Through The Never - BtVS/Supernatural/Angel - 5/10

[twisted_slinky]

Title: Through the Never
Author: twisted_slinky
Artist: sarah_jones
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel/Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Season 6 for SPN. Post S7 for BTVS. Sam is having an out of body experience, and it seems the only person who can help him is a girl who's rather experienced in being a glowing ball of light. Sam/Dawn.
Warnings: Violence, language, innuendos, and some non-explicit sexual encounters of the het variety. Spoilers for BTVS and Angel all seasons; spoilers for SPN through season 6.
Wordcount: ~43k
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural or Angel. Written for fun, not profit.

Link to Story Masterpost: http://twisted-slinky.livejournal.com/32939.html
Link to Art Masterpost: http://sarah-jones.livejournal.com/105137.html  (or see it on her website here)






Chapter 5: I Dream of Sammy

Sam didn't have a head, so, in theory, he shouldn't have had a headache. But he did.

Dawn had let a bit of the secret out, and what had ensued, while not a full-out shouting match, was an aggravating tangle of insinuations and accusations-"You don't even know what he is, Dawn!" "If he wanted to hurt me, he already would have, Xander!"-which was always fun. And, once again, Sam found that he was at the center of the dialogue, with no ability to actually speak aloud and take up for himself.

Xander, the eye-patch wearing hunter who was apparently one of Dawn's oldest friends, and possibly one of her oldest crushes, currently hated him. Okay, maybe hate was too big a word-Xander didn't seem to think Sam was human enough to actually hate. Distrust? Want to smash? Sure. But hate? Sadly, Sam couldn't blame the guy, either. If he were in the same situation, if his brother were chatting it up with a crystal ball that claimed to be harmless, he'd probably have already destroyed the thing.

Still, Sam knew his emotions were all over the place, confusing Dawn even more-because, while he liked the idea that Dawn had so many people looking out for her, he didn't like how she'd greeted this guy. Sam knew he was in no position to be peeved by how her face had flushed when they'd hugged-way too long, by the way-or when Dawn used the words "bestest Xander-shaped bud ever" to describe Cyclops. You sound kind of jealous to me, Samantha. There went his inner-Dean again, butting in. Not jealous, he corrected Dean. Concerned.

But concerned over what, exactly?

Oh, the part where Xander might decide to grab the orb, lock it in a curse box, and keep it there for all eternity? Yeah, that part. Apparently, it was part of Dawn's concerns as well, since she'd made a feeble attempt at peace with her friend-"I'll think about what you said, okay?"-and excused herself for bed, not so subtly picking up the orb and taking it with her.

Which is how Sam found himself currently nestled atop her second pillow. After two hours of talking to him in heated whispers about nothing in particular, she was asleep, peaceful, one arm beneath her head, shadowing half her face, the other outstretched over the bedspread so that her fingertips rested gently on him. They didn't need a lamp, not with him glowing faintly, sending streams of now-pinkish light over the faintly green radiance of her porcelain skin.

He'd never been positioned so that he could watch her sleep before, or left touching her for so long.

'Dawn, there's something I've been wanting to try.'

She was too deep into her sleep for the gentle warning to stir her. Sam weighed his options. Waking her would defeat the purpose of his…experiment, but he felt like a creep trying it out without her permission. Well, if it worked, he could always ask her then.

'I hope you don't hate me for this.'

Over the past week, he'd been picking up on her emotions more clearly, feeling more connected to her. He noticed images, too, when she was distracted, tired. As if her subconscious mind lost its guardedness, a picture would slip through, just a fragment of a shape. Her sister's eyes, a scene from a television show, a page she'd been translating. A woman's kind face-Sam recognized Joyce Summer's smile from the photo frame on her desk. These were thoughts, Sam had realized, given form, but he'd only picked up on them a few times.

Asleep, at ease, he wondered if he could try to bridge the gap between them, slip his own images to her.

