Fic: It's In Our Blood - (Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam) Chapter Ten.
Title: It's In Our Blood
Author(s): angelbuffy
Artist: Skylar0Grace
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Buffy is the property of Joss Whedon, Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke. If those two wrote together it'd be a beautiful thing. But they haven't, so you have me.
Type: (Gen, Het, or Slash) Het
Word Count: 34,934
Characters/Pairings: Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam
Warnings: Sex. Violence. Language. All the awesome stuff.
Spoilers: None. Unless you haven't seen Buffy. Or Supernatural. Season six exempt.
Chapter Ten::
Castiel left Dean in a similar fashion that he had arrived. The room was silent. Seconds passed with Dean staring into space before he turned back toward the drugged up blonde. The situation that Cas had left him in was far more complicated than he wanted it to be. Was Buffy any different than any of the other women he’d ditched in the early morning hours? Of course she was. Was he planning to leave her eventually? Of course he was. But that eventually wasn’t going to be for a few days, and he’d hoped it would be on better terms than what he was about to do. She didn’t move a muscle when he went back to his bed and sat on it, facing the wall where the empty closet was. He grabbed the gun he’d left under his pillow, along with the knife and tossed them in the bag before getting back up and heading to the bathroom.
He wanted to say that he couldn’t stand her; at least that’d make everything easier. He wanted to find an ounce of regret in him for sleeping with her, but he couldn’t even find that. There wasn’t a man that would be able to. The guilt that overpowered him was nothing short of what he was used to, though. He was a man of guilty means. He was a man of selfish means. A selfish man that could never hold on to what he wanted. It didn’t matter how deep or how tight he held, it always managed to slip from his grasp. It was a feeling he’d been trained to deal with by personal experience since he was a child. A feeling he could usually shove so deep inside himself and blanket with sarcasm that it hardly seemed noticeable even to himself.
Not this time, though.
No, what was staring back at him when he glanced in the mirror was hardly even recognizable. One more thing that he had the potential to call his was suddenly intangible. In ironic fashion, it only made him want it more, made him want to squeeze tighter, claw at it, and sink his hands in.
He tried to wash it away with the shower, making the water so hot that he could barely breathe from the steam saturated air. It didn’t help. It was futile, because his mind wouldn’t let him forget it. The past few weeks that he’d taken for granted.
~~
“I went to hell.”
The compassion in her eyes nearly broke him as she took in the information with a long, slow deep breath. She did that a lot, he’d noticed. Her jaw would flex, and her breaths were deep. It happened whenever a bomb was dropped on her, or whenever she needed to calm her nerves. She only did it when the conversation was important. She spoke matter of factly, with the same compassion that emanated from her eyes.
“How long?”
“..Long enough.”
His anger at the situation translated to anger toward her, but he was too exhausted and too drunk to try to save it. He shouldn’t have cared, anyway. But then she’d guessed everything. She’d guessed he’d been tortured. She’d guessed he’d given up and he’d tortured souls, too. She guessed it all. It made him wonder how truly weak he was. She listened, though. She let him be angry at her, and she’d let him say nothing at all. An hour had gone by as they sat on the hood of the impala. Sam and Faith were in the bar. Buffy hadn’t had a drop to drink, but Dean could feel the relative tingle and pleasant numb that he’d searched for nearly every night.
“I’ve taken a death vacation, too.”
He was too drunk for this. She’d smiled at him, and once again guessed that he’d been battling with whether or not he should have said a damn word. He still couldn’t remember what had gotten them on the topic to begin with. The thought of her dead gave him a burning feeling. One at his center. It was like his heart was aching.
“Kind of went up, though. Came back down to a whirl wind of pain, self-hatred, and anger. Broke every rule that I’d created for myself and tried to die without actually getting the label of suicide. Dark year for me.” She reached over and grabbed a hold of the beer he had a grip on, and took a sip. He watched her throat take in the liquid, and he let his eyes follow up to the beer bottle. He’d never wanted to be a beer bottle so much in his life.
As she leaned back against the windshield, he noticed small specks of glitter twinkling on her skin against the moonlight whenever her face had the slightest movement. It was mesmerizing. He’d remember it forever.
