She'd been about ready to give up and book herself into the nearest room, leave a message with the leering guy on the desk for Bobby to call her when he came back when the door opened.
She'd expected Bobby. Maybe Dean. Maybe a vastly wrong version of either one because whatever Buffy felt it had to be a thousand times worse for them...
Sam was gone.
She'd been trying to wrap her head around that on the plane on the way over. Trying to gear herself up for a fight she wanted no part of now - she'd done her bit, she'd saved the World again...
And so many people had died. Not her, this time. But people she knew - people she loved. Spike, Anya, Sam... Frowning, Buffy knocked again. Once more and she was totally gone... When the door opened to reveal a half-naked Sam standing looking back at her.
He could only imagine what was going through her mind right now. He's sure Bobby or Dean called her after he died, and more than likely neither man had wanted to have the conversation with her about him being back.
So as far as she had known, he was supposed to be dead.
"I see you remembered the code," he teased gently.
He'd be lucky right now if she didn't try to stake him to make sure he was actuallyhim.
First rule of Slayage? Don't die. A rule Buffy had, to date, broke twice.
Second rule of Slayage? Don't leave the weapons in the backpack. You never knew when you might need one, like, now for instance.
"Code? What are you-- What?" No, this was wrong. It had to be. Because Bobby wouldn't just call her and tell her Sam was dead and just neglect to call her back when he'd been--What, brought back?
Willow had told her. No more spells, nothing. Once you were dead now, you stayed dead, she'd promised and--This was wrong and she knew, hell, she could write the book on it.
"Bobby called. He told me everything. So whatever it is you are in there, you can just--Leave. Now. 'Cause don't think I won't put you down just 'cause you're wearing my friends' face..."
Okay, she'd keep quiet the fact that her weapons were stuck in her backpack right now.
And there was the suspicion he expected to come his way. Didn't mean it stung any less.
"Buffy, I promise you it's me," he tried to reassure her as they basically had a standoff in the doorway of a shady motel. "The first time we met? You tried to put a stake through my chest. Your middle name is Anne, and you used that when you ran away from home in high school. Your favorite coffee drink is that nasty double mint frappachino."
He waited to see if that would be anough.
If not, he had more.
They'd spent two years as friends, maybe even on the verge to more, so he knew a lot about her and her life. Had memorized all the things that made her Buffy, made her special.
Evil things? Did not look that hurt when you tried to slap them down. Most of them got angry... Some ran in the opposite direction.
But none looked that hurt and none started telling you things that only they knew about you. Things that you'd only told them - about the time you'd ran away, about the name you'd used so nobody would find you...
Buffy blinked at him again, totally caught off guard now, and barrelled forward, dropping her backpack and yanking him into her arms for a fierce hug.
"It's you," she whispered against his chest. His very naked chest, which--Okay, she'd seen that before but--Awkward. And she very much didn't care.
"Oh God, it's really you..." And okay, she may have been squeezing the life out of him but she'd spent two days thinking he was dead and now he wasn't and that--Okay, what was that?
She pulled back a little to look up at him. "Dean... He did something, didn't he?"
He didn't know what to expect next, but the hug caught him completely off guard.
He stumbled on his feet a bit as Buffy hurled herself at him, clinging to him. He couldn't help but smile as she realized he was really him, and he brought his arms up around her.
When she pulled back a bit, arms still around him, he already knew the question before she asked. He could tell by the way her eyes searched his. He nodded. "Yeah, he did."
Sold his life for mine.
He reluctantly pulled away from her to retrieve her bag from the ground. He gently ushered her into the room with a hand at the small of her back, shutting and securely locking the door behind them.
"Guess they forgot to call and tell you that part. Would have saved you a flight," he said with a small smile.
Yeah, he did.Sam didn't elaborate on that and for a while, at least, Buffy wouldn't push. He'd tell her in his own time and not before - the fact still remained that Sam had been dead for a week at least and who knew better than Buffy how damaging that could be
( ... )
Bobby had mentioned something about Sunnydale, but he hadn't elaborated, only enough to say that Buffy had been alright. And really, at that time, dealing with his own resurrection, knowing that Buffy was fine was all he really cared to know.
He laughed quietly as she poked him in the chest, testing to make sure he wasn't some sort of strange hallucination. And honestly, he had been thinking the same himself for the past two days.
But having her here, touching him and questioning his existence? Made him feel the most present he had felt since coming back.
He gently took hold of her wrist and pulled her into another hug, keeping her close as he dipped his head to inhale the fresh scent of her. "I'm glad you came," he mumbled into her hair.
There was only one person in the world who could understand what he was going through right now, and luckily, she was here with him.
"I'm glad too," she told him, letting herself be pulled close. Those two days she'd spent thinking he was dead had been like living without a limb and now he was back it was kind of overwhelming.
True, they didn't talk every day. They could go weeks without having a proper conversation, indulge in a quick text here and there and that would be it.
But Sam was her safe place. He'd been that since Stanford, the thing that she could rely on when nothing else made sense. When her Mom had been dying, he was the first one she'd called.
