Fic: It's In Our Blood - (Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam) Chapter Five
Title: It's In Our Blood
Author(s): angelbuffy
Artist: Skylar0Grace
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Buffy is the property of Joss Whedon, Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke. If those two wrote together it'd be a beautiful thing. But they haven't, so you have me.
Type: (Gen, Het, or Slash) Het
Word Count: 34,934
Characters/Pairings: Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam
Warnings: Sex. Violence. Language. All the awesome stuff.
Spoilers: None. Unless you haven't seen Buffy. Or Supernatural. Season six exempt.
Chapter 5:
Present Day…..
Luck apparently comes in many forms.
"You're just scared that if you let me anymore in, you won't want to leave. You won't be able to move back to your default reaction with women." She was five feet away, and spoke with revelation as her hand rested on the doorknob to the hotel room. He was in the parking lot, his back turned, one foot in the door of his 1967 black dusty impala.
"You don't know me, Buffy."
The news of Buffy’s escape had traveled fast. Within a few hours, there were town and county cops patrolling the area. She couldn’t stay in the only motel that was in town. That would be a stupid move. After that night’s events, they’d all had an uncomfortable meeting about what they should do next. It was filled with Sam and faith’s sex eyes, and Buffy’s awkward fidgeting. They had agreed to a motel a few towns south. It was an inconvenience, but it was necessary. The original thought was getting two rooms, one for the brothers, and one for the slayers. That quickly changed to Sam sleeping with Faith every night, and Buffy sleeping in Sam’s bed which happened to be next to Dean’s. It was a better view, but the torture that came with it was almost not worth it.
"Don't I? Tell me I'm wrong then. Tell me that for the past two hours you've been a bastard to me because I deserved it. Because really? All I get out of it is that last night you actually talked to me. Probably more than you've talked to anyone in your life. And it scared the hell out of you." Dean’s back was turned away from her, and his hand was clutching the side of the door to his car. His hand was shaking from the pressure he put on it. A half a second went by before he’d slammed the door and turned around to face her.
That woman.
That fucking woman.
That woman who for the first week he'd tried so Goddamn hard to fuck. Any man would be a fool to try not to. She was just one of those women who turned heads at a bar. One of those women who never noticed eyes on her; and if she did, you wouldn’t know it. She had the body, the laugh and the smile of a goddess.
He wasn't going to deny that just thinking about her made him hungry. It didn't help that she was a slayer. That she was created to fight the things that he willingly did. That she could kick some serious ass, and keep her own looking flawless. She was hot as hell, not a single fraction of her body over or under toned.
She was also fucking infuriating.
Buffy Summers was gorgeous, smart, and she talked way too much. In Dean's book, that equaled a challenge. Their first encounter was memorable enough, but being kicked into a wall was what his pride told him to take to his grave.
Dean was well aware that he hadn't had sex in two weeks. And his brother? Probably every god damn night. He didn't know what the hell he did to deserve that kind of fate and the smug smile on Sam's face every day.
Taking a step toward her, ready to retort her ridiculous assumption that hit too close to home. She stared at him, daring him to say a word to her that would prove her wrong.
“Yeah, Buffy, we talked. But you also know how much I had t’ drink. This time girl, you should fucking-” He was cut off by the large blur that ran headfirst into her, tackled to the ground with such a force and with such speed, he was left staring at door that was once blocked by the slayer. Dean reacted almost immediately, but not before whomever it was had a chance to pound her face, one fist after another. He’d grabbed the collar of the man and yanked back as hard as he could, with more strength than he thought he had. Dean took that spare second to check on Buffy’s well-being. She was fine; already up off her back, a face red and the corner of her eye bleeding. She was staring down the demon like a lioness waiting for her pray to try and run. It was almost like she was daring him to. As the man was crouched down, Dean had a good look at the black cloud that seemed to be swimming in his eyes.