Sam steadied himself, considering what felt different between his private thoughts and those loud enough for her to hear. Then he did something he hadn't managed since he'd escaped Hell. He concentrated on closing his eyes. A feat made more difficult without eye lids.

The room grayed around the edges, until all he could focus on was that emerald shine-the energy of the Key. Then it disappeared, too. But, instead of black nothingness, the world opened up in fresh new colors. Daylight hues, coral, orange, yellow, cutting through the landscape and too bright to ignore. Sam, blinked, disoriented, then-

Sam circled back. "I blinked," he said, dumbly. Then realized he had a mouth, and hands, too. He patted down the flannel over his taunt stomach, staring down at his boots. These were clothes he'd owned. These were his hands. He reached up, touching his face-his face-and laughed aloud.

Then he tried to look out at the world again. Whatever was beyond the tuff of grass beneath him was too bright for him to make out, too intense, but the rushing sound of incoming waves filled his ears, as if he were on a beach. When he turned from the light, he found himself in a neighborhood, facing a house. The sound of the water receded, replaced by a bird's whistling song.

He'd never seen this place before, but it was more solid than the house-like shades flanking it, and exactly what he expected a normal home to look like. He smiled, realizing that this must have been Dawn's house, the one destroyed in Sunnydale.

It had worked. He could barely believe it, but it had. He was in Dawn's head.

"Dawn?" he called out. "Dawn, it's Sam."

The front door opened, but she didn't appear. Sam made his way inside, his steps cautious-his last experience inside someone else's dreams had taught him diligence.

A staircase was just past the door, but, to the left, where he imagined a living room should have been, was an art classroom, filled with teenagers sketching formless charcoal images. The model was at the center, laying on a gurney, covered in a white cloth that cast shadows over the natural curves of what appeared to be a woman's body. The image chilled him, and he stumbled back into the next room.

Seconds ago, he could have sworn there was a dining room behind him, but now the entryway opened into a cemetery. The overly bright daylight was gone, replaced by starless midnight blue, too stark to be real. When he turned a circle, the house was gone, and he was alone in this dead place… Then he heard it, the too-familiar sound of a shovel cutting into dirt.

Sam followed it past tombstones and statues of eyeless angels. A mausoleum stood to his right, giving off the faintest scent of cigarettes and blood, but he ignored it. The sound was more important. He found her behind a tree, not two yards away from him.

Dawn stood, barefoot in a strange gown that looked as if it would have been more appropriate at a Renaissance Faire and knee-deep in a shallow grave. She was the one holding the shovel, stabbing it into the dirt, and throwing up measly scoops. When she hunched forward to dig deeper, he could see the dateless headstone in front of her.

Buffy Anne Summers
Beloved Sister, Daughter, and Friend.
(She's dead because of you, Dawn. Again.)

The words turned his stomach.

"Dawn?"

She paused in her movements, her back still to him. "I have to get this done. She's going to need it soon." Shovel bit earth again, and she hesitated. "Did you bring Mr. Gordo? We forgot to put him with her last time, and she got lonely down there."

Sam stepped forward, letting his hand rest on her shoulder. He gently took the shovel from her grip. "Dawn, you're having a nightmare. This isn't real."

She turned to face him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Who are-?" Then they widened. "Oh, I know you, don't I? When did you get a face?"

Sam forced himself to smile. "I was born with one, actually."

It was as if someone had flipped a switch. He found himself back in the house, standing at the foot of the staircase. Only, this time, Dawn was with him, clean feet planted on the first two steps so that she had to look down at him. The gown was gone, replaced by a pale blue summer dress the same hue as her eyes. Her lips parted in a silent question.

"Sam?" she finally managed. "You…you feel like Sam."

A weight lifted off of his chest. "Yeah, it's me."

"Is this real?" She shook her head. "I mean, of course it's not real. It's a dream. But, are you really here? Or am I just imagining what you'd look like-because if I am, I owe my brain a thank you."

