Fic: It's In Our Blood - (Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam) Chapter Fifteen.
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 Fifteen:
Buffy’s feet were off the ground, her back was against the building, and what Dean had assumed was a demon had her by the throat. Her feet were desperately searching for a platform and her hands were clawing at the hands squeezing the life out of her. He yelled and grabbed the gun that was placed in the band of his jeans as he ran toward them. When the demon saw him, it expelled itself from the body, black smoke billowing out of his mouth. Buffy fell back against the wall, gasping for air, coughing, and holding her neck. The body that held the demon was lifeless next to her.
He moved to his knees, extending his hand in a flash to try to help her up, but she pushed him away and stood up quickly, her hand still around her neck. Her voice was raspy, but she still managed to get loud enough.
“What did you do?”
“WHAT?”
“Why the hell did you follow me here, Dean?”
“I coulda sworn we had this conversation a few hours ago. You should work on your listenin’ skills-”
She cut him off.
“There is no job here, Dean. I’ve been here for a week and a half. I think I’d know if someone died here. Don’t lie to me. You followed me, and you brought this here.” She was livid, and she had tears in her eyes. It was almost frantic the way she was speaking to him. It had him frozen, unable to even be angry at her accusations. Instead, he was left defending himself, trying to get her to calm down and giving her his surrender for once.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about? Of course there’s a case here. I read the articles myself. Look, I’m sorry that you can’t -”
“There’s not, Dean. There’s not a case here. I told you I’ve been here a week,” She moved her hand away from her neck where there was already a blue mark forming in the shape of a hand. It had to have hurt her to talk; it had to hurt her even more to yell. He’d never seen her like the way she was representing herself. It was opposite of her characterization, of who she was. It was like she was scared.
“You have no idea what you-” She gasped, the way a woman did when she was trying not to cry. It had him standing up, having the need to comfort her. The way she was acting scared the hell out of him. He reached out, but she denied him again stepping back and running her hands through her hair.
“My family lives here. My sister and her husband, my best friend and his wife. They own this bar. They’re everyone that I have left in this world, and you brought demons in the one place I try so hard to keep them from.” Her family. He closed his eyes briefly, suddenly understanding. Feeling guilty for something he didn’t have control over.
He had to get back to the subject. This whole deal had just gotten more serious. His mind made a straight conclusion that this was a trap. He needed Sam, he needed back up, and he needed Cas.
“We have to get ahold of Sam. Now.”
She ignored him and started to head back inside before he put his arm over the frame, blocking her entrance. There wasn’t much for lighting in the setting, aside for a single overhead lamp attached to the old fashioned woodwork. Bugs were gathered around it like magnets, leaving moving shadows and buzzing sounds in the otherwise silent part of the bar. With that light he was able to catch a shimmer from her arm. He noticed the blood from it first, barely an inch from where silver object protruded.
He grabbed her arm to see what it was, too fast for her to protest. He pulled it out, and Buffy hissed as more blood ran down her arm, freely flowing now that the protrusion was out of the way.
It was metal, long, thin, and hollow. He knew exactly what it was, dropping her arm and moving to the body that had once held the parasite. She followed him, catching on.
He searched the gravel desperately, praying that he was wrong, but the second he moved the arm of the body, his thoughts were confirmed.
The small piece of metal was a needle point that had broken off a syringe. She’d been injected with something, and he suddenly felt like he was out of breath, and out of time.
“I need to talk to Xander,” she said, still caring more about others than her own health. She tried to head into the bar when he caught her again.
“No, you need to get the hell to a hospital, now. This could be anything, Buffy. For all I know it’s the shit they use for lethal injections.”
“…I need to tell Xander to watch my sister when she gets here.”
Dammit.
“Fine, but then you’re getting in my car and we’re leaving. I’ve got to call someone.” He needed to get ahold of Cas, so he followed her into the bar, and grabbed the phone that was in the back without giving a glance to Buffy’s friends.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
Dean dialed Cas three times. Same result all three times. At the last one he left a desperate voicemail, giving him the location of the hospital, the predicament they were in, and a “get your feathered ass here now.”
He then called Sam, already knowing what the result of that would be. When he hung up the phone for the last time, he slammed it so hard that it fell off the wall. He turned, grabbed Buffy by the arm who, surprisingly went willingly, and walked out the door without a word.
He was panicking.
He tried to run through his brain what could have been in that needle. The syringe had no smell, but he pocketed it anyway, so he could give it to the doctors. He would have thought the worse, but he didn’t even know what the worst was at this point.
