Silence (1/2)
Title: Silence (1/2)
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Sam/Dawn, Dean/Dawn, Dean/Dawn/Sam (allusions to future Sam/Dean)
Word Count: 5,802
Summary: Dawn knows she couldn't run forever, yet a small, traitorous part of her misses things before when she somehow slotted herself neatly into Sam and Dean's lives, before she knew her sister was alive, and Buffy was still just a memory.
A/N: Takes place post S5 of Buffy and S3 of SPN. I fiddled a bit with Buffy and SPN canon - Dawn is nineteen and The Roadhouse never burned down. Any other canon deviations are explained within. This is the third fic in the "Ashes" verse, immediately following "Echoes." Thank you to dream_mancer for the beta. I am sorry for the delay between fics, but I had a huge block on this one and ended up completely re-working what I originally wrote, didn't touch the original or the re-write for weeks, then got hit out of the blue with a scene today and churned out the entire thing in one afternoon. Part 2 will be coming soon.
Buffy is alive - walking, breathing, talking, the results of careful planning and a powerful spell. Dawn doesn't know whether to throw her arms around Willow or shake her until her teeth rattle. She settles on a grateful smile, squeezes Sam and Dean's knees before either of them slip a word in edgewise. With the word witch hanging in the air, she feels their tension, an almost audible thrumming just below their skin.
Buffy zeroes in on the movement like a goddamn hawk. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't comment.
Dawn glances around her living room, amazed at how little and how much has changed in six months. The same pictures sit on the mantel, the same throw pillows lie against the couch. She pulls one into her lap, running her fingers lightly along the familiar patterns, lets the boys finish all of the pertinent explanations. She wants to spend the night losing herself in Sam and Dean's arms, settles on a hug and a kiss on the cheek at the foot of the guest bedroom, Buffy's eyes watchful and obnoxious from across the hall.
"I just want to thank you," she hears Buffy whisper as Dawn closes her bedroom door, "For taking care of my little sister."
Dawn flushes, somewhere between touched, deeply embarrassed and furiously angry. She isn't thirteen years old anymore, thank you very much, not a child by any standards. She damn well knows how to take care of herself.
"You're welcome, but Dawnie does a pretty decent job of taking care of herself," Dean says, mirroring her thoughts, and Dawn peeks her head out from behind the door, smiling at the familiar smirk that graces his lips.
She catches Buffy's arched eyebrow out of the corner of her eye, and only then does she realize Dean's slip. Dean winces slightly, corner of his eyes crinkling, lips pulling into the beginnings of a frown - something only a person well schooled in reading the Book of Winchesters would notice. Sam presses closer to his back, a reassurance.
Buffy stares at Dean, at his brother standing behind him, then blinks, glancing from one to the other. Dawn shifts uncomfortably - she knows that look. There's a shovel speech in Sam or Dean's near future.
Dawn stiffens as the reality of that thought comes crashing down on her and presses her back against the door as her heart hammers against her ribs - Sam or Dean.
Oh, God. She is so screwed.
--
Dawn is unsurprised when her door creaks open in the middle of the night, and she smiles, shifts to the edge of her bed so Sam can press up against her from behind. He rubs circles with the pad of his thumb against her arm and she turns, stares into eyes that exude understanding.
"It gets easier," he whispers, and Dawn blinks.
"How did you know what I was thinking?" she whispers, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Because you're thinking so loud, I could hear you across the hall." Dawn scowls, slapping his arm as he laughs. He sobers quickly, brushing her hair behind her ear. "And I've been there; you think Dean and I fell back into our normal routine in a day?"
She feigns shock. "You mean you didn't?" Sam shoves her lightly in the shoulder, and she giggles quietly, giving him a small smile. Dawn doesn't want to think about this anymore, closes her eyes as Sam slides his fingers through her hair, lets him lull her into a sense of calm.
The door squeaks again, followed by the soft padding of feet across the carpet. Dean sits in the tiny space between her and the edge of the bed, half across her legs, and she grunts as he pushes against her thighs. When she doesn't budge, he reaches around her to shove Sam in the chest, saying, "Move, bitch."
Sam mutters, "Jerk," but complies, rolling with his arms still around her so she lays at the center of the bed.
Dean lies back with a contented sigh, wrapping his arms around her waist. She feels a gentle tug at her hair before his hand settles against her hip, his other arm grazing Sam's back, and Dawn takes a deep breath, relaxing, because this - this is exactly what she needed.
"Buffy will kick your asses when she finds you in here," she murmurs, though there's no true heat behind her words. She throws her leg over Sam's hip to keep him in place, wraps her arms over Dean's around her waist.
"I think we can take her," Dean whispers, voice a low rumble against her ear, and she shivers as he presses his lips to her neck just below her ear, feels the heat of his mouth through her shirt as he kisses the place where he the wound still pulls tight at her shoulder.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night." The words are garbled, muffled, and she struggles to keep her heavy eyelids open.
Sam shushes her, kissing her softly. "Go to sleep, Dawn."
Dawn closes her eyes and lets the silence roll over her, sleeps in the only place she feels safe.
--
Dean wakes her on their way out the door the next morning, and she groans at the sight of him, standing dressed and grinning over her bed.
"What time is it?" She grumbles, attempting to glance at her alarm clock through eyes still blurry with sleep.
"Ass o'clock," Dean says smiling, and Dawn rubs at her eyes, sure she's still dreaming, because Dean Winchester could not possibly be this happy before his first cup of coffee.
"Then why the fuck are you so cheerful?" she gripes, pushing herself up on her elbows.
Dean arches an eyebrow, leering as he sits on the edge of the bed. "Your sister know you speak with that mouth?"
Dawn flips him off, and Dean chuckles, leaning down to kiss her. She fights to keep the scowl on her face, but her traitorous lips keep lifting without her consent. Oh - he tastes like coffee - and that explains everything - and something else beneath that, something familiar she tries not to think about too deeply, at least not at the moment. She pulls away with a sigh. "I wish I could go with you. This is seriously not fair."
"What are you, twelve?"
"Bite me." Dean snaps his jaws playfully and she glares. She is not nearly awake enough for this shit. "Seriously, why do you get to go out and question Anna's doctors while I have to stay here and play diversion bitch?"
"Seriously," he mocks, and he easily sidesteps her swipe at his thigh, "Because you'll be a better diversion bitch than either of us since you actually know Buffy." He snickers, "Buffy. I still can't get over that. What kind of hippies were your parents anyway?"
Dawn crosses her arms petulantly. "Kiss my ass," she grumbles.
"Dude, you need to stop encouraging this," Sam says, glancing over his shoulder as he steps into the room, shutting her door with an almost inaudible snick.
"Why? Does her language offend your feminine sensibilities?"
Sam glowers, cuffing Dean in the back of the head as he passes by to sit on the other side of the bed. Dean reaches across her legs to slap him right back. Dawn rolls her eyes.
"Boys," she mutters, and Dean waggles his eyebrows at her.
"Aw, come on, Dawnie, you know you love us."
Her stomach flutters at the word. She hasn't said them aloud, those three tiny words that mean so little and yet so much at the same time, but in her head, she knows they're true. She clears her throat, sitting up straighter in bed, and smirks. "I must - it's the only reason anyone would put up with you two."
--
Xander already sits at the counter with a bowl of cereal when Dawn finally comes down for breakfast. Both of his eyebrows arch high as she grins a cheerful, "Morning."
