard who died last night."
“Right,” Sam nodded and stood up to go find his laptop.
“While you’re doing that,” Buffy spoke up, “I spoke to my friend Willow last night. She’s a wiz on the computer like Sam and she was able to tap into the Kansas Medical Examiners database and pull a copy of the preliminary autopsy report. She sent it through to me this morning, I haven’t read it yet.” She explained as she reached into her jacket and produced the printout before dropping it on the desk.
“Nice one Counsellor,” Dean said approvingly and picked up the printout and unfolded it to read. “Sam, the dead guy was the owner of the saloon. His name is Bob Sherman.”
“Great,” Sam replied when he returned to the table with his laptop and sat down.
“Says here,” Dean said continuing to read. “He was dead before the acid was poured all over him.”
“Thanks for small favours,” Buffy remarked, hating to think the man suffered after recalling the disintegrated flesh and exposed bones.
"Yeah,” Dean agreed and then looked up, “According to the medical examiner, the cause of death was poisoning with something called atracotoxin."
"What is that?" Buffy asked, nose wrinkling.
“Venom,” Sam stated, not looking up from his laptop screen.
"From a snake?" She looked at him.
“No,” Sam said continuing to pound the keys of a laptop. “Spider or specifically the Australian Funnel Web spider.”
“Yep,” Dean added, uncertain to be proud or disturbed that Sam had all this information in his head. “That crap all over him is the same kind of acid produced by spiders."
"Gross," Buffy made a face wishing she’d tuned out after hearing the word spider. "So a spider bit him and then spit up on him?"
"It makes sense," Sam replied. "Contrary to popular belief, spiders don't drink all fluid from its prey. It bites them to kill or immobilize them and then regurgitates acid to break down the body so it can just drink it up.”
“Ewwww…,” Buffy exclaimed.
"Jeez Sam," Dean stared at his brother in distaste. "Knowing stuff like this is why you never get laid."
Sam made a face at Dean but offered no other comment, more interested in learning what they could about their victim through the Internet.
"So what are we saying here, a giant…Australian whatsit spider bit Bob in his office and then tried to eat him?" Buffy asked. Oddly enough, after encountering a giant praying mantis creature who tried to mate with its victims prior to devouring them, an enormous spider roaming around Lawrence was not the strangest things she’d ever heard of.
"Then we should have seen it getting ready to chow down,” Dean retorted. “I mean you and me were right on top of that chick screaming. If this was an eight-legged freak situation, we would have seen something and what about the first victim? That sure as hell wasn't a spider."
"Maybe it’s something manifesting as a giant spider?" Sam suggested. “Like a shifter.”
“Shifter can’t do the acid. I don’t care how versatile it is.” Dean returned.
Buffy sat back a moment, taking in how the two worked together. Clearly Sam was research guy and Dean was the one driving the plan of attack. It was not unlike how she had worked with the Scoobies and Buffy had to admit that while she didn’t miss the slaying, she did miss the friends she had worked with. Sure, they stayed in touch but still, the days when she, Willow and Xander would sit in the library at Sunnydale High with Giles watching over them, were undoubtedly the best of her life.
“Whatever it is,” Buffy spoke up, returning to the conversation, “we need to know how this thing finds its victims. Any ideas?”
“Well according to this,” Sam lifted his head from the laptop screen, “Bob has lived in Lawrence all his life. He owns a house in Oread, married with three children. He’s never travelled abroad and is pretty much your typical Midwestern bar owner.”
“No similarities to Benson,” Dean sighed. “Benson was a Professor at Kansas U, had a fiancée, had just moved into town and lives on campus. No kids.”
“So it’s just random,” Buffy frowned. “Those are the hardest to pick.”
“There’s something,” Dean said firmly. “There always is. Sammy, me and the Counsellor were burned at the bar last night so we can’t go back there asking questions.”
“Yeah,” Buffy shot Dean a dark look. “They think I’m some kind of sicko thanks to your brother.”
Dean couldn’t help but laugh at that which only resulted in getting kicked under the table again. “Ouch, man you can kick for someone with such little feet.” He teased.
“Did I miss the wedding?” Sam asked trying to keep a straight face.
“Don’t be funny,” Dean retorted, casting an awkward glance at Buffy to see her reaction and found she was just as embarrassed. Why? Hey, he was a catch! Realising where his brain had just taken him, he shook it off and got back on point. “Okay smart ass, you’re going to have to talk to the people at the Saloon. The Counsellor and I will take Bob’s family. Sound good to you?” He asked Buffy.
The plan was sound so Buffy nodded, “yeah that works for me.”
“So,” Sam said easing into his chair, a slow smile stealing across his face as he asked Dean, “the big question now is what will it be? Agents Castle and Beckett, Mulder and Scully or Clark Kent and Lois Lane?”
Sam ducked when the napkins came at him.
Two hours later, Dean and Buffy were standing across the street from Bob Sherman’s two-story Dutch Colonial house in Oread, ready to talk to the man’s grieving family to determine some connection between him and Warren Benson.
When they’d first talked about this in Dean’s motel room, it had seemed easy enough to do. However, now that the moment had come, she was apprehensive. During her time as Slayer, she had been called to do many things. However, impersonating the law so they could get past the front door of a victim’s family to question them was a first.
As it was, she ran a critical eye over herself and had little faith in the navy blue suit she had worn to play the part required to convince Mr Sherman’s family to talk to them. Before today, Buffy had only ever worn the thing once and that was during her interview for her job at the high school. Since then, it had been languishing in a forgotten corner of her closet until Dean Winchester had told her that in order to impersonate an FBI agent, she needed to look the part.
When he’d picked her up at the apartment after she’d left their motel room to go home to change, Buffy found herself staring at him, jaw agape at the transformation. While she felt drab and uncomfortable in her suit, he, on the other hand, looked amazing. Buffy had already decided that the man was a hottie when he wore that beat up leather jacket of his but in a suit, he ramped his attractiveness to a whole new level. Looking as crisp as a newly minted bill, he was all shades and G-Man like in his dark suit with a tie knotted perfectly.
It was just typical that he’d look like something out of GQ while she looked like something out of the Pennysaver.
“You ready for this?” Dean asked, sensing some hesitation in her manner when they stood at the sidewalk next to the parked Impala.
“I guess,” she answered, trying to dispel her anxieties before staring at him intently, “you sure this is going to work?"
Dean grinned confidently, dropping his hand to the small of her back before leaning down to whisper in her ear, "Trust me, baby, I've done this a hundred times before. I'll be gentle."
Buffy let out a groan of exasperation not only because his touch with her back was very distracting but also because he had utterly no shame. “Not helping,” she retorted, punishing with him a glare.
Dean laughed, certain that she would do fine even if he was taking her out of her comfort zone. Then again, he rather enjoyed getting her flustered because she did that pouty that was unbelievably hot. It made him wonder what she would look like when he finally got her into the sack, whether she’d still wear that flushed look when he was inside her. Forcing away the tantalising image because it was scrambling his concentration, Dean returned his focus to what they had to do right now.
“Come on Counsellor,” Dean steered her across the street, his tone a little more serious. “Just think of it like you’re trying to get a messed up teenager to talk about her skipped period or something.”
“God!” Buffy shot him an aghast look, unable to believe the man could be so cute and crass at the same time. “You are so…. I can’t even say it.” Her words sputtered into a shake of her head in resignation. “Okay, let’s do this. Who are we again?" She asked deciding the best way forward was to get this over and done with.
"Agent Kurt Hammett and Dave…I mean Dee Mustaine," he answered proudly until he saw the blank expression on her face. “Metallica?”
“Is that like a car paint?” Buffy returned.
Now it was Dean’s turn to be appalled. His mind near overloading from the outrage, he turned away instead, muttering to himself, “I can’t believe you just said that…”
***********
In retrospect, Dean hadn't given her bad advice in how to approach Bob Sherman's widow once they'd been allowed entry into the family home. When Warren Benson had been killed, Sam and Dean had interviewed his grieving fiancée a few days after the fact. There had been enough time for the woman to overcome her initial shock at her loss and start to face the world again. In the case of Terry Sherman, Bob's wife of 20 years, it had been only a matter of hours since her husband had been murdered. When Buffy and Dean faced her, she was barely holding it together.
They'd been shown into the living room by the eldest Sherman child, a 15-year-old teenager named Jonathan who was coping with suddenly becoming the man of the house and struggling to rise to the occasion. Managing his own grief, the boy’s coping mechanism was to put all his energy into supporting his grieving mother and younger sisters in facing their sorrow at losing their father. Dean admired him for that.
"We won't take too much of your time," Buffy assured the woman after they had been seated. Terry was curled up on her sofa, clutching her sodden handkerchief. Her eyes were red and her skin pale. The dark circles under her eyes told Buffy the woman had probably not slept a wink since learning of her husband’s death. Dean had sat next to her but was allowing Buffy to take the lead since he suspected Terry would react better to Buffy than she would to him. “We're investigating the possibility that someone has illegally imported some high dangerous spiders into this country and your husband may not be the first victim."
"Oh, God!" Terry said shuddering, trying to combat a fresh bout of tears at the mention of her husband being called a ‘victim’ and was temporarily overcome with emotion. She turned her face away as she struggled to regain her composure and Buffy felt another pang of guilt at putting her through this so soon.
Instinctively, Buffy reached for the woman’s hand and squeezed. She wished they didn’t have to put this woman through this but Dean was right, they needed answers to ensure another family didn't lose a loved one. When she was the slayer, she would have made that call.
"Can you tell us anything about his movement in the last week? Anything out of the ordinary?" Buffy asked gently.
From the corner of his eyes, Dean saw Jonathan retreating into the hallway. Making his excuses that both the widow and Buffy would have seen through as wanting to leave them alone, Dean departed the room, letting Buffy do her thing. Instead, he stared down the hall to see where Jonathan had gone and followed the young man. He found the teenager in the kitchen a few seconds later. Jonathan appeared in the process of brewing his mother some tea.
A good kid, Dean thought.
The boy was facing the counter when Dean entered the kitchen. The older Winchester saw the teenager hastily wiping his eyes before turning to face him. His red eyes gave him away but Dean so no reason to call him up on it. Besides, guys didn’t talk about stuff like that. Well guys not named Sam, Dean thought.
“Can…can I get you a cup of coffee Agent Hammett?” He asked quietly.
"I'm fine thanks," Dean shook his head and then asked, "How are you doing?"
Dean was unsurprised when the boy seemed surprised that anyone was interested in his state of mind when his mother and sisters were the ones who really needed the support. However, Dean was accustomed to this too. In his youth, he'd been the glue that held the Winchester family together. Often standing between his father and Sam during their fights, it was Dean who reminded them that they were family, that all the anger and fiery words meant nothing in the face of that bond. Losing his dad had nearly broken Dean. It had left him adrift because, for the first time, he didn’t know. There was nothing to fix and being so helpless had nearly driven him crazy.
"Okay, I guess," Jon answered finally, shifting the position kettle of the cooktop once its whistling had reached climax. Leaning against the counter, he met Dean’s gaze, his attempts at a stoic demeanour crumbled as he was overcome by a surge of grief. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” he said, choking out the words.
Dean nodded in understanding, having been there too. The disbelief was one of the hardest things to overcome, the realisation that the worst that happened no matter how true it was. “I felt the same way when my dad died," Dean confessed and then added, "but I got through it and you will too."
Jonathan shook his head, more tears filling his eyes and he wiped these away with the back of sleeve before asking, “How did you do it? I can't think straight from it hurting so bad."
Dean sighed and offered what insight he could. The truth was, there was no magic pill to diminish the pain and whoever said time heals all wounds was talking out of his ass. It had been nearly seven years and no wounds had healed because Dean still felt like crap, still missed John Winchester every damn day.
"I looked after my family," Dean answered firmly. "All I had left is my little brother and I had to take care of him. That was my job." What that responsibility had cost him was something no one would ever understand and he wasn’t about to impart that to this grieving boy. Returning to the moment, he continued, “I didn’t think about my own pain, my own anger, I just concentrated on what my brother needed, but all that anger and rage into something good. You can do the same if that makes it better for you. Your mom needs you and helping her get through this can sometimes help you get through it too."
Jonathan seemed to absorb the words and Dean hoped the advice given was of some use to him. People were different in how they handled grief and Dean got a sense that Jonathan was one who would become stronger for it.
There was a noticeable pause as they stood across each other, neither making eye contact until finally, it was Jonathan who broke the silence.
“Thank you,” he said appreciating the effort of this stranger who seemed to understand and didn’t try shielding him from what was coming. He was the first person that Jonathan felt he could talk to about this. “He's only gone a couple of hours and I still can't believe it. I mean it was only yesterday we were talking about planning mom's birthday party. He was going to close off the Saloon for the night and invite all our friends and family. We'd even gone and picked up present at the antique store, it was one of them real old brooches, you know?"
“I know the type,” Dean replied, keeping to himself that those old fashioned brooches were notorious for being cursed and were usually the first things he and Sam torched when dealing with an unhappy spirit. He was still thinking this when suddenly, something the boy said made him stop short. "Did you say antique store?"
"Yeah," Jonathan nodded, “we all call it the Lawrence Antique Store but the name on the door says Antiquities, guess that makes it sound classy or something. Anyway, me and my dad went there at lunch yesterday and found mom this brooch.”
As Jonathan continued speaking, Dean tuned out a moment, remembering what Diane Lee had said about the shopping spree she and Benson had been doing hours before he died. They were shopping for sheets or something and had gone to a couple of places that day. Hadn’t they also gone to an antique store too?
Keeping his tone neutral and devoid of the excitement that this could be something important, Dean asked, “Hey that sound real nice, mind if I take a look? The brooch I mean."
"It’s not here," the boy replied, oblivious to his interest. "It’s still at the store. We were supposed to go back next week to pick it up. It was getting cleaned and engraved."
Dean frowned. It wasn't even on the guy? Most cursed objects needed to be at least within reasonable proximity to work. However, Dean knew from experience that there were charms that needed only brief contact to cause mischief. If this one hadn’t even left the shop, it was powerful enough to cross the distance between itself and its new owner. Assuming it was the brooch and not the store, which was also a strong possibility. It was definitely worth looking into either way, now that they knew about it.