When Buffy sat down in the car, she looked fine. Her neck was bruised, and her eyes were red, but that was from the fight and their argument. She was breathing normally. She was tense as hell, but she was still strong. When she got in the car, she slammed the door so hard that it made the entire car rock, proving it. He didn’t comment on the abuse of the car, as he pounded his foot on the gas out of the parking lot, hearing the gravel pepper the underbelly. He didn’t turn to her as the road was unfamiliar; twists and turns making it impossible to travel at the speed he was going and still pay attention.
“How do you feel?”
“Pissed.” She knew what he was asking, but of course, nothing was ever easy with her.
“Buffy.”
“Dean. Just drive. I’m fine. Stop talking. And pay attention to where you’re driving. This road has sharp turns.” She was talking to him, which meant that she wasn’t dead. It didn’t really matter what tone it was in. He wanted to keep her talking, though so he pressed her patience.
“How’s your arm?”
“Still bleeding all over my jeans.”
“Are you-“
“Would you stop? You’re making it worse. Stop acting like you suddenly care-”
“Are you friggin’ kidding me, Buffy? You’ve got something in your bloodstream, of course I freakin’ care. Stop being a smartass and a vengeful bitch for two damn minutes so we can assess this situation. Hate me when we’ve got that crap out of you and you’re still breathing. Until then, stop being immature and answer the god damn questions.”
He’d turned his head briefly, and it was a stupid decision. By the time he saw the traffic spikes in the middle of the road, it was too late. Buffy saw them too, because she yelled right before he turned the wheel to a sharp right and slammed on the brakes in effort to avoid them. It was all in vain as the impala was going too fast, and they were spotted too late. They were on a curve, and he’d already swerved; the car was going too fast, and the sheer force of the turn caused it to roll. The sound of metal scraping asphalt pierced his ears; broken glass, force of impact. After a few seconds of rolling, he felt the abrupt stop against an immoveable object.
A groan of pain escaped his lips as he tried to move even a little bit. As far as he could tell, his legs weren’t broken. The only real threat was his head and his shoulder. It was burning hot, and when he turned his head to look, he knew why. It had slammed into the side of the car enough, and it was bleeding. The blood from where his head was cut had made its way into his left eye, causing stinging tears in his eyes. He was afraid of what he’d see when he turned his head where Buffy was seated. That didn’t stop him from calling her name. The blood that had made it in his eyes took away his sight temporarily. The car was turned over and he was upside down, doing nothing to help his headache or his ability to breathe.
“Buffy? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” It was a muffled groan but it was better than silence. “You?”
He’d heard her seatbelt click, and heard her fall on the ceiling of the car with a grunt and a cough. She was alright, she was moving. The sound of her movement had him fidgeting with his own seatbelt, that’s when he felt her hands on him, pushing his hand away so she could do it herself. He let her as he braced himself with his one good shoulder for the fall.
“Son of a bitch.” It came out pained, but it was all he could get out with the breath he had and the mindset he had as he fell on her and hit his dislocated shoulder.
“Dean, are you okay?” She was worried, and when he finally got a clear look at her right side up, he could tell she was just about in as much pain as he was. Her own head was bleeding, matting the hair in its tracks to her head. Her nose was bleeding, and the right side of her face was already swollen. If she looked like that, he didn’t want to know his own condition. He could barely move without wincing.
“Yeah. I’m friggin’ pissed, and this isn’t the god damn time - How’s your breathing? How are you feeling?” He had to temporarily push thoughts of his broken car out of his mind as he started kicking at the door. It was a wasted attempt. After a few kicks he realized the car had settled against a tree, the unmovable object that probably saved their lives. There was a river right past that tree; he could hear it bashing the rocks with its raging force.
“I feel like I just got in a car accident. I can’t really tell what’s supposed to be hurting from what’s not.” A shaky hand went to her cut head. She flinched and hissed in pain. Her attitude died with the severity of the situation, and he almost wished for it back. He could tell that this was her low-leveled panic mode.
She took a deep breath and turned her body fully around to brace her back against the seat. It took her about five kicks to get the door open. She’d grumbled in pain at the last kick that sent it rearing back loosening the last of the glass that was still in the window. Sliding herself out favoring the left side of her body, her head emerged back in where the door used to be. He was already half way out, favoring his right side. The gun that was once in the back seat had lay under him, and he made a point to grab it. Her arms came in the doorway and helped pull him out the rest of the way. By the time they were both on the ground; they were out of breath trying to alleviate the pain from the force of the crash. She was on her back in the grass; he was lying over top of her legs unable to find the strength to move anymore.
