(no subject)
"You mean you didn't see who it was?" The moment the words were out of Buffy's mouth, she rolled her eyes. Sam had disappeared late last night to grab some clothes from the motel room he was sharing, technically, with his brother.
He'd re-entered Buffy's room right as she was starting up the movie they'd rented, looking pale and kind of like he was gonna throw up. It had taken Buffy all of three seconds to realize that Dean had hooked up and that Sam had seen the worst. The very worst.
"There's not enough brain-bleach in the world," she'd told him with a grave shake of her head, shrugging out of her jacket and settling back against the cushions she'd placed against the head of their bed.
Sam sat beside her, still looking kinda pale, and Buffy patted his arm, thinking that dying must be a damn cake-walk after witnessing that.
------
She woke early next morning having missed half the movie due to kissage ala Sam and, eventually, sleep. It seemed like craterizing her town was catching up with her 'cause lately, all she wanted to do was snooze. She glanced over at him, watching how peaceful he looked as he slept and her heart twisted.
They'd talked again last night, talked over Will Ferrell, and Sam had admitted that even though she was there he still felt as if something was missing. Something wrong. And Buffy - even though she'd both been there and come out the other side - hadn't had a lot to reply with because what could you say to that? What platitude could you possibly give that said, 'yeah, hey, sorry you were in Heaven and all...sucks to be you...'
She sighed at that, inched a little closer, and realized that her left arm was currently trapped under him and totally one-hundred and ten percent asleep. "Crap," she muttered under her breath, trying to edge herself out from underneath him when he stirred.
"Sorry," she told him sheepishly, when he glanced over at her, "dead arm."
------
Still wearing the same clothes he'd had on last night, Sam just escaped the funny look from the waitress at the diner as they ordered and when she'd headed off, Buffy looked at him, "You're not gonna call him?"
For Dean, it was still early. Whereas most of the rest of the civil world was up and about at 9am and going about their business? This was barely even morning for Dean, Buffy knew, who'd much prefer to sleep whatever day they had away, if they didn't have a case.
Sam made a face at that and Buffy had to bite down on her lip to stop herself from laughing. It really wasn't funny, she supposed, seeing your sibling indulging in--Well, that. If she ever saw Dawn she'd...
Scratch that. If she ever found out Dawn had she'd kill her. Very slowly. Buffy very much wasn't equipped for The Mom Talks. Or The Sex Talks. Or any of it.
She was tucking into her breakfast (while Sam just sat there kind of looking at his) when she felt someone's gaze on her back. Knowing that it was Dean by the look on Sam's face, Buffy scooted over in the booth, until his of disgust turned into one of shock and she turned.
"Anya?" Buffy's own mouth fell open, her fork dropping to her plate with a clatter that had heads turning in the diner.
"You have ketchup on your chin," Anya pointed out helpfully, before looking at Sam and smiling (who wouldn't smile after the night she'd had?). "Can we sit?"
Buffy blinked, horrified, between Sam and Dean and then back to Anya again. "Can you sit?" Buffy repeated - stress-heavy on the word 'can' cause...
Anya rolled her eyes, "I'm not all go-throughable, Buffy. I'm not The First, and I'm not here to kill you. Or do anything else otherwise unpleasant... Can we at least order before you start asking questions? I'm hungry."
"But you're--You died down in the Hellmouth... Does Xander know you're..." Realization dawned suddenly and Buffy's gaze shot to Dean's. "Oh God, you slept with her, didn't you?"
He'd re-entered Buffy's room right as she was starting up the movie they'd rented, looking pale and kind of like he was gonna throw up. It had taken Buffy all of three seconds to realize that Dean had hooked up and that Sam had seen the worst. The very worst.
"There's not enough brain-bleach in the world," she'd told him with a grave shake of her head, shrugging out of her jacket and settling back against the cushions she'd placed against the head of their bed.
Sam sat beside her, still looking kinda pale, and Buffy patted his arm, thinking that dying must be a damn cake-walk after witnessing that.
------
She woke early next morning having missed half the movie due to kissage ala Sam and, eventually, sleep. It seemed like craterizing her town was catching up with her 'cause lately, all she wanted to do was snooze. She glanced over at him, watching how peaceful he looked as he slept and her heart twisted.
They'd talked again last night, talked over Will Ferrell, and Sam had admitted that even though she was there he still felt as if something was missing. Something wrong. And Buffy - even though she'd both been there and come out the other side - hadn't had a lot to reply with because what could you say to that? What platitude could you possibly give that said, 'yeah, hey, sorry you were in Heaven and all...sucks to be you...'
She sighed at that, inched a little closer, and realized that her left arm was currently trapped under him and totally one-hundred and ten percent asleep. "Crap," she muttered under her breath, trying to edge herself out from underneath him when he stirred.
"Sorry," she told him sheepishly, when he glanced over at her, "dead arm."
------
Still wearing the same clothes he'd had on last night, Sam just escaped the funny look from the waitress at the diner as they ordered and when she'd headed off, Buffy looked at him, "You're not gonna call him?"
For Dean, it was still early. Whereas most of the rest of the civil world was up and about at 9am and going about their business? This was barely even morning for Dean, Buffy knew, who'd much prefer to sleep whatever day they had away, if they didn't have a case.
Sam made a face at that and Buffy had to bite down on her lip to stop herself from laughing. It really wasn't funny, she supposed, seeing your sibling indulging in--Well, that. If she ever saw Dawn she'd...
Scratch that. If she ever found out Dawn had she'd kill her. Very slowly. Buffy very much wasn't equipped for The Mom Talks. Or The Sex Talks. Or any of it.
She was tucking into her breakfast (while Sam just sat there kind of looking at his) when she felt someone's gaze on her back. Knowing that it was Dean by the look on Sam's face, Buffy scooted over in the booth, until his of disgust turned into one of shock and she turned.
"Anya?" Buffy's own mouth fell open, her fork dropping to her plate with a clatter that had heads turning in the diner.
"You have ketchup on your chin," Anya pointed out helpfully, before looking at Sam and smiling (who wouldn't smile after the night she'd had?). "Can we sit?"
Buffy blinked, horrified, between Sam and Dean and then back to Anya again. "Can you sit?" Buffy repeated - stress-heavy on the word 'can' cause...
Anya rolled her eyes, "I'm not all go-throughable, Buffy. I'm not The First, and I'm not here to kill you. Or do anything else otherwise unpleasant... Can we at least order before you start asking questions? I'm hungry."
"But you're--You died down in the Hellmouth... Does Xander know you're..." Realization dawned suddenly and Buffy's gaze shot to Dean's. "Oh God, you slept with her, didn't you?"