A smirk slides across his face, and he sighs. "Damnit," he mutters.
Dawn frowns, "What?"
"Hah!"
The sudden exclamation makes Dawn jump so hard, she slips across the linoleum. She makes a last minute save, grabbing the edge of the counter, then turns to stare at her sister, who grins at her smugly.
"I knew she was dating Sam. Twenty bucks, please." She holds out her hand, and Xander grumbles, shoving his hand into the pocket of his pants and pulling out his wallet.
Dawn's heart beats a thumping rhythm in her chest she's positive the rest of the kitchen can hear. "What?" she's barely able to gasp.
Buffy gestures to her attire. "That shirt. Sam was wearing it last night." The smirk on her sister's face grows wicked. "Come on, you really thought I wouldn't notice? Speaking of, where is your boy this morning?" She peers around Dawn, like she expects him to appear out of thin air, and Dawn is abruptly reminded of Jess in the church. She forces the image back.
Honestly, Dawn didn't even think, just went about her usual morning routine, yanked a random shirt from the duffel nearest to the guest bedroom door after her shower. Sam was used to her randomly appearing in his clothes by now. Fifty-fifty chance and the shirt could have been Dean's.
She shrugs, turning to the cabinet above the sink, attempting to act nonchalant. "He and Dean have a friend who lives nearby who needed some help with a case. They wanted to get on the road early. And you're not usually all that observant in the mornings, Buffy," she shoots back quickly, hoping to divert the conversation. She ducks before the towel her sister throws across the room nails her in the head.
Dawn opens the cabinet door, reaching up for a mug and Buffy snatches at her wrist, the smile gone from her face, replaced with an expression Dawn has seen there many times - one of a rising fury that belies the calmness seeping into her tone when she says, "What is that?"
Dawn follows Buffy's gaze to her shoulder - more specifically, to the still healing wound sticking out from under the too-large collar of Sam's shirt, and Dawn bites back a groan at her stupidity. Well, they wanted a distraction. She snatches her wrist back from her sister, grabbing the mug from the cabinet. "It's nothing," she mutters, reaching to pour herself a cup of coffee.
Buffy pushes her hand away, pulling the collar down to reveal the angry red line running from collar bone to upper arm, and Dawn glares, shoving away from her sister.
"That doesn't look like nothing," Xander says, stepping in over Buffy's shoulder with a frown. "That looks like a very large something, Dawnie."
"Don't call me, Dawnie," Dawn bites out before she can help herself. When Buffy stares at her with wide eyes, Dawn closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Sorry, I just..." She exhales and opens her eyes, grabbing her mug off of the counter. She pulls Sam's shirt closer around her neck, feeling more vulnerable than she has in months - since The Roadhouse. Since she fell into Ellen's arms and cried. "I'm a big girl, Buffy. I can take care of myself. You don't have to worry about me."
"Dawn, it's my job to worry about you," Buffy says gently, placing her hand on Dawn's arm, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.
"Yeah," Dawn whispers, "I know."
--
Buffy leaves with Xander for the Magic Box, leaving Dawn with an empty house and too many thoughts in her head. She wanders aimlessly from room to room before finally throwing herself down on her bed, staring at the ceiling, the silence jarring.
Dawn knows she couldn't run forever, and the sight of Willow's face when she opened the door - the remembered feel of Xander and Tara and even Anya's arms around her when they realized she was here, safe - the completely unexpected sight of her sister standing in the doorway, back from the dead, from hell, makes her breathe easy, glad to be home.
Yet a small, traitorous part of her, deep down, almost out of reach, misses things before - before she came home, when - beyond all odds - she somehow slotted herself neatly into Sam and Dean's lives. Before she knew her sister was alive, and Buffy was still just a memory. Her stomach clenches tightly, the guilt gnawing at her insides.
When she hears a familiar rumble just outside her bedroom window, Dawn vaults off of her bed, glad to finally have an excuse to stop thinking so hard.
Sam passes her on his way into the house, a strained smile pulling at his lips as he ruffles her hair, says, "I'm heading upstairs. Tell Dean to come inside when he's done being an ass." Her eyebrows knit together as her eyes follow his retreating figure up the stairs then walks towards the still-open front door.
The sight that greets her pulls her up short.
Buffy leans back against the door of the Impala with her arms behind her, arching her back so that her chest pushes out just so, crosses her ankles, flicks her hair. Dean laughs, low rumble in his chest, tosses his suit jacket over his shoulder as he cocks his hip against the side of the Impala, and Dawn feels jealousy flare up in her chest as she watches them speak.
Dawn watches Dean flirt with women all the time in bars, sees how they respond to his sly smile, pretty face, and easy-going manner, can't help but grin at the envy in their eyes when he wraps his arm around her waist, kisses her long and deep before they leave the bar, laughs at their wide eyes when Sam slings his arms around her hips from the other side. This is routine to them, something she's used to.
Somehow, watching Dean flirt mercilessly with her sister - watching Buffy flirt back like she has a snowball's chance in hell makes something in her chest tighten, and she swallows, hands clenching into fists, eyes narrowing when Buffy tosses her head back and laughs breathily.
Dean chuckles, turns his head and catches her eye, and his smile falls marginally. Dawn forces her fingers to relax, pastes a false smile on her face as she approaches them.
Buffy straightens up, stops fluttering her eyelashes, and gives her sister a genuine grin. "Hey, Dawnie. Everything okay?"
"Peachy," Dawn answers quickly, darting her eyes to Dean for a moment before looking at her sister again.
Dean's lips turn up into a slow grin; Dawn knows that expression, mischievous with a hint of naughty, and fears the words about to slip out of his mouth. "Your sister was just telling me about an interesting bet she has going on."
Dawn bites back a groan. Damn Buffy and her goddamn meddling friends. "Oh, really?" She plays the laid-back card, crossing her arms and leaning her shoulder against the Impala next to her sister, when in all honesty, she has no idea how to back herself out of this one.
"Really," Dean drawls, mimicking her stance. Buffy's eyes flit from one of them to the other between them, neither one moving beyond a twitch of lips or eyebrow.
Buffy snaps her fingers and Dawn blinks. "You lose," Buffy says, pushing away from the car. Dawn huffs as Buffy grins and heads up the porch stairs and Dean laughs, relaxing his stance.
"Your sister is something else," Dean says, pointedly eyeing Buffy's ass as she walks up the stairs, Dawn knows, for the singular purpose of getting a rise out of her.
"Yeah, she's a regular barrel full of monkeys."
Dean pulls Dawn back by her wrist as she moves to walk away, wraps his arms around her waist. "Jealous?" He asks, nudging her neck.
"No," Dawn shoots back automatically, but when Dean raises an eyebrow she turns in the circle of his arms, winds her arms around his neck, and pushes him back against the Impala by his chest; he chuckles. "Maybe a little."
"She wanted to know why I was wearing a suit. I had to find some way to distract her," he argues, fingers pushing up the hem of her shirt.
She slaps away his wandering hand. "You lie for a living - like you breathe. All you could come up with on the fly was flirting?"
"She thinks you're dating Sam," Dean says, and the lilt in his voice makes her wonder if this bothers him somehow.
Dawn shrugs, biting her lip. "She assumed. I didn't agree or disagree."
"Well, you know what they say about assumptions," Dean grumbles and she rolls her eyes, shoving away from him and heading into the house. She doesn't look back, but hears the clack of Dean's shoes across the pavement, knows he follows.