Demon. That was all the proof that Dean needed. Buffy already must have known, for her own feral smile was the same one that she showed when they came up against the ritual harpy that had taken over the town they had met in.
A growl escaped the once- man’s lips as he completely ignored Dean and advanced to the ready slayer. She wasn’t making that mistake again as he ran and missed her completely, causing a knee to connect where his first rib started. He’d heard a crack and a grunt of pain as Buffy pulled another destructive combo. As much as he’d love to just stare and watch, Dean instead ran to the car for the demon knife as Buffy traded blows. When he had the trunk open, the first thing he could grab was the machete. He’d learned that demons whom were stubborn enough to remain in the body instead of expelling themselves didn’t have a choice when their heads were cut off.
Another sound of bone cracking, and a howl later, Dean slammed the trunk of his car carrying the knife, and a clean blade. Dean started toward Buffy who was holding her own despite how the first round started. He’d nearly made it to her when he felt a fist connect to his face, sending him flailing into the car, both the machete and the knife leaving his hands. He was able to block the second strike and kick his assailant in the knee, giving him enough time to realize it was a new face, and it wasn’t the only new face. They came out of nowhere. He heard Buffy yell his name in concern before she found herself thrown on top of him, her chin sliding across the pavement. She’d landed with a grunt as the demon that’d attacked him at regained his ground enough to wind back and connect his foot in Buffy’s stomach. He literally kicked Buffy off of Dean. Her head slammed into the rim of the tire making an ear piercing ding that sent a pang of fear through him. Any other human would have been knocked out or rendered incapable of movement. She was already blocking and anticipating the next move. Her reaction time and ability to bounce back was astounding. She’d grabbed the foot intended to connect with her face again, and snapped it with her wrist, making a clear snap noise before the inevitable howl of her enemy. She was up, but Dean didn’t have any time to help her. There were five demons, three of them on Buffy, the other two had hunter duty. Dean had luckily been cornered closer to the knife that had previously fallen. He had it in his hand. He’d easily killed one of them, sending the other into motivational fury.
“Come on, you son of a bitch. Make your damn move.” Dean was against the car with the knife in his hand. The machete was under the car, forgotten. The demon charged him like a freight train. It was to Dean’s advantage, though as it was unable to stop itself when Dean ducked out of the direct line of a fist. Gave him enough time to regroup and deliver a slice in the thing’s arm so deep that it was impossible to ignore. It was a distraction enough to make a clean stab through the throat. The bright light filled the demon before blinking out. The monster inside was dead, and the body fell to the ground slack and bereft of life.
“You-” Buffy was trading blows with the demon, mostly blocking his advances. Dean was already heading toward her and found himself unsurprised that the numbers fighting her had severely diminished. She had one left, and he couldn’t see a weapon, but he did see the bodies sprawled out around her, bloody. Dammit all, he wanted to know how she’d accomplished that one. “…by any chance done with that blade?”
She was covered in blood, and by the way she was moving, most of it, if not all of it, seemed to be of her attackers. They’d made eye contact for long enough time for her to catch the blade with her left hand and clean cut the throat so fast that the demon had no idea what had happened.
She stared at the limp body. The head almost completely severed from the body. She cut deep. The hand holding the blade was still stiff, the grip resolute. Dean had come to stand beside her, nonchalantly trying to size up her injuries. She had a small cut on her eye, her chin was scraped up and bleeding and it looked like she was forming a bruise on her right forearm. All in all, she was alright. Could have been a hell of a lot worse, especially considering how the outbreak began. They came unexpected. As an afterthought, Dean probably should have tried to keep one alive. There had to be a reason for the attack. But then again, the price for the two brothers’ heads was high in the demon world. He couldn’t imagine the price of a slayer was less. Hell, he’d not be surprised if the bounty was twice that of a Winchester. Dean watched her wordlessly size up his own injuries. The previous fight between the two of them was temporarily slid under the rug. His face hurt like hell, and he had a familiar tasted of blood from his lip. His ribs burned, a product of the adrenaline that always showed its face for a fight. Buffy turned her head back to the massacre scene with an adorable pout on her face that despite the argument, and despite the fact that he was most definitely planning on leaving in the morning with or without Sam to get the hell away from her…he couldn’t help but smile at her addicting aurora.
