Fic: It's In Our Blood - (Buffy/Dean, Faith/Sam) Chapter One
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.
It’s In Our Blood
Chapter One:
Two weeks before…
“I’ll go talk to the chick that was at the scene. You go to the scene see if you can find anything the papers missed.” Dean took another long gulp of instant coffee where he could still taste the chlorine from the tap water. Coffee was coffee, and beggars couldn’t be choosers.
They’d been in town for about three hours, taking the time to check into a two-star motel - the only motel that was located in the small town. They were in Utah, a couple hundred miles away from Salt Lake City. From the looks of it, it was a slowly dying town, a product of the construction of highways and quicker routes to destinations. Sam had picked up a probable case the day before. Five people were missing, three others found dead. All the victims were drowning victims, all of them in the same general location, spanning out to about a twelve mile radius. Within that radius was an abandoned warehouse and flat, dry land with the closest water source thirty miles away. The two men were trained in the art of picking up flags that suspected supernatural activity. As Sam read further into the article, he noticed that there was more than one flag. The victims had no visible marks of struggle. The woman whom was found had been soaked along with the victims. She claimed she didn’t do it, but she refused to cooperate with the authorities. She was considered extremely dangerous; the cops being forced to call in backup.
Dean had driven all night; something that they both were used to, while Sam rode shotgun checking a chain of websites through his mobile. The music blasted in the impala, serving the purpose of time wasting and fuel to keep Dean’s eyes open behind the wheel. When they’d finally arrived, they both conceded to a few hours of sleep before they jumped head first in the case. The last missing person report was filed the day before. The woman was being held at the jail. She was the only suspect, and she wasn’t cooperating, which told them that she wasn’t going to be released any time soon. A few hours of sleep was only going to help them.
“Alright. Another drowning victim was found not too far from there, too. I’ll check them out and see if there are any similarities. The woman at the jail is being held for suspicion and violent tendencies,” Sam spoke idly as he put various possessions back in his duffel. “It could be something. If nothing else, we can probably scrape from her some information that the cops didn’t see. Maybe she saw something and freaked.”
Sam had put away his laptop and had his gun tucked under his shirt in the band of his jeans, leaving his coffee untouched on the cheap table.
“They elaborate on the violent part? She could just be one of those born wrestlers. If that’s the case, I might make you go, and I’ll take the less butch approach.”
Dean was wearing a tailored suit, with a striped tie. Inside his breast pocket held his latest fake FBI badge, along with a few calling cards, all of them a direct line to Bobby just in case he needed some backup for his story. He had on loafers and a strap for his gun. It was just enough to make it look legitimate.
Sam laughed and shook his head.
“No way, dude. You get the scary chick. There wasn’t even a picture. Try not to get yourself killed by Mrs. Ballbreaker.”
“Dude, that’s like the worst imagery you could supply me with. Jesus.” Dean shook his head and headed out the door behind his brother. It was the perfect opportunity to smack him upside the head in retaliation for the horrible and a little bit scary imagery he was going to have to deal with for the next hour.
It didn’t take too long for Dean to drive to the county jail. The town was small enough that he could tell before he walked in the door it only harbored a few cells. The traffic in town wasn’t bad either. He knew this was why Sam had seen the case. Small towns were the easiest to spot because deaths of more than one were not very common. Small towns always tended to make the headlines of their papers larger than big cities where crime and death were an everyday occurrence.
Getting the authorities to believe him was simple enough; another great attribute to small towns. FBI and other agents who weren’t the local sheriff or trooper were rare. When they arrived in town with an ID and a badge, people tended to heed them, and believe them. Dean was well trained in the art of sweet talking anyway. His talking had bought him and Sam a few days of free roaming the town before the authorities caught on that there was no such thing as an Agent Page and Miller.
Upon entering the building, Dean already knew the layout. He was right in his assumption that it harbored few cells. One of them was in the back room, where the woman he needed to talk to was being held. The other ones were empty and open, with the walls still clean, hardly ever used. It was a typical small town. He’d guessed the woman was the first one who had ever really posed a threat. The other cells used for the occasional drunk who needed to sleep off the poison. He’d followed the officer to the back room through a series of doors, passing few people on phones and others just sitting at their desk, playing solitaire or arranging papers. He cleared his throat, stopping the officer who was unlocking the last door that led to the woman.
“I’ve got it from here, chief. Just gotta ask her a few questions, get some information then I’ll be out of your hair. Don’t need someone breathin’ down my neck.”
Being assertive usually gave him his way with the small town folk, too. They were so easy. It was proven by the officer nodding, and handing him the inch-thick folder with the woman’s name on the tab. Dean wondered if the reason it was so easy was because the man didn’t want to go in there at all. He had a shiner on his face that was fresh, only displaying a slight purple mark, with the red surrounding the area. By the time it was done with the healing process, Dean saw purple in the dude’s near future.
He whistled and touched under his eye, indicating toward the man. “I’m gonna take a stab and say she did that.”
“She’s insane. We were wondering when you guys were going to show up. Believe me; looks are deceiving with this woman. Good luck getting anything out of her but crazy talk.”
Dean nodded his thanks and opened the door, visions of Ballbreaker in his head.
….It wasn’t at all what he was expecting.