“Those road blocks were put there for one reason only. They’re meant for a straightaway, not a freakin’ curve.” He had to move. They had to get walking, and he needed to find a way to contact Cas. There was no doubt in his mind that there was someone getting ready to pounce on them. The thought alone had him up in an instant and grabbing the gun. Buffy was right behind him, reacting to his reaction.
“I’m gonna find them.” The shotgun was loaded, and he grabbed what he could of shells that were sprawled on the ceiling of the car. He started walking toward where the spikes still were, stepping on broken glass, and around the pieced of his car that had littered the road. He couldn’t see anything ten feel ahead of him, and all he could hear was Buffy’s footsteps next to him. He turned to her, and watched her limping worse than he was. She gave him a pointed look.
“I’m not letting you blaze of glory these guys alone, Dean. Forget it.”
“They walked to where the spikes were. It was a hundred feet from the scene of the crash. It was in silence. Dean wanted to make sure Buffy was alright. It was the only reason he didn’t knock her out himself so she’d stay put.
They stopped, and Dean cocked his shotgun. “Come out come out wherever you are, you son of a bitch.”
“Dean.”
He walked toward the right near a cluster of bushes with Buffy at his side. She suddenly reached her arm out to stop him.
“Dean.” Her hand was to her head. Her eyes closed, and her hand that had stopped him was fisting his shirt.
“Jesus.”
“I can’t-” She turned to him and buckled. He dropped the gun and caught her before she hit her head on the pavement. Even holding her the way he was, he felt how hot she was. She was drenched in sweat, and as he laid her to the ground, hovering over her, his heart went through his throat as his hand cradled the back of her neck.
“Hey, hey. Dammit, you’re burnin’ up. Can you hear me??” Her eyes were on him, but they were unfocused. She was breathing deeply, and the hand that had his shirt fisted had slacked. He could barely hear her as she mumbled.
“…Behind.. you.”
Just as she said that he’d turned his head, he felt a gun collide with his temple, right where it was bleeding the most.
His last thought was of Buffy as his head hit the cold pavement and everything went dark.
Forward to: Chapter Sixteen!
Backward to:
Chapter Fourteen.
Chapter Thirteen.
Chapter Twelve.
Chapter Eleven.
Chapter Ten.
Chapter Nine.
Chapter Eight.
Chapter Seven.
Chapter Six.
Chapter Five.
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 Fifteen:
Buffy’s feet were off the ground, her back was against the building, and what Dean had assumed was a demon had her by the throat. Her feet were desperately searching for a platform and her hands were clawing at the hands squeezing the life out of her. He yelled and grabbed the gun that was placed in the band of his jeans as he ran toward them. When the demon saw him, it expelled itself from the body, black smoke billowing out of his mouth. Buffy fell back against the wall, gasping for air, coughing, and holding her neck. The body that held the demon was lifeless next to her.
He moved to his knees, extending his hand in a flash to try to help her up, but she pushed him away and stood up quickly, her hand still around her neck. Her voice was raspy, but she still managed to get loud enough.
“What did you do?”
“WHAT?”
“Why the hell did you follow me here, Dean?”
“I coulda sworn we had this conversation a few hours ago. You should work on your listenin’ skills-”
She cut him off.
“There is no job here, Dean. I’ve been here for a week and a half. I think I’d know if someone died here. Don’t lie to me. You followed me, and you brought this here.” She was livid, and she had tears in her eyes. It was almost frantic the way she was speaking to him. It had him frozen, unable to even be angry at her accusations. Instead, he was left defending himself, trying to get her to calm down and giving her his surrender for once.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about? Of course there’s a case here. I read the articles myself. Look, I’m sorry that you can’t -”
“There’s not, Dean. There’s not a case here. I told you I’ve been here a week,” She moved her hand away from her neck where there was already a blue mark forming in the shape of a hand. It had to have hurt her to talk; it had to hurt her even more to yell. He’d never seen her like the way she was representing herself. It was opposite of her characterization, of who she was. It was like she was scared.
“You have no idea what you-” She gasped, the way a woman did when she was trying not to cry. It had him standing up, having the need to comfort her. The way she was acting scared the hell out of him. He reached out, but she denied him again stepping back and running her hands through her hair.
“My family lives here. My sister and her husband, my best friend and his wife. They own this bar. They’re everyone that I have left in this world, and you brought demons in the one place I try so hard to keep them from.” Her family. He closed his eyes briefly, suddenly understanding. Feeling guilty for something he didn’t have control over.
He had to get back to the subject. This whole deal had just gotten more serious. His mind made a straight conclusion that this was a trap. He needed Sam, he needed back up, and he needed Cas.