"I'm sorry," Dean apologised to Jonathan, empathising with the young man but also wanting to get to back to Buffy now so they could go check this out, not to mention contact Sam so that his brother could meet them at the store. "I better get back," he said tilting his head in the direction of the door. “You take care okay?”
“Yeah, I will,” Jonathan said with a nod but Dean could see that he was not going to be okay, not for a while. He hoped for the boy’s sake it wasn’t too long a time.
***********
When Dean returned to the living room, he arrived to see Buffy and Terry Sherman locked in an embrace. It was obvious that Terry had lost her composure again and Buffy was doing her best to console the woman. He stepped out into the hall for a few minutes, allowing Buffy to do her thing until the woman had regained control of her emotions and the slayer was able to extricate herself to make her goodbyes.
Leaving the house, Buffy was glad to be away from all that sorrow. She’d given the woman the name of a grief counsellor she knew in town and hoped Terry would call if she had difficulty coping. Stepping out into the sunshine, she soaked in the warm air and let the serenity of the morning centre her once more. Reaching behind her head, she released her hair from the bun it had been confined in and let gold hair spill over her shoulders, before running her fingers through it. It was a ritual to discard the persona she’d been wearing this morning.
Dean watched her in silence, secretly mesmerized as she did this. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair himself, wanted to know if it felt like the gold silk it so resembled. Every time, he told himself this thing he was feeling for her was just his hormones on overdrive for a hot chick, she'd do something and he'd know he was kidding himself. For the first time, in too long, it occurred to Dean that leaving this one would actually be kind of hard.
"You okay?" He asked her, no of innuendo and cockiness in his voice. What she’d gone through was hard and usually, Dean left Sam to handle the emotional stuff because he simply didn’t have the disposition to offer comfort the way his brother and this slayer did. Resting his hand on her back once more, he ignored how right it felt to touch her and noted that she hadn’t swatted it away, a sign she felt the same too.
Buffy allowed her own emotions to show when she turned to him. "They'd been together for 20 years with three children. They were happy Dean,” she said sadly. “They knew each other since grade school. They were high school sweethearts and were married almost straight after.” Her jaw tensed and she shot him a look of menace, “I want to kill this damn thing."
Dean hid how seriously turned on by her comment because he shared the same sentiment. When he saw families busted up like this the way that yellow-eyed son of a bitch had destroyed his own family, he wanted to lash out and kill something too. “Well, Merry Christmas Counsellor because I think the kid may have given us a lead.
“Oh?” Buffy glanced at him briefly as they crossed the street towards the Impala. “What lead?”
“Well looks like Sherman went to the Lawrence Antique Store yesterday and I remember Benson’s fiancée saying that on the day he bought it, they’d gone shopping and had stopped at the same place. It ain’t much of a connection I grant you but antique stores are filled with junk people don’t think are dangerous until it bites you on the ass. Still, it’s the best link we’d found so far between the two.”
Buffy had to agree with that sentiment. The number of times she’d come across a demon or a monster that had been unleashed because someone bought an object that appeared completely harmless only to discover that it was fatally not so.
“So,” she said batting her lashes at him in teasing, “we’re going antiquing honey?”
For some reason, his expression soured and he replied, “As long as it with you and not Sam.”
***********
Once they’d left Oread, Dean drove the Impala back to Massachusetts Drive after calling Sam and telling his younger brother what they had learned. Sam had finished talking to the staff of the Dynamite Saloon and could meet them at the antique store in question as it was only a few blocks away from where he was.
As expected, he hadn't learnt any more than the fact that Bob Sherman was liked by his staff, could be a hard ass with misbehaving customers but had offended no one to the point of deserving the death he had suffered the night before.
Despite its presence in the mall, it was not easy to find the antique store. Its presence on the premises seemed almost an afterthought as if a vacant storefront had existed and the mall owners hadn’t cared who occupied the space since it was a stand out among all the specialty store. Tucked away at the rear of the mall, the entrance to the premises announced itself with a sign that simply stated ‘Antiquities' in old Copperplate Gothic font and ‘the Lawrence Antique Store’ in smaller print beneath. The frontage was two sections of paned glass walls divided by an old wooden door. It looked like something out of a Dickens novel.
In the window display, dressmaker's mannequin stood in headless and armless glory, clad in a white gown of lace and satin. It stood watching over the display case carrying with old jewellery including the brooches that Bob Sherman had undoubtedly bought for his wife, inviting patrons inside for further investigation. Once the bell on the door had run and they’d entered, they saw the interior was a clutter of old furniture, books, brass ornaments, statues and faded paintings. While there was an aisle meandering through the rows of shelves and display cabinets, it was easy to get lost in the place.
Buffy wrinkled her nose as she stepped inside, immediately likening the musty odour of the place to Giles’ library with its ancient books that she, Willow and Xander handled during their Sunnydale days. Dean led the way and Buffy had given up minding this since she suspected he’d break something if he had to give up his pack leader status. Meanwhile, Sam trailed behind her and Buffy had the sneaking suspicion they were flanking her because she was the girl in their trio.
Men, she thought to herself.
"If if someone tries to sell you something that can’t be fed after midnight, can’t be exposed to sunlight or can’t get wet, say no. I don’t care how cute it is.” He winked at Buffy.
Buffy was having none of that. "Hey if I see one of those cute little critters in here, I am so buying it." She flashed him her brightest smile. Behind her, she heard Sam snigger while Dean rolled his eyes and continued forward.
"Well if there's a cursed artefact to find in town," Sam said leaning forward to say quietly in her ear, "this would be the place."
“No kidding,” Buffy agreed by just the sheer number of bric-à-brac on the shelves. They all looked old and exotic. Never a good combination, she thought.
"Can I help you?" A heavily accented voice asked.
The man who stood in front of them was in his sixties and Dean swore that if Death had a brother, this guy would be it. He had the same dour features, the long straight nose, dark eyes and hollow cheeks. Instead of wearing his hair long like the Horseman, this man's hair greying was cropped short against his scalp and he wore a knitted sweater vest over a white shirt and dark slacks.
"We're with the FBI," Dean introduced himself. "We're here tracing the last known whereabouts of two people who died under mysterious circumstances in the last few days. They were seen visiting the store shortly before their deaths."
"Oh yes," the man answered nodding, "but I have already spoken to the police."
“Well we have some follow up questions,” Dean lied and gestured furtively at Buffy and Sam to check out the store while he distracted the owner with questions.
Taking his cue as Dean launched into his performance as FBI Agent Hammett, Buffy and Sam took the opportunity to browse the store, in search of something that might have caused Warren Benson and Bob Sherman’s death. They walked down the aisles flanked by statues, display cabinets and pieces of old furniture, including a spinning wheel and what looked like a butter churn.
“Any idea what we’re looking for?” Buffy asked Sam. “It’s been three years since I’ve done this so I’m out of practice.”
“That’s how long you’ve been retired?” Sam looked back at her from his survey of the store’s merchandise. He was fascinated by the fact that the Buffy had been able to turn her back on the life and start a new one, devoid of monsters, demons and mayhem. Sam had tried doing it this year when Dean had been languishing in Purgatory but it never took, even though he had really, really wanted it to. Even now, he still missed Amelia even though he knew she was better off with her husband.
“Yeah,” Buffy shrugged it off as no big deal but really it was. She let her fingers grazed across the spines of the books on a shelf as she walked by. “Just decided one day that I need to get on with my life. I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen and I realised if I didn’t start living, I never would. What about you?” She asked, pausing as they reached a juncture and she spotted a table filled with ornaments. “You ever think about giving this up?”
“I do,” Sam admitted, “I tried it but I couldn’t stay away for long. I’m too used to riding shotgun with Dean. He’s made for this life, I’m not.” He paused suddenly, realising that perhaps this was information Dean would not want Buffy to know about him, at least not without telling her himself. “Well I’m sure Dean would quit if there was a good enough reason…” he added immediately.
Buffy chuckled, recognising the obvious attempt to protect his brother and allayed his concern. “It’s okay, I kind of guessed that already. I don’t mind. He is good at it and I like that it’s not just the rush but the need to help people. Faith, the other slayers who’s been around as long as me, she’s a lot like Dean. She loves the fight.”
“So does Dean,” Sam agreed, “he’s the best hunter I know. Better than my dad but you didn’t hear me say that.” It was true. Dad was obsessed, single-minded but he was reckless. Dean was not. Dean never sacrificed the people he was with for the easy kill nor did he shield them either. By just those two traits, Dean was light years ahead of John Winchester.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Buffy assured him before picking up an ornately designed cube no bigger than her palm and casually examined it. “Dean says that you two have been doing this since you were kids, is that true?” She knew Dean had a tendency to let his ego embellish some of the facts he’d told her but even she couldn’t imagine starting off so young in this life. At least she had some semblance of childhood before she was called to be Chosen One.
Sam was skimming a shelf full of old books, mostly first editions and leather-bound copies of books that varied in value when he looked over his shoulder at her. “Pretty much. After mom died, dad was obsessed. He was determined that we were safe above all else. Safe and normal life didn’t mix as far as he was concerned.
“That’s tough,” she commented, still playing with the cube which she had determined to be some kind of puzzle box though she hadn’t determined the configuration to open it yet. “Damn, I thought I had it that time.”
“Well we’ve helped a lot of people,” Sam said straightening up and turning back to her, noting her interest in the thing she was hoping. “Here, let me show you,” he took the thing from her and examined it.
“I’ll bet you’ll figure it out in a second,” she pouted.
“Never happen,” Sam replied, liking this girl and seeing now why Dean was so taken with her, especially since this was the first female Dean had shown a more than passing interest in.
“Oh please, you got genius guy all over you.” She insisted, looking at the other objects on the shelves. Some of them were seriously ugly, she thought.
“I’m not a genius,” Sam protested and deciphering it fairly quickly once he noted that the darker lines of the exotic design concealed the segments the cube was cut into. “See, you got to turn it about in a certain way to open it,” he explained turning the segments this way and that for a few seconds and then finally, pushing down on the circular design that sat on top. Upon doing that, the cube opened like a flower.
It revealed a small compartment. The metallic scrape of a clockwork mechanism could be heard as the figurine in the middle of the compartment began to dance. The figure looked ancient, resembling a fertility statue with a mishappen body and exaggerated sex organs. Its silent dance was somewhat eerie.
“The music part must be broken,” Buffy remarked coming back to take a look and thinking that the dance didn’t look so much as graceful as it appeared vulgar.
“Yeah,” Sam replied studying the thing closer, “the mechanism must get wound up when you make the correct sequence of movements to open it.” He offered it back to her so that she could look.
Buffy took it in her hand and looked at it before saying to Sam. “See, you are a genius.”
He laughed softly and for a moment Buffy stared at him making Sam uncomfortable. “What?”
“Nothing,” she shook off the observation and then added, “You remind me of someone.”
It had occurred to Buffy then, that Sam’s mannerisms reminded her a lot of Angel. He possessed Angel’s quiet but studious personality. He was probably just as capable as his brother in this gig but you’d never know it by just looking at it because Sam Winchester was all about subtlety. He was the one you’d never see coming because no one expected the nice guys to have the worst demons. Which was case in point with Angel.
“Hey, you guys find anything?” Dean’s voice interrupted the moment and Buffy forgot all about Angel and put the cube down again.
“Nothing except ugly puzzle boxes?” Buffy said staring at Dean. “You?”
“Well both of them were here,” Dean confirmed. “Benson and his fiancée, Sherman and his kid. Diane bought some vase and Sherman bought a brooch for his wife for her birthday. Benson took his vase but Sherman’s brooch is still here. I think this is place is what connects them but not necessarily what they bought here. I say we come back tonight,” he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening, “and give the place a real once over.”
“Wow, my dream come true, breaking into a mall after hours.”
Dean shook his head, women.
"This is it," Buffy announced to Sam and Dean when she stepped through the front door of her Sibleyville home a short time after they'd left the antique store.
It was still mid-afternoon and the store wouldn't be closing for a few hours yet. Until that time, there was little else to be done so Buffy invited Dean and his brother home so that she could get a shower and banish her suit back to the closet from whence it came. Besides, she had grown fond of both men, albeit in two very different ways and hated the idea that they would be stuck in that seedy little motel room for the rest of the day.
Also, she noticed Sam's condition even though she was reluctant to approach either about it even though it was plain something was wrong with the younger Winchester. He looked exhausted on every occasion that she'd met him and it was telling that Dean seemed to avoid that obvious subject.
Whatever the reason for his silence, Buffy wanted dinner. She wanted fresh clothes, something more appropriate for breaking and entering into an antique store. Funny, how that sounded cool at sixteen and now it just felt wrong. Yet when it came to slaying, there was never any moral dilemma as to how she would keep the two parts of her world separate. There was just the task at hand. Buffy knew what she risked if she was caught especially now that she was in teaching. However, it didn't matter as much as stopping whatever evil that was running loose in her city.
"Hey nice place," Dean complimented as he and Sam followed her into the house after leaving the Impala parked in the long driveway leading to the locked garage door. Buffy’s home was a single-story brick house of modest size, painted in ash blue while the window and door frames were painted white. It had had bay windows on either side of the four-panel glass and arch door that emptied into a small covered patio which she’d adorned with hanging flower pots.
The interior of the house was designed with half wall panelling in white, while the other half was a mild purple colour that women probably referred to as called Berry or something, Dean thought. The living room contained a comfortable looking taupe sofa set arranged across a rug that matched the parquet floor. The ensemble sat in front of an impressive entertainment system and was surrounded by white shelves, in a design Dean knew form watching the Lifestyles of the Rich and Pointless, was called Cape Cod.
“You got a thing for funky art?” he asked looking at some of the exotic statues and masks on the wall.
“They’re my mom’s,” Buffy explained. “She used to run a gallery. Some of these pieces are hers. She put a lot of work into that place and I didn’t want to get rid of them.”
Dean could understand that. He maintained the Impala to ensure she was in pristine condition at all times. It was Dad's car and was almost a big a part of his family as Sam.
And it gave better mileage.