--
"So, what'd you find out?"
Sam sighs, loosens his tie and rolls up his sleeves. Dawn fights back the almost irrepressible urge to stare, because Jesus Christ, the man looks good in a rumpled suit.
Dean grins and wiggles his eyebrows, knows exactly what she's thinking. Dawn blushes - Dean knows all the ways to push her buttons, damn him - tosses a pen at him, which he catches, of course. Bastard.
"Jackass," she grumbles, and he chuckles, the tension previously between them finally broken.
Sam raises his eyebrows at the exchange, blissfully oblivious. "Did I miss something?"
"Oh, nothing. Dawn was just ogling your sexy body, that's all." Sam's eyes widen, then his lips quirk into a smirk, and Dawn glares at both of them.
"Have I mentioned lately that I hate you?" Dawn gripes, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Dawnie," Dean draws out the word, leans down and murmurs so his lips brush against her ear, "You know that's not true."
If Dawn wasn't already sitting down, there would definitely be a need, as she's sure her legs would no longer be able to hold her up. Sam and Dean are well aware of their effect on her, and use that to their advantage - constantly. She'd be annoyed if she didn't know the ability to work her into a frenzy with a few words and a simple touch worked both ways.
She half-heartedly shoves Dean away with her palms against his chest, and he chuckles, moving to sit back on the opposite side of her bed, yanking his own tie from his neck. "Less distraction, more information," she orders. Dean rolls his eyes, but Dawn ignores him, turns to Sam. "Seriously, Sam, what did you guys find out at the hospital?"
"That Anna isn't crazy so much as psychic." Sam pulls a folder from the inner pocket of his jacket.
"You lifted her file?" Dawn asks, raising an eyebrow. Sam shrugs unrepentantly.
Dean tries for fake admonishment and fails; he rips the records out of Sam's hands, staring at his brother with admiration. "I always knew you were a klepto - ever since you stole my favorite Metallica shirt."
Sam scratches at his hair, embarrassed by even this backwards compliment from his brother. "Dude, I was six, it was your only Metallica shirt, and I didn't steal it! I hid it. And you stole my crayons first."
"Yeah, and you cried for like a week until I gave them back."
Dawn clears her throat, raises her eyebrows, and she fights back laughter at the sheepish expressions on their faces. Usually, she doesn't stop them when they get into these small, brotherly spats, lets them go until they wear themselves out, or until they come to their inevitable conclusion, with one or the other getting smacked. They're insights into their family life she knows she wouldn't get otherwise, can't - and doesn't - ask about, lets unfold before her eyes as the fond memories they rightfully are.
Today, however, they have bigger fish to fry. Dawn yanks the file out of a protesting Dean's hands. "I hate to break up old home week, but maybe we should get back to the issue of the crazy, escaped psychic?" She flips through the pages, eyes roaming over the doctor's diagnoses - schizophrenia, delusions - the hand-drawn pictures. Her brow furrows. "Are these seals?" she asks, still staring down at the pages.
"Correct, my dear Watson," Dean says, and Dawn shoots him a glare, continues skimming the pages. "Apparently, the night Anna went missing, the orderly went on his usual rounds. When he didn't show up for for his next shift, one of his co-workers went looking for him and found him in Anna's room. Throat slashed clean through, glass of the window was broken, and the room reeked of sulfur."
"Lovely," she mutters, flipping the page, "According to this, Anna has no previous history of violence, but was convinced that demons were everywhere and that Lucifer was going to rise up and take over the world."
"I still say she's nuts," Dean mutters, then sighs, shaking his head. He rubs his hand against the back of his neck. "So, what do we do next, kids?"
"You can start by telling me what you're really doing here." Dawn's hands go limp, the papers in Anna's file fluttering to the floor. She raises her head slowly, heart beating furiously in her chest.
Buffy stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, looking for all the world like the strong, stubborn slayer Dawn remembers. Seeing her furious face, this time, Dawn almost wishes for the ghost.
Buffy paces into the room, arms still crossed over her chest. She doesn't relax her stance; the longer the silence continues, the more her shoulders tense, muscles growing rigid despite her attempt to remain calm and collected. Sam and Dean look at each other, then warily at Dawn, for some clue as to how to approach the situation. "Go on. Don't stop talking on my account. From what I could hear, things were really getting interesting. Demons, angels - sounds like a bitchin' apocalypse."
"Shut up, Buffy," Dawn snaps, and her sister whirls, too stunned to respond. "You don't know what you're talking about, you have no idea what's really going on here, so back. Off."
Buffy stares at Dawn with wide eyes, and Dawn realizes that this is the first time she's truly stood up to her sister; argued with her, yes. Whined and stamped her feet and bickered until she got her way - more times than she could count. Stood her ground and flat-out told the all-powerful Buffy that she was wrong? Never. Not once.
Dawn picks one of the pages off of the floor, displays it across her chest for a just as surprised Sam and Dean to see. "This is St. Barnabas Church, right here in Sunnydale. If I were a minister's daughter and needed somewhere to hide, where would I go?"
Dean takes a moment to collect his jaw off of the floor. "Somewhere familiar. Somewhere I felt safe." He exchanges a glance with Sam, who nods his agreement.
Sam throws Dean the keys to the Impala, and Dean shakes his head. "Oh, hell no, there is no way I am facing demons in this monkey suit." Sam rolls his eyes as Dean turns to Dawn and says, "Be ready in five."
Buffy chooses that moment to come out of her stunned stupor. "I'm coming with you," she says, and Dawn stiffens as she speed-walks down the hall to her room, no doubt to grab her jacket and her own set of weapons.
Dean laughs uncomfortably while Sam stiffens, tossing Dawn a wary glance over his shoulder from the guest bedroom doorway. "I don't think that would-" he starts, just as Buffy reappears in the hall.
Buffy glares, stalks towards them like a cat on the prowl. "If you think I'm letting you drag my sister into some heaven versus hell pissing contest -"
"Your sister," Dawn growls, turning on her heel, forcing Buffy to stop short or collide with her headfirst, "Has done just fine on her own."
A thick and heavy silence follows, neither she nor Buffy willing to back down. Dawn remembers her sister being protective and stubborn, but she isn't the same girl she was when Buffy died. She feels stifled, needs breathing room.
Dean sighs, darts his eyes at Buffy, then cringes, as if he knows what he says isn't going to make Dawn happy. "If you don't know how to fire a gun, I sure as hell hope you're a faster learner than your sister."
Buffy arches an eyebrow, but wisely doesn't comment, simply treks down the stairs and out to the Impala.
"She isn't coming, Dean," Dawn hisses, shoving him backwards into the guest room, and he exchanges a telling glance with Sam - one that says she isn't going to win this argument no matter how hard she fights. Sam skitters past behind her back after he finishes pulling on his boots, and she clenches her jaw against the scream of frustration clawing at the back of her throat. You're the younger sibling, she wants to shout, you're supposed to be on my side.
"Apparently, she is," Dean mutters, though Dawn hears every word he doesn't say - she just wants to protect you - and knows he agrees.
--
The ride to the church takes twenty minutes that feels like hours. Buffy sits in the back with Dawn, asking as many questions as she damn well pleases about Anna, the seals, and the real reason they returned to Sunnydale. Dawn remains stubbornly silent, letting Sam and Dean do most of the talking, choosing instead to watch the passing scenery, familiar, unchanging.
