BtVS Crossover: Amateur
Title: Amateur
Disclaimer: I own nothing here. Maybe a bit of the plot. Maybe.
Rating: G
Timeline: For Supernatural, right around the pilot episode, for Buffy, post-Chosen.
Summary: Sam would be perfectly fine with demon hunting (pre-S1 SPN) if only he had some stability in his life too. Say, like the sort Buffy and her friends had. One-shot.
Notes: For the record, I have no title for this, and I know absolutely nothing about Cleveland State, save that it's in Cleveland. So I'm making things up about the specialisations the university is known for. The other thing is that this is solely coming out of the post-Chosen Cleveland thing. I'm not bringing in anything to do with Angel's last season and I'm not touching the season eight comic books. And yes, I stole dialogue from SPN. Wouldn't you?
It was funny how different demon hunting was when you knew you could actually go home at the end of the day. It was something Sam had contemplated the first time he'd gone on a quick salt and burn early in his days at Cleveland State. He could've gone to Stanford, but something one of his high school teachers had said stuck with him. "If you're planning on doing graduate work, where you do your undergrad matters a lot less. Besides, it's usually recommended that you do your second degree at a different university than the first."
So, he'd applied to Cleveland State along with some others because it had a really good criminology program as well as a really good folklore library that he had convinced himself had to do with idle curiosity and nothing more. And when he got a full ride there, he took it. Blown up at Dad when the man couldn't even be proud that his son was effectively able to go to university for free he was so smart, and took off in the middle of the night while Dean and Dad were out on a hunt.
For the first month, it was bliss. He had gotten into the newest sort of residence, the suite style ones, where it was just like sharing a four-bedroom apartment with three other guys and had enjoyed the bliss of being in one place for the foreseeable future, the unadulterated pleasure of having his own space (okay, the bed was too small, but he was used to that) and didn't have to share anything with anyone he didn't want to, and had a routine in short order that didn't involve guns, knives, salt, fire or Latin. After a month he'd felt the ever-present tension at the back of his neck start to fade because he could finally stop worrying about what Dad or Dean would think, and he could finally make long-term plans.
Then the suicides up on Matheson Drive started showing up in the papers and Sam just knew from the details it was some sort of spirit or possession. For one brief moment he considered calling Dean, (not Dad, never his father) but he figured it looked simple enough and he could handle it. So he figured out who had died there and where the man was buried, salted and burned and called it a good night's work. He refused to think more about it, save that it was really nice that he'd been able to go home at the end of the day, not sprint off into the night in the Impala.
A month after that, he came in for a shock. Because portents popped up left right and centre and Sam was trying to get ahold of Dean and his father, but neither of them were answering. In fact, both their phones were completely out of service. It was the end of the freakin' world and he was the only one who seemed to know it. So that night, Sam headed off to where the biggest signals seemed to be going up having prepped everything he could think of to hold things off. Hoping that he'd get lucky.
He got really lucky. Waiting on the edge of the gate to Hell were a crowd of young women. Teenagers for the most part, there was also one really powerful-looking witch and two women that made Sam briefly wonder if he'd stumbled onto some sort of fashion shoot, they were both so stunning. And everyone but the witch was armed to the teeth.
There wasn't even time to introduce himself when the damn thing opened up and demons the likes of which Sam had never even imagined started pouring out. The fight was brutal, but it was over fast as the witch managed to force the gate closed again. And that was how Sam got introduced to the Watcher's Council and their slayers.
The next couple years flew by as Sam got to see that a lot of the things he father and Dean dealt with were really small fry. Some of the critters they'd seen over the years were just so easy to get rid of for a Slayer, that the girls barely had to think about it at all. Situations Sam had seen his father and brother come back from broken and bloody were nothing. Of course, that just meant that there were correspondingly scarier things the girls had to face off with, but it still gave Sam a little rush to realise he was on the inside track in a way his Dad and Dean weren't.
Best of all, he had stability. At the end of the day, he could hang out with Xander or Giles and have a beer, go study for his exams or go on a date with some nice girl in poli-sci and not have someone breathing down his neck about how they had to get a move on because Dad had a lead on the Demon.
So it was something of a surprise when he was waiting with Tania, one of the newly discovered recently called slayers, as mop up crew for the vampire and various assorted demons cult Buffy, Faith and the others were flushing out and killing, to see Dean.
"Hey Sammy."
Sam cursed internally, even as he heard himself reply, "It's Sam," as he always did. "Why the hell are you here Dean?" he asked, trying to figure out how to get his older brother out of the cemetery. Dean was an accomplished hunter, had fantastic reflexes and goodness knows he could handle himself, but Sam was beyond certain that Dean wouldn't have come up against some of the things on the Cleveland hellmouth. There were a lot of demons that you couldn't kill unless you knew how to do it.