“What?” He dared to ask.
“I want them to go poof. I miss the poof. I miss not having to play janitor,” She turned toward the corpse. “Please poof?” …Yeah, he was definitely glad he asked.
It did what all corpses should do.
She sighed; Dean laughed and turned toward his car where he had plastic bags suited just for this situation. Buffy was still staring at the corpse. One of five. Her hair was caked to her face, what little make up she had on was running down her eyes, and her clothes, however covered in blood clung to her form showing Dean that she had more curves than he’d originally thought. He stole a moment to himself. He’d imagined that this was what she had probably looked like when the cops had found her. It brought him back to when his eyes first had laid eyes on her.
There was nothing about this slayer that wasn’t sexy. Even at her worst, she still managed to look better than anyone, doing anything. Before she caught him staring, he tried to get the blood flow from his pants back to his head so they could get to work.
In something like perfect timing, Sam rolled in with Faith’s car, her in the passenger’s seat. It was a sight that Dean was used to. The car sped up to the parking spot, as Sam had clearly seen the bodies scattering the parking lot. Slamming the door to the impala, Dean walked toward it, meeting Buffy on the driver’s side. Sam got out, his eyes focused directly on Dean.
“What happened?” They hadn’t had a fight for days. Not since they’d taken care of the job. Faith followed suit, but instead looked at Buffy for confirmation.
Buffy answered.
“Ambush. Kinda. We took care of it. Kind of.” Buffy and her word play.
Dean finished it off, indicating toward the fallen. The rain had started pouring harder, but the four stood there like they hadn’t noticed.
“They were demons. A whole freakin’ mob of them. Don’t know where they came from or how in the hell they found us, but it was taken care of.”
“You think it had to do with the harpy?” Sam closed the door to the car fully, still conversing with is brother before Faith had turned to Buffy.
“What do ya think, B? Man, you look like hell, I’m hoping none of that blood is yours.”
“We’re both fine,” She answered, pushing some of her matted hair away from her face. “Harpies work alone, right?”
“So we thought, “ Dean said. “It doesn’t add up. It was taken care of. Think this was just a random ambush.”
“Hold up, Deano,” Faith interjected. “Random? We’re in the middle of nowhere, hell, I don’t even know where we are. How the hell did they find us?”
“Well, they’re dead now, spitfire. None got away.”
“Alright!” Sam said, giving Dean a clear warning. Since that day in the car, Dean really couldn’t stand Faith. “None got away, and they’re dead. So I guess we watch our backs tonight and deal with this tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Buffy started. “But what if-“
“We deal with it tomorrow. We clean this up now, princess. Noone saw the fight, so at least we got a bed for the night.” She looked uneasy, but agreed. She was limping slightly toward the bodies. It’s when Dean turned to his brother with a smile.
“Ya mind takin’ care of this for us, Sammy?”
“I’ll clean it up. You guys look like crap.”
Faith interjected, and shoved her shoulder against Dean, nearly making him fall over. She was still pissed at him, too. “Yeah. We can do it. Just gotta grab some bags and do the dirty work so these crazy kids can finally do their own dirty work. Only one shower in the room, guys. Gonna be an interesting fight to see who can get there first. ‘Course you can save some of the hot water for each other if you’d just do what ya both wanna do t’ begin with.”
“Faith. Shut up. Now.” Buffy’s tone was almost a growl. Her back was against them all, but Dean pictured her face perfectly.