When she'd come back--Buffy frowned. It had taken a long time and a lot of mistakes but she was past it and now Sam had to do the same.
"You're not okay, are you?" It wasn't really a question. "You're pretending you are, for Dean and Bobby, but... You're not." She held him just that little bit tighter for a moment. "I'm sorry, Sam." She wouldn't wish this on anybody, least of all him.
If there was one person he could be honest with, it was Buffy.
She had seen him at his best and worst at Stanford, had been there for him when Jess had died, when his dad had died, and now. Outside of his brother, she had always been the one constant in his life.
He continued to hold onto her as they talked, obvious to him that neither one of them wanted to let go anytime soon.
"I've taken three showers today," he admitted, hoping that it didn't sound so crazy out loud as it did in his head. "Three yesterday, too. I can't...shake it, you know?"
He didn't let go. She'd hold onto that and be grateful to him for maybe the rest of her life because at her worst, she'd pushed people away and she'd prayed - in the brief seconds she'd had to process all this - that Sam wouldn't do the same. That she could help, maybe
( ... )
She understood. Down to his inner thoughts, she understood. And he didn't know whether that relieved him or made his heart ache for her in a way it hadn't in months.
He watched as she examined his hand, her thumb tracing the lines of his palm. "I didn't have to," he answered to her unanswered question. He couldn't imagine clawing his way out of his own grave, not like she had done. He was damaged enough waking up to know something just wasn't... right.
He closed his hand around hers. "I don't think anything could have stopped Dean," he admitted. "Not after losing dad too. I just...." He frowned a bit, realizing she had touched on something that had been bugging him ever since coming back. "You're right when you say I feel like I'm....off."
Buffy nodded, thankful for that at least. This whole situation was one she'd never wanted to see Sam in - never wanted to see anyone in and she'd made Willow promise that that was it, no more spells.
Turned out she had Dean Winchester to hold to that too, though God only knew how he'd done it, since he had a severe dislike of anything Witchcraft-y.
And she knew the lengths Dean would go to protect his brother - hell, she'd seen it in action - but this?
"I hate being right," she told him as he closed his hand around hers. "Not... Not for me. I'm okay now. But it took a lot to get here and I--I hate that I'm right about you. I felt kind of... Paper-y. Like my skin was stretched thin or something. And there was something trying to get--Oh."
Yeah, oh. Willow's spell had brought something right back with her, something that had hitched a ride and tried to kill both her and her friends. And then, not to put too fine a point on it? It'd brought about the end of the world. Almost
( ... )
Sam frowned a bit as he slowly pulled himself from her embrace, leading her over to sit on his bed. As she sat down, he tossed her bag onto Dean's unmade bed before going to fish a clean shirt out of his duffel bag.
He could feel his tshirt cling slightly to the scar on his lower back that was still healing miraculously well considering a dagger had plunged deep enough to sever a major artery and cause him to bleed out.
"He didn't use magic," he admitted, knowing that was what she feared after everything that had happened to her. "He summoned a crossroads demon. made a deal to get me back." His frown deepened as he stood beside the bed, still uneasy about sitting and keeping still. "He sold his soul. One year to live for my bright and shiny life."
And that's the part that made it the hardest. Dean didn't just bring him back, but he killed himself in the process. What the hell was Sam supposed to do after his twelve months was up??
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She'd expected Bobby. Maybe Dean. Maybe a vastly wrong version of either one because whatever Buffy felt it had to be a thousand times worse for them...
Sam was gone.
She'd been trying to wrap her head around that on the plane on the way over. Trying to gear herself up for a fight she wanted no part of now - she'd done her bit, she'd saved the World again...
And so many people had died. Not her, this time. But people she knew - people she loved. Spike, Anya, Sam... Frowning, Buffy knocked again. Once more and she was totally gone... When the door opened to reveal a half-naked Sam standing looking back at her.
Buffy's mouth fell open. "Sam? I... Sam?"
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So as far as she had known, he was supposed to be dead.
"I see you remembered the code," he teased gently.
He'd be lucky right now if she didn't try to stake him to make sure he was actuallyhim.
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Second rule of Slayage? Don't leave the weapons in the backpack. You never knew when you might need one, like, now for instance.
"Code? What are you-- What?" No, this was wrong. It had to be. Because Bobby wouldn't just call her and tell her Sam was dead and just neglect to call her back when he'd been--What, brought back?
Willow had told her. No more spells, nothing. Once you were dead now, you stayed dead, she'd promised and--This was wrong and she knew, hell, she could write the book on it.
"Bobby called. He told me everything. So whatever it is you are in there, you can just--Leave. Now. 'Cause don't think I won't put you down just 'cause you're wearing my friends' face..."
Okay, she'd keep quiet the fact that her weapons were stuck in her backpack right now.
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"Buffy, I promise you it's me," he tried to reassure her as they basically had a standoff in the doorway of a shady motel. "The first time we met? You tried to put a stake through my chest. Your middle name is Anne, and you used that when you ran away from home in high school. Your favorite coffee drink is that nasty double mint frappachino."
He waited to see if that would be anough.
If not, he had more.
