FIC: No Longer a World of Black and White (1/1) BtvS/AtS/SPN
TITLE: No Longer a World of Black and White
AUTHOR: Demona
EMAIL: Demona_The_Dark_One@yahoo.com
SUMMARY: John Winchester taught his sons to hate and kill everything supernatural. Now Faith has to deal with Dean when he enters a world of gray.
RATING: FR15
NOTES: Set immediately following “Not Fade Away” for Buffy & Angel and Pre-Series for Supernatural. In this ‘verse Dean knows about vampires.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and/or Angel the Series, they belong to Fox, the WB/UPN, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. The characters of Supernatural belong 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.
**
avamclean made this beautiful manip for her Skin Deep Collection:
And this story was just born. Surprise Ava, I hope you like it!!
Thanks to kaylashay81 for the lightning fast betaing! Hope you are feeling better. (Any remaining mistakes are all my own.)
**
Faith felt Angel jerk against her. His fangs digging in deeper, dragging a gasp and a moan of pain from her lips, before the fangs ripped out of her neck. Time seemed to slow down at that moment. Angel pulled his head back as his human face reappeared, eyes widening in shock, as they both looked down at the stake in his chest.
He looked back up at her, his face battered, bruised, and bloody. His eyes flashed with the realization that this was the end. Faith felt the first prick of tears in her eyes. She watched as the light of life faded from his eyes just before his body exploded into a million tiny particles. Faith didn’t even have a chance to take a breath to yell, to try to help him, before he’s dust around her.
Angel’s killer, a human twenty-something guy, is standing only a few feet away from her now. The stake that ended Angel’s life is gripped tightly in his right hand. A slightly smug, satisfied look marred his handsome face as he took in Faith. He’s breathing heavy, pulse racing, as the adrenaline from the kill rushes through him. Faith knows the feeling, can almost taste it. His lips are moving, words should be coming out, but she can’t hear a thing. The particles, Angel, are still aimlessly falling to the ground in the alley. Angelus was born in an alley but it doesn’t seem right that Angel died in one. She wonders if she collects all the pieces if she can put him back together. Humpty Dumpty couldn’t be put back together, but he was only a stupid egg.
She’s on her knees when sound returns to her ears with a loud, angry pop. She’s not sure how she got there but blood and dust are clinging to her jeans, seeping in and cooling, sticky, against her skin. The guy is crouched down in front of her, a gun dangling from one hand resting casually on his knee, and the other hand’s holding a rag, hovering between reaching out to touch her and pulling back. He’s looking at her with concern, concern for her, probably wondering just how hurt she is. She’d probably be wondering the same if she happened upon herself. But the truth is she’s not hurt, not physically; emotionally she just might be shattered.
“Hey,” his voice is gravelly, rough and loud in the quiet alley. Too quiet. “It’s okay. You’re okay now,” he’s muttering and holds out the rag. “Your neck is still bleeding,” he tells her with a glance at the wound.
Faith’s hand goes to her neck, fingers sliding into the bloody mess where Angel had been feeding. Angel. He doesn’t need her blood now - never will again. Her fingers come away red and dripping as she reaches for the rag. He’s moving it toward her, no hesitation, only pity shining in those bright green eyes of his.
He didn’t expect her to lunge at him. He’s not balanced right and they both go down in a heap, squishing against blood, gore and demon remains. She’s reaching for the gun, fighting with him for control, when it goes off. A hot flash burns in her thigh and it barely registers that she’s been shot. Slayer strength trumps adrenaline any day and the gun is wrenched from his hands. They clamber to their feet, fighting for balance, dirty and panting for breath. He’s got his hands up - a universal sign of surrender - but Faith keeps the gun trained on him.
“Look I’m not sure what that thing did to you, but I just saved your life. So, how bout you give me my gun back and I’ll just leave you the hell alone?” he suggested.
“Angel,” Faith growled through clenched teeth.
The guy looked a little confused for a moment before offering her a placating smile. “Okay, I’m Dean,” he introduced himself.