"By the way, Dawn," Buffy says, the sound of her name jolting her out of her stupor, and she turns her head warily. Surprisingly, Buffy's smile is warm, calm. "Thanks for taking care of my car," she says quietly.
Dawn drops her gaze to her lap, whispers, "No problem."
Dean pulls the Impala into the empty church parking lot, gets out and immediately pops the trunk. He waves Buffy over, letting her get a good look inside.
"Oh, shiny," Buffy murmurs appreciatively, seeing the arsenal under the false bottom for the first time.
Dean chuckles, shakes his head, "My kind of woman." Dawn's shoulders stiffen, but she breathes, fights back the jealousy raging in the pit of her stomach. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sam kick Dean in the shin. Dean winces and tosses Sam a glare.
Dawn smiles at Sam, mouths, "Thanks."
"So," Dean says loudly, turning his gaze back to Buffy. He leans against the outer edge of the trunk. "You know how to use any of these?"
She shrugs, bites her lip pensively. "I shot someone while I was possessed by a ghost. Oh, and I fired a flame thrower once! Does that count?"
"A flame-" Dean's eyes widen like a child who was just told Christmas came early this year, and Dawn groans, foreseeing hours of exchanged stories ahead. "Tell me you still have it in your possession."
Buffy grins, leaning forward, hands braced close to Dean's, almost touching, and Dawn snaps, "Guys! Girl interrupted? St. Barnabas church? Any of this ringing any bells?"
Dean at least has the grace to look slightly apologetic, but Buffy is completely without remorse, even has the audacity to shrug her shoulders, smile slowly, and softly tell Dean, "Choose one. Surprise me." Dawn closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and tells herself that killing her sister would not be a good idea, especially considering she's still clearly convinced Dawn is dating Sam.
Sam squeezes Dawn's shoulder, elbowing Dean as he reaches into the trunk. He loads two of the guns, putting one in his jacket pocket. The minute Sam hands Dawn the Glock and she checks the safety, sticks the gun in her jeans, the expression on Buffy's face shifts from obnoxiously flirtatious back to stubbornly vigilant.
"Maybe we should have left her back at the house," Dean mutters and Dawn sighs - this is going to be a complete disaster.
--
She isn't wrong - Buffy and Dean argue over who should take the lead, Dean protesting that he has the gun, damn it, how much damage can she do with that dingy knife?
Dawn chokes back a laugh at Buffy's reaction, almost wishes for a demon to appear so Buffy could give him a demonstration. Never challenge the slayer unless you're prepared to lose, even Dawn knows better than that, rolls her eyes at Sam who shrugs, lets them continue to have at it.
Dawn sees the shadow of movement behind the large statue of an angel in the corner - and isn't that ironic? - waves her hand and shushes Dean and Buffy, still bickering. She approaches the statue cautiously, doesn't want Anna to spook and run.
"Anna?" Dawn crouches down, finds the figure huddled behind the statue, slowly tucks her gun in her waistband at the small of her back. "It's okay. We're not going to hurt you. My name is Dawn." She points behind her, "This is Sam, Dean, and my sister, Buffy."
Anna perks up immediately at Sam and Dean's names, easing herself out from behind the statue, eyes wide with admiration. "The Sam and Dean? Winchester?" Dawn steps back, exchanges a glance with Sam.
"Wow, you two are popular, aren't you?" Buffy mutters, crossing her arms over her chest, sheathing her knife at her hip.
"The angels talk about you all the time. The first words I heard in my head, clear as a bell - Dean Winchester is saved." Dean shifts uncomfortably as Anna cocks her head to the side, stares at Dawn for a short moment, then cuts her eyes to Buffy. "They talk about you, too, Buffy. They say you aren't supposed to be here."
Buffy stiffens, fingers instinctively tightening around the knife at her hip. She stares at Anna, opens her mouth but no sound comes out.
"I told you we should have left her back at the house," Dean mutters, mock-whispering behind his hand, and Sam rolls his eyes heavenward.
Anna shakes her head. "That isn't what they mean," she says, and Dean turns his head, almost in slow-motion, looking at Buffy as understanding dawns on him instantly.
Dawn bites back the argument fighting to the foreground of her mind - why should Dean be dragged out of hell by angel, but Buffy be left to suffer there for all eternity, hundreds of years passing below in days on earth? She swallows the question down, shakes herself. "Wait, so - you speak to angels?"
Anna shakes her head, laughs a little. "No, I just sort of - overhear them. They probably don't even know I exist."
"Oh, they know you exist all right - probably want you just as badly as the demons." Dean raises his eyebrows at Sam, waving his hand when his brother doesn't continue.
"Think about it - Anna's been tapping into their phone lines for months. If the demons get their hands on her first-"
"They know everything the angels have planned," Dean finishes, and Dawn smirks, wonders if they realize how often they actually do that, finish each other's sentences.
"You know, you two suck at the reassuring thing." Buffy smiles, approaching the now shaking girl slowly, making sure both hands are in plain sight, tries to make herself as unassuming as possible. Dawn recognizes the body language immediately - don't worry, no big bad slayer here. "Don't worry, Anna. We won't let anything happen to you."
Dean's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "We?"
Buffy glares at him over her shoulder. "Yes, we." She moves to put her arm around Anna's shoulder, but she ducks out of the way, flinches a little at the almost-contact. Buffy smiles in understanding. "It's okay. I know somewhere you'll be safe."
Dawn groans immediately - she doesn't like the sound of that.
--
Buffy guides a wide-eyed Anna into the house, her hand hovering near the small of her back. Anna shies away from every attempt at body contact; Dawn can only imagine what the girl has been through the past few days to make her so twitchy.
Buffy speaks to the other girl soothingly, tries not to spook her any further. "You'll be safe here. I promise."
"Thanks," Anna says, voice practically a whisper, but she at least attempts to crack a smile.
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Dean mutters, and Buffy tosses him a glare over her shoulder.
"She's going to kick your ass," Sam says gleefully, not bothering to hide his amusement, "And I'm just going to sit back and watch."
Dean scoffs, "Please, she's what, a hundred pounds soaking wet?"
"And also the slayer."
"Details."
Suddenly, Anna stops walking and immediately steps behind Buffy, peeking over her shoulder warily. Dean clears his throat to cover his laughter, but in this case, Dawn doesn't blame him - he isn't the first person to point out her sister's size and Dawn is always particularly amused when people try to hide behind the mighty, terrifying, and also tiny slayer.
These are thoughts she would never voice aloud, however. Not if she doesn't want her nose broken. Her sister may love her, but even she has limits.
"Anna, what's the matter?" Dawn asks quietly, elbowing a still snickering Dean in the stomach.
"Hey, who are the Girl Scouts?"
The strange girls sitting on the Summers' couch look up at the sound of Sam's voice, and Buffy trips over her own two feet, catching her hand on the wall, stunned silent. Dawn doesn't blame her - there are only so many surprise visitors a person can take in a twenty-four hour period, and this takes the cake.
"Oh, salty goodness," one of the girls, a redhead says, and Dean arches an eyebrow.
"I'll say," another, a girl with wavy brown hair, chirps from the arm of the couch, winking at Sam.
"I'm not impressed," says a long haired brunette who stares down at her nails, appearing bored.
Giles ignores all three of them, eying first Buffy then Dawn with a wide-eyed stare. He stands from his spot on the couch, covering up his shock with a smile. "Hello, Buffy."