They'd spent two years as friends, maybe even on the verge to more, so he knew a lot about her and her life. Had memorized all the things that made her Buffy, made her special.
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But none looked that hurt and none started telling you things that only they knew about you. Things that you'd only told them - about the time you'd ran away, about the name you'd used so nobody would find you...
Buffy blinked at him again, totally caught off guard now, and barrelled forward, dropping her backpack and yanking him into her arms for a fierce hug.
"It's you," she whispered against his chest. His very naked chest, which--Okay, she'd seen that before but--Awkward. And she very much didn't care.
"Oh God, it's really you..." And okay, she may have been squeezing the life out of him but she'd spent two days thinking he was dead and now he wasn't and that--Okay, what was that?
She pulled back a little to look up at him. "Dean... He did something, didn't he?"
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He stumbled on his feet a bit as Buffy hurled herself at him, clinging to him. He couldn't help but smile as she realized he was really him, and he brought his arms up around her.
When she pulled back a bit, arms still around him, he already knew the question before she asked. He could tell by the way her eyes searched his. He nodded. "Yeah, he did."
Sold his life for mine.
He reluctantly pulled away from her to retrieve her bag from the ground. He gently ushered her into the room with a hand at the small of her back, shutting and securely locking the door behind them.
"Guess they forgot to call and tell you that part. Would have saved you a flight," he said with a small smile.
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He laughed quietly as she poked him in the chest, testing to make sure he wasn't some sort of strange hallucination. And honestly, he had been thinking the same himself for the past two days.
But having her here, touching him and questioning his existence? Made him feel the most present he had felt since coming back.
He gently took hold of her wrist and pulled her into another hug, keeping her close as he dipped his head to inhale the fresh scent of her. "I'm glad you came," he mumbled into her hair.
There was only one person in the world who could understand what he was going through right now, and luckily, she was here with him.
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True, they didn't talk every day. They could go weeks without having a proper conversation, indulge in a quick text here and there and that would be it.
But Sam was her safe place. He'd been that since Stanford, the thing that she could rely on when nothing else made sense. When her Mom had been dying, he was the first one she'd called.
When she'd come back--Buffy frowned. It had taken a long time and a lot of mistakes but she was past it and now Sam had to do the same.
"You're not okay, are you?" It wasn't really a question. "You're pretending you are, for Dean and Bobby, but... You're not." She held him just that little bit tighter for a moment. "I'm sorry, Sam." She wouldn't wish this on anybody, least of all him.
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She had seen him at his best and worst at Stanford, had been there for him when Jess had died, when his dad had died, and now. Outside of his brother, she had always been the one constant in his life.
He continued to hold onto her as they talked, obvious to him that neither one of them wanted to let go anytime soon.
"I've taken three showers today," he admitted, hoping that it didn't sound so crazy out loud as it did in his head. "Three yesterday, too. I can't...shake it, you know?"
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He watched as she examined his hand, her thumb tracing the lines of his palm. "I didn't have to," he answered to her unanswered question. He couldn't imagine clawing his way out of his own grave, not like she had done. He was damaged enough waking up to know something just wasn't... right.
He closed his hand around hers. "I don't think anything could have stopped Dean," he admitted. "Not after losing dad too. I just...." He frowned a bit, realizing she had touched on something that had been bugging him ever since coming back. "You're right when you say I feel like I'm....off."
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Turned out she had Dean Winchester to hold to that too, though God only knew how he'd done it, since he had a severe dislike of anything Witchcraft-y.
And she knew the lengths Dean would go to protect his brother - hell, she'd seen it in action - but this?
"I hate being right," she told him as he closed his hand around hers. "Not... Not for me. I'm okay now. But it took a lot to get here and I--I hate that I'm right about you. I felt kind of... Paper-y. Like my skin was stretched thin or something. And there was something trying to get--Oh."
Yeah, oh. Willow's spell had brought something right back with her, something that had hitched a ride and tried to kill both her and her friends. And then, not to put too fine a point on it? It'd brought about the end of the world. Almost ( ... )
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He could feel his tshirt cling slightly to the scar on his lower back that was still healing miraculously well considering a dagger had plunged deep enough to sever a major artery and cause him to bleed out.
"He didn't use magic," he admitted, knowing that was what she feared after everything that had happened to her. "He summoned a crossroads demon. made a deal to get me back." His frown deepened as he stood beside the bed, still uneasy about sitting and keeping still. "He sold his soul. One year to live for my bright and shiny life."
And that's the part that made it the hardest. Dean didn't just bring him back, but he killed himself in the process. What the hell was Sam supposed to do after his twelve months was up??
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Dean sold his soul. For Sam. No magic used - just a trade. A fair one? Maybe not, but one he'd done anyway.
A year. A year...
"Jesus, Sam," she breathed out. As if coming back from the dead wasn't enough for the guy... "How could he--Crossroads demon?"
Something she'd never heard of and she'd heard of a lot during her stint as Slayer. "Can't we just, y'know, find the demon? Kill it a little." A lot?
Forget coming back from the dead, if Dean traded his life for Sam's it would kill him anyway.
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