“His name was Angel. The thing that you just killed wasn’t hurting me. I was trying to save his life. He needed my help,” Faith spat at him. The gunshot wound to her leg was starting to remind her of its existence.
“It was attacking you. It was drinking your blood!” Dean yelled at her, his tone clearly indicated that she was crazy.
“Vampires need blood to survive. He’d been badly injured. And you killed him.” The gun in Faith’s hands started to tremble.
“Lady, vampires are evil. They kill things,” Dean sounded a little desperate.
“Not this one!” she yelled. “Turn around,” she ordered him.
“No,” he firmly stated and shook his head.
“Turn around,” Faith repeated and waved at him with the gun.
“Look…I’m sure we can work something out. But I’m not turning around. So if you are going to shoot me, you are going to have to do it to my face,” Dean calmly told her.
An explosion went off outside the alley. Dean flinched and turned toward the explosion. It was enough of a distraction for Faith to position herself behind him. The gun was pressed against his back for a brief moment before she took a step back, putting a little distance between them. It wouldn’t be in her best interest to get disarmed.
“Don’t move,” she whispered, loud and clear just behind his ear.
He stilled, shoulders tensed, and swore, “Son of a bitch!”
Faith stared at the back of his head. Her finger flexed on the trigger, but she just couldn’t make herself pull the trigger. The memories of Angel, telling her to fight, to fight for herself, for redemption, kept coming back every time she thought about pulling that trigger. A stupid, overzealous hunter had ended Angel’s life and she couldn’t find it within herself to end his in retribution. She let out a frustrated sigh and flicked the safety back on.
Dean was spinning the minute he heard the click of the safety. Faith knew he would, knew he would try to take back control of the situation. It’s what she would’ve done. She didn’t hesitate as she swung the gun, connecting with Dean’s head just as he turned to face her. His head snapped to the side and his body followed as he landed, out cold, in a pile of dead demons. Faith’s body collapsed, her knees absorbing the shock of her body’s rapid descent to the pavement.
She raked her hands through her hair, threw her head back, and screamed.
**
AUTHOR: Demona
EMAIL: Demona_The_Dark_One@yahoo.com
SUMMARY: John Winchester taught his sons to hate and kill everything supernatural. Now Faith has to deal with Dean when he enters a world of gray.
RATING: FR15
NOTES: Set immediately following “Not Fade Away” for Buffy & Angel and Pre-Series for Supernatural. In this ‘verse Dean knows about vampires.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and/or Angel the Series, they belong to Fox, the WB/UPN, Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. The characters of Supernatural belong 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.
**
avamclean made this beautiful manip for her Skin Deep Collection:
And this story was just born. Surprise Ava, I hope you like it!!
Thanks to kaylashay81 for the lightning fast betaing! Hope you are feeling better. (Any remaining mistakes are all my own.)
**
Faith felt Angel jerk against her. His fangs digging in deeper, dragging a gasp and a moan of pain from her lips, before the fangs ripped out of her neck. Time seemed to slow down at that moment. Angel pulled his head back as his human face reappeared, eyes widening in shock, as they both looked down at the stake in his chest.
He looked back up at her, his face battered, bruised, and bloody. His eyes flashed with the realization that this was the end. Faith felt the first prick of tears in her eyes. She watched as the light of life faded from his eyes just before his body exploded into a million tiny particles. Faith didn’t even have a chance to take a breath to yell, to try to help him, before he’s dust around her.
Angel’s killer, a human twenty-something guy, is standing only a few feet away from her now. The stake that ended Angel’s life is gripped tightly in his right hand. A slightly smug, satisfied look marred his handsome face as he took in Faith. He’s breathing heavy, pulse racing, as the adrenaline from the kill rushes through him. Faith knows the feeling, can almost taste it. His lips are moving, words should be coming out, but she can’t hear a thing. The particles, Angel, are still aimlessly falling to the ground in the alley. Angelus was born in an alley but it doesn’t seem right that Angel died in one. She wonders if she collects all the pieces if she can put him back together. Humpty Dumpty couldn’t be put back together, but he was only a stupid egg.