Sam recognized the expression in her wandering eyes, then. She was admiring him. He felt heat rise to the surface of his skin. He didn't have to hear Dean's voice to know his brother would have cracked up at the school-girl blushing.

"It's really me. I wasn't sure if this would work." He reached back, scratching the back of his head sheepishly-and, God, did it feel good to be able to do that. "I'm sorry I didn't ask for permission. I know this is…invasive. But you were asleep beside me, and I…I just reached out."

"Wow." A smile broke her face. She raised her hand, reaching out to drop her fingertips against his cheek, then pulled away. "I can feel you. I mean, really feel you. Like it's real."

He smirked at the brief contact. "Oh, trust me-you'd be surprised how much you can feel in a dream. Had a guy come at me with a baseball bat in one."

She raised a brow. "What is it with nightmares and baseball bats?" She shrugged the question off. "I can't believe you're actually in my dream. This is crazy."

"A glowing soul orb was sane?" She snorted. Sam found it endearing. "So, this was the Summers' house, then? It's nice."

Her eyes widened, an even bluer shade in the brightness of her dreamscape. For the first time, Sam realized she wasn't glowing a shade of green. Her skin was smooth, delicate, from her long legs to her bare shoulders, and flushed in all the right places. He took an automatic step forward, as if to get a better look, and she saw the movement as an invitation to grab hold of his hand.

"I've got to show you my room!" she said. Her excitement was infection, and Sam grinned back at her. "It's pretty lame, sure, but…it's been forever since I've seen it. Come on."

Sam trailed up the stairs behind her. She stopped in the hallway, staring down it with a frown on her face. He didn't blame her. The door at the end was…odd. It looked ancient, made of rough planks of wood, carved with runes and-Sam stood up a bit straighter-were those Enochian sigils?

"What's that?" he asked.

"That's the one I can't figure out how to open," she said, disappointed.

"I recognize some of the marks. The angels use them. But I thought you said there weren't any angels in this dimension?"

"Maybe something else uses the language, too." She shrugged. "They're based on the protection runes we use sometimes in concealment spells-when we're pulling out the big guns. Or when Buffy's having my apartment evil-proofed. She said an ally of ours showed her how to use them. They're supposed to keep you hidden from the "all-seeing eyes"-seers and whatnot-and, if you use them right, even surveillance equipment. Which is nifty. But, unfortunately, they're easier to get wrong than right."

"Surveillance equipment. That part would have been useful, Cas," Sam muttered, instinctively running a hand over his ribs. "Why are they here?" he asked, aloud.

Dawn shrugged. "I guess I've been trying to protect this door, subconsciously. Keep it secret. I didn't tell Xander about the dimensional stuff yet. Not all of it. I guess I'm still hiding the fact that I want to find a way to get you back there."

Sam's eyes narrowed, and he stepped toward the door, pulling away from her. The knob didn't work, and he expected that a kick to its core would be just as ineffective. "Are you sure you put them here, the sigils?" He didn't wait for her to voice her answer aloud. "What if they're-?"

His voice broke off when the walls shook and a fresh one slid out, covering the doorway. Sam's eyes widened, and he pressed a hand against the slab of solid sheetrock.

"That's never happened before," Dawn clarified. She nudged his arm with her shoulder. "What were you going to ask?"

Sam frowned. "I can't remember…"

Her fingers laced into his again, giving him a comforting squeeze, and she pulled him back down the hallway, into a room. She stopped inside, puzzled, and Sam could see why. Instead of the teenage-girl-decorated space he was expecting, the room was without walls, an all encompassing white accept for a bed a few feet away. It had the makings of a canopy, sheer strips of red cloth hanging down as parted curtains, the bedspread and pillows the same deep shade.

"Could you get more obvious, brain?" Dawn muttered, blushing.

Sam heard her and laughed. "Okay, why do I get the feeling you were expecting this place to look a little different?"

