(no subject)
A Kind Of Magic
i) Sam
The room was still, an almost deathly quiet smothering the four white walls, two beds and three occupants. Sam's breathing sounded too loud, out of place, a sinful noise in a sacred place. If he concentrated, and held his breath, he could hear the relaxed, deep breaths his brother was taking. He could match each in and out to the slight rise up and down of the crisp white sheets enveloping Dean's battered and bruised body. The regular rhythm was a balm to a battered and bruised soul, but still Sam couldn't tear his eyes away. He didn't really believe that Dean's hold on life would disappear if he wasn't watched, but the little Sammy who was inside the 6'4" Sam, kept yelling at him to watch his brother. After all, his father wasn't around to do that job anymore.
Further down the hall a telephone was ringing, and the hushed footsteps of hospital workers passed by the door. Here in this room though, Sam had stepped into another world, a different dimension. A place outside of normality, divorced from reality. The only other person allowed in, was his smart-ass, idiotic know-it-all jerk of a brother, who had nearly got himself killed. Again. Here, Sam was the one in charge, the protector, the guardian. The votes on that had been cast and tallied while Dean had still been out for the count, while the doctors had worked on stopping the bleeding and fixing the damage. While Sam had paced the waiting room nervously, impatient for news. Again.
He looked across to the bed nearest the door, wishing his borther was currently resting there. Dean always wanted - and usually got - the bed closest to the way out, or the way in for anything wanting to get to Sam. That bed had already been occupied when Dean had been wheeled in though. A dark-haired man with a serious looking full arm and shoulder cast and, biazzarely enough, an eye-patch. He didn't look that tough, but Sam found himself checking the guy's wrist for handcuffs, just in case. Would he be willing to swap beds later? The doctors probably wouldn't be too happy about him moving with all that hard-ware plastered on, but come on. This was Dean. What Dean wanted, Sam would make sure he got. After all, they were Winchesters.
Another ten minutes ticked slowly by on the watch strapped to his wrist, before Sam stretched his legs out in front of him, placed his cup of almost-coffee on the little cabinet, and sighed. Heavily. Breaking the silence, but he stubbonly refused to feel guilty. The couple of hours sleep he had managed to snatch earlier, hadn't done anything to wipe away the feeling of bone-deep exaustion, but he couldn't leave. Not yet. Not when he didn't know when Dean would wake, and need him. He had to be there, to reassure Dean, to let him know the job was done, and that he wasn't alone. That his family was here.
At least Dean was off the machines which made Sam's insides clench and twist until they felt in danger of choking him. If he ever heard a heart machine beep while counting the beats of the life of someone he cared about, once more in however many years were left to him - it would be too much, too soon. He'd had enough of watching his brother fight for his life, for every breath which kept him alive for just another second.
Dean was sleeping peacefully now, the painkillers doing their job and allowing Dean the release from duty he never allowed himself. Sam's eyes lingered on the so familiar features of his brother, (he'd never admit the fact to Dean, but his brother really was the handsome one) and idly wondered where that sense of duty had come from. How, why did it grow so strongly that Dean seemed to view the value of his life only in terms of what he did to save others. Family in particular, 'Sammy' above all else.
Did it really all stem from the moment that defined all other parts of their lives? All the causation of the demon which now had taken both parents from them, and had who knew what plans for their... for his... future? Or were the roots further back than that day, further back than maybe even Dean realised. Had that sense of duty instilled by two proud parents who were preparing their firstborn to be a proud and protective big brother. Parents who never realised how that sense of duty would develop and be needed, or of the sacrifices which would be made without a second thought, because they had become an automatic response. Parents who didn't know that, so soon in the future, that sense of duty would be cemented when their older son would carry their younger son out of their home, while in an upstairs room, a husband failed to save a wife, a mother was lost, and a father irrevocably altered.
Maybe it was down to one of those reasons, or both, or the responsibility Dean had been given to look after Sammy while their actual father had been off hunting. Whatever the cause though, the end result had been a man who had an indelible stamp of 'protect others, protect Sammy' on his soul, and a self-sacrificing spirit as an intrinsic part of his make-up. Sam knew, knew as well as he knew when Dean's birthday was, and the name of his favourite song, that nothing in this world, or out of it, would ever stop Dean from stepping in between his baby brother and danger. Never mind the point that his baby brother was taller, and as strong as him. Blow away the training that Dean had undertaken to make sure 'little Sammy' could fight - and win. Ignore the number of hunts they had been on where Sam had come out without a stratch, while the thing they were hunting was dead, or destroyed. Forget the fact that Sam....