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Sam/Dawn, Dean/Dawn, Dean/Dawn/Sam (allusions to future Sam/Dean)
Word Count: 5,802
Summary: Dawn knows she couldn't run forever, yet a small, traitorous part of her misses things before when she somehow slotted herself neatly into Sam and Dean's lives, before she knew her sister was alive, and Buffy was still just a memory.
A/N: Takes place post S5 of Buffy and S3 of SPN. I fiddled a bit with Buffy and SPN canon - Dawn is nineteen and The Roadhouse never burned down. Any other canon deviations are explained within. This is the third fic in the "Ashes" verse, immediately following "Echoes." Thank you to dream_mancer for the beta. I am sorry for the delay between fics, but I had a huge block on this one and ended up completely re-working what I originally wrote, didn't touch the original or the re-write for weeks, then got hit out of the blue with a scene today and churned out the entire thing in one afternoon. Part 2 will be coming soon.
Buffy is alive - walking, breathing, talking, the results of careful planning and a powerful spell. Dawn doesn't know whether to throw her arms around Willow or shake her until her teeth rattle. She settles on a grateful smile, squeezes Sam and Dean's knees before either of them slip a word in edgewise. With the word witch hanging in the air, she feels their tension, an almost audible thrumming just below their skin.
Buffy zeroes in on the movement like a goddamn hawk. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't comment.
Dawn glances around her living room, amazed at how little and how much has changed in six months. The same pictures sit on the mantel, the same throw pillows lie against the couch. She pulls one into her lap, running her fingers lightly along the familiar patterns, lets the boys finish all of the pertinent explanations. She wants to spend the night losing herself in Sam and Dean's arms, settles on a hug and a kiss on the cheek at the foot of the guest bedroom, Buffy's eyes watchful and obnoxious from across the hall.
"I just want to thank you," she hears Buffy whisper as Dawn closes her bedroom door, "For taking care of my little sister."
Dawn flushes, somewhere between touched, deeply embarrassed and furiously angry. She isn't thirteen years old anymore, thank you very much, not a child by any standards. She damn well knows how to take care of herself.
"You're welcome, but Dawnie does a pretty decent job of taking care of herself," Dean says, mirroring her thoughts, and Dawn peeks her head out from behind the door, smiling at the familiar smirk that graces his lips.
She catches Buffy's arched eyebrow out of the corner of her eye, and only then does she realize Dean's slip. Dean winces slightly, corner of his eyes crinkling, lips pulling into the beginnings of a frown - something only a person well schooled in reading the Book of Winchesters would notice. Sam presses closer to his back, a reassurance.
Buffy stares at Dean, at his brother standing behind him, then blinks, glancing from one to the other. Dawn shifts uncomfortably - she knows that look. There's a shovel speech in Sam or Dean's near future.
Dawn stiffens as the reality of that thought comes crashing down on her and presses her back against the door as her heart hammers against her ribs - Sam or Dean.
Oh, God. She is so screwed.
--
Dawn is unsurprised when her door creaks open in the middle of the night, and she smiles, shifts to the edge of her bed so Sam can press up against her from behind. He rubs circles with the pad of his thumb against her arm and she turns, stares into eyes that exude understanding.
"It gets easier," he whispers, and Dawn blinks.
"How did you know what I was thinking?" she whispers, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Because you're thinking so loud, I could hear you across the hall." Dawn scowls, slapping his arm as he laughs. He sobers quickly, brushing her hair behind her ear. "And I've been there; you think Dean and I fell back into our normal routine in a day?"
She feigns shock. "You mean you didn't?" Sam shoves her lightly in the shoulder, and she giggles quietly, giving him a small smile. Dawn doesn't want to think about this anymore, closes her eyes as Sam slides his fingers through her hair, lets him lull her into a sense of calm.
The door squeaks again, followed by the soft padding of feet across the carpet. Dean sits in the tiny space between her and the edge of the bed, half across her legs, and she grunts as he pushes against her thighs. When she doesn't budge, he reaches around her to shove Sam in the chest, saying, "Move, bitch."
Sam mutters, "Jerk," but complies, rolling with his arms still around her so she lays at the center of the bed.
Dean lies back with a contented sigh, wrapping his arms around her waist. She feels a gentle tug at her hair before his hand settles against her hip, his other arm grazing Sam's back, and Dawn takes a deep breath, relaxing, because this - this is exactly what she needed.
"Buffy will kick your asses when she finds you in here," she murmurs, though there's no true heat behind her words. She throws her leg over Sam's hip to keep him in place, wraps her arms over Dean's around her waist.
"I think we can take her," Dean whispers, voice a low rumble against her ear, and she shivers as he presses his lips to her neck just below her ear, feels the heat of his mouth through her shirt as he kisses the place where he the wound still pulls tight at her shoulder.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night." The words are garbled, muffled, and she struggles to keep her heavy eyelids open.
Sam shushes her, kissing her softly. "Go to sleep, Dawn."
Dawn closes her eyes and lets the silence roll over her, sleeps in the only place she feels safe.
--
Dean wakes her on their way out the door the next morning, and she groans at the sight of him, standing dressed and grinning over her bed.
"What time is it?" She grumbles, attempting to glance at her alarm clock through eyes still blurry with sleep.
"Ass o'clock," Dean says smiling, and Dawn rubs at her eyes, sure she's still dreaming, because Dean Winchester could not possibly be this happy before his first cup of coffee.
"Then why the fuck are you so cheerful?" she gripes, pushing herself up on her elbows.
Dean arches an eyebrow, leering as he sits on the edge of the bed. "Your sister know you speak with that mouth?"
Dawn flips him off, and Dean chuckles, leaning down to kiss her. She fights to keep the scowl on her face, but her traitorous lips keep lifting without her consent. Oh - he tastes like coffee - and that explains everything - and something else beneath that, something familiar she tries not to think about too deeply, at least not at the moment. She pulls away with a sigh. "I wish I could go with you. This is seriously not fair."
"What are you, twelve?"
"Bite me." Dean snaps his jaws playfully and she glares. She is not nearly awake enough for this shit. "Seriously, why do you get to go out and question Anna's doctors while I have to stay here and play diversion bitch?"
"Seriously," he mocks, and he easily sidesteps her swipe at his thigh, "Because you'll be a better diversion bitch than either of us since you actually know Buffy." He snickers, "Buffy. I still can't get over that. What kind of hippies were your parents anyway?"
Dawn crosses her arms petulantly. "Kiss my ass," she grumbles.
"Dude, you need to stop encouraging this," Sam says, glancing over his shoulder as he steps into the room, shutting her door with an almost inaudible snick.
"Why? Does her language offend your feminine sensibilities?"
Sam glowers, cuffing Dean in the back of the head as he passes by to sit on the other side of the bed. Dean reaches across her legs to slap him right back. Dawn rolls her eyes.
"Boys," she mutters, and Dean waggles his eyebrows at her.
"Aw, come on, Dawnie, you know you love us."
Her stomach flutters at the word. She hasn't said them aloud, those three tiny words that mean so little and yet so much at the same time, but in her head, she knows they're true. She clears her throat, sitting up straighter in bed, and smirks. "I must - it's the only reason anyone would put up with you two."
--
Xander already sits at the counter with a bowl of cereal when Dawn finally comes down for breakfast. Both of his eyebrows arch high as she grins a cheerful, "Morning."