"I-uh-I…" A chuckle burst out of her, and she cupped her mouth with one hand, stifling it. "I swear to God I wasn't planning on taking advantage of you. Watch as I smoothly attempt to change subjects-so, you can see my dreams. Can I see yours?"

Sam shook his head, unable to lose his grin. "Just as smooth as promised." He took a breath, considering the question. "Truthfully? I'm not sure I have dreams, per say. I don't think I'm asleep right now, just..."

"Out of body-err, orb?"

"In every sense." He turned his back on the bed, staring into the white. "But, maybe, if I try, I can…" His voice drifted off as his concentration intensified. He could see a form in the distance. It was blurry, the shape, curving and dark. A road.

"I can see it, too," Dawn assured.

Sam felt breathless at the effort, but he continued, trying to give it detail. A black, square body lengthened, grew wheels. It was as familiar a sight as the back of his eyelids, the old Impala, and he smiled, happy to see it again. Sam could feel his body trembling, but he pressed on. The image wasn't complete yet. Greenery sprouted behind the roadway, gravel beneath the car-it was in a pull-off, parked, the shade a nonexistent tree cast began to mold into a man's body.

The rugged jacket formed, taking on color, the shape of the face above sharpening into a jawline, a nose. Eyes. What was in one instant a blur, became his brother. Dean stared out at the dreamscape, looking pale and tired. The way he'd looked for far too long. Sam felt his heart pounding through his body, shaking him.

His knees gave out, and, just as quickly as home had appeared, it was gone again.

Sam blinked up, confused that he was sprawled out on the floor between the front door and the staircase instead of in the white bedroom. Dawn was on the floor beside him, cradling his upper body with one arm, her other hand clenched onto his shirt and white knuckled.

Her breaths were rapid, panicked. "Are you okay?"

Sam nodded, lost for words. "Maybe I shouldn't try that again."

She nodded along with him. "I think you almost woke up or disconnected or whatever." Dawn chewed her bottom lip. "So, that guy…that was your brother, Dean, wasn't it?"

Sam gained control of himself and sat up, leaving her arm to slide with him. He could feel the tips of her fingers in his hair, gently brushing it off his neck. The movement was meant to comfort, but Sam felt pinpricks of heat at the corners of his eyes. Seeing his brother again…God, it was almost worse than not seeing him at all. He knew it was all his own imagination, the image drawn from his memory, but it felt real, like nightmares so often do.

"Look at me, Sam."

Sam obeyed the order without a second thought. Dawn's eyes were bright. Wet. Her stare intense. "I promise you, Sam. I'm going to find a way to get you back to him."

There was more to the promise, an unspoken 'if it's the last thing I do,' and Sam hated it. Hated putting her in danger. Because, he knew the truth-the danger was implied if you helped a Winchester.

"Dawn…"

She leaned closer, her long hair sweeping against his chest. "Don't bother arguing with me, Sam Winchester. You'll never win."

Sam opened his mouth to do just that and found her lips pressed against his. He breathed her in, deepening the kiss, and reaching around her to hold his palm to the small of her back, push her onto him. She moaned when his tongue slipped against hers, and the sound was a fever breaking at his skin. It dripped down, pooling deep in his stomach as latent want.

He pulled away long enough to catch a breath, tighten his grasp on her body. "Been thinking about this for a while now," he confided.

The confession was lost to a bright burst of light.

He felt the world being ripped out from around him, leaving him grasping for something, anything, to hold on to. But all he found was nothingness. When he could see again, it was through a curved lens, and he was staring at Dawn's faintly green-glowing profile. The alarm clock blared "Find Your Way Back" mid-chorus-goddamned cock-blockin' Jefferson Starship, his inner-Dean sympathized-from her bedside table, and she gave the radio a look of loathing that could have melted butter.

"Son. Of. A bitch," she hissed.

'My sentiments exactly.'