Faith laughed and waltzed past Buffy toward the first body, grabbing it by the legs, and pulling it toward the impala. Dean was reminded about everything him and Buffy had talked about the night before. One more reason for him not to like Faith. Girl was tough ‘cause life made her that way. She was good, sure, but she sure as hell wasn’t deserving of the chances Buffy gave her. It was so beyond him how she’d give her a shred of forgiveness. Those two had a history almost impossibly so. He couldn’t imagine how they even got along in the first place.
Sam nodded toward Dean, giving him leave as he moved to help Faith. Sam had been following Faith around like a love-sick puppy. Hell, Dean couldn’t exactly throw a stone. He was following Buffy into the hotel room. And unfortunately, not for sex, either. Dammit. Buffy had started helping Faith and Sam load the bodies into Dean’s car. It was larger than Faith’s tuna can on wheels. Buffy really did look like hell, was clearly cold (from obvious reasons that Dean wasn’t going to complain about).
“Buffy, go shower. Sammy said he had it.”
She turned to him gratefully, and nodded. He’d done it for more selfish reasons than for her comfort. She’d be miserable, and he’d seen firsthand when a slayer was miserable.
It took inside ten minutes to load up the bodies. Sam knew what he had to do with them, so Dean reluctantly tossed the keys over. He would have gone with them if not for the potential of another attack looming in his mind.
The shower was still running when he walked in the door, with the sound of his impala leaving the driveway. He’d made sure to give Sammy the disclaimer that no one has sex in his Impala but him, and so help him if that rule was broken. Faith looked…friskier than usual, and Dean would have no part of it. He had resigned himself to thoroughly inspect the car when they got back even though he’d made Sam promise on every grave he could think of, including his own.
He closed the heavy door to the room, finally getting the chance to shut out the cold still pouring rain. The rain was a blessing in disguise. Without it, chances were that the attack would have been noticed by other residents of the cheap ass motel. He still wasn’t sure how they’d managed to pull off not getting the cops after them, or getting at least kicked out of the hotel. He’d checked the scanner in his car with Sam before they left to triple check that their temporary home was still secure.
Onward to Chapter Six!
Backward to:
Chapter Four.
Chapter Three.
Chapter Two.
Chapter One.
Author(s): angelbuffy
Artist: Skylar0Grace
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Buffy is the property of Joss Whedon, Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke. If those two wrote together it'd be a beautiful thing. But they haven't, so you have me.
Type: (Gen, Het, or Slash) Het
Word Count: 34,934
Characters/Pairings: Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam
Warnings: Sex. Violence. Language. All the awesome stuff.
Spoilers: None. Unless you haven't seen Buffy. Or Supernatural. Season six exempt.
Chapter 5:
Present Day…..
Luck apparently comes in many forms.
"You're just scared that if you let me anymore in, you won't want to leave. You won't be able to move back to your default reaction with women." She was five feet away, and spoke with revelation as her hand rested on the doorknob to the hotel room. He was in the parking lot, his back turned, one foot in the door of his 1967 black dusty impala.
"You don't know me, Buffy."
The news of Buffy’s escape had traveled fast. Within a few hours, there were town and county cops patrolling the area. She couldn’t stay in the only motel that was in town. That would be a stupid move. After that night’s events, they’d all had an uncomfortable meeting about what they should do next. It was filled with Sam and faith’s sex eyes, and Buffy’s awkward fidgeting. They had agreed to a motel a few towns south. It was an inconvenience, but it was necessary. The original thought was getting two rooms, one for the brothers, and one for the slayers. That quickly changed to Sam sleeping with Faith every night, and Buffy sleeping in Sam’s bed which happened to be next to Dean’s. It was a better view, but the torture that came with it was almost not worth it.
"Don't I? Tell me I'm wrong then. Tell me that for the past two hours you've been a bastard to me because I deserved it. Because really? All I get out of it is that last night you actually talked to me. Probably more than you've talked to anyone in your life. And it scared the hell out of you." Dean’s back was turned away from her, and his hand was clutching the side of the door to his car. His hand was shaking from the pressure he put on it. A half a second went by before he’d slammed the door and turned around to face her.