...oh forget it. Dean was Dean, and Sam couldn't change that. All he wanted was a chance to save Dean for a change. To step between his big brother and danger, and make sure Dean didn't get hurt. Again.
The anger was building again, the anger he had banked down so much over the years, that it shocked him as much as anyone whenever it suddenly exploded with the force of a volcano.
The type of anger that led him to walk out of the door, his father's parting words ringing in his ears. "If you want to go, then you can stay gone."
The type of anger that fuelled his actions for the next few years - obeying his father for once, and cutting both father and brother out of his life at Stanford.
The type of anger that Ellicott had discovered, and twisted to his own ends.
The type of anger that, ultimately, had led to him shooting his brother. Twice.
The type of anger that needed to be released in a different way, safely, calmly and not directed against an unconcious, helpless Dean.
He straightened one leg, and kicked a small trolley towards the door.
Of course, that had to be the moment when the pretty brunette walked in.
~*~
ii) Dawn
She walked through the hospital, following Willow's downloaded, colour-coded directions. Every now and then - in every shiny surface, she'd catch sight of her reflection. Yep, the gorgeous leather boots she'd spotted in Rome where definitely a good idea. She fallen in love with Rome when she and Buffy moved there to find baby Slayers, and gain 'European Experience' as Buffy had phrased it. The general (female) consensus, was that the best thing about the grand 9-story building the new Roma Watcher's Council had settled in, was it's proximity to all the best shops. Dawn had picked up her beautiful, wonderful new boots in a boutique down a side street near the Spanish Steps. The price had been exciting enough to make wearing them even more enjoyable. Dawn did like getting a bargin, now that her klepto days where well and truly behind her. The skinny cut jeans she'd bought in Paris, matched the boots perfectly, and made legs look kinda like a model's.
Bouncing down the last corridor, safe in the knowledge that she at least felt pretty, she enthusiastically swung through the open doorway into Xander's room.
Then promptly met the trolley flying towards her.
The only good thing about hopping on one leg, and trying not to curse in pain, was that the good-looking guy already ensconced in the room, who was jumping up from his chair, must have sent the trolley her way (unless they had a poltergeist in the room, and she wasn't even going there after the one in Milan) as he was looking absolutely distraught, and as guilty as hell.
"Oh I am so sorry, are you ok?"
Definitely distraught. Positively guilty. And wow. Delectable.
The tall (very tall, taller than Riley tall) dreamboat was hovering anxiously - and omg. Dimples. He actually had dimples when he talked! Could he get any cuter?
Dawn smiled reassuringly, brushed off the subject of a rapidly threatening bruise, and pointed across to a dozing Xander in reply to his offer of a chair. She limped over, and collapsed carefully into the chair by Xander's bed. With her back now to Mr Stunning, she let her hand slide down and checked the leather for scuff marks. None. She'd escaped.
Whew. Okay, now that minor worry was out of the way, she could let the rest of her mind focus on the large (how tall was he) hunk of edible goodness. She'd get to know him later, after she hadn't just made a complete klutz out of herself. By the look of the man in the next bed, neither would be going anyway for a while, and oh god, let them just be friends.
She rubbed her leg again, wondering why oh why, did fashion make you wear clothes that moulded to your body, and left no room for the cushioning of delicate parts like shin bones. Could she start a fashion for padding? Buffy would sure jump at that - for baby sisters at least. Buffy was on a real protective kick at the moment, it seemed as if nothing short of a padded, locked cell on top of Rapunzel's tower would satisfy her that Dawn was safe. Honestly, it'd been hard enough to deal with once eighteen had come and gone in a blaze of alcohol and clubs, but at twenty-one? To be still grilled about your whereabouts, what you'd done, what you were going to do? Pretty much embarrassing.
Buffy had definitely got more uptight and controlling after she lost a certain someone with Sunnydale. Dawn had hoped for a change in regime once Buffy started dating the Immortal - but then Buffy had broken the news that the dating wasn't real dating. She was only snuggling up to him to lower his defences, to get close enough to close down his 'neferious activities' and to stake the ancient, bigheaded bloodsucker once and for all. Little-Miss-Super-Buffy had managed it of course. Now she was dedicating her life to training Slayers to be as boring and long-winded as she was, and to making Dawn's life a misery by being the most over-protective, over-bearing, pompous presence who...
"She found out, didn't she?"