Dawn knew she should have been mortified by the whole experience, but she couldn't quite get past pissed-at-the-damn-universe. "So, yeah, that dream happened."

Sam's silence groan confirmed it. His frustration would have been obvious by his almost ruddy glow, even if she hadn't felt it confirmed. Dawn couldn't deny that she was rather pleased to hear he was just as upset with the interruption as she was. It meant…well, it meant the kiss wasn't some my-dream-my-fantasy-my-rules fluke.

'Can't your sister slay your alarm clock?'

"Are you kidding? It's probably a plant of hers. Some sort of chastity ward that goes off any time I'm about to make with the happy." Dawn pouted and rolled off of the bed.

Sam chuckled. 'Wait…are you a-?'

The laughter burst out of Dawn before he could manage to finish the question. "Oh, Buffy probably thinks so. What she doesn't know about that trip to Brazil can't hurt her."

A loud knock stopped her from going on. It wasn't coming from her bedroom door, but the apartment's front door, and she could hear familiar footsteps moving to open it. Xander. She knew exactly who he was probably letting into the apartment, too.

"Speak of the Slayer, and she's already at your elbow." Dawn sighed. She gave the orb a dramatic frown. "This isn't going to be pretty," she warned.

'What's going on?'

"If I had to guess? Xander told Buffy. And, since she's already arrived-and probably didn't break out the teleportation-I'm guessing she was already on her way anyhow. Which means Xander only stopped in to soften me up before her arrival."

'Maybe it's not her. Xander might have ordered Chinese.'

"For breakfast? You know, for a guy who went to Hell, you're pretty optimistic." Dawn slipped on a pair of long pajama pants, not wanting to get caught in a t-shirt and underwear combo in front of her friends, and reached out, rolling Sam onto her palm. "Okay-better go ahead and face the music."

'Dawn, if they take me-'

Dawn shook her head. "No one is taking you anywhere, Sam," she said. "A Summers' girl doesn't break her promises."

When she opened the door, she suddenly wished there was some sort of universal time-out that could be called, because she seriously needed some coffee before this went down. On the one hand, she had been right. Buffy was there, sitting at her small breakfast table with Xander. But Dawn hadn't planned for the extra back-up. Giles was standing behind the pair, leaning against the wall, cleaning his glasses.

Never a good sign. Never.

Buffy looked up, not at all surprised to see her sister awake, and tried to force a tight smile. "Good morning, Dawnie."

"Well, it is morning," Dawn admitted. "Dunno about the good part yet. This has to be the first glowing-ball intervention anyone has held. Like, ever."

"Oh, this is going well," Xander mumbled, twisting the cap off a small bottle of orange juice. Dawn swooped in, snatching the bottle from him, and hopped onto her counter to take a seat.

"Nope, you don't get free food if you sell me out, Xander Harris," she said, in a sing-song tone and took a gulp of OJ. She sighed at the wide-eyed expression on his face. "Don't give me that look. I know you told."

"I-yeah," he admitted, but then stood, arms raised in surrender. "But, Dawn, you named it, okay, and-"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I didn't name him. He already had a name. You just didn't know it."

"Speaking of which…" Buffy's interruption made her wince. Her sister looked non-too pleased by the information. "When were you planning to mention that you and Sam have been having heart to hearts? Because, from what Xander said, it sounds like you've been able to talk to him since he arrived. Why didn't you tell Willow that when she was trying to communicate with him? Dawnie, why didn't you tell me?"

These things always came back to bite her in the ass.

Dawn waited, hoping Sam would pitch in with a few words of wisdom, but he remained silent. Mainly because, while he knew her answer, he didn't fully agree with it. Darn him. She stared down at her plaid PJs a moment before looking back up.

Buffy was pissed. It was written across her face in big bold Sharpie letters. But beneath that, she was worried. Really worried. And, Dawn hated that she was the cause.

"Because of why I could hear him, Buffy. And why you and Willow couldn't."