That woman.
That fucking woman.
That woman who for the first week he'd tried so Goddamn hard to fuck. Any man would be a fool to try not to. She was just one of those women who turned heads at a bar. One of those women who never noticed eyes on her; and if she did, you wouldn’t know it. She had the body, the laugh and the smile of a goddess.
He wasn't going to deny that just thinking about her made him hungry. It didn't help that she was a slayer. That she was created to fight the things that he willingly did. That she could kick some serious ass, and keep her own looking flawless. She was hot as hell, not a single fraction of her body over or under toned.
She was also fucking infuriating.
Buffy Summers was gorgeous, smart, and she talked way too much. In Dean's book, that equaled a challenge. Their first encounter was memorable enough, but being kicked into a wall was what his pride told him to take to his grave.
Dean was well aware that he hadn't had sex in two weeks. And his brother? Probably every god damn night. He didn't know what the hell he did to deserve that kind of fate and the smug smile on Sam's face every day.
Taking a step toward her, ready to retort her ridiculous assumption that hit too close to home. She stared at him, daring him to say a word to her that would prove her wrong.
“Yeah, Buffy, we talked. But you also know how much I had t’ drink. This time girl, you should fucking-” He was cut off by the large blur that ran headfirst into her, tackled to the ground with such a force and with such speed, he was left staring at door that was once blocked by the slayer. Dean reacted almost immediately, but not before whomever it was had a chance to pound her face, one fist after another. He’d grabbed the collar of the man and yanked back as hard as he could, with more strength than he thought he had. Dean took that spare second to check on Buffy’s well-being. She was fine; already up off her back, a face red and the corner of her eye bleeding. She was staring down the demon like a lioness waiting for her pray to try and run. It was almost like she was daring him to. As the man was crouched down, Dean had a good look at the black cloud that seemed to be swimming in his eyes.
Demon. That was all the proof that Dean needed. Buffy already must have known, for her own feral smile was the same one that she showed when they came up against the ritual harpy that had taken over the town they had met in.
A growl escaped the once- man’s lips as he completely ignored Dean and advanced to the ready slayer. She wasn’t making that mistake again as he ran and missed her completely, causing a knee to connect where his first rib started. He’d heard a crack and a grunt of pain as Buffy pulled another destructive combo. As much as he’d love to just stare and watch, Dean instead ran to the car for the demon knife as Buffy traded blows. When he had the trunk open, the first thing he could grab was the machete. He’d learned that demons whom were stubborn enough to remain in the body instead of expelling themselves didn’t have a choice when their heads were cut off.
Another sound of bone cracking, and a howl later, Dean slammed the trunk of his car carrying the knife, and a clean blade. Dean started toward Buffy who was holding her own despite how the first round started. He’d nearly made it to her when he felt a fist connect to his face, sending him flailing into the car, both the machete and the knife leaving his hands. He was able to block the second strike and kick his assailant in the knee, giving him enough time to realize it was a new face, and it wasn’t the only new face. They came out of nowhere. He heard Buffy yell his name in concern before she found herself thrown on top of him, her chin sliding across the pavement. She’d landed with a grunt as the demon that’d attacked him at regained his ground enough to wind back and connect his foot in Buffy’s stomach. He literally kicked Buffy off of Dean. Her head slammed into the rim of the tire making an ear piercing ding that sent a pang of fear through him. Any other human would have been knocked out or rendered incapable of movement. She was already blocking and anticipating the next move. Her reaction time and ability to bounce back was astounding. She’d grabbed the foot intended to connect with her face again, and snapped it with her wrist, making a clear snap noise before the inevitable howl of her enemy. She was up, but Dean didn’t have any time to help her. There were five demons, three of them on Buffy, the other two had hunter duty. Dean had luckily been cornered closer to the knife that had previously fallen. He had it in his hand. He’d easily killed one of them, sending the other into motivational fury.
