SPN/BtVS/TC - 24 (androgyny) - It's Kind of Complicated
Title: IT'S KIND OF COMPLICATED
Series: Trip My Wire
Part 4 in the series
Author: charming_syrai
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer // Supernatural // [eventually Tru Calling]
Characters: Faith/Dean
Prompt: #024 androgyny
Word Count: about 2355
Rating: R
Summary: You remember how a week ago, she snagged Sam's knife out of the trunk before the hunt, and you threw a fit like a fucking teenager who's been bitchslapped by his promdate in the backseat of the Impala.
Warnings: well, knowing Dean, Faith and me, what do you think? BAD language! Plus some slight violence so it's R just to be on the safe side, oki?
Disclaimer: Not mine. Neither Faith nor Dean belongs to me, although if I’d very much love if they did. Same goes for the world they live in that I’ve mixed up from the fandoms mentioned above. Since I’m not getting any money out of this, you really don’t want to sue me, oki?
Prompt Table here
PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
Author’s Note: {I know my use of italics can confuse you sometimes, it happens, but there's actually a pattern they follow, you just might not realise it. It's just my thing, ok?}
Ok, so some of you may have noticed that the first fic "Soldier Through This" implied that the vampires in this crossover world are more like the ones we've seen in BtVS than the ones we've seen in SPN. In the ep "Dead Man's Blood" we clearly see Kate does not in fact have yellow eyes and lumpy face like suggested in the first fic, BUT, I beg you to wait and see, and the changes will be explained to you. Eventually... if not earlier. BOO-YAH, lovers.
{Random shit? I know, don't care, shut up. Had a bad, bad, bad day and I just need to do something, get this out, write, and be done with it. I'll try and be better with the next part, I swear, but for now... this is how the chapter came out and I dunno why}
The 4th ficlet in the Trip My Wire series written prompt by prompt for 50scenes
{Thank you for the feedback, guys! It makes me smile. And to answer RENNI's question "Dean/Faith action... Will we see that later?" ... Well, dude, it's my ficcie, what do you think? ^^; Heh.
... Actually if things go as planned, smut will follow this one. If things don't go as planned, then it was false hope, I guess. BAD ME.}
She looks sort of nice, appealing, when she's standing in front of the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled, washing a pile of underwear (hers, because she refuses to do yours. No fucking way, dude, she says), and singing some old Metallica song she's heard you play like a thousands of times, because it calms you down. And then you go and wonder if she's humming the song because it calms her down too, something she's picked up from you along the ride, or if she's doing it because she knows how it'll affect you. Clever girl.
That's probably why she's using the kitchen sink instead of the bathtub.
Then you smile, biting your bottom lip to keep the amused chuckle in. Yeah, another question popping into your head is if she has any fucking clue how she keeps dancing to the music, moving, swinging her ass from one side to another and you just look at her, utterly fascinated and confused. Doesn't she feel your eyes on her backside, burning holes into her clothes, skin?
You tear your eyes away, straighten your back while turning to look at the guns again, the ones you've laid all over the bed around you and concentrate on cleaning them, one by one. Faith doesn't really do guns though she owns a couple, you know all this, but you clean all of them anyway, even hers, simply out of habit. Someone's got to take care of the babies.
But it only takes five minutes before your eyes seek her out again. It's fucking unbelievable, everything about her is. You find yourself thinking it's not possible, that this girl, it can't be the same one you saw yesterday night, whooping some vampire ass, as usual.
Faith, you've noticed she's more into knives and old-fashioned face-punching and it's fine, cause you two kind of even things out. It's all about balance.
You remember how a week ago, she snagged Sam's knife out of the trunk before the hunt, and you threw a fit like a fucking teenager who's been bitchslapped by his promdate in the backseat of the Impala. You wrenched the damn thing out of her hands, yelling stuff you can't even remember anymore (or don't want to, which is basically the same thing anyway) and she stood there, staring at you with raised eyebrows, what the hell, Dean, you mental, before she finally caught up with things. She lifted one shoulder to a shrug saying, fine, whatever, and turned to the trunk again. After a few minutes, she pulled out another knife, yours, and asked if it was Sam's too. You said no, go ahead, and she nodded with a face showing no emotions at all, slammed the trunk closed and said nothing else.