Xander's voice broke into Dawn's increasingly sulky rant, and she looked up to see his one eye focused on her with a quizzical expression. She grinned at him in delight, the most Xanderish thing in her life, and one of the people she didn't want to live without.
"Yeah" she nodded, "Buffy found out about Peter. And from his face when she told him to start praying in thanks to any god he could find that she left him with all his teeth, I can pretty much say that it's over."
"Teeth over Dawnie. What a loser."
Dawn grinned back. Xander could always make her feel better. The bestest big brother in the world. So she told him so.
~*~
iii) Xander
Xander looked over the surely-too-big cast encasing his entire right arm and shoulder, and caught the eye of the room's other occupant.
He was Dean Adams according to Dawn, who was scarily good at sneaking around when other people were asleep. He had used his well honed, subtle questioning techniques to find out about them, but the two men had displayed a marked lack of forthcomingness. The switch to more blunt questions - why bother with a pickax when you could use a sledgehammer - had gotten him a few answers at least. If he was going to be stuck in here with the guy, then he just wanted to make sure that he wasn't a deranged, psycopathic killer. Or a demon. Or a deranged, psycopathic, summoner of demons. You know, just in case.
He'd found out that the two were brothers, and that they had been in a "bitch of a bar fight", which is where the older man had picked up his injuries. Anything else about them, zip, nada, nothing. But hey, man was entitled to his secrets. Xander had enough of those himself. He just wished he could find a way of explaining all the nubile, young girls who would visit him in here, without making people give him that look. He'd asked Willow to help, but she'd just grinned and given him the kind of suggestions which would get him arrested.
Dean was finishing off his dinner, a strawberry yogurt pot currently being thorough searched. He was looking pissed off and fed up. Xander knew the feeling all too well. He was itching to get out of here and back to all his girls. He had also politely feigned sleep last night, when the brother - Sam - had turned up. The two of them had started a fast, furious arguement over why Dean was not signing himself out AMA this time. The hot, snapped words had left Xander with a lot more questions about these two, his natural curiousity dancing along nerve endings, and sparking awake his spidey sense of something not quite 'right'. He trusted that sense implicitly. Developed over years of working with Buffy, it had saved his life more than once as he searched out Slayers in Africa. Getting that sense, now, here - well, he was worried. Just who were these two? What was their relationship? What were they up to, and why?
Dean looked up from his eviscerated yogurt pot then - tossing it onto his tray without looking and rising an eyebrow at Xander in one smooth move. Xander plastered on his 'just one of the guys - I'm harmless' smile, and picked up his own, full, yogurt pot.
"You want?" he asked. An honest question, the only times he'd seen someone eat like Dean did, was a Slayer after a particularly nasty fight. Okay, and it was another attempt to strike up a conversation. Dean was very good at slithering out of questions he didn't want to answer, although his disection of daytime tv had sucked Xander in as quickly as a swamp monster - and those things could be fast.
This time though, Dean regretfully shook his head. "Nah, I'm good." He sank back onto his pillows, a tiny sigh escaping. He looked tired now, and Xander wondered how much sleep he had got last night. Apart from a broken ankle, just what was he in for? Dawn had been just about to find out when that nurse who kept calling him 'son' came in. How many times had Dean and Sam done this kind of thing anyway - just what was going on with these two?
The questions were starting to anger him now. There was genuine affection between the brothers, even if, like Buffy and Dawn most of the time, it wasn't said out loud. Instead it was expressed in smaller ways, such as the attention Sam had shown when he sat by his brother's bedside for hours, waiting for him to wake up. Or the way Dean would immediately glance up anytime someone walked past the door to their room.
He was watching the door now, tension pucking his mouth, and worry in his eyes. So what was Sam up to that would make Dean so uptight? And again with the questions.
There was one benefit of being in here wtih Dean Adams though. Xander, while no slouch at the charm thing after living with far too many women for far too long, was out-matched, out-classed by Dean in every way. Together, they were proving an irresistible force for most of the female nurses here. Which had it's perks - little extras snuck in on the food trays, company to talk to, pretty faces always within earshot... yep, life was as good as it could get when you were stuck in a hospital room with no possibility of release for at least another few days. So roll on the charm offensive, and keep those girls acoming. They could even christen the room - just like the M*A*S*H* episode he'd caught last night. Little chance of them brewing alcohol in here - even with the nurses on their side - so maybe The Swamp was out. The Charmed Ones...
no, no, no, a world of no. Bad idea, bad thoughts, needed to scrub out his mind now... maybe Willow could come in and do a spell....