A smirk slides across his face, and he sighs. "Damnit," he mutters.
Dawn frowns, "What?"
"Hah!"
The sudden exclamation makes Dawn jump so hard, she slips across the linoleum. She makes a last minute save, grabbing the edge of the counter, then turns to stare at her sister, who grins at her smugly.
"I knew she was dating Sam. Twenty bucks, please." She holds out her hand, and Xander grumbles, shoving his hand into the pocket of his pants and pulling out his wallet.
Dawn's heart beats a thumping rhythm in her chest she's positive the rest of the kitchen can hear. "What?" she's barely able to gasp.
Buffy gestures to her attire. "That shirt. Sam was wearing it last night." The smirk on her sister's face grows wicked. "Come on, you really thought I wouldn't notice? Speaking of, where is your boy this morning?" She peers around Dawn, like she expects him to appear out of thin air, and Dawn is abruptly reminded of Jess in the church. She forces the image back.
Honestly, Dawn didn't even think, just went about her usual morning routine, yanked a random shirt from the duffel nearest to the guest bedroom door after her shower. Sam was used to her randomly appearing in his clothes by now. Fifty-fifty chance and the shirt could have been Dean's.
She shrugs, turning to the cabinet above the sink, attempting to act nonchalant. "He and Dean have a friend who lives nearby who needed some help with a case. They wanted to get on the road early. And you're not usually all that observant in the mornings, Buffy," she shoots back quickly, hoping to divert the conversation. She ducks before the towel her sister throws across the room nails her in the head.
Dawn opens the cabinet door, reaching up for a mug and Buffy snatches at her wrist, the smile gone from her face, replaced with an expression Dawn has seen there many times - one of a rising fury that belies the calmness seeping into her tone when she says, "What is that?"
Dawn follows Buffy's gaze to her shoulder - more specifically, to the still healing wound sticking out from under the too-large collar of Sam's shirt, and Dawn bites back a groan at her stupidity. Well, they wanted a distraction. She snatches her wrist back from her sister, grabbing the mug from the cabinet. "It's nothing," she mutters, reaching to pour herself a cup of coffee.
Buffy pushes her hand away, pulling the collar down to reveal the angry red line running from collar bone to upper arm, and Dawn glares, shoving away from her sister.
"That doesn't look like nothing," Xander says, stepping in over Buffy's shoulder with a frown. "That looks like a very large something, Dawnie."
"Don't call me, Dawnie," Dawn bites out before she can help herself. When Buffy stares at her with wide eyes, Dawn closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Sorry, I just..." She exhales and opens her eyes, grabbing her mug off of the counter. She pulls Sam's shirt closer around her neck, feeling more vulnerable than she has in months - since The Roadhouse. Since she fell into Ellen's arms and cried. "I'm a big girl, Buffy. I can take care of myself. You don't have to worry about me."
"Dawn, it's my job to worry about you," Buffy says gently, placing her hand on Dawn's arm, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.
"Yeah," Dawn whispers, "I know."
--
Buffy leaves with Xander for the Magic Box, leaving Dawn with an empty house and too many thoughts in her head. She wanders aimlessly from room to room before finally throwing herself down on her bed, staring at the ceiling, the silence jarring.
Dawn knows she couldn't run forever, and the sight of Willow's face when she opened the door - the remembered feel of Xander and Tara and even Anya's arms around her when they realized she was here, safe - the completely unexpected sight of her sister standing in the doorway, back from the dead, from hell, makes her breathe easy, glad to be home.
Yet a small, traitorous part of her, deep down, almost out of reach, misses things before - before she came home, when - beyond all odds - she somehow slotted herself neatly into Sam and Dean's lives. Before she knew her sister was alive, and Buffy was still just a memory. Her stomach clenches tightly, the guilt gnawing at her insides.
When she hears a familiar rumble just outside her bedroom window, Dawn vaults off of her bed, glad to finally have an excuse to stop thinking so hard.
Sam passes her on his way into the house, a strained smile pulling at his lips as he ruffles her hair, says, "I'm heading upstairs. Tell Dean to come inside when he's done being an ass." Her eyebrows knit together as her eyes follow his retreating figure up the stairs then walks towards the still-open front door.
The sight that greets her pulls her up short.
Buffy leans back against the door of the Impala with her arms behind her, arching her back so that her chest pushes out just so, crosses her ankles, flicks her hair. Dean laughs, low rumble in his chest, tosses his suit jacket over his shoulder as he cocks his hip against the side of the Impala, and Dawn feels jealousy flare up in her chest as she watches them speak.
Dawn watches Dean flirt with women all the time in bars, sees how they respond to his sly smile, pretty face, and easy-going manner, can't help but grin at the envy in their eyes when he wraps his arm around her waist, kisses her long and deep before they leave the bar, laughs at their wide eyes when Sam slings his arms around her hips from the other side. This is routine to them, something she's used to.
Somehow, watching Dean flirt mercilessly with her sister - watching Buffy flirt back like she has a snowball's chance in hell makes something in her chest tighten, and she swallows, hands clenching into fists, eyes narrowing when Buffy tosses her head back and laughs breathily.
Dean chuckles, turns his head and catches her eye, and his smile falls marginally. Dawn forces her fingers to relax, pastes a false smile on her face as she approaches them.
Buffy straightens up, stops fluttering her eyelashes, and gives her sister a genuine grin. "Hey, Dawnie. Everything okay?"
"Peachy," Dawn answers quickly, darting her eyes to Dean for a moment before looking at her sister again.
Dean's lips turn up into a slow grin; Dawn knows that expression, mischievous with a hint of naughty, and fears the words about to slip out of his mouth. "Your sister was just telling me about an interesting bet she has going on."
Dawn bites back a groan. Damn Buffy and her goddamn meddling friends. "Oh, really?" She plays the laid-back card, crossing her arms and leaning her shoulder against the Impala next to her sister, when in all honesty, she has no idea how to back herself out of this one.
"Really," Dean drawls, mimicking her stance. Buffy's eyes flit from one of them to the other between them, neither one moving beyond a twitch of lips or eyebrow.
Buffy snaps her fingers and Dawn blinks. "You lose," Buffy says, pushing away from the car. Dawn huffs as Buffy grins and heads up the porch stairs and Dean laughs, relaxing his stance.
"Your sister is something else," Dean says, pointedly eyeing Buffy's ass as she walks up the stairs, Dawn knows, for the singular purpose of getting a rise out of her.
"Yeah, she's a regular barrel full of monkeys."
Dean pulls Dawn back by her wrist as she moves to walk away, wraps his arms around her waist. "Jealous?" He asks, nudging her neck.
"No," Dawn shoots back automatically, but when Dean raises an eyebrow she turns in the circle of his arms, winds her arms around his neck, and pushes him back against the Impala by his chest; he chuckles. "Maybe a little."
"She wanted to know why I was wearing a suit. I had to find some way to distract her," he argues, fingers pushing up the hem of her shirt.
She slaps away his wandering hand. "You lie for a living - like you breathe. All you could come up with on the fly was flirting?"
"She thinks you're dating Sam," Dean says, and the lilt in his voice makes her wonder if this bothers him somehow.
Dawn shrugs, biting her lip. "She assumed. I didn't agree or disagree."
"Well, you know what they say about assumptions," Dean grumbles and she rolls her eyes, shoving away from him and heading into the house. She doesn't look back, but hears the clack of Dean's shoes across the pavement, knows he follows.
