Fic'ing to Christmas - Day Thirteen - FIC: Adaptation
Title: Adaptation
Prompter: dana_chosenart
Prompt: Based of Dana's Header/Icon, (meaning, check out that hair and it looks like they took a few hits to the face)
You can see the picture/inspiration here
Rating: FR13
Betas: kaylashay81 and a special thank you to avamclean for beating this ficlet into submission.
Fandoms: Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Supernatural
Disclaimer: The characters of BtVS belong to Fox, the WB/UPN, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc, & Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke, the CW, etc., The ideas and concepts in this story are mine entirely. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.
All fics by authors participating in this year's Wishlist challenge, can be found here: wishlist_fic
My Masterlist is here: Fic'ing to Christmas
Dean held out the damp towel wrapped around the few pieces of ice he'd gotten from the machine. The girl, Buffy, ignored the towel and continued to stare straight ahead. He cut a glance over at his father for guidance, but he was ignoring him, completely focused on the conversation with Pastor Jim. A few words filtered across the room as his father assured Pastor Jim that the shifter had been killed. His father's gaze lifted for a brief moment to cut a glance across the room at Buffy. Dean watched the words parents were both killed form on his father's lips before he ducked his head to finish telling him the rest of the story.
Dean didn’t need to close his eyes to see the bloody, destroyed remains of Hank and Joyce Summers. He wondered whether Buffy would ever be the same, after watching the shifter wearing her face, slaughter her parents. His stomach tightened at the thought and he swallowed hard around the rising lump of disgust. He really doubted it. He hoped she would be able to find some kind of solace staying with Pastor Jim.
Dean’s gaze drifted over to where Sam was working on his schoolwork, angry hard strokes of his pencil in his notebooks, defiant of the fact they were leaving tomorrow morning. Sam hadn’t wanted to go on the hunt, but it hadn’t stopped him from burying a silver blade in the shifter’s chest, staying with it until the light went out behind its fake green eyes.
He looked back down at Buffy, at the gash on her cheek, knowing it had to sting worse than his busted lip. He was still pissed he'd taken that cheap shot to the face, too distracted by saving the girl. Letting out a small sigh, he sat down on the bed next to her. Keeping his movements slow and deliberate he pressed the towel against her face.
She flinched, the first movement she'd made on her own since the attack. He kept the towel pressed up against her cheek, held it until her own hand came up, bumping against his. He let her take over and his hand fell back, useless in his lap.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Dean listening to his father's conversation and the plans being arranged for a place for her to stay, a fresh start. Finally, when the ice had begun to melt and drip down her face, she lowered the towel and turn to look at him.
"I don't want to be blonde anymore," she whispered.
He opened his mouth to tell her that she wasn't a true blonde, or that it probably wouldn't stop things from attacking her in the future, but instead he closed it and gave her a short nod. There wasn’t any need to tell her that there were plenty of things out there, like the shifter, that would hunt her. And it disgusted him that something from the darkness had destroyed yet another family.
~*~
“Keep your eyes closed,” she said, voice soft and barely above a whisper in his ear.
Dean tightened his eyes and stretched his neck out, putting his head further under the tub’s faucet. Warm water hit the back of his head and he flinched slightly, struggling to keep his eyes shut and just trust Buffy with this task.
Her hands were gentle but firm as they slid through his close-cropped hair, fingernails digging into his scalp as she scrubbed to wash away the hair dye. His father was going to kill him. The thought made his stomach tighten slightly with fear and he swallowed, made difficult by the almost upside angle.
“All done,” she announced, turning off the water and sliding the towel off the rack next to them.
He held out his hand for the towel, fingers wrapping around the rough fabric once she handed it over. He swiped it quickly across his face, wiping away the water around his eyes, before draping it over his head and giving his hair a few quick swipes. He rose to his feet, felt Buffy back out of his way, as he took the few short steps to place himself in front of the mirror. He raised his head and met his own reflection in the dingy bathroom mirror.
He looked paler than normal, his freckles standing out on his nose, in contrast with his dark, midnight blue hair. He turned his head from side to side, taking in the changes in color as the bathroom light hit it. A small smile pulled up one corner of his mouth and his eyes drifted to the side, seeking out Buffy’s eyes just over his shoulder.
Her bright, electric pink hair was still a shock to him, but she had a small satisfied smile on her face.
“How’s it look?” he asked, holding her eyes through the mirror.
“I like it. It gives you an edge,” she answered, hand reaching out to rub against the hair at the back of his neck.
A shudder rolled down his spine at her touch causing her hand to fall away as she broke his gaze, looking down as a blush rose on her cheeks. Yeah, he was in trouble, from something far more dangerous than a lecture from his father.