The door to their room flew open, and Willow darted in, her 'I need to tell you something NOW' look on. Xander blinked, and wished for Amy Yip, wet, but nothing happened.
"Xander - you've got to come, now!" Willow managed to breathlessly inform him. "There's a P.. ... ... Party!"
There were many times in his life Xander had wished for a 007 camera in his lapel, or at least in a button, and that moment had definitely been immediately inserted into his top ten. Willow's classic double-take at seeing Dean suddenly sit up in bed had been beautiful, and her recovery just so Willowish. If Dean didn't take that lascivious smirk off his face though, that perfect face was going to be covered in bruises, cast or no cast.
"Party?" he inquired, running all the bad nasties beginning with P in his mind.
"Bad, bad party. It'll be a killer." Willow confirmed, a grimly serious nod to her head letting him know what a P-bad nasty could do in a hospital. Xander didn't want to think of possible consequences. He'd seen a hospital attacked by vampires before, and the images still haunted his nightmares.
"Killer huh? Right, just let me.." he climbed carefully out of bed, Willow moving round to help him balance his too heavy arm. "Back in a minute," he nodded to Dean, "come on Wills."
He guided her into the tiny attatched bathroom, with a final glance at Dean, hugging to himself the expression of shock and bewilderment across the other man's face. Sometimes he loved his job.
~*~
iv) Dean
Dean watched Xander Harris usher the un-named redhead into their bathroom with a mixture of puzzlement and sheer pride at his roommate's collection of friends. The perky brunette was a cutie, although too young for his taste. This new girl was a knock-out, and he'd had to rein back a laugh earlier. Party was definitely *not* the word she was going to say at first.
He found himself wishing that she hadn't been quite so observant, or that he could get out of bed and listen in at the door. Of all the times a snapped ankle could be a nuisance, this was just the latest. Because, come on, given the choice between the old black and white movie flickering silently on the tv, or finding out the secrets Harris and his little buddy were whispering to each other...? No contest. Or maybe they weren't whispering. Maybe they were in there - now he wanted to go over, knock on the door and ask them how long they were going to be. This broken ankle was spoiling all his fun.
He looked up as the bathroom door opened again - okay, that was quick - and Harris and friend scurried out.
"We've got a few things to do. Catch you later."
Harris waved with his good arm as the two walked out without pausing, the girl offering up a brightly nervous smile.
"What's your name?" Dean asked, determind to get one answer at least.
"Willow" came the reply, as she paused and looked, truly looked, at him, before Xander grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the door.
Dean settled back on his pillow, frowning slightly, and ticking over what had just happened in his head. Had he just imagined the *something* that had zapped between Harris' friend - girlfriend? - when they had locked eyes. Was it just him? Those big, brown eyes.. being a betting man, he would stake his life that they would do the puppy-dog look just as well as Sammy ever did. That amazing hair - he'd never been partial to reds, but with her it seemed a personality statement, so much a part of 'Willow' that he couldn't imagine her in any other way. The smile, that had lit up her face, but had revealed too much of her shyness, her vunerability, her sweetness...
The door swung open again, breaking into his increasingly dangerous thoughts. Sam stood there, that look of grim determination Dean had got used to seeing on his brother's face since their father's death, back with a vengence. Dean's eyes dropped down to Sam's hands - he had brought a wheelchair in with him. Eyes back up to Sam's face, demanding an explanation without words.
"You've gotta come." Sam Winchester. Master of delivery and succinctness. For someone who loved talking so much, he was very bad at it sometimes.
"Why?" Hey - Dean could do it too.
"There's a spirit in the hospital."
"What?"
"Yeah!"
"Here?"
"Dean!"
Okay, time to stop teasing. Time to get back to work. No matter how he felt about being dragged back to the reality of his life, away from the dreams of kind eyes, soft hair, softer lips and a place he could rest his weary mind. Time to drag himself out of bed, shoulder the responsibilities of all the lives threatened by the ever-constant presence of evil sons-of-bitches, and place his own on the line instead. He had to, because if he didn't, Sam would go it alone. That was the sword of Damocles his brother held over his head, the burden his father had shifted from his broad shoulders onto Dean's weary ones. Look after Sam - and make sure that nothing turned him into the kind of creature that the other hunters would have no hesitation in tracking down and destroying like a rabid dog. Not going to happen as long as Dean was alive.