“Come on, you son of a bitch. Make your damn move.” Dean was against the car with the knife in his hand. The machete was under the car, forgotten. The demon charged him like a freight train. It was to Dean’s advantage, though as it was unable to stop itself when Dean ducked out of the direct line of a fist. Gave him enough time to regroup and deliver a slice in the thing’s arm so deep that it was impossible to ignore. It was a distraction enough to make a clean stab through the throat. The bright light filled the demon before blinking out. The monster inside was dead, and the body fell to the ground slack and bereft of life.
“You-” Buffy was trading blows with the demon, mostly blocking his advances. Dean was already heading toward her and found himself unsurprised that the numbers fighting her had severely diminished. She had one left, and he couldn’t see a weapon, but he did see the bodies sprawled out around her, bloody. Dammit all, he wanted to know how she’d accomplished that one. “…by any chance done with that blade?”
She was covered in blood, and by the way she was moving, most of it, if not all of it, seemed to be of her attackers. They’d made eye contact for long enough time for her to catch the blade with her left hand and clean cut the throat so fast that the demon had no idea what had happened.
She stared at the limp body. The head almost completely severed from the body. She cut deep. The hand holding the blade was still stiff, the grip resolute. Dean had come to stand beside her, nonchalantly trying to size up her injuries. She had a small cut on her eye, her chin was scraped up and bleeding and it looked like she was forming a bruise on her right forearm. All in all, she was alright. Could have been a hell of a lot worse, especially considering how the outbreak began. They came unexpected. As an afterthought, Dean probably should have tried to keep one alive. There had to be a reason for the attack. But then again, the price for the two brothers’ heads was high in the demon world. He couldn’t imagine the price of a slayer was less. Hell, he’d not be surprised if the bounty was twice that of a Winchester. Dean watched her wordlessly size up his own injuries. The previous fight between the two of them was temporarily slid under the rug. His face hurt like hell, and he had a familiar tasted of blood from his lip. His ribs burned, a product of the adrenaline that always showed its face for a fight. Buffy turned her head back to the massacre scene with an adorable pout on her face that despite the argument, and despite the fact that he was most definitely planning on leaving in the morning with or without Sam to get the hell away from her…he couldn’t help but smile at her addicting aurora.
“What?” He dared to ask.
“I want them to go poof. I miss the poof. I miss not having to play janitor,” She turned toward the corpse. “Please poof?” …Yeah, he was definitely glad he asked.
It did what all corpses should do.
She sighed; Dean laughed and turned toward his car where he had plastic bags suited just for this situation. Buffy was still staring at the corpse. One of five. Her hair was caked to her face, what little make up she had on was running down her eyes, and her clothes, however covered in blood clung to her form showing Dean that she had more curves than he’d originally thought. He stole a moment to himself. He’d imagined that this was what she had probably looked like when the cops had found her. It brought him back to when his eyes first had laid eyes on her.
There was nothing about this slayer that wasn’t sexy. Even at her worst, she still managed to look better than anyone, doing anything. Before she caught him staring, he tried to get the blood flow from his pants back to his head so they could get to work.
In something like perfect timing, Sam rolled in with Faith’s car, her in the passenger’s seat. It was a sight that Dean was used to. The car sped up to the parking spot, as Sam had clearly seen the bodies scattering the parking lot. Slamming the door to the impala, Dean walked toward it, meeting Buffy on the driver’s side. Sam got out, his eyes focused directly on Dean.
“What happened?” They hadn’t had a fight for days. Not since they’d taken care of the job. Faith followed suit, but instead looked at Buffy for confirmation.
Buffy answered.
“Ambush. Kinda. We took care of it. Kind of.” Buffy and her word play.
Dean finished it off, indicating toward the fallen. The rain had started pouring harder, but the four stood there like they hadn’t noticed.
“They were demons. A whole freakin’ mob of them. Don’t know where they came from or how in the hell they found us, but it was taken care of.”