Later that night, after the hunt, you went back to that moment and started asking yourself why the hell she didn't just punch you in the face, like she usually does and be done with it. It's been over a month now, you two together, sharing crappy motel rooms and squatting houses, and you've fought like hell, about everything, but you still haven't killed each other.
A fucking month, you repeat in your head, it feels longer, so much longer. 'Sides, it's probably one of the longest relationships you've ever had, not that this thing with you guys could be defined as... you know... relationship.
It's kind of complicated, ok? Everything is.
You're not sure, but if someone asked (and if Faith was there to hear your answer, peering over your shoulder), you'd say it's an equal partnership where you both know your places.
But, really, you don't. In fact, you don't have a fucking clue.
The day Faith told you she's taking off, it changed everything and you, you're not sure how to deal with this new crap, this feeling of needing someone around. With Sam it was always so fucking easy, the guy was your baby brother for crying out loud, it was natural to want him around... and you know, with him, all you had to do was throw a witty comment or punch him in the nose depending on the occasion and things sorted themselves out.
But with Faith?
Nothing's simple with Faith.
She loves to punch you whenever you say something she doesn't like, but you've been told not to hit girls, for fuck's sake, and you can't get past that.
She doesn't talk about her own past that much, just hides behind these thick, scary-feeling, brick walls no one can kick down, not even you. But it doesn't matter, you haven't really even tried, 'cause you're not stupid and so you've been doing some research on your own through Ellen's contacts. It gives you something to do and less time to think about the mistakes you did with Sam, so, all good.
You found out the network you discovered not so long ago, when Dad took you there with Sam just before the graveyard incident, it's fucking huge. Seriously, beyond anything you could've imagined. Everyone knows someone who knows something about, you know, something. It bothers you, the fact Dad never told you and Sam about the slayers, 'cause if Ellen knew about them, then Dad must have known too, right? But then, Dad, he seemed to believe the vampires were nearly an erased species. Not so much, as you've noticed.
This one guy you found after dozens of wasted phone calls, he told you about Sunnydale's famous slayers. Told you all about Faith Lehane's dark phase and you were shocked at first, but then, thinking it further, it made sense. After that, you always look at her differently - now you know she's not always been with the good guys and it tickles you a little.
She's not innocent.
You're not the only one who's gone through all the seven deadly sins and when you go to Hell, she'll be right there with you.
Somehow, don't ask how, you find it comforting.
The fact she's tough.
Oh yeah, she totally is. You were sitting on a cold gravestone, both hands holding your Beretta 92' against your hurting thigh, those fuckers kick really hard, damnit, and thinking random shit like; fuck, I should've brought the Eagle. Yeah, you like that one better, 'cause ladies always swoon when they see it. It's probably got something to do with the fact Lara Croft, the game version, owns a similar gun and they can relate. Girls, you know. It's a chick-thing, definitely.
So yeah, you were sitting there cursing the fact your balls are gonna fucking freeze soon, Faith, come on, stop playing and kill the bastard, and then your train of thoughts paused for a slight second when you heard a throaty hiss, followed by the sound of fist connecting someone's face. Twice. Then a deep snarl and someone fell down on the ground, growling and you looked up from the gun.
You love watching her fight, you do, but you're actually a little bored now, cause christ, vampires are getting kind of old. They're the only things you've seen for the passed two weeks; you've been following the tracks, trying to hunt down that one bitch, I'm gonna dust you, you cocksucker, but so far no luck. At first killing the things, just killing in general, was helping you deal with the pain, but ultimately, you realize it's not good enough.
You want that one fucker dead and there's no fucking replacement for that kill.
You sighed and looked at the scene in front of you, hoping she'd agree to swing by the bar to grab a beer afterwards and play a round of darts. Only, with knives; makes the game a little bit more interesting.
"You bitch," a high-pitched voice spat out and you couldn't help but chuckle, shaking your head, "you broke my nose, you fucking--"
Your attention turned back to the lady vampire who was lying on the ground, the heel of Faith's army boot pressed against her chest, pinning her down, breaking her bones.
Then Faith chuckled and said, "you shouldn't say such things to a slayer", but when the vampire's face was nothing but question marks, she turned to look at you, angry, putting even more weight on the being causing it to whimper.
"What the fuck's wrong with these things?" she asked, glaring, as if it was your fucking fault the vampires around the area doesn't know what the hell slayers are. Come on, even you didn't know until she showed up, telling you stories about Sunnydale and the famous slayer fighting evil.