He'd held on to that fear of his father's for as long as he could, but he was realistic, and know all too well that he did not measure up to the caliber of his father. Unlike John Winchester, Dean had begun to crack under the pressure, his nerves stretching thin, an incredible weight pressing down on him whether awake or asleep. Sharing that 'secret' with Sam had merely made him worry about Sam worrying about Dean worrying about Sam turning evil. All that worrying was only giving them both headaches and was chipping away at the bond they had been building again after being reunited.
Perhaps that was why notions about a different life had been pushing their unaccumstomed way into his thoughts and dreams of late. He could barely remember what it was to have a 'normal' life, and all the snapshots and glances he'd had of 'normal' since, had convinced him that 'normal' wasn't all it was cracked up to be, certainly wasn't all that Sammy was convinced it was. He'd always obeyed his father's orders after the Stringa had almost killed Sammy, and had revelled in his father's training as much as any young, fit and healthy boy should. Then had come that hunt and that moment he had only ever shared with Gordon. The spilt second of complete realisation, the lifting of a veil to reveal crystal clear knowledge of what he wanted to do with his life. The discovering of a vocation he thought would satisfy him forever.
Now though, confusion and doubts had infiltrated. He'd lost his father, for the senseless reason of an exchange for his sorry life. He'd lost his brother once to that bastard of a demon, found him, saved him - this time. How much longer he could do this, he had no idea. He felt.... fragile. As if one more thing would tear him to pieces, never to be mended. Only the urge, the instinct to protect his brother got him up in the morning. Only the need to keep Sam from dwelling on a future that Dean would not let happen, kept a smirk on his face, a flirt on his lips and the pain, worry and fear buried deep down where Sam hopefully could not see it.
He supposed this had all started with Cassie. He'd always gone for the easy girls, those looking for a good time, but nothing more stable or committed. Throughout his teens and early twenties, girls and sex had been fun, simple and uncomplicated. He knew his superfical looks attracted the kind of girls he had wanted to be with - experienced, not asking for life-histories, for white pickets fences and 2.5 kids with a dog, a mortgage and how-was-your-day-honey. Moving around as they did, he found plenty of them, and never mourned them as he left. The other kind of girls - the keepers, those looking for something more lasting, avoided him like the plague, usually with a scared or disdainful look. He'd made friends, deep, platonic friends, with a couple of this kind at different schools - but had allowed it to go no further. All the same, he had worked out what his weaknesses were, and went out of his way to make sure he kept them at arm's length. Intelligent brown eyes, a kind smile, and an air of confidence that had nothing to do with sex. Cassie had ticked all his boxes, and without Sam around, he'd had a huge gap in his life she slipped into before he had realised. Sam, who had the sensitive looks the keepers understood, had asked him if Cassie was worth giving this life up for. He hadn't thought so at either time, he had his dad to worry about, and she had been pretty clear both times they parted, that anything between them would never work, no matter how good the sex, which had seemed a true meeting of bodies, souls and spirits, had been. He had let her go, and with her - he had thought - all possibilities of one woman in his life, all the children who might have been, a female companion to grow old with.
Now though, one look from one girl, and it was all flooding back. What worried him, was the state he must truly be in if a woman could smile at him and make him feel as if he had a, probable non-existant, one-sided, connection with her. How.... fragile... was he, if a simple smile could make him believe he may have found the one he *could* give it all up for - and was actually *thinking* about it.
So - he threw back the sheet, accepted Sam's help to clamber clumsily into the wheelchair, and once more gathered the shreds of his life back together, cobbling the fragmented pieces with ever more desperate stitches, that were increasingly straining to breaking point. Somehow, he had to keep going - for Sammy.
"So, tell me all about it."
~*~
v) Willow
Dawn was already setting up the candles between the circled symbols for summoning the Podunk demon who was at large causing chaos all over the hospital. Podunk wasn't it's real name of course, that was something unpronouncable in a dead language. Buffy, naturally, had come up with the alternative, and Podunk had stuck ever since. They were impish creatures, feeding off the emotions of trouble they had caused, and had been increasing in numbers recently. Giles was still looking into the reasons why, and in the meantime Slayers all over where battling them, and thankfully they were easy enough to kill. The trouble came with the Podunk's ability to become invisible at will - hence the need for witchy workage.
Xander was happily swinging round the sword Dawn had brought over from the apartment the girls were staying in until Xander was ready to be discharged. He rarely got the chance to do much physical hand to hand stuff these days - he always mock-grumbled that the nearest he got was repairing various items destroyed by the new Slayers testing out their new strengths. Willow knew he had been more excited then he had let on when he had joined her and Dawn in a different hunt - only to have his shoulder and arm crushed by a Fyarl demon he was getting away from Dawn. He was still her hero, and always would be.