Prompter: dana_chosenart
Prompt: Based of Dana's Header/Icon, (meaning, check out that hair and it looks like they took a few hits to the face)
You can see the picture/inspiration here
Rating: FR13
Betas: kaylashay81 and a special thank you to avamclean for beating this ficlet into submission.
Fandoms: Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Supernatural
Disclaimer: The characters of BtVS belong to Fox, the WB/UPN, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc, & Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke, the CW, etc., The ideas and concepts in this story are mine entirely. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.
All fics by authors participating in this year's Wishlist challenge, can be found here: wishlist_fic
My Masterlist is here: Fic'ing to Christmas
Dean held out the damp towel wrapped around the few pieces of ice he'd gotten from the machine. The girl, Buffy, ignored the towel and continued to stare straight ahead. He cut a glance over at his father for guidance, but he was ignoring him, completely focused on the conversation with Pastor Jim. A few words filtered across the room as his father assured Pastor Jim that the shifter had been killed. His father's gaze lifted for a brief moment to cut a glance across the room at Buffy. Dean watched the words parents were both killed form on his father's lips before he ducked his head to finish telling him the rest of the story.
Dean didn’t need to close his eyes to see the bloody, destroyed remains of Hank and Joyce Summers. He wondered whether Buffy would ever be the same, after watching the shifter wearing her face, slaughter her parents. His stomach tightened at the thought and he swallowed hard around the rising lump of disgust. He really doubted it. He hoped she would be able to find some kind of solace staying with Pastor Jim.
Dean’s gaze drifted over to where Sam was working on his schoolwork, angry hard strokes of his pencil in his notebooks, defiant of the fact they were leaving tomorrow morning. Sam hadn’t wanted to go on the hunt, but it hadn’t stopped him from burying a silver blade in the shifter’s chest, staying with it until the light went out behind its fake green eyes.
He looked back down at Buffy, at the gash on her cheek, knowing it had to sting worse than his busted lip. He was still pissed he'd taken that cheap shot to the face, too distracted by saving the girl. Letting out a small sigh, he sat down on the bed next to her. Keeping his movements slow and deliberate he pressed the towel against her face.
She flinched, the first movement she'd made on her own since the attack. He kept the towel pressed up against her cheek, held it until her own hand came up, bumping against his. He let her take over and his hand fell back, useless in his lap.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Dean listening to his father's conversation and the plans being arranged for a place for her to stay, a fresh start. Finally, when the ice had begun to melt and drip down her face, she lowered the towel and turn to look at him.
"I don't want to be blonde anymore," she whispered.
He opened his mouth to tell her that she wasn't a true blonde, or that it probably wouldn't stop things from attacking her in the future, but instead he closed it and gave her a short nod. There wasn’t any need to tell her that there were plenty of things out there, like the shifter, that would hunt her. And it disgusted him that something from the darkness had destroyed yet another family.
~*~
“Keep your eyes closed,” she said, voice soft and barely above a whisper in his ear.
Dean tightened his eyes and stretched his neck out, putting his head further under the tub’s faucet. Warm water hit the back of his head and he flinched slightly, struggling to keep his eyes shut and just trust Buffy with this task.
Her hands were gentle but firm as they slid through his close-cropped hair, fingernails digging into his scalp as she scrubbed to wash away the hair dye. His father was going to kill him. The thought made his stomach tighten slightly with fear and he swallowed, made difficult by the almost upside angle.
“All done,” she announced, turning off the water and sliding the towel off the rack next to them.
He held out his hand for the towel, fingers wrapping around the rough fabric once she handed it over. He swiped it quickly across his face, wiping away the water around his eyes, before draping it over his head and giving his hair a few quick swipes. He rose to his feet, felt Buffy back out of his way, as he took the few short steps to place himself in front of the mirror. He raised his head and met his own reflection in the dingy bathroom mirror.
He looked paler than normal, his freckles standing out on his nose, in contrast with his dark, midnight blue hair. He turned his head from side to side, taking in the changes in color as the bathroom light hit it. A small smile pulled up one corner of his mouth and his eyes drifted to the side, seeking out Buffy’s eyes just over his shoulder.
Her bright, electric pink hair was still a shock to him, but she had a small satisfied smile on her face.
“How’s it look?” he asked, holding her eyes through the mirror.
“I like it. It gives you an edge,” she answered, hand reaching out to rub against the hair at the back of his neck.
A shudder rolled down his spine at her touch causing her hand to fall away as she broke his gaze, looking down as a blush rose on her cheeks. Yeah, he was in trouble, from something far more dangerous than a lecture from his father.