“I like your Klimt prints,” Sam added, observing the Tree of Life and the Kiss hanging on the walls. Sam recognised the paintings from the art books belonging to Jesse who majored in art at Stamford.
“Thanks,” Buffy answered, “I don’t know much about art but I always like those. They’re pretty.”
Closing the door behind her, she crossed the living room floor and sang out to the two. “Make yourselves comfortable boys. I'm getting out this Mormon suit," she made a beeline towards her bedroom
"Need help?" Dean quipped, unable to resist asking, a teasing smirk on his face.
"Grow up, dick," Sam retorted, swatting Dean across the shoulder with the back of his hand and spoke in a more mature tone. "Thank you, Buffy." He said gratefully. "This is a lot nicer than hanging around the motel watching Dean’s continuing addiction to magic fingers.”
“Hey!" Dean shoved him back. "It’s a pure love."
"I don't want to know," she laughed enjoying the two of them messing with each other. It reminded her of the camaraderie she used to share with Willow and Xander. "Make sure you take a load off and I mean you SAM WINCHESTER. You look like you could use it."
With that order given and it was an order as far as Buffy was concerned, she disappeared into her bedroom, leaving them to their own devices.
"You heard what she said," Dean voicing his approval of the order and shoved Sam onto the plush sofa. Sam sank into a bit and Dean saw the air expel from his lungs as he relaxed. "Take a load off while I see what she's got to drink in the fridge. Knowing a chick, it’s probably some fruit mixer. She doesn't look like the beer type." Oh well, Dean thought to himself. Nobody was perfect.
Sam didn't disobey because he was tired. He'd been trying to hide how badly he was feeling but Buffy's comment indicated that she'd seen it too and that would not make Dean happy. Still, however, bad they thought he was, in truth, Sam knew he was worse. Sam was aware that his brother was already worried about him, not to mention guilty as hell that he wasn't doing the trials instead. If he knew how badly Sam was feeling, he'd insist on Sam stopping and the younger Winchester wasn't ready to do that yet.
Looking around while he waited for Dean to come back from rummaging inside Buffy's fridge, he caught sight of the picture frame on the coffee table. The photograph was of a sixteen-year-old Buffy in a cheerleader outfit with two friends, a sweet-looking redhead and a dark-haired boy. It was hard to imagine that this cute little blond and her Scoobies, as Buffy called them, were killing vampires when this picture was taken.
Dean returned a minute later with a bottle of Coke for himself and some juice for Sam. "Drink this up." Dean saw handed him the glass, using the same tone he used when he was making Sammy brush his teeth and wash behind his ears when they were kids.
Exchanging the glass for the picture frame, Sam retorted. "Here, all your dreams come true. Your dream girl in a cheerleader's outfit."
"Give me that," Dean growled at the mention of Buffy being his dream girl and looked at the picture of a fifteen-year-old Buffy, appearing so fucking sweet it actually hurt to look at her. She was good enough to eat. "Damn, she really had a nice pair of... uh, pom-poms." Dean sighed and then wondered out loud wistfully, "I wonder if she still has her costume."
Sam was in mid swallow when he saw the expression on his brother's face and lowered his glass, looking at Dean meaningfully. "You really like her don't you?"
"Nooo," Dean protested just a little too quickly and then added, "Look she's hot but she's just another girl okay? We'll be skipping town as soon as this job is done so it's not like there's going to be anything more."
"Why not?" Sam questioned, finding that was no excuse anymore. "It doesn't have to be that way, Dean. I mean we're more or less living in the bunker at Lebanon. That's not too far away from Lawrence besides..." he started to say more than ground himself to a halt when he realized what he had almost inadvertently revealed.
"Besides what?" Dean demanded suspiciously, certain what remained unspoken had nothing to do with Buffy. Sam was on the verge of saying something important; Dean could tell by the way he quickly disengaged from their verbal sparing that he had almost let something slip.
Knowing that look well enough, Sam knew Dean would continue to hound him until he gave it up. Reluctantly he answered; "If anything happens to me when the trials are done, I don't want you to be alone."
"Stop," Dean stated so sharply it almost drew blood. "We are not talking about this. Do you hear me? I don't want to hear you saying that you’re going to die. This is not the time or place to have that conversation."
"Then when Dean?" Sam countered. Dean’s stubbornness could sometimes border on obstinacy and Sam was not about to let this go yet. “When its too late? Come on Dean, we always leave it to the end to say the important stuff and most time, we never get the chance to do it right. If I can't have a normal life because of these trials, I want you to be able to. God, if Buffy can do it, so can you. This can't be all we're about."
Dean turned away, staring out of the window, seeing the world outside the bay windows. The neighbourhood kids were playing outside on their lawns. Some were cycling down the path while others were playing Frisbee with their dogs. Parents were coming from work, the grocery stores or were watering and mowing lawns. The business of life was taking place all around them and they’d never really been a part of it. Not since Yellow Eyes torched their mother and destroyed their father.
Separated from the world by a sheet of glass was the perfect metaphor for the Winchester existence.
***********
Oblivious to the serious matters being discussed in her living room, Buffy discarded her suit and decided the boys would be alright on their own while she grabbed a shower. Stepping into the bathroom, she disrobed and turned on the water, allowing the hot spray go run for a few seconds before closing the glass door behind her after she stepped into the cubicle of blue-green tiles.
She stood under the hot water, letting it soaked into her hair and run down her back. It felt good after the day she’d had. It wasn’t so much physically exhausting as it was mentally. Terry Sherman and her family’s loss had affected Buffy more than she cared to admit and she wondered what shape Diane Lee had been in when Dean and Sam spoke to her. She couldn’t ignore the fact that she had completely missed the presence of a supernatural threat in Lawrence until two civilians had arrived in their black Impala to remind her that she’d dropped the ball in her new home town.
Not for the first time since meeting Dean Winchester, she wondered whether she had been selfish about walking away from the life. There were people who still needed help; the danger didn’t stop because she wanted a normal life. Assuming Faith and the baby slayers would take care of the things was an excuse. Where was Faith when Bob Sherman and Warren Benson were being murdered? Where was she? Dean and Sam who were ordinary people driven to a nomadic existence, with no powers, no Watcher Council to hold their hand, compelled to help people because they believed no one else could do it.
She pondered these thoughts as she showered. After washing and conditioning her hair, Buffy basked in the sweet scent of strawberry essence soap, relishing in the sensation of warm water against her skin. Nothing bad could go wrong when you have clean hair, she told herself. Closing her eyes, she meditated under the stream of hot water, aware that she’d have to get out soon because she had guests and also because she’d start to prune.
Then suddenly, without warning, she was surprised by the sensation of a hard male body pressing up against her back. Her first reaction was to elbow Dean Winchester in the gut for his presumption. Really? While his brother was in the house? The guy was cute but he was also a pig. Did he think surprising her in the shower like this was going to get him laid? Even if it had been one year, three months and six days since she'd had sex.
Not that she was counting.
“Are you kidding me?” She exclaimed, feigning outrage as she started to turn around in order to face him. He pre-empted her movement by sliding around her waist and pulling her harder against. The small of her back scraped against the slippery texture of the wet fabric. He was still wearing his pants, she thought fleetingly. Thank God. Still, the sensation of hard muscle against her back was tantalising, even more so when his lips began planting soft, delicate kisses along her shoulder, following the trail up the curve of her neck.
Despite herself, she let out an involuntary gasp of pleasure that melted into a soft sigh as her traitorous body reacted to his expert touch and after a moment, Buffy wondered why the hell she was resisting. She was a consenting adult after all. Still, she didn't want to seem too eager.
“You know, you really are a total pig,” she replied in a breathy whisper, her half-hearted protest ending with her reaching for his hand, while his brushed aside the wet locks of hair so he could have greater access to her skin to ply her neck with those maddening kisses.
“Hey Counsellor, Sam and I figured we go Chinese…you okay with that?”
It was Dean but his voice coming from the other side of her bathroom door.
Buffy stiffened immediately and turn around so fast, she almost slipped on the tiles. An arm caught her arm before she fell and Buffy lifted her gaze to stare into eyes she knew and hated that so often visited her in nightmares.
“Hello Slayer,” Angelus smiled at her, “Together again.”
***********
Dean had entered her room a minute earlier after knocking on her bedroom door and receiving no answer. Turning the doorknob, he risked taking a peek through the crack of her bedroom door to see that she had stepped into the shower. The bathroom door was closed and the shower was hissing steam through the door jam. Instead of retreating, Dean's curiosity got the better of him and he stole a moment to check out her bedroom. He tested the mattress of her double bed and grinned mischievously when the springs creaked. Nice, he thought as purely sinful thoughts ran across his mind about how this could be achieved.
Moving away from the bed, he examined with interest the photograph in frames on her bedside table, there was one of another blond cutie whom Dean assumed to be Buffy’s sister Dawn by the family resemblance. Next to it, in a silver frame was a photograph of an elegantly lovely woman he guessed was Buffy's mother. Studying Joyce Summers, it was no surprise where Buffy and Dawn got their looks. Leaving her bedside table, he wandered over to her dressing table and absently picked up a bottle of perfume. Taking the off the lid of the blue bottle marked BLV, Dean took an experimental sniff and breathed in the scent he now associated exclusively with her.
It was very much a girl's bedroom but he liked it, it gave him some insight into her personality. Even if she killed monsters and vampires, she was unashamedly feminine. He liked that she didn't play at being male like some women tended to do when they were competing against men. As if giving up their femininity was the sacrifice they had to make to be considered as good. That was not a sacrifice he’d expect any woman to make and any guy who did, was a complete douchebag with self-esteem issues.
Which was definitely not him.
Deciding that his observations of her bedroom were starting to border on pervy, Dean got on with what he had come into the room for in the first place. Standing at the bathroom door, he sang out to her.
"Hey Counsellor, Sam and I figured we go Chinese...you okay with that?"
His answer was a crash so loud and sudden that Dean jumped back startled. However, his shock lasted but for a second because soon after, he heard more glass breaking and that propelled him towards the door again. Reaching for the knob to yank it open, he turned it quickly only to find that it was refusing to open. It was either locked or jammed. Dean didn’t know which and frankly he didn't really care. It was bad enough he could hear the sounds of violence on the other side of the door, the slapping of flesh against tiles.
"What the hell Dean?" Sam demanded as he burst into Buffy's bedroom just as Dean kicked in the bathroom door.
The lock was torn away from the wooden door, leaving ripped splinters clinging to the frame. It swung forward and Dean was through it immediately, entering the small space of Buffy's bathroom to find her inside the shower cubicle with a half-dressed man. He arrived just in time to see the bastard smash Buffy's face against the wall so hard, it left a smear of blood across the tiles for an instant before being washed away by the running water. Buffy was already wearing a gash across her forehead and more blood ran down her face from beneath her hair.
"Let her go you son of a bitch!" Dean bellowed as he saw Buffy being manhandled. She looked disorientated and struggling to regain her senses. Where the fuck had he come from? Dean wondered fleetingly.
Upon seeing Dean, Buffy's attacked looked up at him and grinned. "You went human this time baby? That makes it so much easier to snap his neck or maybe I'll do you solid and maintain your track record by turning him. You have a thing for vamps don't you?"
Laughing, he flung Buffy through the glass door, using her body to shatter it completely and sending her straight into the ceramic bathroom sink. Dean rushed to intercept but he couldn't quite reach her in time and his stomach hollowed hearing the terrible crack her head made when it hit the edge of the sink.
"I'm going to fucking kill you!" Dean shouted and went for the vampire.
Sam had disappeared when Dean broke into the room because neither of them were armed. He raced to the Impala to get weaponized before returning to see Dean going after the vampire.
"Dean!" Sam shouted, trying to stop him from rushing in recklessly. Sam knew what his brother was like when enraged. Seeing the girl he cared for bloody and battered would certainly send Dean into murderous fury that would compromise his judgement.
Dean ignored him.
"Get Buffy!" He ordered his brother as he slammed his body into Angelus who was trying to step through the remnants of the broken shower door. His full weight shoved the vampire against the tile wall, the hot spray of water rushing over them both. Dean wasted no time in going on the offensive. He threw an elbow into the vampire's face, following with left-right punch across the fucker's jaw, wanting to remove the smug sneer he’d worn when he threw Buffy about like trash.
Angelus fended off the blows easily, his head snapping left to right before facing front again, the same smile stealing across his face, infuriating Dean even further. "You going to have to do better than that," he retorted prompting to Dean to throw another punch. Except this time the vamp caught his fist and threw one of his own blows. Angelus flung Dean back into opposite wall, the back of his head hitting the tile wall. He threw another punch across Dean’s jaw and it felt like being hit with a sledgehammer. Dean felt his mouth filling with blood. Another punch came at him but this time; he’d recovered enough to block it and retaliated by kicking Angelus in the gut. The slippery floor caused Angelus to slide out of the cubicle.
He crashed against the bathroom sink and Dean snatched up the ceramic cistern cover of the toilet and smashed it against the vampire's skull. Pieces of ceramic crumbled around their feet and Dean punched him again, intending to beat the son of a bitch into submission until he figured out a way to end him permanently. Dean swung again but this time, Angelus sidestepped him at the last minute, upsetting his balance and allowing the vampire to get behind him. Angelus did not waste the advantage and slammed Dean's head against the bathroom mirror. The glass cracked beneath his forehead and Dean felt warm blood running down his face.
Dazed, Dean tried to recover but his opponent was giving him no chance for that. Taking advantage of his disorientation, Angelus spun the hunter around and clamped his fingers around Dean's throat, hoisting him off the wet floor with ease.
“You're good in a fight” Angelus complimented, "Maybe one of the best I've had to deal with, in the last two hundred years but you're still a fragile human when it's all said and done." He tightened his fingers even more until Dean could start to feel the skin of his neck starting to bleed and he could barely get a breath out. Any more of this and he was going to pass out.
"Dean!" Sam shouted entering the bathroom and seeing his brother at the mercy of the vampire he had been told was called Angelus. Pulling out Ruby’s knife, he prepared to plunge the blade into Angelus when the vampire flung Dean at him like his older brother was a rag doll. Both men tumbled out the bathroom door, landing just past the doorway.