Onward to: Chapter Two!
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.
It’s In Our Blood
Chapter One:
Two weeks before…
“I’ll go talk to the chick that was at the scene. You go to the scene see if you can find anything the papers missed.” Dean took another long gulp of instant coffee where he could still taste the chlorine from the tap water. Coffee was coffee, and beggars couldn’t be choosers.
They’d been in town for about three hours, taking the time to check into a two-star motel - the only motel that was located in the small town. They were in Utah, a couple hundred miles away from Salt Lake City. From the looks of it, it was a slowly dying town, a product of the construction of highways and quicker routes to destinations. Sam had picked up a probable case the day before. Five people were missing, three others found dead. All the victims were drowning victims, all of them in the same general location, spanning out to about a twelve mile radius. Within that radius was an abandoned warehouse and flat, dry land with the closest water source thirty miles away. The two men were trained in the art of picking up flags that suspected supernatural activity. As Sam read further into the article, he noticed that there was more than one flag. The victims had no visible marks of struggle. The woman whom was found had been soaked along with the victims. She claimed she didn’t do it, but she refused to cooperate with the authorities. She was considered extremely dangerous; the cops being forced to call in backup.
Dean had driven all night; something that they both were used to, while Sam rode shotgun checking a chain of websites through his mobile. The music blasted in the impala, serving the purpose of time wasting and fuel to keep Dean’s eyes open behind the wheel. When they’d finally arrived, they both conceded to a few hours of sleep before they jumped head first in the case. The last missing person report was filed the day before. The woman was being held at the jail. She was the only suspect, and she wasn’t cooperating, which told them that she wasn’t going to be released any time soon. A few hours of sleep was only going to help them.
“Alright. Another drowning victim was found not too far from there, too. I’ll check them out and see if there are any similarities. The woman at the jail is being held for suspicion and violent tendencies,” Sam spoke idly as he put various possessions back in his duffel. “It could be something. If nothing else, we can probably scrape from her some information that the cops didn’t see. Maybe she saw something and freaked.”
Sam had put away his laptop and had his gun tucked under his shirt in the band of his jeans, leaving his coffee untouched on the cheap table.
“They elaborate on the violent part? She could just be one of those born wrestlers. If that’s the case, I might make you go, and I’ll take the less butch approach.”
Dean was wearing a tailored suit, with a striped tie. Inside his breast pocket held his latest fake FBI badge, along with a few calling cards, all of them a direct line to Bobby just in case he needed some backup for his story. He had on loafers and a strap for his gun. It was just enough to make it look legitimate.
Sam laughed and shook his head.
“No way, dude. You get the scary chick. There wasn’t even a picture. Try not to get yourself killed by Mrs. Ballbreaker.”
“Dude, that’s like the worst imagery you could supply me with. Jesus.” Dean shook his head and headed out the door behind his brother. It was the perfect opportunity to smack him upside the head in retaliation for the horrible and a little bit scary imagery he was going to have to deal with for the next hour.
It didn’t take too long for Dean to drive to the county jail. The town was small enough that he could tell before he walked in the door it only harbored a few cells. The traffic in town wasn’t bad either. He knew this was why Sam had seen the case. Small towns were the easiest to spot because deaths of more than one were not very common. Small towns always tended to make the headlines of their papers larger than big cities where crime and death were an everyday occurrence.
Getting the authorities to believe him was simple enough; another great attribute to small towns. FBI and other agents who weren’t the local sheriff or trooper were rare. When they arrived in town with an ID and a badge, people tended to heed them, and believe them. Dean was well trained in the art of sweet talking anyway. His talking had bought him and Sam a few days of free roaming the town before the authorities caught on that there was no such thing as an Agent Page and Miller.
Upon entering the building, Dean already knew the layout. He was right in his assumption that it harbored few cells. One of them was in the back room, where the woman he needed to talk to was being held. The other ones were empty and open, with the walls still clean, hardly ever used. It was a typical small town. He’d guessed the woman was the first one who had ever really posed a threat. The other cells used for the occasional drunk who needed to sleep off the poison. He’d followed the officer to the back room through a series of doors, passing few people on phones and others just sitting at their desk, playing solitaire or arranging papers. He cleared his throat, stopping the officer who was unlocking the last door that led to the woman.
“I’ve got it from here, chief. Just gotta ask her a few questions, get some information then I’ll be out of your hair. Don’t need someone breathin’ down my neck.”
Being assertive usually gave him his way with the small town folk, too. They were so easy. It was proven by the officer nodding, and handing him the inch-thick folder with the woman’s name on the tab. Dean wondered if the reason it was so easy was because the man didn’t want to go in there at all. He had a shiner on his face that was fresh, only displaying a slight purple mark, with the red surrounding the area. By the time it was done with the healing process, Dean saw purple in the dude’s near future.
He whistled and touched under his eye, indicating toward the man. “I’m gonna take a stab and say she did that.”
“She’s insane. We were wondering when you guys were going to show up. Believe me; looks are deceiving with this woman. Good luck getting anything out of her but crazy talk.”
Dean nodded his thanks and opened the door, visions of Ballbreaker in his head.
….It wasn’t at all what he was expecting.
Onward to: Chapter Two!