She settled herself down cross-legged in the middle of the circle, and started to center herself. Even after a few years, she was still in the thrall of the different sense to the magic she could now tap into. That told her, if anything did, that the power she had tapped into, had released within herself, during the spell to turn Potentials into Slayers was Good-with-a-definite-capital. The shadow men may have channelled the essence of a demon to create the first Slayer, but the Guardians had connected a force far older, far stronger, to create the Scythe. Opening up herself to that force, or energy, or whatever it was, still counted as the single most powerful experience in Willow's life - beating the awe of completing her first spell way out of the ballpark.
Unlike the dark magics, which had taken all her power to subdue to her will, which tried to fight back and take control of her, - this was opening her soul and being flooded with light, but without fear of drowning in it. Not an enemy to be fought, conquered, but a friend, a support, a helping hand guiding her to further depths of knowledge and ability. She had been terrified of losing that rapture over time, but instead her control had only grown, the heady delights balanced into managable levels. After her and Kennedy had (imploded, fizzled out?) broken up, she had returned to the coven and learnt as much as she could, discovering just how powerful she was, setting her own boundaries, gaining confidence.
So her lack of focus now? Pretty much an abnormality. She was not one to go weak at the knees over a set of even features and striking eyes. Although she'd had flirts after Kenn, none of her dates - with females or males - had gone far, and there certainly had been no one of the caliber she wanted - needed. Upstairs, in Xander's room, a pair green-hazel eyes locked onto hers and imparted, something during those surreal seconds which had seemed to last a lifetime. They kept on reappearing before her closed eyes now, trying to tell her a secret she wasn't yet adapt at reading. The question she needed to answer, was why. A perfectly random stranger surely wouldn't spark this reaction off in her - there had to be a kind of magic about him to trigger-touch open her 'other' senses. To unleash the psychic connection she could feel beneath her surface concentration on the chant she was automatically performing. The connection she could feel tugging at her right now... the tugging that was getting stronger... the tugging that was....
Willow's eyes snapped open and the chant suspended midsyllable.
Xander snapped his sword to attention, and Dawn tightened the grip on her crossbow, now pointed towards the door Willow's attention was fixed on.
A pause of silence....
The door crashed open, and two figures burst in. Well, burst wasn't exactly right - a guy pushing a wheelchair - it was more like Lou and Andy, armed. Scoobies stared silently at Sam and Dean Adams - the rifles, the battered leather book Dean was carrying, the looks of focused efficiency that quickly disintergrated into blank confusion.
"What are you doing here?"
Xander and Sam spoke at the same time.
Willow ignored them both, letting the increasingly raised voices blend into the background, knowing with sudden certainty what she had to do. Still partly in the light trance caused by the spell to summon the Podunk which was building and gathering energy all around her, she relaxed the barriers guarding her inner sanctum, allowing Dean access if he had the ability. She reached out, searching for his unique aura, encouraging, guiding his attention to the entrance. The meeting of his inner pysche with her was marked by an electrical surge that seemed to lift her beyond the physical world around her. There was a moment of awkwardness as they clashed and bruised, then the rhythm was found. Interlocking pieces slipped into synchronisation, breathing heightened, yet deepened as they harmonised across a room, yet so much closer. Two souls recognising each other on a much deeper level than either had ever experienced - each bringing the other to further heights of knowledge, of revelation, of sweet, exquiste pain that quickly climaxed, then soothed into sheer ecstasty of weightlessness, of a serenity that was both new, yet instantly familiar. A homecoming, a resting place, a belonging which could never be broken.
~*~
vi) Sam
Collecting the weapons from the car had been simple, carrying them through the hospital to where Dean was waiting caused only a slight stretch on his mental capacities. The problem came with finding out exactly which of the hospital's many patients over the last twenty-five years was the spirit who refused to rest. So the decision had been taken to confront the spirit to find clues for research. Loading the rifles with rock salt had been accomplished in a nearby bathroom, and the corridor had been blessedly empty. The second room they tried had sent the EMF sky-high. That, of course, was the point where the fan caught the shit.