“So I guess we’re a couple of really adorable broken freaks.”
“Guess so.”
~~
Dean was going to leave her in the condition that he left many of the women he’d come to know. No one was usually ever allowed to stay the night. If Dean stayed over, he was usually ready to ditch them bright and early to avoid any potential awkward situations or questions. It was a system, and straying away from that system hardly ever happened. This time he wanted it to. He was looking forward to that awkward conversation, because their awkward conversations were what had made their friendship what it was. He was looking forward to waking up with her, and he was most definitely looking forward to whatever events transpired after the wake up.
~~
“Worst relationship ever?”
“I don’t do relationships, sweetheart.”
“Fine. Hardest decision you’ve ever had to make?” He looked at her, took a few seconds then smiled.
“Whether to use Mobile or Shell motor oil.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m not telling you that, Buffy.”
“Must have been a pretty hard decision, then.”
“We’re not talking about it.”
“So you can tell me you went to hell, but you can’t tell me anything else? Or what? You regretting your decision to tell me anything? You want to know mine?”
“No.” Of course he did. The thing was that he didn’t want to talk about it. Ever. He was way too drunk the night before to be dishing out his feelings. He didn’t dish out feelings. She had to learn that.
“Bull.”
“Drop it.”
“No. I want to know. It’s story time.”
“I wanna do more than talk to you, sweetheart, maybe you should tell me when that can happen.”
“Is that your default reaction whenever something gets serious?”
“It’s my default for annoying women. Like you. Hot ones, too. Also, like you. So how ‘bout it? Roll in the hay?”
He walked to his car without her following. He’d figured that the last comment had pissed her off. By her next words, he was right, and he was damn glad that she wasn’t near him. Everything was spinning out of control.
“I think you should just stop being scared.” He’d slammed his car door that he was half in and turned around.
“You don’t know me, Buffy.”
~~
He stepped out of the shower, resisting the urge to start punching the wall. He couldn’t put off leaving, because he still had to get Sammy awake without Faith clutching at his side like a child to its mother.
His thoughts were like a jail cell. The more time he spent in them, the smaller the space seemed to be. The more he traveled through the thoughts, the more familiar they seemed. He could find a new detail each time around that he’d missed, that he was glad he missed.
He couldn’t believe how much he didn’t want to leave. Three weeks wasn’t long. It was less than a month. But for Dean Winchester and his little brother, three weeks was a milestone. It was a semblance of stability, and he hadn’t known how much he needed it until it was over. He’d argued with Buffy more than he’d laughed with her, he was sure. That didn’t change anything. That didn’t change the sudden onslaught of feelings that he had for her, or the greedy part of him considering the consequences if he stayed and waited it out. If he tried one more desperate way to claw at something he craved, wanted.
He couldn’t stay there any longer.
The longer he stayed, the more the selfish man in him never wanted to leave. God help him, he could see the girls travelling with them for a while. Sam’d enjoy it, that’s for sure.
His calloused hands ran over his face. It wasn’t physical fatigue, even though his body needed sleep. It wasn’t pain that caused him to run his hands down his face, even though the pain was a simple reminder of what he’d been through the night before. It was the mental anguish - another thing that he shoved deep behind a wall of what should have been a stronger man.
Dean angrily grabbed his duffel, clasping the handles together. He took a step toward Buffy, and then walked past her to the door. He closed his eyes, and turned around one more time to acknowledge the last time that he’d probably ever lay eyes on her. It was the last time he’d see her in that condition for sure, and that confidence of his that had his hand on the door waivered. He deserved whatever she was going to feel when she woke up and realized that he wasn’t coming back. It was just as well. The hunter in him had been overshadowed by the human being with feelings. As much as he’d told himself that he wasn’t ever going to shadow his father, he found himself doing it by default; and God help him, feeling better about it. He was walking his father’s footsteps without a hesitation. He scoffed at himself and walked out the door into the sunshine…it felt like it should have been raining.
Forward to: Chapter Eleven!
Backward to:
Chapter Nine.
Chapter Eight
Chapter Seven.
Chapter Six.
Chapter Five.
Chapter Four.