Yeah, well, if you're hoping to visit the place one of these days, don't bother, Faith said when she told you about the town, we sort of left a hole and nothing but, so.
And just when you thought something's going right, at least there's no Hellmouth anymore, then, then she went and told you about the other Hellmouth in Cleveland and you cursed, holy fucking hell, as if one isn't enough, and she shook her head with a cynical laughter rolling out, saying, never is, Winchester, never is.
It made you think. Seriously, it did.
You told her that the last time you met Kate, her eyes didn't change color and her face didn't morph into fugly and Faith couldn't answer you, couldn't tell what the hell's going on with the world. Said she needed to get a hold of some guy named Giles cause honestly, she's never, not once seen a vamp whose face didn't turn.
When you mentioned that the vampires you've encountered aren't afraid of the sun either and don't run to their mommies at the sight of cross, her face fell. She couldn't believe it, it's not possible, what the fuck are you on, Dean.
The vampire she was pinning down, well, its face was completely normal.
Universe is screwing us over. Big time.
You looked in silence how she suddenly kicked the vampire with her boot, again and again and again, until there was nothing but a bloody hole where its throat used to be. Not as neat and clean as cutting the head of, yeah, but as efficient nevertheless. The head fell apart and she kicked it further, looking down, waiting for the thing to turn into ashes like the ones she's used to dealing with, but nothing happened.
Still, even with her sun-resistance and stuff, this particular vampire, she wasn't even a real challenge to her, I mean fuck, even you could've taken her down with your little finger.
Yeah, and just like that, you ignore the reason you're sitting on that cold gravestone in the first place, why there's grass stains all over your jeans, why the fabric against your ass is stained with mud and dirt, why your thigh hurts...
Fine, maybe it did manage to kick you down where it hurts the most, but it was one time thing and you'll never ever let any creature do it again, period. You're gonna buy a fucking armor, or whatever.
"It was so fucking stupid of you to bring a gun, Dean," Faith snorted, bitchy, after she was done with the bloody pile - as in stared at it long enough to accept the simple fact it was not gonna turn into dust, not now, not ever. "So fucking useless."
"Yeah, well, I like it," you said and she snorted again, walking over to you with head cocked to one side and you just know she's gonna do something stupid, something that will hurt like hell, cause she's got that look in her eyes.
The one she always has after a slay.
It makes your heart beat a little bit faster.
"Didn't do much good to you, now did it?" She drawls, hand on your thighs, squeezing the bruised areas, knowing damn well it hurts.
You get up pushing her back, wincing in pain as you do, aww, fuck, I'm never gonna have babies, man, but you straighten your back to your full-height despite the pain, just to be taller than her. Yeah, you know it's lame and she sees through you, always, but still it's the only thing you've got and she doesn't. Your fucking height. How sad can you get?
You don't want to answer that.
"You never know," you said with a casual shrug and started to walk towards the dusty Impala, wanting to get the fuck away from that place, "Might have ran into something else so better be safe than sorry."
She only rolled her eyes and-
"We gonna go hunting today?" Faith asks drawing you back to reality, and you drop the gun you're cleaning. You try to catch it in haste, but it's no good and it falls down, hitting your thigh and you want to yelp in pain, but you don't. Wouldn't be very manly.
But, fuck, the tears of pain still bubble somewhere behind your eyelids.
Gritting your teeth, you lift your gaze, focusing on her again. "What was that?"
Ah, she's finished with her clothes, it would seem, cause now she's turned around, leaning against the counter and stares at you curiously. Then she suddenly moves, pulls herself away from the counter, stretching her arms, and you almost stop breathing; you can see the way the tight shirt clings onto her every curve so fucking clearly that the pain from your thigh travels upwards.
You try to look into her eyes, but man, it's not that easy.
"Asked if we're gonna go hunting," she says then, gathering the wet clothes into her hands and disappears into the bathroom where the clothes-line is, above the bathtub.
"Tonight?" you call after her with raised voice, not telling her you'd much rather hunt something other than vampires for a change, "Yeah, sure." You don't really get it, but for some reason, she seems to love hunting vampires more than anything else. You simply figure it's in the blood, that's all.
"Ok, good," she yells back with pleased voice, "I'm gonna take a lil nap before we head out, okay? Wake me up in half."