Giles stepped in, breaking from his eerily quiet corner of the room. "And why do you think that is, Dawn?" he asked, softly.

Here it was, the part she'd been holding out from Xander. 'It's okay, Dawn. You've got to bring it up eventually. They're your family.' She gave the orb a crooked smile, her fingers still tight around it, and took a breath.

"Sam's from another dimension." Dawn waited for a reaction, but the three stayed frozen in place, staring at her as if she'd grown another head. "Well, my theory is, I can hear him because I'm tied to dimensions other than just our own. Because I'm a Key."

"He knows you're the Key?" Buffy asked, her voice nearly at a whisper.

Dawn swallowed. "Has for a while now. Apparently, he sees me through a green lens, so it's hard not to notice. I'm guessing that has to do with him being out of his head. Literally."

Dawn really wished she had a butter knife. She was fairly certain she could have cut the thick air between herself and her sister with it. Surprisingly, though, the slayer stayed in place instead of jumping up to wring her sister's neck. Still, the utter stillness of the room was scary in and of itself, and Dawn wished she'd had the foresight to hide Sam somewhere beforehand. If Buffy decided to take him and slam him against a wall, Dawn knew she could do it. Then Sam would be stuck floating through the void of this dimension again. Lost.

Sam must have felt her tension. 'Dawn, they're just afraid for you.'

"Yeah, I know," she muttered.

"You're talking to him right now." Giles said it without question. There was a sharp glint to the man's eyes, despite the calm in his voice. Dawn knew he was the one to watch out for. Giles always had been the type to do whatever it took, even if it ended up breaking hearts. "Ask him what it is he wants. Why he came to you."

Dawn raised a brow. "Uh, he can hear you just fine, and I already know the answers to those questions. He wants to get back into to his body. Which is back in his home dimension, he hopes. And he didn't come to me… The orb pulled him in when he passed by. Someone summoned him from the afterlife, from this end, obviously, but, before you ask, he has no clue who did it."

Giles and Buffy shared a glance, and Xander stood up, staring down at the orb. "Okay, so from a different dimension. But still human?"

"Willow confirmed it was a human soul," Buffy answered. As if hers was the more trusted reply.

Dawn rolled her eyes at that. "Yeah. Sam was actually a demon hunter in his dimension. Which, by the way, basically like ours in most ways, but the monster rule book is a bit different. Their demons are mostly of the Exorcism variety, and they call their other monsters…well, monsters."

"Sounds like you know a lot about him." Buffy didn't sound any more comforted by the acknowledgement. "What am I saying, of course you do? You've spent two months with him chatting into your ear. Dawn, has it occurred to you that you have absolutely no reason to trust a word he says to you?"

"I get that." Dawn shook her head. "But I do trust him, Buffy. And, even if he was lying-why? What's he going to do? He's stuck in an orb?"

'Thanks for the reminder. Way to make a guy feel impotent.'

"Sorry, Sam," she noted, before going on. "Buffy, for once, you're just going to have to trust me on this."

Buffy stared at her a long moment before opening her mouth. "Dawnie, when it comes to you… I want to trust your instincts, I do, but do you even realize how much you're asking?"

Giles let a hand rest on the slayer's shoulder and stepped past her. "I think the solution is fairly simple. It would be in everyone's best interests, including Sam's, for us to take the orb." He raised a hand to cut Dawn off. "Not permanently-I simply think more progress could be made if we had other experts try to communicate with Sam. The Council used to employ various psychics and spiritual advisers, and I'm sure I can contact a few of them. If there's a way Sam can be sent back to where he came from, we'll find it."

'Do you think he might know someone who could help? Dawn?'

But she ignored Sam, staring ahead instead.

Giles smiled. "I knew you'd see reason," he said, and reached out, as if to lift the orb out of her hands, but Dawn pulled away, jumping down from the counter.

Dawn grinned up at him, nodding along as she side-stepped back out into the main room. "That does sound like a good plan. Solid. But for a couple small problems."