“We have to get ahold of Sam. Now.”
She ignored him and started to head back inside before he put his arm over the frame, blocking her entrance. There wasn’t much for lighting in the setting, aside for a single overhead lamp attached to the old fashioned woodwork. Bugs were gathered around it like magnets, leaving moving shadows and buzzing sounds in the otherwise silent part of the bar. With that light he was able to catch a shimmer from her arm. He noticed the blood from it first, barely an inch from where silver object protruded.
He grabbed her arm to see what it was, too fast for her to protest. He pulled it out, and Buffy hissed as more blood ran down her arm, freely flowing now that the protrusion was out of the way.
It was metal, long, thin, and hollow. He knew exactly what it was, dropping her arm and moving to the body that had once held the parasite. She followed him, catching on.
He searched the gravel desperately, praying that he was wrong, but the second he moved the arm of the body, his thoughts were confirmed.
The small piece of metal was a needle point that had broken off a syringe. She’d been injected with something, and he suddenly felt like he was out of breath, and out of time.
“I need to talk to Xander,” she said, still caring more about others than her own health. She tried to head into the bar when he caught her again.
“No, you need to get the hell to a hospital, now. This could be anything, Buffy. For all I know it’s the shit they use for lethal injections.”
“…I need to tell Xander to watch my sister when she gets here.”
Dammit.
“Fine, but then you’re getting in my car and we’re leaving. I’ve got to call someone.” He needed to get ahold of Cas, so he followed her into the bar, and grabbed the phone that was in the back without giving a glance to Buffy’s friends.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
Voicemail.
Dean dialed Cas three times. Same result all three times. At the last one he left a desperate voicemail, giving him the location of the hospital, the predicament they were in, and a “get your feathered ass here now.”
He then called Sam, already knowing what the result of that would be. When he hung up the phone for the last time, he slammed it so hard that it fell off the wall. He turned, grabbed Buffy by the arm who, surprisingly went willingly, and walked out the door without a word.
He was panicking.
He tried to run through his brain what could have been in that needle. The syringe had no smell, but he pocketed it anyway, so he could give it to the doctors. He would have thought the worse, but he didn’t even know what the worst was at this point.
When Buffy sat down in the car, she looked fine. Her neck was bruised, and her eyes were red, but that was from the fight and their argument. She was breathing normally. She was tense as hell, but she was still strong. When she got in the car, she slammed the door so hard that it made the entire car rock, proving it. He didn’t comment on the abuse of the car, as he pounded his foot on the gas out of the parking lot, hearing the gravel pepper the underbelly. He didn’t turn to her as the road was unfamiliar; twists and turns making it impossible to travel at the speed he was going and still pay attention.
“How do you feel?”
“Pissed.” She knew what he was asking, but of course, nothing was ever easy with her.
“Buffy.”
“Dean. Just drive. I’m fine. Stop talking. And pay attention to where you’re driving. This road has sharp turns.” She was talking to him, which meant that she wasn’t dead. It didn’t really matter what tone it was in. He wanted to keep her talking, though so he pressed her patience.
“How’s your arm?”
“Still bleeding all over my jeans.”
“Are you-“
“Would you stop? You’re making it worse. Stop acting like you suddenly care-”
“Are you friggin’ kidding me, Buffy? You’ve got something in your bloodstream, of course I freakin’ care. Stop being a smartass and a vengeful bitch for two damn minutes so we can assess this situation. Hate me when we’ve got that crap out of you and you’re still breathing. Until then, stop being immature and answer the god damn questions.”
He’d turned his head briefly, and it was a stupid decision. By the time he saw the traffic spikes in the middle of the road, it was too late. Buffy saw them too, because she yelled right before he turned the wheel to a sharp right and slammed on the brakes in effort to avoid them. It was all in vain as the impala was going too fast, and they were spotted too late. They were on a curve, and he’d already swerved; the car was going too fast, and the sheer force of the turn caused it to roll. The sound of metal scraping asphalt pierced his ears; broken glass, force of impact. After a few seconds of rolling, he felt the abrupt stop against an immoveable object.
A groan of pain escaped his lips as he tried to move even a little bit. As far as he could tell, his legs weren’t broken. The only real threat was his head and his shoulder. It was burning hot, and when he turned his head to look, he knew why. It had slammed into the side of the car enough, and it was bleeding. The blood from where his head was cut had made its way into his left eye, causing stinging tears in his eyes. He was afraid of what he’d see when he turned his head where Buffy was seated. That didn’t stop him from calling her name. The blood that had made it in his eyes took away his sight temporarily. The car was turned over and he was upside down, doing nothing to help his headache or his ability to breathe.