--
"So, what'd you find out?"
Sam sighs, loosens his tie and rolls up his sleeves. Dawn fights back the almost irrepressible urge to stare, because Jesus Christ, the man looks good in a rumpled suit.
Dean grins and wiggles his eyebrows, knows exactly what she's thinking. Dawn blushes - Dean knows all the ways to push her buttons, damn him - tosses a pen at him, which he catches, of course. Bastard.
"Jackass," she grumbles, and he chuckles, the tension previously between them finally broken.
Sam raises his eyebrows at the exchange, blissfully oblivious. "Did I miss something?"
"Oh, nothing. Dawn was just ogling your sexy body, that's all." Sam's eyes widen, then his lips quirk into a smirk, and Dawn glares at both of them.
"Have I mentioned lately that I hate you?" Dawn gripes, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Dawnie," Dean draws out the word, leans down and murmurs so his lips brush against her ear, "You know that's not true."
If Dawn wasn't already sitting down, there would definitely be a need, as she's sure her legs would no longer be able to hold her up. Sam and Dean are well aware of their effect on her, and use that to their advantage - constantly. She'd be annoyed if she didn't know the ability to work her into a frenzy with a few words and a simple touch worked both ways.
She half-heartedly shoves Dean away with her palms against his chest, and he chuckles, moving to sit back on the opposite side of her bed, yanking his own tie from his neck. "Less distraction, more information," she orders. Dean rolls his eyes, but Dawn ignores him, turns to Sam. "Seriously, Sam, what did you guys find out at the hospital?"
"That Anna isn't crazy so much as psychic." Sam pulls a folder from the inner pocket of his jacket.
"You lifted her file?" Dawn asks, raising an eyebrow. Sam shrugs unrepentantly.
Dean tries for fake admonishment and fails; he rips the records out of Sam's hands, staring at his brother with admiration. "I always knew you were a klepto - ever since you stole my favorite Metallica shirt."
Sam scratches at his hair, embarrassed by even this backwards compliment from his brother. "Dude, I was six, it was your only Metallica shirt, and I didn't steal it! I hid it. And you stole my crayons first."
"Yeah, and you cried for like a week until I gave them back."
Dawn clears her throat, raises her eyebrows, and she fights back laughter at the sheepish expressions on their faces. Usually, she doesn't stop them when they get into these small, brotherly spats, lets them go until they wear themselves out, or until they come to their inevitable conclusion, with one or the other getting smacked. They're insights into their family life she knows she wouldn't get otherwise, can't - and doesn't - ask about, lets unfold before her eyes as the fond memories they rightfully are.
Today, however, they have bigger fish to fry. Dawn yanks the file out of a protesting Dean's hands. "I hate to break up old home week, but maybe we should get back to the issue of the crazy, escaped psychic?" She flips through the pages, eyes roaming over the doctor's diagnoses - schizophrenia, delusions - the hand-drawn pictures. Her brow furrows. "Are these seals?" she asks, still staring down at the pages.
"Correct, my dear Watson," Dean says, and Dawn shoots him a glare, continues skimming the pages. "Apparently, the night Anna went missing, the orderly went on his usual rounds. When he didn't show up for for his next shift, one of his co-workers went looking for him and found him in Anna's room. Throat slashed clean through, glass of the window was broken, and the room reeked of sulfur."
"Lovely," she mutters, flipping the page, "According to this, Anna has no previous history of violence, but was convinced that demons were everywhere and that Lucifer was going to rise up and take over the world."
"I still say she's nuts," Dean mutters, then sighs, shaking his head. He rubs his hand against the back of his neck. "So, what do we do next, kids?"
"You can start by telling me what you're really doing here." Dawn's hands go limp, the papers in Anna's file fluttering to the floor. She raises her head slowly, heart beating furiously in her chest.
Buffy stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, looking for all the world like the strong, stubborn slayer Dawn remembers. Seeing her furious face, this time, Dawn almost wishes for the ghost.
Buffy paces into the room, arms still crossed over her chest. She doesn't relax her stance; the longer the silence continues, the more her shoulders tense, muscles growing rigid despite her attempt to remain calm and collected. Sam and Dean look at each other, then warily at Dawn, for some clue as to how to approach the situation. "Go on. Don't stop talking on my account. From what I could hear, things were really getting interesting. Demons, angels - sounds like a bitchin' apocalypse."
"Shut up, Buffy," Dawn snaps, and her sister whirls, too stunned to respond. "You don't know what you're talking about, you have no idea what's really going on here, so back. Off."
Buffy stares at Dawn with wide eyes, and Dawn realizes that this is the first time she's truly stood up to her sister; argued with her, yes. Whined and stamped her feet and bickered until she got her way - more times than she could count. Stood her ground and flat-out told the all-powerful Buffy that she was wrong? Never. Not once.
Dawn picks one of the pages off of the floor, displays it across her chest for a just as surprised Sam and Dean to see. "This is St. Barnabas Church, right here in Sunnydale. If I were a minister's daughter and needed somewhere to hide, where would I go?"
Dean takes a moment to collect his jaw off of the floor. "Somewhere familiar. Somewhere I felt safe." He exchanges a glance with Sam, who nods his agreement.
Sam throws Dean the keys to the Impala, and Dean shakes his head. "Oh, hell no, there is no way I am facing demons in this monkey suit." Sam rolls his eyes as Dean turns to Dawn and says, "Be ready in five."
Buffy chooses that moment to come out of her stunned stupor. "I'm coming with you," she says, and Dawn stiffens as she speed-walks down the hall to her room, no doubt to grab her jacket and her own set of weapons.
Dean laughs uncomfortably while Sam stiffens, tossing Dawn a wary glance over his shoulder from the guest bedroom doorway. "I don't think that would-" he starts, just as Buffy reappears in the hall.
Buffy glares, stalks towards them like a cat on the prowl. "If you think I'm letting you drag my sister into some heaven versus hell pissing contest -"
"Your sister," Dawn growls, turning on her heel, forcing Buffy to stop short or collide with her headfirst, "Has done just fine on her own."
A thick and heavy silence follows, neither she nor Buffy willing to back down. Dawn remembers her sister being protective and stubborn, but she isn't the same girl she was when Buffy died. She feels stifled, needs breathing room.
Dean sighs, darts his eyes at Buffy, then cringes, as if he knows what he says isn't going to make Dawn happy. "If you don't know how to fire a gun, I sure as hell hope you're a faster learner than your sister."
Buffy arches an eyebrow, but wisely doesn't comment, simply treks down the stairs and out to the Impala.
"She isn't coming, Dean," Dawn hisses, shoving him backwards into the guest room, and he exchanges a telling glance with Sam - one that says she isn't going to win this argument no matter how hard she fights. Sam skitters past behind her back after he finishes pulling on his boots, and she clenches her jaw against the scream of frustration clawing at the back of her throat. You're the younger sibling, she wants to shout, you're supposed to be on my side.
"Apparently, she is," Dean mutters, though Dawn hears every word he doesn't say - she just wants to protect you - and knows he agrees.
--
The ride to the church takes twenty minutes that feels like hours. Buffy sits in the back with Dawn, asking as many questions as she damn well pleases about Anna, the seals, and the real reason they returned to Sunnydale. Dawn remains stubbornly silent, letting Sam and Dean do most of the talking, choosing instead to watch the passing scenery, familiar, unchanging.