Dean was still gasping for air when Sam rolled over to him and asked frantically “Dean, are you okay?”
Coughing hard and struggling to breathe, Dean attempted to choke out a few strangled words, “Buh...Buf…”
“Buffy?” Sam finally got what he was trying to stay. “She’s…”
“…Fine. ” Buffy spoke for herself, eyes fixed on Angelus.
Dean had seen killers with kinder eyes.
Now wearing a robe, Buffy had recovered after Sam had taken her out of her ruined bathroom in time to hear Dean battling it out with the bane of her existence, the monster that never seemed to die. He’d taken her by surprise in the bathroom, getting the upper hand because she was rusty and because he was wearing Angel’s face, the one person in the world who could always throw her off balance. Buffy was shaking off her disorientation when Sam left to go help Dean whom she knew couldn’t last for too long without a weapon against a vampire of Angelus’ calibre.
Angelus emerged from the door, surveying the situation and immediately resting his eyes on her. “Well looks like your new puppy has got a bit of teeth to him Buffy. When I’m done with you I’m going to pull every one of them out.”
“Like hell you will,” Buffy retorted and ran at him.
He blocked her first blow but not her second. Buffy delivered a powerful right hook and when he dodged it, switched to a sharp uppercut that caught him beneath the chin. When his eye contact was broken, she lashed out with a front kick that struck him on the side of his jaw. Angelus retaliated with as much ferocity, throwing a sidekick that struck Buffy’s side. She felt a rib snap but it was not enough to slow her down.
She delivered a punch to his stomach, forcing him to double over before she fisted her hands and brought it down on his back. At the same time, she brought up her knee, smashing it in the centre of his chest. Grabbing his arm, she flung him into the corner of the room and pummelled him with strike after strike, fury driving her extraordinary speed so that it was impossible for him to fend all of them off.
Each blow she delivered to the face that belonged to Angel made her want to scream in fury. How many times did she have to do this? How many times would he keep coming back and inflicting wounds that were never as bad physically as they were emotionally? It was never about the pain with him, just the torment. Even now, when she’d met Dean, someone she’d really liked, he had surfaced again to blight that relationship before it even had a chance to begin.
“GET...OUT...OF...MY....LIFE...YOU...SADISTIC…BASTARD!” She screamed, punctuating each word with every punch she delivered until Angelus’ knees buckled; his face turning into ruined flesh. All the while, even when he was bleeding, he was gloating at her with that hateful sneer, like he’d still won even though she was the one pounding him into pulp.
“Buffy, catch!” She heard Sam’s voice call out from behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the younger Winchester toss her a knife which she caught with one hand.
“It’s a demon knife!” He told her.
She had no idea what that meant but if he believed that it was able to kill a vampire, she'd use it. Without giving Angelus the chance to say any other hateful thing, she plunged the blade into his chest, driving it as far as it would go, until only the hilt protruded from his body.
No sooner than the blade had sliced through his heart, the body of Angelus disappeared in a burst of ash but it was only Angel she saw dissipating into nothingness. She let go of the knife, letting it fall against the floor in a loud thud. She exhaled a shuddering breath and sank to her knees, staring stared at the pile of ash before she cried a furious scream of outrage that made both Dean and Sam jumped at the anguish and pain behind it.
Years ago, she learned Angel had died in Los Angeles. She was sure she had felt him die because her heart broke all over again. For the second time in her life, she had wept for him, wept for the tragedy that was their love for each other. It had never felt wrong but it was never right either. It took so long for the wound he’d left behind to heal and now in a matter of minutes, the demon Angelus had ripped it bloody again.
She didn’t know when she started sobbing but she did.
Confused by her reaction, Sam was about to speak but Dean gestured for him to remain silent. Body still aching, he pulled away from Sam and crawled up alongside her. He didn’t know what exactly had gone on between her and that vamp but the personal way the son of a bitch had attacked, told Dean enough.
He recognized the familiar anguish of being pushed to breaking point. When she'd gone after the guy and pounded him bloody (how hot was that), Dean could see her pain was more that was as profound as any he had suffered and that she was just as wounded as him. Dean had been where she was now so many times before he could barely keep count. By the looks of her right now, so had she.
Dean tugged her gently towards him. When her tear-stained eyes met his, he felt his heart melt in his chest. He’d never thought her tears could feel like a knife in the chest but it did. He didn’t understand why he felt this connection to her, why seeing her smile could light up his heart the way his mom used to do when she tucked him into bed and told him that angels were watching. All he knew was he couldn’t stand to see her cry and not do anything about it.
“Come on Counsellor,” Dean said softly, his throat burned and his voice hoarse but he forced himself to speak. “Come on.”
Buffy needed no more prompting than that, bursting into tears as she buried her face in his shoulder. Dean wrapped his arms around and let her cry, holding her because she needed him to.
“I was sixteen when I met him,” Buffy said softly, lying against Dean on the sofa an hour later.
They’d patched each other up, gotten fresh clothes out of the Impala and ordered Chinese food. Dean had insisted he and Sam stay the night and Buffy did not protest. After what had happened with Angelus, she was unafraid to admit she was shaken and could use the company.
Dean Winchester had also revealed yet another layer to his personality Buffy had not expected. The care in which he handled her after the emotionally devastating experience of facing Angelus again, was a revelation. There was none of the earlier sexual innuendo or cocky advances that was so much of their banter. Instead, he did his best to be tender and mindful of her feelings as he treated her wounds and held back his questions about who Angelus was to her.
It was tenderness she needed badly because even after all this time, she was still susceptible to Angelus’ vicious mind games. All it took was for her to see his face and she was transported back to her seventeenth birthday when Angel had taken virginity only to have Angelus spit it back at her. In the shower, she had thought he was Dean and the thrill of something exciting between them had become another cruel joke. A decade later and Angelus could still leave behind wounds that not even her slayer abilities could heal.
When Buffy came back to his arms, it felt to Dean like the most natural thing in the world, that maybe he’d been waiting his whole life for a girl to fit so perfectly there. Her sadness prompted a fierce desire in him to protect her not only because she needed it but also because Dean understood her in a way he never understood any woman in his whole life. Perhaps even more than Lisa Braeden whom he’d really thought he loved.
However, with Buffy it was different.
Dean got Buffy. He got what made her tick, what made her walk away and he understood without her having to explain, though she did, what was between her and Angelus. Dean recognised that they were both warriors who could defend against most attacks except the ones to the heart that seem to cut them the deepest.
Sam said nothing as he lay sprawled on the armchair next to them, his long frame accommodated by the ottoman beneath his feet. Sam seemed to be watching with interest though he made no comment. It was as if he realised that his thing between Buffy and him was still fragile and could collapse under scrutiny. Furthermore, Dean could have sworn that saw a glimmer in Sam’s eyes of what could be contentment, like his plan to ensure Dean didn’t end up alone, was moving according to plan.
Dean wasn't admitting to anything but he did like holding Buffy and being the guy she felt comfortable enough with to show her vulnerability. Perhaps Dean might return the favour someday.
“Angelus?” Sam asked.
“No,” Buffy replied, shaking her head. “When I met him, he called himself Angel. I didn’t know that he was a vampire when I first met him. I found out later.” Her eyes glazed over a second, remembering when she’d found out, what a hammer punch to the gut it had been. She’d probably knew she was in love with him before that but finding out had never made her hate vampires more.
Even without saying it, Dean understood what ‘later’ meant. After she started to care about the guy after she loved him. A few years ago, knowing that she’d loved a vampire would have freaked him the hell right out. However, he’d spent a year in Purgatory with a vampire who had saved his ass more times than he’d thought possible. If it wasn’t for Benny, Dean would still be stuck in Purgatory. It easy to say that Benny only watched Dean’s back for his own ends but Dean was certain that the vampire had considered him a friend. Certainly, when they’d escaped, Benny had said so instead of trying to take a bite out of him.
Buffy went on to relate the tale of how Angel had been Angelus, the Scourge of Europe, how for two hundred years, his savagery was the stuff of legend, even among vampires until a curse had brought all that to an end. The soul of the human who had owned the body had been forced back into that sinful vessel to endure the consequences for the demon’s actions. And that hadn’t even been the worst part of the curse. It was stunning in its cruelty, Dean thought and he found himself feeling for this Angel who was forced to pay penance for crimes he hadn’t really committed.
By the time she was done telling her story, Buffy felt raw and hollowed out. After all these years, it infuriated her that Angelus could still play havoc with her emotions, even after Angel was gone and she had moved on. A part of her would always remember what it was like to be that sixteen-year-old girl who loved so hard that it burned the heart out of her and another part wished she’d never met Angel in the first place.
“That’s rough,” Sam spoke first, uncertain how else to put it. “And he died in Los Angeles? You’re certain of it?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Buffy answered, remembering the aftermath of the Wolfram and Hart battle. The only one left standing had been the demon Illyria and she had since crossed over to her home dimension. Angel and Spike had both been killed, turned to dust. Even if there wasn’t the eye witness account, Buffy knew it was true; she’d dreamt it. Her Slayer abilities gave her some prescience in dreams and occasionally warned her of danger. In this instance, it had allowed her to see Angel’s last moments. He had died fighting and when he met his end; the thread between them severed for good.
“So this can’t be him,” Sam stated. "If he died the way he did in your shower, then there was nobody left." In the last few years, he and Dean had encountered an odd number of vampires who could be killed by a wooden stake, who could not move in sunlight at all and burst into balls of ash upon death. Bobby had believed that vampires like humans could evolve and this particular line seemed more vulnerable but they bred more. It wasn't much of a trade-off.
“Sammy’s right,” Dean agreed, his voice still hoarse. He shifted slightly on the sofa and it resulted in Buffy sidling closer against him and it was an outcome he did not at all find unpleasant. "This had to be a shifter to be able to look like this guy or something else that can change its appearance. Maybe a doppelganger may be but they’re usually spirits and the demon knife would have done jack to it."
Silently, Buffy marvelled at how Dean and Sam speculated on the creature that had attacked her tonight. Like conversations like this was all the norm for them. In the past, Buffy had not believed normal humans were capable of handling themselves against the monsters in the dark but Sam and Dean challenged that perception with each passing moment. Not only were they versed on the lore, impressive when one considered that they and other hunters like them had compiled this information with no help from the Watcher Council. However, Dean proved that with an appropriate weapon, he could hold his own against vampires and demons. She had no doubt that Sam was similarly skilled.
“This can’t be a coincidence,” Dean added, "this coming so soon after Benson get mauled by some nasty and Sherman gets turned into bug food and now Buffy sees her worst fucking nightmare…”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam sat up straighter at Dean's comment, his formidable intellect fully processing at that chance statement. As Dean and Buffy stared at him in expectation, Sam held up a hand for them to hold on while he processed the idea that had come to him to its natural conclusion. "Maybe's that's the connection," he declared.
"What's the connection?" Dean demanded, familiar with the sudden spark in Sam's eyes that usually told him that something in that shaggy coconut of his brother's had connected the dots from A to Z.
Sam leaned forward in his chair. “Maybe it’s not a shapeshifter, maybe it’s something that can take on the shape of things that scares us. I mean how else would it know about Angelus and then have him just appear in your house? A vampire would need an invite in."
“But what about Benson and Sherman?" Buffy asked, lifting her head out of Dean's shoulder enough to look at Sam. “This thing just showed up and killed them?”
"I’m guessing yes. I mean it’s clear that the antique store figures into this. Shortly after being there, they both get confronted by some aspect of their fears," Sam explained, "but unlike you, they didn't know how to fight back and got killed."
It made sense. As much as Angelus scared her, she also hated him with a passion that no one could ever understand. She hated that he wore Angel's face when he inflicted savage hurt on his victims. People thought her hatred of him was because of what he had done to her and her friends but it was the fact that he was wearing Angel's face while doing it. Each time they faced each other, she just wanted to rip that visage to pieces so the demon would wear its true face, not the mask of her former love.
“The first thing we do tomorrow is talk to the families again,” Dean declared seeing that this was the obvious next step. "Sammy and I will get Warren Benson and Counsellor, you should talk to Terry Sherman. I think you two had some kind of chick flick moment going, so she might be more willing to talk to you then me and Gigantor here."
"Thanks," Sam made a face at him.
Buffy smiled faintly but Dean’s description aside, she did feel she had established a rapport of trust with the grieving widow that might help her to get the information needed on Terry Sherman’s husband. “So we’re talking about fears, phobias or anything that gives these people the wigguns so we can narrow down our creature feature?”
"In a nutshell sweetheart," Dean winked, regaining some of his earlier cockiness.
It was a solid plan of attack. While it was simple enough to go after the thing in the antique shop right away, without an idea of what they were dealing with they could inadvertently let the thing escape by playing their hand too soon. It was clear the monster was going nowhere and only starting to rack up its body count.
As Buffy considered this, Dean nodded at Sam slightly, giving his brother the signal to give him and Buffy some privacy. Sam rolled his eyes but offered no verbal protest, aware that Dean probably wanted to ask Buffy more about this Angel guy and it would probably be better served if he wasn’t around. Besides, Dean not behaving like a dick trying to get into the girl’s pants was a clear indication that his brother was seeing Buffy as more than just another extra in a Porky’s film.
“Well if we’re not doing the antique store tonight,” Sam said standing up for the armchair, “I’m gonna bail and get some shut-eye. Thanks again for the room Buffy," he smiled at her, genuinely grateful for being able to sleep on a bed that wasn’t being rented out by the hour.
“No problem,” Buffy replied, making no effort to get to her feet since she’d already shown him the room earlier and put out the additional linen needed.
Buffy waited until Sam had gone before she raised her head so that she could look Dean in the eye, “Thank you, Dean. Thank you for being here. I know we just met and all…”
“Counsellor,” he stopped her there, “I get it. Old boyfriends can rip you a new one and it’s even worse when it’s some asshole wearing your boyfriend’s face.” He said with typical Dean Winchester tact. He paused a moment and then asked in a less confronting tone, “you gonna be alright?”
“I will,” Buffy sighed with a slight nod. “I’m always a little wigged out after dealing with him. I hate it that after all these years, he still gets to me.”