The last thing in the world Sam expected to see, was his brother's room-mate standing by the door, shining unsheathed sword in sound hand. On the other side, stood the girl with the blinding smile he had smacked the trolley into. In the center, was a chalked circle, candles in a very familiar pattern, and a strange red-head girl in a dangerous-looking trance, chanting. He cocked his rifle, and swung it up to his shoulder, shooting a glare at Harris.
"What are you doing here?"
He and Harris spoke simultaneously, Harris with an incredulous expression on his face he would find funny at any other time. Here though, while he was in the middle of what could only be a summoning spell, the only emotion Sam could find was anger. That, and a burning desire to stop this unusual group from carrying through whatever it was they were doing. The trouble was, he could feel that he and Dean were too late. There was the strange shimmer to the very air that he recognised with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The hairs on the back of his neck where standing up in the way they always only did when in the presence of something he'd rather not get too close to.
"Hey, look. It's okay. It's not what you think it is.." The dark-haired girl said, sounding confident, and not nervous as he had expected.
Sam swung his eyes over to glance at her - but was expecting the sudden attack Harris launched at him. He swung his rifle in a one-eighty and clipped Harris on the jaw, knocking him to the ground. The brunette ran to Harris's side, screaming something, but Sam's attention had been caught by Dean. His brother was still sitting in his chair alright, but with his eyes shut and swaying slightly, as if he was caught in the same trance that the red-head was in. Looking across at her, he could see that a white light was starting to radiate from her - and reaching out to embrace Dean too. He started towards her to stop her - to do something to protect Dean, to save Dean, to put an end to the growing wrongness in the room. Before he managed to get to the circle though, he was brought down by three determind hands, and a block of wood he had forgotten.
~*~
vii) Dawn
Okay - well she hadn't expected that. Mr Towering-Dark-and-Handsome (or Sam apparently) was armed to the teeth and ready to use said arms. Not good in her book, especially when threatening Willow. Lost brownie points all over for that one. She and Xander managed to get him down though - Xander taking his gun away, while Dawn sat on him, then Xander squashing him while she tied him up and gagged him with various other supplies tucked in various bags. Willow had stopped chanting by now - and the white light they had got used to when Willow was using her deeper magics, was filling the room. Then - the Podunk was there, all 3'7" of it, trapped in it's own little cage of light, snarling and twisting as it tried to get free.
Willow gave a strange gasp, as if learning how to breath again, and she slumped forward, bracing herself - hands white as they pushed her up from the floor. The white light dimmed then dispersed, bar the cage encircling the Podunk. Xander quickly ran to her side, helping her up.
"You okay?"
"Hooooh, boy. Yes."
Willow offered up a tremulous smile for them both, which faltered further when she saw the furious young man as trapped as their legitimate prey. She walked slowly forward before kneeling down to gaze deeply into his eyes.
"Samuel Winchester."
"But his name's Adams."
"Mmmm Mmmm Mmm Mmmmm Mm"
"Like the cathedral?"
"Huh? Don't you mean like the rifle?"
"Yeah Harris, like the rifle."
They all turned round at the new voice joining in the conversation. The brother - Dean - who still looked half dead, had groggy eyes open, an amused glint shining in them regardless.
"You're awake."
There was a note in Willow's voice that Dawn hadn't heard since Tara, and she looked between Dean... Winchester and Willow - then Xander in absolute confusion. Had they missed something? Judging by the look Dean was giving Willow - yep. They definitely had. Looked like Willow had finally gotten over Kennedy.
Dean nodded at Sam.... Winchester.
"Go ahead. You can untie him. He won't do anything, I promise."
"Mm Mm"
Willow flicked her fingers toward Sam, and the bindings unravelled, falling to the floor. Sam looked freaked out. Dawn suppressed an urge to ruffle her fingers through his hair, and kiss his dimples.
"What... who are you guys?"
Willow smiled. "I'm a witch."
~*~
viii) Xander
This, Xander decided, was turning out to be a very strange day. He supposed it was a reflection of his life that the Podunk had been the most normal part of it so far. There had been a spilt second of shocked silence from Sam after Willow's calm announcement - then a stream of words had assulted Xander's ears, poured out at 90 mph, and seemingly addressed as much to Dean as to Willow. Dean, thankfully, appeared to be used to this. Xander was never more grateful to be an only child.
"Sam! Shut UP."
"But.. Dean.."
"I said, shut up. Trust me, she's ok."
"God, Dean. Upstairs brain?"
"I'm gonna ignore that - what the hell do you know about it anyway?"
"Witch, Dean. Haven't you read Dad's journal on the subject?"