"Dawn, I don't-"

Buffy interrupted Giles, standing up beside him. "You're kind of pulling a full-on Ginny Weasley here. I don't know what soul-guy is telling you, but Giles' plan is a good one."

Dawn cocked her head, smirking at Xander, who already looked defeated-he, at least, seemed to know her enough to see that this tactic wasn't working. "Actually, Sam even thinks it's a good plan, too. Because he trusts my family to have my best interest at heart and to not flat out lie to me. But, he doesn't know you well enough, does he?"

"Lie to you?" Buffy groaned, shaking her head. "About what?"

"Oh, sure, you're going to take Sam to go see psychics and the coven and dimensional researchers and spiritual advisers-all because you care so much about helping one guy out." Dawn smirked. "Uh-yeah, I might only be a few human years old, but I wasn't born yesterday. Sam knows I'm the Key. As soon as I told you that-oh, by the way, Sam, see why we don't always make with the honest habits in this family?-as soon as I said that, you'd already decided to lock him up in a box and throw him in the ocean. I know you guys. You'd never put me in danger by letting a soul who knows my secrets chat it up with some unknown but helpful Council contacts."

Giles' face fell. "Dawn, it's not that we want to do him harm, it's just-"

"It's just you'd rather keep me safe than help him out," Dawn completed, and closed her eyes, wishing she could block them out. "I love you, guys. All of you. Even when you absolutely refuse to trust me. But, I want you out."

Xander gaped. "What?"

"Out," Dawn repeated. "You can stay in town if you want, but you're going to have to get a hotel room. I don't want you in this apartment right now. I need to clear my head and think…And I don't need to worry about you guys trying to steal my best friend."

Dawn plopped down onto her couch and waited, silently, for them to gather their things. They went, mostly without argument. When the front door finally closed, Dawn dropped her tired façade and jumped up to lock the door.

"Okay, that's going to buy us maybe a few hours before they all realize they're the ones paying my rent and come storming back in with fresh arguments," Dawn rattled. She was already moving to her room, Sam in tow. She dropped him to the bed and began tossing together a small get-away bag. "I wouldn't put it past them to give Willow a phone call and have her magic you away."

'You called me your best friend.'

"Don't let it go to your head," she snapped, but smiled, nevertheless. "I have dream make-out sessions with all my bffs. Hey, maybe you'll even get to see a few of them, if you keep peaking every night." Dawn paused, noting the coral tone of his glow. It was the color between his pink excitement and his neutral gold hue, and her grin widened. She wondered if he was this easy to tease in physical form.

'Tell me we have time for a nap before your family sends me to orb prison.'

"Now that I have you in a good mood-I have a plan," she declared, and promptly made a sour face. "And you're not going to like it."

'At least you're warning me. What's the plan?'

"Well, it's not really a fix, unfortunately. It would be a temporary way to insure you're a little less…odd. And more helpful. If we're on the lam, I think you'll blend in better in human form."

'Uh-one problem, which happens to be THE problem. My body isn't here. What are you suggesting?'

"It sorta dances on that fine gray line, but…I know a guy." She slipped into her jeans, pulled her hair up with an elastic, and turned around to face the orb. "A guy with demon connections-not your kind of demon, our kind of demon-and I'm pretty sure if I drop a few hundred bucks on his barstool, he'll give me the name of a necromancer. I've earned some money with my translations, and Buffy gives me an allowance, so I've got the cash in my savings to pay for a…a basic model."

'Wait-go back to the part where there's a necromancer involved. You're talking about…Jesus, Dawn, you can't just shove me into a body!'

"Sam, don't be a pain about this-it's a moral gray area, I know, but it's a viable option." She dipped into the bathroom, snatching up her toothbrush and essentials, and tossing them into her bag.

'No. It's not. I'm not getting shoved into someone else's body like a damn demon.'