“Hey they say the first ones are hardest to get over,” Dean remarked and then held her gaze, needing it answered for himself that she was actually over this Angel guy. He liked her a hell of a lot but he wasn’t anyone’s rebound.
Buffy was astute enough to recognise the ulterior motive in his comment and smiled faintly, flattered by the desire to question her lingering feelings for Angel. “I’m over him but I can’t forget I cared about him and seeing Angelus just pisses me off.”
“I can relate,” Dean replied and went on to explain how it had been for him when Sam had allowed Lucifer to take him as a vessel. Seeing your brother and knowing it was the devil inside him had been nothing less than terrifying for Dean and to this day, he still had nightmares about having surrendered Sammy to his fate. Even though Dean was lucky and he got Sam back eventually, those initial few months even with Lisa consoling him had been hard.
“God,” Buffy sat up, bracing her elbow against the back of the sofa so that she could look at him, “you think we get some breaks with this job but we don’t. We keep ending up making sacrifices of the people we care about.”
“It’s twisted is what it is,” Dean agreed with a frown, “I’ve given up trying to figure out why and just decided that the only thing that matters is keeping the people I care about safe. Everything else can be worked around that.”
“I like that,” Buffy nodded with approval before saying with a sigh, “I’m going to bed. Are you going to be okay here on the couch?” She asked, realising too late that would probably give him an opening to make some cheesy come on. Still, if he did make the proposition about climbing into bed with her, Buffy wasn’t entirely sure she’d say no after what had happened today.
“It will do for now,” Dean replied, surprising her with his answer. His eyes still glimmered with mischief and he knew she’d be expecting something different so he added, “But I can’t say I will have the same answer the next time you ask me.”
“Who says there’s going to be a next time?” She threw back, matching his playful tone. After where she’d spent the last few hours, Buffy didn’t mind flirting with him again. It was also telling that despite Angelus’ sudden appearance, Buffy wasn’t too emotionally wrecked to enjoy it.
“Come on Counsellor,” his voice dropped an octave to that maddening tone he had used in the Saloon before the scream from Sherman’s employee had ruined the mood, “I think we both know there will be a next time.”
“You’re just so full of it,” she snorted and turned away but secretly knew he was probably right.
***********
These days when Sam slept, it was so deep that little could snap him out of it. In the past, he’d get by on five hours sleep, especially when they were moving from job to job and didn’t always have the luxury of sleeping in beds. There had been too many times where he’d slept in the Impala and while it was a large car, it was never made to accommodate his 6’4 frame with ease. Nevertheless, he managed to train his body to get those precious hours so that he’d be somewhat refreshed when he woke up.
Since the trials, however, Sam had been doubling those hours in sleep and when Dean didn’t wake him, he’d sometimes triple that time. Worse yet, his sleep was black and dreamless. It was almost as if his brain had to shut down to in order to recoup his strength. To say nothing of the fact that Dean had to shake him awake at times because he couldn’t be roused out of his slumber.
Tonight in Buffy’s spare room, there had been no such difficulty.
He woke up the minute he felt the pain.
More than just pain. Agony. It was exquisite in its intensity. So sharp and sudden that he screamed without even being aware that he had made the sound. Sam Winchester tried to sit up in his bed and found that he couldn't because any attempt to move his arms or legs caused such piercing pain he hardly dared to breathe, let alone move further. He could feel warm fluid running down his limbs until he could feel the pregnant drops growing heavy on the underside of him before dripping to the floor.
The plink, plink, plink sound against stone were like drums in his head.
Amidst the pain, he recognised where he was and the realisation started him screaming again, this time in mindless terror.
The Cage. He was back in the Cage with Michael and Lucifer.
***********
Dean fell off the sofa when he was awoken by Sam's scream.
The cold fear that struck him at the sound of Sam crying out like that had Dean scrambling towards the hallway without thinking about anything except getting to his brother. He almost collided with Buffy who had emerged from her bedroom in a similar state of haste and any question she might have had was muted by another cry from Sam. Without saying a word, they both ran down the hallway, almost matching each other stride for stride but it was Dean, driven by fear for Sam, who got to the door first.
When he yanked it open, the first thing that hit him was the smell. It felt like he'd stepped into the middle of a volcano. Sulphur, the scent he recognised all his life to be the afterbirth of a demon’s presence, wafted down the hallway through the open door.
"Watch out!" Buffy shouted, grabbing onto the belt hook of his jeans before he stepped over the threshold into a room that no longer existed. Where there should have been a carpeted floor was a drop to the ground was almost six feet deep and composed purely of concrete, not shaggy blue pile.
"What the fuck....!" Dean exclaimed and took a second to comprehend what he was seeing.
The bedroom which only this evening looked like it'd been spat out by an Ikea catalogue now resembled the killing floor of an old abattoir. The smell of sulphur was intermingled with the stench of blood, sweat and shit, creating a stomach-turning odour that made him cover his hand with his mouth just to keep from gagging. The room was all stone and concrete, with cruelly sharp blades hanging on the wall. They were all rusted and bloody, trailing rivulets of red from where they were positioned. The killing floor was covered in pieces of flesh, denuded bone and viscera, creating an image that would have been appropriate in a verse from Dante’ Inferno. It was bathed in a red glow although where it was radiating from, Dean couldn't say because all he could see was Sam.
"Oh my God," Buffy gasped, her eyes widening in shock and horror as she saw Sam Winchester, hanging off the floor in the middle of the room. He was being suspended up by sharp hooks that had torn through his arms and legs. For a moment, he looked like a marionette puppet on strings. His blood was running down his arms and his thighs, dribbling onto the floor behind him as if he was being slowly bled to death.
"Sammy!" Dean shouted, similarly horrified as he bolted forward, trying to ignore the parallels between this scene and his memories of being tortured in hell. For his crime as a hunter, he’d be strung up in a trap like this, the plaything of torture for every demon who wanted to get its freak on in retaliation for sending their filthy asses to hell.
Sam stopped screaming when he heard Dean’s voice, trying to decide if this was a hallucination that Lucifer and Michael were taunting him with or that Dean was really here. Sam didn’t care, he would take what he could get, even if it was a fake. Hearing Dean’s voice was enough to calm him down and he struggled to get free, crying out when his attempts to catch a glimpse of Dean made the hooks embedded in his flesh pull harder.
"Dean! Get me out of here!” He begged. “Please, Dean! Help me!"
"Just hang on Sammy!" Dean shouted unable to ignore the desperation in his voice. It shook him to the core hearing his brother cry for him the way Sammy had done when he was a child having nightmares and Dean had to comfort him. "I'm coming!"
Dean didn't notice that Buffy hadn’t following him when he went searching for the rigging that had his brother trussed up like an animal for the slaughter. Sam was freaking out and for good reason; he'd been caged up with Lucifer and Michael, bearing the brunt of their vengeance at being trapped together for all eternity. They'd ripped his soul to shreds for a year, returning him to the world with wounds that not even an angel was able to heal completely.
This is not real, Sam told himself. I'm not in the cage, he chanted to himself. I'm not in the cage. Struggling to maintain the tenuous control of his composure, Sam told himself that if Dean was here, then he was being attacked by the same creature who had appeared to Buffy as Angelus.
Dean spotted the handle of the pulley attached to the chains holding Sam against the wall. Like everything else in the place, it was rusted over and appeared like it was the relic of a previous century. He crossed the killing floor, ignoring the blood and underfoot and prayed that none of it belonged to Sam, when something came out of the shadowy stalls and backhanded him with a blow so powerful he flew across the floor to land in a pile of rotting flesh.
"Hello Dean," the face of Adam Milligan stared at him, except Dean knew immediately that this wasn't his dead brother. It was Michael.
"Oh hey, Michael," Dean grunted, trying to get up even though his face was burning and he was bleeding from the re-opened wounds inflicted by Angelus earlier. "Love what you guys have done with the place. Could use some paint though."
"Well we were planning to do that with your blood," Michael hissed closing in on him again, the angel's eyes filled with dark hatred at the main culprit for his imprisonment in the pit. "Then we can get back to playing with our favourite pet, right Sam?"
"Dean," Sam grunted, trying to free himself but resulted in tearing his flesh further at each attempt. "Get out of here."
"Oh no Dean can't go yet," Michael said reaching Dean, "Lucifer and I finally get our very own Winchester to pull apart like a fly. You're Lucifer's and Deano here is mine."
Dean tried to get past Michael but the vengeful archangel was having none of that and threw another punch at Dean before the older Winchester could avoid it. The power and rage behind the blow connected to his jaw, dislodging a tooth and spurting blood from his mouth. Michael’s punch was like a sledgehammer and Dean literally stars. He went sprawling and landed badly. The crack of ribs was hurt and he uttered an involuntary cry of pain when suddenly, he saw something land between Michael and himself.
"Hey," Buffy stood up in front of Michael, "who said you could mess up his pretty face?"
With that, she swung the mace in her hand and smashed it against the side of Michael's skull. Blood splattered across her Buffy’s Tweety Bird pyjama top. Michael staggered backwards and Buffy gave him no quarter, swinging again and putting all her strength into it. The impact of the heavy metal weapon against Michael’s face, lifted him off his feet and flung him halfway across the room. He landed in the middle of the killing floor with a heavy thud, creating an ugly streak across the blood-soaked floor. Taking advantage of Michael’s brief disorientation, Buffy turned away and hurried to Dean.
"Are you okay?" She asked, hauling him to his feet easily.
"That was kind of awesome." Dean declared, aware that he was smiling like a dork, even though he was sure his jaw looked like pulp.
"You get Sam," Buffy ordered, brushing her fingers against his ravaged jaw, "I'll keep him busy." She said turning back to Michael.
Dean wasn't about to argue with her and when she went to confront Michael, he hurried towards the mechanism holding Sam in place. He winced with each movement as his head throbbed and his body aching thanks to the ribs he knew he’d broken when he landed. "Hold on Sammy!" Dean tried to cry out but his mouth wasn't cooperating and his words escaped him slurred.
Buffy saw Michael get up and though the side of his face was almost caved in, he was still standing. She saw him smile at her, his teeth visible through the torn flesh of his cheek She had no idea what this place was to Sam Winchester but it was worse than anything she'd ever encountered in Sunnydale. Even the Hellmouth hadn't borne the grisly horror of this place.
"A girl," Michael said grinning, blood rushing down his chin, dribbling onto his shirt. "Now that's a real playmate for all eternity. So many things to do, so many places to explore, so many intimate ways for her us to get to know each other." He showed her a long-bladed butcher's knife as he approached her.
"Sorry, I don't maim on the first date,"' Buffy retorted and blocked his attempt to stab her before she brought down the mace against his shoulder.
***********
In the meantime, Dean had managed to lower Sam from the ceiling to the blood-soaked floor. The chains holding him suspended rattled as he descended and Dean’s stomach hollowed at the sight of the hooks that had were caught onto Sam’s limbs like he was a slab of meat waiting to be carved. As soon as he was down, Dean hurried to him and stopped short as he saw Sam covered in blood, looking almost dead.
"Jesus Sammy," Dean grimaced as he dropped to his knees to free Sam, trying to ignore the blood staining his hand as he removed the sharp hooks penetrating his brother's limbs without causing further damage. “I’ll get you out of these things in a second,” he said trying to assure Sam even though he couldn’t see how he was going to get them off his little brother without causing him more pain.
"Can't be any worse than what you went through," Sam gasped with each stab of fresh pain lancing through him as Dean tried to extricate him from the torture device. He let out a sharp groan of pain when one of the hooks caught, tears of agony running down his face. “I’d forgotten how much fun this place was.” He tried to joke but couldn’t quite manage it.
“Next time, let’s just go to a strip club for fun,” Dean retorted, tossing aside another hook and repeating the procedure one by one until Sam was completely free of the things. Reaching around Sam’s shoulder, said gently. “Try to stand if you can.” He said trying to help Sam to his feet but it wasn’t easy. The hooks had been driven through muscle tissue to hold Sam’s weight aloft and now that he tried to stand, those same muscles pulsed with fresh blood as he tried to move.
“We’ll get you help Sammy,” Dean assured him, hiding his horror at his brother’s injuries as they led him towards the entrance to the hallway in Buffy’s home. Somehow, this pocket universe that contained Lucifer’s cage was still tethered to the world they knew by the doorway that still remained open.
“Where’s Buffy?” Sam asked as Dean led him across the floor.
“Tearing Michael a new one,” Dean answered promptly, however, he was now craning his neck left and right to see where she was. It didn’t take him long to find her because she was in the middle of the kill floor, battling it out with Michael. He could only afford to watch her for a second but that second was plenty. When Dean had seen her pummelling Angelus earlier, he knew she could fight but seeing her go toe to toe with Michael was something else to behold. She looked preternatural, a force to be reckoned with that left in silent awe.
She’d somehow lost her grip on the mace but wasn’t not suffering from the lack of it. She jabbed Michael in the face, causing his head to snap back sharply. Before he had a chance to recover, Buffy threw a flying front kick, once again catching him on his ruined face, driving the angel backwards. She followed it with a series of left to right punches, giving him no chance to recoup.
“Come on, we got to get you out of here,” Dean said turning his attention back to the task at hand; getting Sam to safety. Once that was done, he could give Buffy the all-clear so she would follow them.
“Why Dean? We’re finally together again.” A familiar voice said behind them and Dean’s hair stood on end because he knew exactly who it was before Sam said it out loud.
“Lucifer.”
At least he didn't look like Sam.
It wasn’t much consolation but Dean didn’t think he could stomach seeing Lucifer in a Sam meat suit. It had been hard enough the first time to see his brother face and know the eyes staring back at him was a monster. Fortunately, Lucifer had appeared to them in the body belonging to Nick, the human who had been his temporary vessel while he had been waiting for Sam to say yes. Nick had vanished into the ether after Lucifer had vacated the premises and Dean briefly wondered if the man was alive somewhere or had he been left a catatonic wreck like most vessels containing an archangel.