“You think it had to do with the harpy?” Sam closed the door to the car fully, still conversing with is brother before Faith had turned to Buffy.
“What do ya think, B? Man, you look like hell, I’m hoping none of that blood is yours.”
“We’re both fine,” She answered, pushing some of her matted hair away from her face. “Harpies work alone, right?”
“So we thought, “ Dean said. “It doesn’t add up. It was taken care of. Think this was just a random ambush.”
“Hold up, Deano,” Faith interjected. “Random? We’re in the middle of nowhere, hell, I don’t even know where we are. How the hell did they find us?”
“Well, they’re dead now, spitfire. None got away.”
“Alright!” Sam said, giving Dean a clear warning. Since that day in the car, Dean really couldn’t stand Faith. “None got away, and they’re dead. So I guess we watch our backs tonight and deal with this tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Buffy started. “But what if-“
“We deal with it tomorrow. We clean this up now, princess. Noone saw the fight, so at least we got a bed for the night.” She looked uneasy, but agreed. She was limping slightly toward the bodies. It’s when Dean turned to his brother with a smile.
“Ya mind takin’ care of this for us, Sammy?”
“I’ll clean it up. You guys look like crap.”
Faith interjected, and shoved her shoulder against Dean, nearly making him fall over. She was still pissed at him, too. “Yeah. We can do it. Just gotta grab some bags and do the dirty work so these crazy kids can finally do their own dirty work. Only one shower in the room, guys. Gonna be an interesting fight to see who can get there first. ‘Course you can save some of the hot water for each other if you’d just do what ya both wanna do t’ begin with.”
“Faith. Shut up. Now.” Buffy’s tone was almost a growl. Her back was against them all, but Dean pictured her face perfectly.
Faith laughed and waltzed past Buffy toward the first body, grabbing it by the legs, and pulling it toward the impala. Dean was reminded about everything him and Buffy had talked about the night before. One more reason for him not to like Faith. Girl was tough ‘cause life made her that way. She was good, sure, but she sure as hell wasn’t deserving of the chances Buffy gave her. It was so beyond him how she’d give her a shred of forgiveness. Those two had a history almost impossibly so. He couldn’t imagine how they even got along in the first place.
Sam nodded toward Dean, giving him leave as he moved to help Faith. Sam had been following Faith around like a love-sick puppy. Hell, Dean couldn’t exactly throw a stone. He was following Buffy into the hotel room. And unfortunately, not for sex, either. Dammit. Buffy had started helping Faith and Sam load the bodies into Dean’s car. It was larger than Faith’s tuna can on wheels. Buffy really did look like hell, was clearly cold (from obvious reasons that Dean wasn’t going to complain about).
“Buffy, go shower. Sammy said he had it.”
She turned to him gratefully, and nodded. He’d done it for more selfish reasons than for her comfort. She’d be miserable, and he’d seen firsthand when a slayer was miserable.
It took inside ten minutes to load up the bodies. Sam knew what he had to do with them, so Dean reluctantly tossed the keys over. He would have gone with them if not for the potential of another attack looming in his mind.
The shower was still running when he walked in the door, with the sound of his impala leaving the driveway. He’d made sure to give Sammy the disclaimer that no one has sex in his Impala but him, and so help him if that rule was broken. Faith looked…friskier than usual, and Dean would have no part of it. He had resigned himself to thoroughly inspect the car when they got back even though he’d made Sam promise on every grave he could think of, including his own.
He closed the heavy door to the room, finally getting the chance to shut out the cold still pouring rain. The rain was a blessing in disguise. Without it, chances were that the attack would have been noticed by other residents of the cheap ass motel. He still wasn’t sure how they’d managed to pull off not getting the cops after them, or getting at least kicked out of the hotel. He’d checked the scanner in his car with Sam before they left to triple check that their temporary home was still secure.
Onward to Chapter Six!
Backward to:
Chapter Four.
Chapter Three.
Chapter Two.
Chapter One.