She’s on her knees when sound returns to her ears with a loud, angry pop. She’s not sure how she got there but blood and dust are clinging to her jeans, seeping in and cooling, sticky, against her skin. The guy is crouched down in front of her, a gun dangling from one hand resting casually on his knee, and the other hand’s holding a rag, hovering between reaching out to touch her and pulling back. He’s looking at her with concern, concern for her, probably wondering just how hurt she is. She’d probably be wondering the same if she happened upon herself. But the truth is she’s not hurt, not physically; emotionally she just might be shattered.
“Hey,” his voice is gravelly, rough and loud in the quiet alley. Too quiet. “It’s okay. You’re okay now,” he’s muttering and holds out the rag. “Your neck is still bleeding,” he tells her with a glance at the wound.
Faith’s hand goes to her neck, fingers sliding into the bloody mess where Angel had been feeding. Angel. He doesn’t need her blood now - never will again. Her fingers come away red and dripping as she reaches for the rag. He’s moving it toward her, no hesitation, only pity shining in those bright green eyes of his.
He didn’t expect her to lunge at him. He’s not balanced right and they both go down in a heap, squishing against blood, gore and demon remains. She’s reaching for the gun, fighting with him for control, when it goes off. A hot flash burns in her thigh and it barely registers that she’s been shot. Slayer strength trumps adrenaline any day and the gun is wrenched from his hands. They clamber to their feet, fighting for balance, dirty and panting for breath. He’s got his hands up - a universal sign of surrender - but Faith keeps the gun trained on him.
“Look I’m not sure what that thing did to you, but I just saved your life. So, how bout you give me my gun back and I’ll just leave you the hell alone?” he suggested.
“Angel,” Faith growled through clenched teeth.
The guy looked a little confused for a moment before offering her a placating smile. “Okay, I’m Dean,” he introduced himself.
“His name was Angel. The thing that you just killed wasn’t hurting me. I was trying to save his life. He needed my help,” Faith spat at him. The gunshot wound to her leg was starting to remind her of its existence.
“It was attacking you. It was drinking your blood!” Dean yelled at her, his tone clearly indicated that she was crazy.
“Vampires need blood to survive. He’d been badly injured. And you killed him.” The gun in Faith’s hands started to tremble.
“Lady, vampires are evil. They kill things,” Dean sounded a little desperate.
“Not this one!” she yelled. “Turn around,” she ordered him.
“No,” he firmly stated and shook his head.
“Turn around,” Faith repeated and waved at him with the gun.
“Look…I’m sure we can work something out. But I’m not turning around. So if you are going to shoot me, you are going to have to do it to my face,” Dean calmly told her.
An explosion went off outside the alley. Dean flinched and turned toward the explosion. It was enough of a distraction for Faith to position herself behind him. The gun was pressed against his back for a brief moment before she took a step back, putting a little distance between them. It wouldn’t be in her best interest to get disarmed.
“Don’t move,” she whispered, loud and clear just behind his ear.
He stilled, shoulders tensed, and swore, “Son of a bitch!”
Faith stared at the back of his head. Her finger flexed on the trigger, but she just couldn’t make herself pull the trigger. The memories of Angel, telling her to fight, to fight for herself, for redemption, kept coming back every time she thought about pulling that trigger. A stupid, overzealous hunter had ended Angel’s life and she couldn’t find it within herself to end his in retribution. She let out a frustrated sigh and flicked the safety back on.
Dean was spinning the minute he heard the click of the safety. Faith knew he would, knew he would try to take back control of the situation. It’s what she would’ve done. She didn’t hesitate as she swung the gun, connecting with Dean’s head just as he turned to face her. His head snapped to the side and his body followed as he landed, out cold, in a pile of dead demons. Faith’s body collapsed, her knees absorbing the shock of her body’s rapid descent to the pavement.
She raked her hands through her hair, threw her head back, and screamed.
**