"By the way, Dawn," Buffy says, the sound of her name jolting her out of her stupor, and she turns her head warily. Surprisingly, Buffy's smile is warm, calm. "Thanks for taking care of my car," she says quietly.
Dawn drops her gaze to her lap, whispers, "No problem."
Dean pulls the Impala into the empty church parking lot, gets out and immediately pops the trunk. He waves Buffy over, letting her get a good look inside.
"Oh, shiny," Buffy murmurs appreciatively, seeing the arsenal under the false bottom for the first time.
Dean chuckles, shakes his head, "My kind of woman." Dawn's shoulders stiffen, but she breathes, fights back the jealousy raging in the pit of her stomach. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sam kick Dean in the shin. Dean winces and tosses Sam a glare.
Dawn smiles at Sam, mouths, "Thanks."
"So," Dean says loudly, turning his gaze back to Buffy. He leans against the outer edge of the trunk. "You know how to use any of these?"
She shrugs, bites her lip pensively. "I shot someone while I was possessed by a ghost. Oh, and I fired a flame thrower once! Does that count?"
"A flame-" Dean's eyes widen like a child who was just told Christmas came early this year, and Dawn groans, foreseeing hours of exchanged stories ahead. "Tell me you still have it in your possession."
Buffy grins, leaning forward, hands braced close to Dean's, almost touching, and Dawn snaps, "Guys! Girl interrupted? St. Barnabas church? Any of this ringing any bells?"
Dean at least has the grace to look slightly apologetic, but Buffy is completely without remorse, even has the audacity to shrug her shoulders, smile slowly, and softly tell Dean, "Choose one. Surprise me." Dawn closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and tells herself that killing her sister would not be a good idea, especially considering she's still clearly convinced Dawn is dating Sam.
Sam squeezes Dawn's shoulder, elbowing Dean as he reaches into the trunk. He loads two of the guns, putting one in his jacket pocket. The minute Sam hands Dawn the Glock and she checks the safety, sticks the gun in her jeans, the expression on Buffy's face shifts from obnoxiously flirtatious back to stubbornly vigilant.
"Maybe we should have left her back at the house," Dean mutters and Dawn sighs - this is going to be a complete disaster.
--
She isn't wrong - Buffy and Dean argue over who should take the lead, Dean protesting that he has the gun, damn it, how much damage can she do with that dingy knife?
Dawn chokes back a laugh at Buffy's reaction, almost wishes for a demon to appear so Buffy could give him a demonstration. Never challenge the slayer unless you're prepared to lose, even Dawn knows better than that, rolls her eyes at Sam who shrugs, lets them continue to have at it.
Dawn sees the shadow of movement behind the large statue of an angel in the corner - and isn't that ironic? - waves her hand and shushes Dean and Buffy, still bickering. She approaches the statue cautiously, doesn't want Anna to spook and run.
"Anna?" Dawn crouches down, finds the figure huddled behind the statue, slowly tucks her gun in her waistband at the small of her back. "It's okay. We're not going to hurt you. My name is Dawn." She points behind her, "This is Sam, Dean, and my sister, Buffy."
Anna perks up immediately at Sam and Dean's names, easing herself out from behind the statue, eyes wide with admiration. "The Sam and Dean? Winchester?" Dawn steps back, exchanges a glance with Sam.
"Wow, you two are popular, aren't you?" Buffy mutters, crossing her arms over her chest, sheathing her knife at her hip.
"The angels talk about you all the time. The first words I heard in my head, clear as a bell - Dean Winchester is saved." Dean shifts uncomfortably as Anna cocks her head to the side, stares at Dawn for a short moment, then cuts her eyes to Buffy. "They talk about you, too, Buffy. They say you aren't supposed to be here."
Buffy stiffens, fingers instinctively tightening around the knife at her hip. She stares at Anna, opens her mouth but no sound comes out.
"I told you we should have left her back at the house," Dean mutters, mock-whispering behind his hand, and Sam rolls his eyes heavenward.
Anna shakes her head. "That isn't what they mean," she says, and Dean turns his head, almost in slow-motion, looking at Buffy as understanding dawns on him instantly.
Dawn bites back the argument fighting to the foreground of her mind - why should Dean be dragged out of hell by angel, but Buffy be left to suffer there for all eternity, hundreds of years passing below in days on earth? She swallows the question down, shakes herself. "Wait, so - you speak to angels?"
Anna shakes her head, laughs a little. "No, I just sort of - overhear them. They probably don't even know I exist."
"Oh, they know you exist all right - probably want you just as badly as the demons." Dean raises his eyebrows at Sam, waving his hand when his brother doesn't continue.
"Think about it - Anna's been tapping into their phone lines for months. If the demons get their hands on her first-"
"They know everything the angels have planned," Dean finishes, and Dawn smirks, wonders if they realize how often they actually do that, finish each other's sentences.
"You know, you two suck at the reassuring thing." Buffy smiles, approaching the now shaking girl slowly, making sure both hands are in plain sight, tries to make herself as unassuming as possible. Dawn recognizes the body language immediately - don't worry, no big bad slayer here. "Don't worry, Anna. We won't let anything happen to you."
Dean's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "We?"
Buffy glares at him over her shoulder. "Yes, we." She moves to put her arm around Anna's shoulder, but she ducks out of the way, flinches a little at the almost-contact. Buffy smiles in understanding. "It's okay. I know somewhere you'll be safe."
Dawn groans immediately - she doesn't like the sound of that.
--
Buffy guides a wide-eyed Anna into the house, her hand hovering near the small of her back. Anna shies away from every attempt at body contact; Dawn can only imagine what the girl has been through the past few days to make her so twitchy.
Buffy speaks to the other girl soothingly, tries not to spook her any further. "You'll be safe here. I promise."
"Thanks," Anna says, voice practically a whisper, but she at least attempts to crack a smile.
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Dean mutters, and Buffy tosses him a glare over her shoulder.
"She's going to kick your ass," Sam says gleefully, not bothering to hide his amusement, "And I'm just going to sit back and watch."
Dean scoffs, "Please, she's what, a hundred pounds soaking wet?"
"And also the slayer."
"Details."
Suddenly, Anna stops walking and immediately steps behind Buffy, peeking over her shoulder warily. Dean clears his throat to cover his laughter, but in this case, Dawn doesn't blame him - he isn't the first person to point out her sister's size and Dawn is always particularly amused when people try to hide behind the mighty, terrifying, and also tiny slayer.
These are thoughts she would never voice aloud, however. Not if she doesn't want her nose broken. Her sister may love her, but even she has limits.
"Anna, what's the matter?" Dawn asks quietly, elbowing a still snickering Dean in the stomach.
"Hey, who are the Girl Scouts?"
The strange girls sitting on the Summers' couch look up at the sound of Sam's voice, and Buffy trips over her own two feet, catching her hand on the wall, stunned silent. Dawn doesn't blame her - there are only so many surprise visitors a person can take in a twenty-four hour period, and this takes the cake.
"Oh, salty goodness," one of the girls, a redhead says, and Dean arches an eyebrow.
"I'll say," another, a girl with wavy brown hair, chirps from the arm of the couch, winking at Sam.
"I'm not impressed," says a long haired brunette who stares down at her nails, appearing bored.
Giles ignores all three of them, eying first Buffy then Dawn with a wide-eyed stare. He stands from his spot on the couch, covering up his shock with a smile. "Hello, Buffy."