"Dad wasn't always right Sam"
"Okay - now I know you're under some kind of spell..."
That's the point where Dawn - and yes folks, you got that right, DAWN, stepped inbetween them and took charge. What happened next, Xander never rightly sussed out. Willow had nudged him in the direction of the Podunk, who was looking all too interested in the events taking place before those squirly red eyes, and a Podunk looking interested was the best warning that something cataclysmic was about to happen unless somebody did something drastic. Today, that somebody was going to be the body belonging to him. Sword resting comfortably in his grip, he swung towards the demon, lopping off it's head in one easy stroke. The cage of light gently died away to nothing as it's purpose for existing vanished.
Xander turned his attention back to the others - and felt his jaw drop as he registered Dawn patting a silent-again Sam on the head, and smiling at him in an appraising way there was no mistaking. He stepped over to Willow's elbow, intending to get her to end the insanity, when Dawn turned to them, switching on her patented 'you're going to say yes, because I'm Dawn' smile. A smile full of confidence, of bratty-little-sister, and of mature woman who knows her own mind. His protests died unspoken.
"Me and Sam are going somewhere private to have a little chat now. Catch you guys later."
Dawn had never sounded more like Buffy at her worst. The tone had Xander automatically flinching a little, as Dawn grabbed Sam by the hand, and led him out into the corridor, unhindered and unchecked.
Willow stared after the couple, a far-away and wistful shape to her eyes. Dean looked thoughtful, with a hint of scared. Xander just wanted answers.
"How did that just happen? And, while we're at it, what did just happen?"
~*~
ix) Dean
He watched as Dawn led his bemused brother out into the corridor. His mind had somehow supplied him with the name automatically, and he briefly wondered what else he and Willow had shared during that... that... whatever you wanted to call it. All he knew, was that he had gone somewhere he had never even realised existed, and transported to glories he had never dreamed were available for him. Nothing else, no one else, would ever touch him in the same way again - he now knew the ultimate life could give. By the way Willow was now smiling down at him, the feeling was mutual, and a large, heavy weight eased from a place vaguely situated between his chest and stomach. He smiled back, and caught the glimmer of an echo of the 'moment' in her eyes. Hook, line and sinker. Lock, stock and two salt-filled barrels. He was in this for the long-haul, and he had no idea of what to do next.
"How did that just happen? And, while we're at it, what did just happen?"
Xander's plea broke into his concentration, and he glanced over to his erstwhile room-mate, who was looking as bewildered as he felt. Willow's calm voice soothed and comforted and laughed.
"Dawn got lucky."
"Lucky!" Xander obviously was having a hard time understanding this concept.
"She seduced my brother."
"He's a nice guy. Sweet, genuine."
"A psychic."
"Just right a glowing blob of green energy."
Xander was looking from one to the other.
"Did I miss something?"
Willow glanced down at Dean, lit up from the inside, and he was caught as strongly as the first time she had looked at him. Once again in his life, someone else had taken control of it, and made a decision he could not change, that would alter whatever years he had left to him. So, once again, he would place his life in another's hands, and see where they took him. This time though, he was in Willow's hands, and he would follow her willingly.
~*~
x) Willow
"Did I miss something?"
Xander was giving her that look - the look that went deep inside her and read what she was really feeling. She glanced down at Dean, letting the sweet innocence of their unique link flow through her. Xander would be satisfied, and she'd let him have the 'serious talk' with Dean he would definitely be scheduling with the guarenteed right as her best and oldest friend. They'd be okay - they could both handle themselves in a fight, and both of them might learn a thing or two.
Xander nodded slowly, accepting her decision, as he had always backed her up in the past, as he had always protected her, always giving her unconditional support.
"Do you think we ought to tell Buffy about... this?" he asked.
"Nope. I think Dawn will be able to handle this one."
"You're right. Summer's affair. All very violent."
Something in his voice...
"Alexander Lavelle Harris! You told Buffy about Dawn and Peter!"
"Guilty. He wasn't right for her. Too much of a wimp. What's Sam like Dean?"
"Sammy? Apart from the anguished emo shit? He's my brother."
"Well Dawn's an angry young woman standing in a kitchen sink, so let's go and toast the happy couple."
"They won't know where we are." Willow laughed as she gripped the handles of the wheelchair, and headed to the door.
"Ah, they'll find us. Eventually. Dawn should be safe, after all it's not Tuesday."
"Tuesday? Sam's worse day is always a Thursday..."
Their voices floated away as they walked into the future.
The End
March 07