"Yes, you are," Dawn snapped. "Now, I know this necromancer doesn't use living bodies, and he doesn't kill to get the bodies. Which is the only reason he hasn't been, you know, slayed. But he does give demons fresh forms, so I'm pretty sure he can be bullied into helping, if I drop Buffy's name. I don't want to do this, but…Sam, I promised to help you, and I will. But I can't do that if you're taken away."

'Running isn't the answer. I'm not worth this, Dawn.'

"It is. You are." She tossed her bag over her shoulder. "We're not having this discussion any more. I'm leaving. With you. Now, I'd prefer that, when I'm out there, I have a human-shaped Sam at my back if I get into trouble, but if you won't listen, then I suppose I can just whack the bad guys over the head with your blunt crystal ass."

Sam went silent a moment. 'Fine. We'll try it. First sign of problems, we get back to your sister, though. And you'll probably want to borrow a different car if we're going to make it very far.'

She smiled. "Told you never to argue with me, Sam Winchester. I always win."

'…And please tell me you're bringing some actual weapons.'

"Never leave home without them."

Joey the Drooler-so named because of the absent jaw-line he'd inherited from his human father and the abundant (and somewhat valuable) blue drool he'd inherited from his Groolu demon mother, God rest her-liked his peace, which is why, when The Slayer had come to his bar in the past, he'd always folded to her whim and forked over the necessary information. Even earned himself a little help from her Watcher sister once when a pissy warlock had tried to curse a shipment of his favorite kegs. But, when Dawn Summers strolled past his doors, took in his lack of before-noon drunkards at the counter, and made her request, Joey realized there was one thing he liked more than peace: money.

Joey wasn't sure where it had started, or who was putting up the cash, but word had been passed around to all the known "informants" throughout the state. Someone comes in with a full Orb of Thesulah, make a phone call, earn a big reward. Easy.

Joey's fingers trembled over the cell phone, the small slip of paper in his hands soaked through with sweat. When the other line was answered, no voice greeted him, but he could hear the soft breathing of a listener on the other side.

"Joey MacMahannon, the, uh, owner of the The Pink Viper in, uh, Sacramento…I maybe got what you're looking for. Do ya…I mean, you need my address or-?"

"Keep her there," a voice growled.

"Okay. I'm gonna get paid in cash for this right? No checks." Joey licked the drool off his bottom lip, his brow wrinkled when he realized he'd never said it was a 'her' who had the orb. "Hello?"

There was a short click, the only acknowledgement that the phone call had ended, and Joey slid the cell shut and pocketed it with the number. He wiped his sweaty palms off on his jeans and shook his head, trying to get rid of any signs of nervousness on his face. The smile he planted was wide, promising success, and he put a skip to his step as he walked out of the storage area.

"Your lucky day, Kid. I found Reno's number one corpse dealer's number in the back, and-" His voice trailed off when his eyes lifted.

Dawn stood, feet spread in a wide stance and crossbow leveled at his head. "Who were you on the phone with, Joey?" She hissed out his name like it was a lemon peel.

A fresh layer of drool and sweat dripped off of him. "I don't know what-"

"You're right, Sam. No one takes you seriously unless you spill blood." Her finger tightened on the trigger, and Joey backtracked.

"I don't know who they are, kid." A splatter of blue gunk coated his shoes. "But if they're offering money that big, my guess is they can move fast. Probably no time for you to make any life and death decisions or nothin'."

She squinted at him, reading his expression, before swearing under her breath. "He doesn't know," she said.

Joey didn't know who she was talking to. "I'd run, if I were you."

"Joey." Dawn's tight face managed a small smile. "You just pissed off the Slayer Organization. I suggest you leave the country. Like, now."

Despite her words, she was out the front door in a split second, her bag slapping against her back.

"Oh, hell." Joey sucked in a mouthful of saliva, and the threat hit him in the stomach. "I really hope they pay me in cash."

READ CHAPTER 6