Dean didn’t have to look at Sam to know what effect this was having on his brother. Sam’s expression was one of sheer terror as he faced his greatest nightmare once more. For months after Sam had been rescued from the cage, he’d gone slowly mad as hallucinations of Lucifer nearly drove him to breaking point. If it had not been for Cas, Sam wouldn’t have survived and now he was not only back in the cage but Lucifer was standing before them both, large as life.
“Sorry we can’t stay,” Dean said clutching Sam’s arm even tighter, prepared to go through the son of a bitch if necessary. “We got plans.”
“Everyone has plans Dean,” Lucifer’s movement to counter him was slight but it was more than enough for Dean to get that he wasn’t letting either of them get past him. “I had the plan to bring an end to the war between heaven and hell but that got somewhat derailed if you remember?”
Sam wanted to shut his ears, he didn’t want to listen to Lucifer talk, didn’t want to hear that oh so reasonable voice that could cajole you into thinking that everything was fine, even while he was stripping the flesh of your bones. Sam closed his eyes, not wanting to see where he was; not wanting to be reminded of how he had spent a year in this place, a year that felt like an eternity while his soul was tortured by two enraged angels.
Lucifer was continuing to speak, nowhere near the end of his speechifying. “Instead, I get stuck in here with him." He cast a disdainful look at Michael who was now on the ground, being smashed to a pulp by Buffy and her mace. “I mean I’m used to the cage from the first time around. I had time to read, catch up on my stories, you get good reception down here surprisingly enough and perfect my Tunisian strawberry crochet stitch but Michael’s not used to solitary confinement. I’m afraid it’s sent him a little bat shit crazy."
As he spoke, Michael had caught the mace, yanked it out of Buffy’s hand and tossed it aside. She retaliated with a high kick but he caught her foot and flipped her over, sending her crashing against the hard floor. Dean winced as she landed, wanting badly to rush to her aid but torn because he had to get Sam out of here. Whatever this was, hallucination or reality, the blood gushing out of Sam’s wounds were real. He needed a doctor and soon.
“Oh, that must hurt,” Lucifer said making a face at Buffy’s hard landing before turning back to Sam and Dean. “So I was saying, we had plans and thanks to you, we’re trapped in here with nothing to do but torturing your brother for entertainment.”
"Well, boo freaking hoo!" Dean snapped furiously, angry because he had to choose between his brother and the girl he was starting to care about as much Sam. "If you guys weren't so hot to start your pissing contest, none of this would have happened!"
With that, Dean decided he was getting past Lucifer one way or another. He needed to get some out and so he could help Buffy. “Hang on Sammy,” he said gripping his brother tightly and made a run for the ledge he could see across the floor of the room. Sam struggled to keep pace with him but Dean could hear the grunt of pain, with each step he took. Unfortunately, he did not make it far as Lucifer was in front of them again, barring their way like an apparition. His arm shot out and struck Dean across the bridge of his nose, propelling him backwards and forcing him to relinquish his hold of Sam.
Without Dean’s support to hold him up, Sam sank to his knees and then onto his hands. Lucifer closed in on him, standing over the younger Winchester before grabbing hold of Sam’s cleft chin and hoisting him up effortlessly off the ground. Sam’s feet dangled inches off the ground as Lucifer held him up high by the chin until Sam had to grip the angel’s hands to keep from breaking his neck.
"We could have created a new world," Lucifer said staring at Sam with pity, "I could have given you everything. Jesse, your father, I could have even been convinced to heal Dean after I was done killing Michael. Instead, you decided to defy me and chain me up like an animal again. Didn’t your dad ever tell you that a chained animal is the most dangerous animal?" He punctuated that statement by jamming a finger in one of the raw wounds in Sam's thigh and pressed down hard.
Sam's scream caught Buffy's attention. The slayer looked up from her battle with Michael to see a new player on the field who had apparently waylaid Sam and Dean in their efforts to escape. She turned to Michael once more, having taken a few blows but delivering enough to drive him to the ground, disorientated from the pummelling he had received from her hands. She couldn’t waste time with him any further and threw another roundhouse kick that connected with his jaw. He landed on the filthy floor on his belly and Buffy told herself that he wasn’t human when she brought down her foot down against his neck and snapped it.
The crunch of bone was heard amidst Sam’s cries and Buffy raced towards him, barely keeping herself from skidding across the blood-soaked floor as she left the sight of Michael’s motionless body behind her. His glazed eyes staring into nothingness.
Retrieving the mace, Buffy raced across the floor and swung it at Lucifer, intending to deliver the blow to his shoulder so that he’d let go of Sam. However, at the last instant, Lucifer’s other hand shot out and caught the mace by the handle before it could connect. His grip was like iron and he turned to Buffy, his expression more amused than hostile. As he rested blue eyes on her, Buffy found something oddly disconcerting about his gaze as if he was looking right through her as he stared. His gaze moved up and down her body like he was committing every part of her to memory.
“Now that is something you don’t see every day,” Lucifer remarked throwing a glance at Sam, “A cute blond in the pit wearing Tweety bird pyjamas and fuzzy slippers.” Turning back to her, he said with a patronising tone. “This is kind of a boy’s club, girls aren’t allowed.” He shoved her so hard, Buffy went tumbled backwards, the weight of the mace pulling her along and scraping her on the cheek as she fell.
Lucifer resumed his torture of Sam, continuing to burrow through the wounds on Sam’s limbs with his fingers. Sam gritted his teeth, refusing to scream and forcing himself to rein in the pain so he could speak. “Alright,” he gasped, “you win. Just Let Dean and Buffy go. I’ll stay behind. You can tear me to pieces if you want but just let them go.” The demand escaped him in a sob of defeat. He never wanted to live through this nightmare again, never wanted to endure the agony but he couldn’t let Dean and Buffy suffer it too. They did nothing to deserve this while he had done everything to do so. I'll do whatever you want; just let them go... please."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be in the cage if Buffy and Dean were here too. This was the same kind of hallucination that had produced Angelus and most likely the monsters that had killed Sherman and Benson but Sam didn’t care. It felt real and if there was even the slight possibility that it was real, Sam had to do all he could to parlay freedom for his brother and the slayer.
However, the devil wasn’t dealing today.
"I begged you once Sam," Lucifer retaliated with those sad eyes that made you believe that he was a wounded animal, wronged and persecuted when in fact he was the worst monster of them all. "I begged you to let me in and you paid me back by locking me in here for all eternity. I'm sorry Sam but no one leaves here, not ever."
"Says you, you son of a bitch!" Dean Winchester growled and swung the rusty axe he’d gone searching for.
There was just enough time for Lucifer to turn around and catch a glimpse of the blade before it sliced through his neck in one powerful blow. Dean put everything he had into that swing; wanting to make sure he got it right the first try. Lucifer had no time to cry out or react as the blade cut through flesh and bone with such force that his decapitation resulted in his severed head flying off his body. His head spun in mid-air once before it landed on the floor with the rest of the blood and gore with a sickly squelch. Sam tumbled to the floor as Lucifer’s headless corpse relinquished his hold on him and joined him there a second later.
"Nobody messes with my brother or my girl…" Dean spat at Lucifer's dead form unaware that the last bit slipped out of his lips without his realizing it.
Sam struggled to his feet; his knees feeling like rubber and his body so filled with this constant pain that he was actually starting to manage it. He heard Dean’s comment and blinked, looking at his brother as Dean approached him to help him up.
“Your girl huh…?” It was easier to joke with Dean right now than face the horror of where they were.
“Cut me some slack, I just saved your ass,” Dean grumbled, embarrassed that he’d said that out loud.
Buffy shook her head from the blow that Lucifer had delivered, recovering enough to see Dean deliver his killing stroke before she got to her feet and hurried to them, wanting to help him with Sam so they could get the hell out of this place. She paused a moment, noting the exchange of looks between the brothers before she saw Dean dropping the axe, the rest of him was splattered in blood.
"Gross,” she commented at the state of him. “Now can we go?"
"Hell yeah," Dean retorted, wiping the blood on his face with the back of his hand. His forehead was smeared with blood that was not his own and all three of them looked like the leads in a splatter flick.
Flanking Sam, Buffy and Dean hauled Sam to his feet and crossed the bloody floor, headed towards the wall where the doorway back to her hallway still remained open for them to enter. With their help, Sam started to recoup enough strength to be able to help in their escape instead of hindering them. His limbs felt heavy from blood loss and the pain was considerable but he was damned if he was going to be carried out of this place. Moving as best he could, he took note of their surroundings, the cage that wasn’t really a cage and tried to process some of this with what they had encountered already.
Something moved in the corner of her eye and Buffy didn’t have to know if Dean saw it, she had and that was enough. It came from where she’d left Michael and without even waiting to see if it was an aberration, Buffy reacted.
"MOVE!" She barked at Dean who followed her gaze and realize she had a good reason for the order.
"Fuck!" Dean swore, “Come on Sammy.” He urged his brother faster and hastened his pace in hauling ass. He still had no proof they’d be safer once they were through the door but at least, they'd be back in the real world.
"What is it?" Sam asked weakly.
"Trust me, Sammy, you don't want to know." Dean retorted not voicing the worry that if Michael was getting to his feet then it might not be long before Lucifer would be doing the same, sans head or not.
Sam took his word on it and they soon found themselves beneath the doorway that had previously been the door to Buffy’s spare bedroom but was now the entrance to the cage. The light pouring through from the light of the hallway felt almost like heavenly after the sinister red that bathed the cage.
"You first Counsellor!" Dean ordered her as Sam braced himself against the wall. Before she could protest, Dean had his hands on her hips and was lifting up her small frame to the door frame. “Get over, you can help Sam up!”
He need not have lifted her but it made things simpler nonetheless, Buffy caught hold of the edge and pulled herself over with ease, turning around to see Michael starting to get up, his neck still hanging in that crooked angle. Something else was moving down there and her stomach clenched. God, she thought. No, not God, Lucifer.
“Hurry up,” she said to Dean, “don’t make me come down and get you.” It wasn’t a joke. She would.
"I love you when you get all bossy," Dean quipped and then turn to Sam, securing his hold on Sam and steering him to the wall so he could help his brother.
"My God, it’s like Moonlighting..." Sam groaned before he raised his arms painfully, his height more than allowing him to reach the door frame. However, in his condition, he would need help climbing over.
Buffy was already on her knees, reaching down to grab hold of Sam's forearms. She tried to avoid the wounds but there was no helping it. He'd been in pain when she lifted him up but at least, he'd be out of that hellhole. Making full use of her slayer strength, Buffy dragged Sam up, her teeth gritting as she pulled him over the edge. As soon as Sam was able, he used his elbows to haul himself the rest of the way. Behind him, Dean pushed at his legs to give him the boost needed to scramble into the hallway.
Groaning as he lifted, Dean felt the chords of his neck strain as he put his back into lifting Sam off the ground. Sam was doing his best to help but the trials and these new injuries had taken its toll Sam and he was weaker than Dean had ever seen him and that terrified Dean more than he cared to admit. More than even the cage scared him.
Once Sam had started to pull himself up on his own power thanks to Dean's effort, Buffy clamped onto his shoulder and hauled him the rest of the way. No sooner than he was past the threshold, she was leaning over the edge to see where Dean was.
"Dean hurry!" She called frantically when she saw Michael and now Lucifer were fast approaching him.
Dean was away ahead of her as he made a running jump towards the edge now that Sam was safe. Dean had risked a glance over his shoulder before he leapt and saw both Michael and Lucifer coming in for the kill. Lucifer was now whole; having recovered his severed head but it was Michael who would reach him first.
Screw that, Dean thought and hoisted himself through the door. Buffy was there immediately to help, grabbing his t-shirt and pulling him the rest of the way when suddenly he felt Michael's hand clamp around his ankle in a last-ditch effort to drag him back into the cage.
"You're not going anywhere, Dean!" Michael hissed, "We were just starting to have fun!"
"Sorry, I'm all partied out!" Dean snapped and lashed out, kicking out his foot and striking Michael square in the face. The archangel released his hold and fell back down. Buffy yanked Dean towards her in one massive effort, until he collapsed onto top her. Wasting no time, he swung his foot at the door and slammed it shut with a loud thud.
For a few seconds, no one spoke as they waited with breath held to see if Lucifer and Michael would try to come through. Seconds became minutes and it soon became apparent that the two archangels would not be intruding Buffy's home.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean swore loudly, exasperated and enraged as he saw Sam trying to sit up, ragged wounds in his forearms and thighs. Buffy lay beneath him, bruises on her face where she'd battled Michael, her cute pyjamas ruined with blood and God only knew what else.
Recovering himself, he looked down at her, "you okay?" He asked, his voice gentle, a stark contrast to his curses a few seconds.
"My spare room has been turned into the slaughterhouse from hell but other than that, I'm just peachy," Buffy retorted sarcastically, trying to ignore the intimacy of their positioning.
Dean too noticed it and if it wasn't for Sam looking like Death, he might have had something glib to say about but the only thing he cared about was getting to his brother. "Sammy needs help," Dean declared and got off her, crawling on his hands to Sam who though conscious, looked desperately in need of an emergency room.
As Dean tended to Sam, Buffy got to her feet and contemplated the shut door in front of her. The fact that Michael and Lucifer had not come through was telling and she put her hand on the doorknob, bracing herself for the worst when she twisted it open. She needed to know if her suspicions about what she would find was right. Opening it slowly, Buffy widened the crack and stared inside, her shoulder slackened at her findings.
"Dean," she said, "look."
"What?" Dean demanded, glancing away from Sam for a moment when he did a double-take at what she was showing him. Where only a few minutes ago, there had been the entrance to Lucifer's cage, now all that appeared beyond the threshold was a bedroom, decorated in Ikea furniture with Sam's duffle bag at the foot of the bed and his clothes draped across a chair.
There was no sign of the cage.
***********
They couldn’t take Sam to the hospital even though Dean wished liked hell they could. Thanks to the Leviathans, Sam and Dean Winchester were still wanted criminals. Furthermore, the nature of his injuries almost guaranteed the police would be called in to determine how he had sustained them. Fortunately, Buffy had other resources to draw from and though it had been some time since she had used any of it, Giles made sure she always had access to them. After all, she was the Chosen One.