Dean's eyebrows shot up. "What am I doing here? What are you doin' here? In a graveyard with some underaged chick?"
"Hey!" started Tania, but Sam silenced her with a look.
He turned to her and said, "Look, this'll take a minute okay? I'm pretty sure you can handle things, and I'll be over there," he pointed to the mausoleum a few feet away. Then he grabbed Dean and dragged him toward the mausoleum, which was, not coincidentally, a little closer to the exit gates. "We've barely talked over the last two years, what is it?"
"She can handle what things, Sammy?" Dean demanded.
Sam ignored the question. "Dean, did you come here for a reason, or did you just track me down to bug me?"
His brother's eyes narrowed, but he allowed Sam to dodge the question. "Dad's gone hunting and I haven't seen him for a few days."
His eyebrows raised in surprise Sam asked, "What did you need to talk to me for?"
"I need you to come with me. I need help finding him." In spite of himself, Sam almost agreed. Then he shook it off. He had friends and a life here. He sure as hell didn't want to go gallivanting off. Yes, he missed his brother. But he had no desire to see the disappointment in his father's eyes again or hear the way John always managed to make Sam's contributions sound completely useless. He was doing real good in Cleveland. More, he was appreciated in Cleveland.
So Sam shook his head. "You can't just waltz up to me and demand that I drop everything and hit the road with you," he said in irritation.
"You’re not hearing me Sammy. Dad’s missing; I need you to help me find him," Dean said urgently.
"You remember the poltergeist in Amherst, or the devil’s gates in Clifton? He was missing then too, he’s always missing and he’s always fine." Sam couldn't believe Dean had tracked him down for this. Really. Dad missing? Big deal.
Dean's eyes narrowed again and he seemed about to say something, but a glance around the graveyard seemed to change his mind. "Yeah well dad’s in real trouble if he’s not dead already, I can feel it. I can’t do this alone."
"Yes, you can."
"Yeah. Well, I don’t want to."
Sighing, Sam was about to ask what their Dad had been hunting, preparing himself for the discomfort and aggravation of the open road already, when Tania shouted. There was a large demon, gleaming and slimy in the moonlight coming at her. Unfortunately, she was engaged with a couple vampires already and couldn't break off. Sam cursed, whipping out the sword he'd taken to carrying with him on patrol and raced to help her, vaguely aware that Dean was flanking him, probably pulling out a .45 already.
This was freakin' weird.
Not that freakin' weird wasn't the story of Dean Winchester's life, but Sam was sitting around in a graveyard with some bitty underaged chick, looking for all the world like it was completely natural to him. Dean couldn't recall the last time he and Dad had managed to get Sam to come with them to a cemetery on a hunting trip, but Sam had never looked like that. Like he was comfortable there. And the people at the address he had for Sam had sent him directly to this cemetery. No questions, comments or anything. Like it was normal for people to be wandering into cemeteries in the dead of night.
He wasn't dumb. He could see there was a bag on the ground and an outline on the side that looked an awful lot like a mean-looking axe. Sammy had left them, determined to never hunt again. So what was he doing? Especially with that kid. Sammy'd always been pissed about losing his childhood or some crap like that, so what was he doing dragging some girl into things that looked like a strong wind would carry her off, let alone stand up to a demon?
When Sam started trying to get out of telling Dean what was going on, manoeuvring Dean closer to the exit the whole time, (he really wasn't dumb, he'd watched Sammy do it dozens of times with potential victims) he dug his heels in. But he let Sam get away with changing the topic because Dad was more important.
At least, he thought Dad was more important until he heard the girl shout and Sam was racing off to rescue her. Only, Dean wasn't so sure they'd be able to all of a sudden. Something big was there. It was huge and slimy and the girl was already holding off a bunch of possessed people if Dean was any judge of the matter.
But Sam just leapt into the fray, with a sword that Dean swore he was going to find out where his brother had hidden it before, and started hacking away.
His heart in his throat, Dean whipped out his .45 and started shooting. Cursing when the bullets only seemed to piss the damn thing off, he reached into his boot for the knife. Maybe the silver edge would have a better effect. The next moment was a blur of tentacles (where the hell had those come from?) demon, slime and watching the girl do martial arts moves Jackie Chan could only dream of.
Then he was flying through the air, dimly hearing his brother's voice shout, "Buffy!" whatever the hell that meant.
Dean opened his eyes, to see his brother, looking nearly as annoyed as that time he'd soaked his brother's head in red Kool-aid while he was sleeping, and a hot blonde chick standing over him. The two exchanged looks and said simultaneously, "Amateurs."
The hell? He thought as they pulled him to his feet.
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