“Buffy? Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” It was a muffled groan but it was better than silence. “You?”
He’d heard her seatbelt click, and heard her fall on the ceiling of the car with a grunt and a cough. She was alright, she was moving. The sound of her movement had him fidgeting with his own seatbelt, that’s when he felt her hands on him, pushing his hand away so she could do it herself. He let her as he braced himself with his one good shoulder for the fall.
“Son of a bitch.” It came out pained, but it was all he could get out with the breath he had and the mindset he had as he fell on her and hit his dislocated shoulder.
“Dean, are you okay?” She was worried, and when he finally got a clear look at her right side up, he could tell she was just about in as much pain as he was. Her own head was bleeding, matting the hair in its tracks to her head. Her nose was bleeding, and the right side of her face was already swollen. If she looked like that, he didn’t want to know his own condition. He could barely move without wincing.
“Yeah. I’m friggin’ pissed, and this isn’t the god damn time - How’s your breathing? How are you feeling?” He had to temporarily push thoughts of his broken car out of his mind as he started kicking at the door. It was a wasted attempt. After a few kicks he realized the car had settled against a tree, the unmovable object that probably saved their lives. There was a river right past that tree; he could hear it bashing the rocks with its raging force.
“I feel like I just got in a car accident. I can’t really tell what’s supposed to be hurting from what’s not.” A shaky hand went to her cut head. She flinched and hissed in pain. Her attitude died with the severity of the situation, and he almost wished for it back. He could tell that this was her low-leveled panic mode.
She took a deep breath and turned her body fully around to brace her back against the seat. It took her about five kicks to get the door open. She’d grumbled in pain at the last kick that sent it rearing back loosening the last of the glass that was still in the window. Sliding herself out favoring the left side of her body, her head emerged back in where the door used to be. He was already half way out, favoring his right side. The gun that was once in the back seat had lay under him, and he made a point to grab it. Her arms came in the doorway and helped pull him out the rest of the way. By the time they were both on the ground; they were out of breath trying to alleviate the pain from the force of the crash. She was on her back in the grass; he was lying over top of her legs unable to find the strength to move anymore.
“Those road blocks were put there for one reason only. They’re meant for a straightaway, not a freakin’ curve.” He had to move. They had to get walking, and he needed to find a way to contact Cas. There was no doubt in his mind that there was someone getting ready to pounce on them. The thought alone had him up in an instant and grabbing the gun. Buffy was right behind him, reacting to his reaction.
“I’m gonna find them.” The shotgun was loaded, and he grabbed what he could of shells that were sprawled on the ceiling of the car. He started walking toward where the spikes still were, stepping on broken glass, and around the pieced of his car that had littered the road. He couldn’t see anything ten feel ahead of him, and all he could hear was Buffy’s footsteps next to him. He turned to her, and watched her limping worse than he was. She gave him a pointed look.
“I’m not letting you blaze of glory these guys alone, Dean. Forget it.”
“They walked to where the spikes were. It was a hundred feet from the scene of the crash. It was in silence. Dean wanted to make sure Buffy was alright. It was the only reason he didn’t knock her out himself so she’d stay put.
They stopped, and Dean cocked his shotgun. “Come out come out wherever you are, you son of a bitch.”
“Dean.”
He walked toward the right near a cluster of bushes with Buffy at his side. She suddenly reached her arm out to stop him.
“Dean.” Her hand was to her head. Her eyes closed, and her hand that had stopped him was fisting his shirt.
“Jesus.”
“I can’t-” She turned to him and buckled. He dropped the gun and caught her before she hit her head on the pavement. Even holding her the way he was, he felt how hot she was. She was drenched in sweat, and as he laid her to the ground, hovering over her, his heart went through his throat as his hand cradled the back of her neck.
“Hey, hey. Dammit, you’re burnin’ up. Can you hear me??” Her eyes were on him, but they were unfocused. She was breathing deeply, and the hand that had his shirt fisted had slacked. He could barely hear her as she mumbled.
“…Behind.. you.”
Just as she said that he’d turned his head, he felt a gun collide with his temple, right where it was bleeding the most.
His last thought was of Buffy as his head hit the cold pavement and everything went dark.
Forward to: Chapter Sixteen!
Backward to:
Chapter Fourteen.
Chapter Thirteen.
Chapter Twelve.
Chapter Eleven.
Chapter Ten.
Chapter Nine.
Chapter Eight.
Chapter Seven.
Chapter Six.
Chapter Five.
Chapter Four.
Chapter Three.
Chapter Two.
Chapter One.