Chapter Three.
Chapter Two.
Chapter One.
Author(s): angelbuffy
Artist: Skylar0Grace
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Buffy is the property of Joss Whedon, Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke. If those two wrote together it'd be a beautiful thing. But they haven't, so you have me.
Type: (Gen, Het, or Slash) Het
Word Count: 34,934
Characters/Pairings: Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam
Warnings: Sex. Violence. Language. All the awesome stuff.
Spoilers: None. Unless you haven't seen Buffy. Or Supernatural. Season six exempt.
Chapter Ten::
Castiel left Dean in a similar fashion that he had arrived. The room was silent. Seconds passed with Dean staring into space before he turned back toward the drugged up blonde. The situation that Cas had left him in was far more complicated than he wanted it to be. Was Buffy any different than any of the other women he’d ditched in the early morning hours? Of course she was. Was he planning to leave her eventually? Of course he was. But that eventually wasn’t going to be for a few days, and he’d hoped it would be on better terms than what he was about to do. She didn’t move a muscle when he went back to his bed and sat on it, facing the wall where the empty closet was. He grabbed the gun he’d left under his pillow, along with the knife and tossed them in the bag before getting back up and heading to the bathroom.
He wanted to say that he couldn’t stand her; at least that’d make everything easier. He wanted to find an ounce of regret in him for sleeping with her, but he couldn’t even find that. There wasn’t a man that would be able to. The guilt that overpowered him was nothing short of what he was used to, though. He was a man of guilty means. He was a man of selfish means. A selfish man that could never hold on to what he wanted. It didn’t matter how deep or how tight he held, it always managed to slip from his grasp. It was a feeling he’d been trained to deal with by personal experience since he was a child. A feeling he could usually shove so deep inside himself and blanket with sarcasm that it hardly seemed noticeable even to himself.
Not this time, though.
No, what was staring back at him when he glanced in the mirror was hardly even recognizable. One more thing that he had the potential to call his was suddenly intangible. In ironic fashion, it only made him want it more, made him want to squeeze tighter, claw at it, and sink his hands in.
He tried to wash it away with the shower, making the water so hot that he could barely breathe from the steam saturated air. It didn’t help. It was futile, because his mind wouldn’t let him forget it. The past few weeks that he’d taken for granted.
~~
“I went to hell.”
The compassion in her eyes nearly broke him as she took in the information with a long, slow deep breath. She did that a lot, he’d noticed. Her jaw would flex, and her breaths were deep. It happened whenever a bomb was dropped on her, or whenever she needed to calm her nerves. She only did it when the conversation was important. She spoke matter of factly, with the same compassion that emanated from her eyes.
“How long?”
“..Long enough.”
His anger at the situation translated to anger toward her, but he was too exhausted and too drunk to try to save it. He shouldn’t have cared, anyway. But then she’d guessed everything. She’d guessed he’d been tortured. She’d guessed he’d given up and he’d tortured souls, too. She guessed it all. It made him wonder how truly weak he was. She listened, though. She let him be angry at her, and she’d let him say nothing at all. An hour had gone by as they sat on the hood of the impala. Sam and Faith were in the bar. Buffy hadn’t had a drop to drink, but Dean could feel the relative tingle and pleasant numb that he’d searched for nearly every night.
“I’ve taken a death vacation, too.”
He was too drunk for this. She’d smiled at him, and once again guessed that he’d been battling with whether or not he should have said a damn word. He still couldn’t remember what had gotten them on the topic to begin with. The thought of her dead gave him a burning feeling. One at his center. It was like his heart was aching.
“Kind of went up, though. Came back down to a whirl wind of pain, self-hatred, and anger. Broke every rule that I’d created for myself and tried to die without actually getting the label of suicide. Dark year for me.” She reached over and grabbed a hold of the beer he had a grip on, and took a sip. He watched her throat take in the liquid, and he let his eyes follow up to the beer bottle. He’d never wanted to be a beer bottle so much in his life.
As she leaned back against the windshield, he noticed small specks of glitter twinkling on her skin against the moonlight whenever her face had the slightest movement. It was mesmerizing. He’d remember it forever.