The Watcher Council had their own healers and physicians on the payroll because although slayers healed fast, they were still susceptible to injuries that not even their remarkable recuperation abilities could overcome. And like the predicament the Winchesters now found themselves, the slayers could not afford to involve the authorities if they were to go to a hospital.
Buffy had called Faith to find out where the nearest Watcher Council physician was located and was pleased to learn that there was one in Kansas City. Faith who was presently in Texas was clearing up a case of demonic parasites that had supposedly tainted the water supply in a small community and was burning with curiosity to get the details on the job Buffy was working. Knowing how astute Faith could be when it came to any discussion about men, Buffy resisted giving her even the slightest details about the Winchesters, especially Dean.
In any case, Faith provided her with the information and Buffy learned, to her pleasant surprise, that the doctor was someone she knew. Caridad Esteban had been a potential slayer when the First Evil had been slaughtering them on mass during Buffy's last year in Sunnydale. What was left of the Watcher Council had smuggled the remaining girls to Sunnydale in the hopes that the slayer would be able to protect the girls. After training the potentials and Willow's spell activating all dormant slayers, they were able to defeat the First Evil although the resulting battle had destroyed Sunnydale for good.
Since then, Cari had completed her education and gained a medical degree, settling in Kansas City at St. Luke's Hospital. When Buffy had called her in the middle of the night, Cari had wasted no time getting in her car and arriving at Lawrence within the hour. It was strange that even after all this time, Cari behaved like she was still Buffy's to command even if Buffy hadn't been a fully-fledged Slayer in years.
***********
Dean had gotten cleaned up in the main bathroom and was sitting across Buffy in the armchair Sam had occupied earlier that night. He was wearing a clean tee and jeans while she had switched to her satin blue pyjamas since her Tweety ones needed to be burned just on principle. He was drinking coffee and she was sipping on chamomile, trying to come to grips that the world had returned to its civility after what they'd seen earlier tonight.
“Okay so it’s definitely the antique store,” Dean declared, needing to talk about something or else he’d be tempted to barge into Buffy's room and demand the doc tell him how Sam doing again. "So should I expect some freaky ass thing to come to jump out at me since I was in there too?"
"I guess so," Buffy frowned, feeling as if she was missing something. "That means you and me spending the night out here, where I can keep an eye out on you. I've had my turn in the Twilight Zone so you’re up next."
"That was not the way I planned on spending the night with you," he grumbled before a small smile crossed his lips and he met her gaze with what she was calling classic Dean Winchester innuendo. "Although if you want...."
Buffy rolled her eyes at him. "Focus, Winchester." Buffy said sternly, "we're not going to be caught with our pants down when this thing comes at us again." She saw his grin and groaned before tossing a cushion at him. "If this thing comes at you, what are we likely facing?"
"The Easter Bunny," Dean retorted, knowing perfectly well what frightened him.
"Come on," Buffy stared at him, seeing through the lie immediately. She wasn't a trained counsellor for nothing. "I won't consider it a slight on your alpha male status if you tell me what you're afraid of."
"I don't know okay!" Dean insisted, feigning ignorance. "Look I've seen a lot of weird shit in my life, I mean a lot! It could be anything."
Buffy folded her arms and stared at him impatiently, her eyes fixed on him, showing her displeasure. "Dean, we need to know." She insisted.
"Look it’s not going to happen, not if I can help it. So it’s pointless talking about it." Dean snapped before getting up and storming out of the living room, not wanting to discuss the subject any further.
However, Buffy was neither letting him out of her sight nor was she letting him avoid the issue. Their lives depended on it. She followed him out as he stepped onto the back garden through the sliding doors in the kitchen. She found him standing on the grass as staring at the moonless sky.
"Dean I don't want to press you but you know you got to tell me what it is," Buffy insisted. "What we've seen of this thing that it’s pretty damn good at getting inside our heads. If we can get ahead of it, maybe it won't end up so messy." She was no longer the Counsellor or the girl whom he was attracted to, Buffy now faced him as the Slayer and the slayer had no patience with the niceties when lives were at stake.
"Goddamn it!" Dean swore at her, “it’s nothing that can hurt us okay? If I wasn't sure of that I'd tell you but it’s not going to happen so there's no point in telling you." Dean knew that was a bullshit answer but he didn't know her well enough to reveal that much of his inner self to her. Sure they'd traded stories and he was sweet on her, no contest there but telling what terrified him the most? Hell, he couldn't even tell Sam.
She wasn't going to take that as an answer, not when she had spilled her heart out to him about Angel. "Oh I get it, that's fine. You're not into the sharing. It’s okay for the rest of us have our insides spill out in front of you but you're too good for that right?" She turned away from him, her disappointment clearly showing in her eyes.
Dean swore beneath his breath, feeling like he'd been gut-punched by just the way she looked at him like he was as much a dick as that Angelus guy and Dean hated how that felt. "Wait a minute," he went after her grabbing her wrist before she got too far away from him. "It’s not like that Counsellor," he tried to explain.
"Oh, sure it isn't!" She snapped, pulling her wrist away from him and striding towards the house once more.
Dean was tempted to let her go. Who was she other than a piece of ass he'd hoped to nail? They were working a job together, that's it. He didn't owe her a goddamn thing. Yet as she drew away from him, the threads between them remained, pulling him towards her. The memory of her smile, the one that Sammy didn't recognise because he hadn't met Mary Campbell, Dean had seen that same smile in the diner that morning and knew in a way he could not explain, that life was never going to be the same again.
"It's me alright!" He shouted after her and Buffy paused, turning to look at him, her brow knotted because she didn't understand.
"What scares me most, is me." He confessed. "Because there is nothing, nothing I wouldn't do for my brother. I've gone to hell for him and I've been ready to die a thousand times for him. I was ready to let the world burn just to save him. He's my brother, it’s my job to take care of him and I have never been able to sacrifice him. When I was forced to, it was like someone had carved me out with a knife, there was nothing left inside. It scares the hell out of me what I'd do save him."
And that she understood. Completely.
She walked to him, sadness and understanding in her eyes as she paused in front of him. "You're such a moron Winchester," she reached up and held his face in her hands. "That that I get. You're not the only one who’s got the market cornered on what you're willing to do for family. I died for my sister and I'd do it again. So yeah, I get it."
"I get that we're both fucking damaged," Dean retorted but there was no malice in his voice just acceptance that they were kindred spirits.
Dean lifted her chin and lowered his lips to hers. When she didn’t pull away, Dean boldly claimed her mouth for his own, exploring the sweetness of her with growing intensity. He conducted a sensual game of thrust and parry as their tongues duelled for dominance. Wrapping his arms around her slender back, he drew her close to him while at the same time feeling a surge of pleasure at her fingers raking at his back.
Since they’d laid eyes on each other, there had been this connection. He was accustomed to treating women as disposable because the ones he cared about always got hurt or worse. However, Buffy was capable of taking care of herself without any need for him to protect her thought he still wanted it to some degree because like him she hid the vulnerable parts of herself beneath a facade of stoic resignation.
That was the price of loving as hard as they did, the agony of the loss that came from it.
***********
Cari emerged from the house, seeking out Buffy and her patient’s brother to provide them with an update on her patient’s condition only to find the two lip-locked in the middle of the backyard. The former slayer, now doctor, let out a sigh and retreated discreetly into the kitchen once more, thinking that her news about Sam Winchester could wait until they were done with their personal moment. Besides Cari approved of Buffy’s new (she assumed) boyfriend.
At least this one wasn’t a vampire.
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Cari remarked with a sly smile when Dean and Buffy returned to the house ten minutes later.
Buffy immediately turned bright red and a satisfied smile crept across his face at that. Dean had to admit he found the appearance of that blush, every time sex was discussed, to be utterly irresistible. Still, he decided that while he liked Buffy quite a lot, she needed to get laid in the worst way. It was the only time Dean thought it was his sacred duty to make it happen or else the woman was going to break something or turn crazy like some of those Catholic nuns. Nevertheless, Dean's natural attachment to his balls told him voicing this thought would put them in imminent danger.
Instead of letting Buffy discombobulate trying to respond to Cari's observation, Dean brushed past the awkwardness by directing Cari to the only topic of importance right now; Sam.
"So how is he?" Dean asked as they settled down at the kitchen table where Cari had been sitting when they returned to the house.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Cari answered, stating the obvious but soon resumed her report. "But thanks to the information you provided about his blood type, I was able to give him the transfusion he needed.”
When Buffy had first contacted Cari, the physician had asked for as much detail about Sam's current state as possible so that she could bring the appropriate supplies since going to a hospital was out of the question. While Dean shared the same blood type as Sam, Cari had still brought packs of blood in Sam's type in case that wasn't enough. Upon her arrival, her first order of business, after shoeing them out of Buffy's bedroom where Sam was; was to replace Sam's loss of blood. Fortunately, the blood packs had been enough without Dean having to step in as donor.
“So he's going to be alright?” Dean asked, eager to get on with it and tell him if Sam was going to okay. The image of Sam hanging suspended like meat on a hook, dangling above the killing floor, his blood draining from him was an image that Dean never wanted to see again. Not to mention how frightened Sam had been, thinking he was back in the cage. Dean hadn't heard Sam scream for him like that since he was a kid and his cries had pierced Dean like knives.
"I believe so," Cari nodded and then quickly added, "but the lacerations are severe. It won't be an easy or quick recovery. Muscle tissue was lacerated and in some case almost penetrated all the way through. What was done to him was deliberate, ensuring no major arteries were damaged so the bleeding, while profuse was not immediately fatal. He could have been kept alive like that for hours."
For eternity you mean, Dean thought to himself. If what took place in Buffy's spare bedroom was a personification of Sam's fears of being in the cage, then Michael and Lucifer would have wanted to torture Sam for as long as they could. They'd want to wring out every second of agony for as long as it lasted. However Dean knew one thing with absolute with certainty; if that had really been Michael and Lucifer that he and Buffy had faced, neither of them would be alive. The real Michael and Lucifer could have killed them both without breaking a sweat.
"I’ve had to suture all of the wounds," Dean heard Cari say and return his attention to her update. "The damage was just too significant for me to use derma bond or steristrips. He'll need to be on antibiotics and I've given him a tetanus shot. He’s in a lot of pain so I’ve also administered some pain killers. He'll need them for the first few days as well as complete rest for a few days. Nothing strenuous like slaying." She directed that comment at Buffy.
"He'll get it," Buffy stated firmly before Dean had a chance to answer. "He can stay here." No way was Sam going to recover in that seedy hotel. She liked the younger Winchester brother for reasons she'd never tell Dean and was not about to let him languish alone in a hotel room.
Dean opened his mouth to protest and then thought better of it. Buffy was opening her home to him and Sam and Dean was touched. There was a real concern for Sam in her eyes and Dean found his affection for her deepening even more. Still, he had no desire to impose on her and he had always taken care of Sam, it was not a duty he could easily relinquish to anyone.
"For now," Dean added after a moment, nothing the raised brow from Buffy indicating the subject was far from decided.
Sensing that this could become a 'thing' between the two of them, Cari decided not to pursue it and made a diplomatic change of subject. "So do you know what kind of monster you're dealing with?"
"No." Both Dean and Buffy said in unison and then shot each other a look of embarrassment.
Oh, this was too good, Cari thought to herself. She was going to have a field day when she texted this to Faith and the other slayers she was still friends with.
"We're not sure yet," Buffy spoke again, feeling awkward again. "We know it’s telepathic. It seems to read our thoughts and able to throw our worst fears at us."
"Ewwww...." Cari wrinkled her nose in distaste and Dean wondered if those Shadow Men had included the essence of Spice Girls to the mix when they'd been working their spell to create Slayers.
Suddenly a thought struck her and she recovered her composure and turned to Dean. "Is it safe for Sam to be here? If you’re expecting this thing to come back, maybe he needs to be someplace safer?”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to him,” Dean said firmly. “He’s safer where I can keep an eye on him.”
Buffy suspected that Dean was going to unmovable on this subject and left it alone. Besides, she didn’t think it was a good idea for Sam to be alone either.
“And I can keep an eye on both of them,” Buffy told Cari with a smile.
***********
It was still the middle of the night when Dean raided the Impala to ensure that he was properly armed if any son of a bitch came after him. As she saw him laying out his weapons on her kitchen table, she had to admire the arsenal in front of her. The more she learned about these ‘hunters’, the more it became clear that these weren’t just civilians playing at monster hunting. Their weapons were well thought out, specialized to deal with the particular threat, whether it was demon, vampire or ghost. Iron, rock salt and silver ammunition, along with knives that gave her own cache of weapons some serious competition.
Dean had even let her look through his father’s diary and Buffy saw the cryptozoology of creatures she never knew existed and was convinced that the Watcher Council were unaware of either. John Winchester had travelled all across the country on his hunts, just as Sam and Dean had done. It made Buffy wonder about being based in Sunnydale. For all of John’s travels, the word ‘Hellmouth’ never entered his vocabulary and Giles had believed that all nature of evil had gravitated to the one in Sunnydale. There was such an obvious discrepancy in their knowledge that Buffy made it a point to investigate once this job as Dean called it was done.
Reading his father’s journal was also an insight into Dean Winchester. Buffy had never met a demon or an enemy who had ever been as insidious as Azazel, referred to in the early segments of the diary as the Yellow-Eyed Demon. There was never any chance for Dean and Sam to be anything other than what they were because the demon had ensured it. It had torn his family apart and even if it had only killed his mother and Buffy guessed his devotion to Sam was the same as her own when Joyce had died; to hold on to what was left.
It was also not lost on her that he’d let her read the diary, sensing it was not something he shared and that it had done so now meant something. Unlike Angel who was so filled with secrets, Dean was willing to share the uglier parts of his life with her, without hesitation. After what had happened with Angelus and then with Sam, what was there left to hide? She liked the fact that he trusted her with the diary and as they spent their evening waiting for the creature to return, Buffy found he was fun to be with even when he wasn’t trying to put the move on her.
Forcing themselves to stay awake through the night, both were conscious of the fact that Dean’s fears might manifest themselves in a threat to Sam. They’d taken turns checking on the younger Winchester after Cari had left, only to see that thanks to the medication she had prescribed, Sam was in a deep sleep and wasn’t waking up any time soon. Oblivious to their vigil, Sam slept fitfully, unaware that Buffy and Dean would be up all night to keep him safe.