“So I guess we’re a couple of really adorable broken freaks.”
“Guess so.”
~~
Dean was going to leave her in the condition that he left many of the women he’d come to know. No one was usually ever allowed to stay the night. If Dean stayed over, he was usually ready to ditch them bright and early to avoid any potential awkward situations or questions. It was a system, and straying away from that system hardly ever happened. This time he wanted it to. He was looking forward to that awkward conversation, because their awkward conversations were what had made their friendship what it was. He was looking forward to waking up with her, and he was most definitely looking forward to whatever events transpired after the wake up.
~~
“Worst relationship ever?”
“I don’t do relationships, sweetheart.”
“Fine. Hardest decision you’ve ever had to make?” He looked at her, took a few seconds then smiled.
“Whether to use Mobile or Shell motor oil.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m not telling you that, Buffy.”
“Must have been a pretty hard decision, then.”
“We’re not talking about it.”
“So you can tell me you went to hell, but you can’t tell me anything else? Or what? You regretting your decision to tell me anything? You want to know mine?”
“No.” Of course he did. The thing was that he didn’t want to talk about it. Ever. He was way too drunk the night before to be dishing out his feelings. He didn’t dish out feelings. She had to learn that.
“Bull.”
“Drop it.”
“No. I want to know. It’s story time.”
“I wanna do more than talk to you, sweetheart, maybe you should tell me when that can happen.”
“Is that your default reaction whenever something gets serious?”
“It’s my default for annoying women. Like you. Hot ones, too. Also, like you. So how ‘bout it? Roll in the hay?”
He walked to his car without her following. He’d figured that the last comment had pissed her off. By her next words, he was right, and he was damn glad that she wasn’t near him. Everything was spinning out of control.
“I think you should just stop being scared.” He’d slammed his car door that he was half in and turned around.
“You don’t know me, Buffy.”
~~
He stepped out of the shower, resisting the urge to start punching the wall. He couldn’t put off leaving, because he still had to get Sammy awake without Faith clutching at his side like a child to its mother.
His thoughts were like a jail cell. The more time he spent in them, the smaller the space seemed to be. The more he traveled through the thoughts, the more familiar they seemed. He could find a new detail each time around that he’d missed, that he was glad he missed.
He couldn’t believe how much he didn’t want to leave. Three weeks wasn’t long. It was less than a month. But for Dean Winchester and his little brother, three weeks was a milestone. It was a semblance of stability, and he hadn’t known how much he needed it until it was over. He’d argued with Buffy more than he’d laughed with her, he was sure. That didn’t change anything. That didn’t change the sudden onslaught of feelings that he had for her, or the greedy part of him considering the consequences if he stayed and waited it out. If he tried one more desperate way to claw at something he craved, wanted.
He couldn’t stay there any longer.
The longer he stayed, the more the selfish man in him never wanted to leave. God help him, he could see the girls travelling with them for a while. Sam’d enjoy it, that’s for sure.
His calloused hands ran over his face. It wasn’t physical fatigue, even though his body needed sleep. It wasn’t pain that caused him to run his hands down his face, even though the pain was a simple reminder of what he’d been through the night before. It was the mental anguish - another thing that he shoved deep behind a wall of what should have been a stronger man.
Dean angrily grabbed his duffel, clasping the handles together. He took a step toward Buffy, and then walked past her to the door. He closed his eyes, and turned around one more time to acknowledge the last time that he’d probably ever lay eyes on her. It was the last time he’d see her in that condition for sure, and that confidence of his that had his hand on the door waivered. He deserved whatever she was going to feel when she woke up and realized that he wasn’t coming back. It was just as well. The hunter in him had been overshadowed by the human being with feelings. As much as he’d told himself that he wasn’t ever going to shadow his father, he found himself doing it by default; and God help him, feeling better about it. He was walking his father’s footsteps without a hesitation. He scoffed at himself and walked out the door into the sunshine…it felt like it should have been raining.
Forward to: Chapter Eleven!
Backward to:
Chapter Nine.
Chapter Eight
Chapter Seven.
Chapter Six.
Chapter Five.
Chapter Four.
Chapter Three.
Chapter Two.
Chapter One.