As the hours stretched, they began to relax a little and though neither were about to say for certain the danger had passed, they’d decided remaining in each other’s company for the rest of the night was a way to keep safe. Buffy had made popcorn and the two of them had ended up on the sofa, watching reruns of Doctor Sexy, MD which Dean claim he didn’t watch even if he knew who Doctor Jenny Piccolo was.
By the time Doctor Sexy had ended, they’d flipped to a channel broadcasting cheesy monster movies and Buffy and Dean watched while pointing out plot holes and authenticity from their own experiences. She didn’t know if it felt the same to Dean but after a while, it didn’t feel as if they were waiting for a monster to arrive but more like they were on a date watching old movies on the sofa and filling up on junk food. It had been so long since Buffy had enjoyed being with a guy in this way, where she hadn’t had to lie about being a slayer or hide the fact that she knew the world was inhabited by meaner things, that it felt almost normal being with him.
By the time dawn approached and they were snuggled against each other as watching Arachnaquake (WTF?), Buffy started thinking about what would happen when they killed this creature. For the first time since meeting Dean Winchester, Buffy realised that when he was finished in Lawrence, he and Sam would be on the road again, going to their next job.
Despite herself, despite the independence, she’d been enjoying these three years, knowing that inevitability approached left a heavy sensation in her gut. She was going to miss him.
She was going to miss him a lot.
***********
Sam woke up and found himself in a girl’s bedroom.
It took him a moment to remember that this was either Buffy’s bedroom or else Dean had checked him into the gayest hotel room in the world. There were flowers print sheets and too many pillows on his bed. Living out of motels for the past eight years and sleeping in a ‘67 Impala had made him forget what it had been like sharing an apartment with Jess for nearly two years. Girls? They liked flowers on stuff and lots of pillows, usually with frills of some kind. He spent the first few minutes after waking debating on this point, largely because processing any thought beyond that felt too hard for his just conscious brain.
It was better than remembering that only last night, he’d been in the cage.
Closing his eyes, he dispelled the images that crowded on him like a collapsing building once he’d allowed himself to remember. He’d been living with the memories of the cage for quite some time now and part of his recovery from that awful experience had been how he faced such recollections. After yesterday, he felt as if the wall had just collapsed inside his brain, allowing him to face the tortures and degradations by Lucifer and Michael anew. Logically, he knew that the creature or whatever the hell it was that had hit him and Buffy with its mojo, had created that nightmare but it still felt real.
He supposed if anything told him that the world was a facsimile, it was the fact that Dean was able to kill Lucifer. If that had been the real Lucifer, the one he’d faced and said yes to, no one would have survived. Not him, once Lucifer was done torturing him that is, not Dean and certainly not Buffy, Slayer or not. He considered that the creature would have drawn from Sam’s memories and despite Sam’s fears, he knew that Lucifer could be defeated. By recreating Lucifer out of his memories, the creature had also built in its own vulnerabilities. The real Lucifer would have none.
He didn’t know how long he stayed in bed, only that after a while, he got tired of it and felt the need to get out of bed. Sam could hear no movement beyond the room and he wondered if Dean and Buffy had gone out, chasing down more leads on the case. They had something of theory to follow up the night before and even with Sam laid up, there would be no stopping Dean to put an end to this threat, whatever it was. Perhaps Sam could help and remembered his laptop was in the living room. If he couldn’t work the job for Dean and Buffy, perhaps he could do some research on the Net.
Forcing himself to get out of bed, Sam’s whole body ached with pain. He could tell by his dry mouth that he had been medicated so he guessed that he was experiencing the version with medication. It made him wonder how it would feel without Cari’s pain killers. The thought was daunting. As he stood upright, he grabbed the corner of the bedside table to brace himself as he accustomed his body to move. Noting the bottle of pills on the table, he reached for it and read the label. Vicodin. It would do. Helping himself to one after reading the instructions on the label, he downed a pill with the glass of water on the bedside table. Once done, he started towards the door when his eye caught sight of something.
They hadn’t noticed it before because when they had last been in this room, Buffy had just been attacked by Angelus. She’d been freaked out and emotionally wrought so conducting an examination of the room hadn’t been a priority. However, now Sam bent over, grimacing in pain as he ran his fingers along the base of the closet and noted the residue found there. It was a fine powder of concrete along with chips that looked very much like paint. Dean had found the same thing at Sherman’s office and also at the alley where Benson had been found. Sam wondered if they would find the same if they went to Buffy’s spare room.
It was like something was opening a door to this room and then closing it again, leaving everything the way it was, except for the residue of tearing through the wall in the first place. Sensing this was important, Sam pulled on his jeans carefully over his bandaged legs and then went outside to find his brother.
As he emerged into the hallway, the silence reinforced his belief that Dean and Buffy had gone out without him. The clock on the wall indicated it was almost noon. It seemed to fit as he glanced outside and saw the activity on the street. It was quiet with few people out and about since they were either at school or work. It was only then that Sam saw the Impala was still parked in the driveway. Could they have taken Buffy’s car? Sam doubted it. Dean couldn’t stand not being the driver and worse yet, he couldn’t stand driving any other car but the Impala, unless of course, Buffy had him more whipped than Sam originally thought.
Dean was awful sweet on her after all.
Sam padded slowly into the living room and stopped short when he saw the scene before him. He found himself suppressing a laugh as he saw just what Dean and Buffy got up to last night. From the arsenal on the kitchen table, it appeared as if they were waiting to see what else would come their way after the double whammy of Angelus and Lucifer in one night. However, at some point in the evening, this was abandoned for what Sam was now witnessing with great amusement.
The coffee table had all the signs of a couch picnic with remnants of popcorn, empty coke cans and microwaved nachos strewn across the surface. Somewhere in the empty Twinkie wrappers and empty potato chip bags, was the remote control and the TV Guide. Shaking his head, Sam picked up the half-empty bowl of popcorn and stood over Dean with a contemplative expression that soon disintegrated into mischief.
Dean Winchester was presently lying on the couch, spooning Buffy Summers, fast sleep. The scene was so domestic that Sam briefly entertained the notion of capturing the image on his phone and sending it to Charlie and Garth just for the hell of it. Hell, he was even tempted to send it to Chuck Edlund as fodder for the man’s next book. Deciding that was too cruel and Buffy was an innocent in all this, he was satisfied with rounding the sofa to stand directly above Dean and start pelting his brother’s face with popcorn.
One kernel at a time.
Dean felt something against his face and immediately swatted it away. A second later, he felt something else against his cheek and rubbed his nose, trying to wave away the nuisance. By the fourth drop against his face, he was properly annoyed and roused out of his sleep. Blinking his eyelids open, Dean became aware of two things. Someone’s hot and awesome body was pressed so tightly against his, he could feel the delicious curves enticing him back to sleep again and secondly, he saw Sam standing over him, grinning.
“What?” Dean grumbled.
“You two are just soo cute,” Sam teased in his best Sean Hayes voice.
Dean blinked and craned his neck to see that Buffy was sleeping in his arms, her petite frame fitting so perfectly it was like they’d been doing this forever. She looked beautiful asleep, golden hair framing her face and popcorn on her cheek. Huh? Then Dean felt the popcorn kernels on his face and shot Sam a glare.
“You’re a dick.” He hissed.
Sam grinned and turned away, making his way slowly to the kitchen table before lowering himself into it with a soft grunt of pain, waiting for Dean.
An expert at getting out of bed and hotel rooms without waking the women he’d been with, Dean was able to extricate himself from Buffy and the sofa to join Sam a moment later. As he sat down across Sam, he studied his brother, examining the man’s state. Sam had already looked strung out of shape before the incident last night but now he looked positively wasted. There were dark circles under his eyes and Dean swore his cheeks looked hollow. The bandages around Sam’s arm were barely concealed by his t-shirt and Dean made a mental note to change the dressing at some point today.
“You look like hell,” Dean pointed out, sugar coating nothing because Sam would be able to tell if he was lying anyway.
“Thanks,” Sam shrugged, aware of his condition and had made peace with it when he’d been made responsible for the trials. “I’ve been better.” He admitted. “I just wanted to know what was happening.”
“I could have told you that if you’d called me to the room,” Dean retorted and then asked in a gentler tone, “You okay?”
Sam nodded aware that Dean was concerned about his mental state after reliving the cage again. He didn’t blame his older brother. It had taken no less than an angel to repair the damage when the wall inside his brain, keeping all those horrific images of the cage at bay, had lowered. Even if it wasn’t real, Sam could have relapsed after last night’s experiences. “It felt so real Dean,” Sam admitted. “I almost believed I was there but I’ll get over it. I’ll live.”
Dean wasn’t so sure but he didn’t want to argue about it now. “You should go back to bed,” Dean pointed out. “The doctor said you needed to take it easy for at least a week.”
Trying to deflect, Sam gave Dean a knowing smile. “She was kind of hot. What I remember of her…”
Casting a furtive glance over his shoulder to make sure Buffy wasn’t awake, Dean turned back to his brother and grinned, “She was smoking.”
Both of them chuckled before Sam got back on track again. “So this thing didn’t come after you last night?” He asked Dean, guessing from how he’d found Dean and Buffy that they’d spent the whole night in anticipation of trouble which had not come.
“Nah,” Dean shook his head, “we waited all night for it to show up, kept each other in sight and checked on you, just in case but there was no sign of it. I don’t know Sammy, something weird is going on here. I mean we were all at that antique shop, it should have come after me too.”
“It should have,” Sam nodded and then recalled what he had found in Buffy’s bedroom. “I found the same kind of dust you found in the alley with Benson and in the office with Sherman, in Buffy’s room.”
“No shit,” Dean sat up straighter, “so maybe that’s what it leaves behind when it gets in.”
“That’s what I think,” Sam agreed. “I’ll bet if you go into the spare room where I was, you’ll find the same thing.”
“Still leaves us with the same problem,” Dean eased back into his chair with a frown. “It should have shown up last night. We were waiting for it. ”
“Well it wasn’t a complete loss,” Sam gave a Dean a look of innocence and quipped, “You and Buffy got to have a slumber party.”
“Bite me,” Dean growled and got off his seat to make coffee. “So why you and Buffy and not me?”
“Maybe, it’s because of that puzzle thingee,” the two men heard Buffy suddenly reply in a drowsy voice. She pushed her head above the top of the sofa to reveal her dishevelled hair and her half-sleep features and added, “You know, the one you and I were messing with.”
Dean put down the coffee pot he was holding and stared them both down. “What puzzle thingee?”
“It was this puzzle cube that Buffy picked up,” Sam explained, concentrating hard because it hadn’t occurred to him. They’d barely had contact with it for less than a minute. “When we were walking around the antique shop, Buffy saw this cube. It looked old with markings I’ve never seen before so I figured it was made up like those two dorks did with the tulpa. It didn’t look like any iconography or symbols I’d ever seen so I figured it was just artistic design. Anyway, you had to turn it this way and that for it to open…”
“What’s a tulpa?” Buffy asked with a yawn as she climbed off the sofa and sat down at the table next to Sam.
“Nevermind that,” Dean declared, his tone taking on a decidedly impatient air. “So let me get this straight. We’re hunting a monster that has so far killed two people and you two decide to go antiquing while we’re in the place that probably got them ganked in the first place?”
When he said it like that, they really sounded dumb, Buffy thought.
“Well not exactly…” Sam started to explain.
“Not exactly?” Dean exclaimed. “So you didn’t pick up some ancient Rubik’s cube and start trying to unlock it?” His annoyance was clear.
Sam and Buffy exchanged guilty looks. This time it was Buffy who answered, only because she thought the kissing the night before might make him less mad at her. “It was pretty,” she said guiltily.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation more upset at Sam than he was at Buffy. “Jesus Christ! How many times did dad warn us about stuff like this? If it’s old and looks weird, don’t touch it! I’m telling you when this is done I am so schooling you both on the lore about cursed objects!”
Buffy winced at the fact that he’d included her in this lesson. Then again, he’d included her in the lesson which implied he cared enough to bother. Really Summers? That’s what you’re thinking about? She chided herself.
Dean’s self-righteous rant was far from done. “You two could have been killed! I’ll bet my ass that Sherman and Benson probably went wandering through the place and got up close and personal with the damn thing as well. They probably just touched it, figured it some cheap piece of crap and put it down again without any clue that it just put the fear mojo on them”
“Wow,” Buffy looked at Sam, “so not a morning person huh?”
“He’s better after breakfast,” Sam replied, letting the air out of Dean’s tirade.
“Oh you two are hilarious,” Dean shook his head and went back to the counter to resume making coffee. “You could have gotten yourselves killed. You almost did.” Dean shot Sam a reproachful glare.
“Look can we do the spanking later?” Buffy exclaimed, deciding enough was enough. “We need to figure this out.”
Dean stopped short as the image of spanking, cheerleader costumes and Buffy flashed in his brain and derailed his thoughts for a second before he shook it off. “Don’t try and distract me,” he declared.
Buffy smiled sweetly. It was worth a try.
“Dean if this is it,” Sam spoke up trying to propel them past the moment as well as thoughts of spanking cheerleaders, “I’ll need to get a picture of it so I can do some research. This box has got to come from somewhere right? The antique store owner may not know what he’s sitting on.”
“It might have a certificate of authenticity,” Buffy suggested, recalling that for some of the more interesting pieces Joyce had bought for her gallery, the items usually came with some paperwork. While she wasn’t certain that the same thing applied for antique stores, it was worth a try.
“Can’t hurt until we ask,” Dean replied thinking it was a place to start. You and me are going to check this thing out and get a picture of it for Sam. Meanwhile, if you’re up to it.” He looked at Sam who should have been resting but Dean knew his brother better than that, “Call Diane Lee and find out if Benson had the spook on for anything in particular.”
“I can call Mrs Sherman on our way to the antique shop,” Buffy offered.
“So what do you do when you find this thing?” Sam asked. “You can’t touch it.”
“I don’t know,” Dean said with a shrug. “We’ll see when we get our hands on it.”