Living on a Prayer, BtVS/SPN, part 9/approx 30 (story complete)
Living on a Prayer
nwhepcat
Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Sam and Dean Winchester, Castiel, Faith Lehane
Follow up to
Like the White-Winged Dove and Waiting for the end of the World. Also, Vessel becomes relevant.
Faith has a slayer dream which sends her on a reluctant journey to her old territory, on a quest to save a new ally.
Spoilers through SPN 4.10 "Heaven and Hell," incorporates world-building details revealed since.
Previous parts are here.
Faith tries to sort out her next move as she attempts to find her way through a city stripped of its Central Artery landmark. If someone's going to be looking for them, the last place they'd be expected to go is down to the Cape. It's the off-season down there, so there wouldn't be a swarm of people in someplace like P-town.
But there's a reason no one would expect that -- it's a shitty plan. They'd be backing themselves into the tightest corner in the whole lower 48. Their chances are better if they head inland, where there are options and a spreading network of roads, and not enough cops to cover them all. Problem is, they can't go far. The knife slash needs attention, the sooner the better.
The one bright spot is that Mark's friend can't identify her car.
Her cellphone chirps and she pulls it out, muttering curses. "Yeah."
"Faith, it's Giles."
"Not the best time for a chat."
"I didn't expect that, given your message." Oh. Yeah. This wouldn't be a social call. "Are you in danger?"
"Not immediately," she says. "What about everyone there -- are they safe? I couldn't reach anyone."
"Minor injuries at worst. We had a flurry of demonic activity over here."
"Here too. We'll have to talk about that soon. Something big is trying to raise something bigger, and it's a lot of battles that add up to something apocalyptic."
"So you said in your message."
"Did I? Shit, Giles, I'm so tired I don't remember what I said. I haven't slept since I left it. That's important, but right now, I've got something else to deal with."
"Tell me, Faith. I'll help in any way I can."
"I've got an injured angel in my car. We're past first aid and onto third aid, but I can't take him to a hospital."
There's an eruption of stammering, then Giles says, "Angel? But we all thought --"
"Not Angel. An angel. Harps, haloes, the whole deal, except not. Some demon sliced him open with a knife, and he needs stitches."
"Is it life threatening?" The sound goes muffled, and she can faintly hear him ordering someone around on his end.
"Who knows with an angel. I don't think so. It's more a slash, but he's torn open the butterflies I put on, and he's losing blood."
"Right," Giles says briskly, and suddenly Faith feels better about things. "Do you still have the book Xander gave you?"
"Book?"
"Where There Is No Doctor."
Right, yeah. Xander had presented her with a copy of the handbook he'd sworn by on his African travels, telling her, "If you're going to go charging off on your own, at least take this." She'd rolled her eyes, but she'd taken it.
"Sure," she tells Giles. "It's in the trunk of my car."
"Good. The book will tell you what to do, but I can walk you through the first bit." She hears the rustle of pages being turned, and pictures him bent over his desk, peering through his own copy of the book. "Did this happen less than twelve hours ago?"
"Yeah, but we're cutting it close."
"If it's going to be done at all, you must do it soon. But not if there's infection or any dirt or foreign matter in the cut which you can't remove."
"Got it."
"You'll need some supplies. A needle, nylon or silk thread, a suction bulb to wash out the wound. You'll need to find some way to boil water."
"I'm gonna need a motel room with a kitchenette, and I don't know where to find one."
Another muffled mush of sound, then Giles says, "We'll find something online, just tell me where you are."
"Boston. Beyond that, I don't fucking know." Without warning she finds herself about to cry. "Everything's fucked up, they tore down my landmarks. Hang on, I see a sign to Mass Pike."
"Mass Pi--"
"The turnpike. I-90." She relays her exact location once she merges onto the Pike, and Giles feeds the info to whoever's on the computer. In a few moments she has directions to a couple of motels on the outskirts. "Ain't modern life something," she says. "People in London finding me a place to crash in Boston."
"See that you do get some rest," Giles says gently.
"I'll do what I can. We may have cops on our ass."
"Why is that?"
"Castiel's walking around in human form. A guy he possessed -- he gets pissed when you put it that way, but it's the shorthand. We ran into a friend of the original owner. Didn't go that well." She almost misses her exit and has to veer across a couple lanes of traffic, jostling Castiel to consciousness. "I gotta go, Giles. I can't talk and drive."
"Stay in touch," he says urgently. "Let us help if you need us."
"Thanks," she says fervently, and breaks the connection.
***
Faith flicks a glance at Castiel as she waits at the stoplight at the end of the off-ramp. He looks rough. "How are you holding up?" she asks, mostly out of curiosity about what he'll say. She can't imagine him lying, but she can't picture him admitting that he feels like hell, either.
"Where is this?"
"Avoidance," she says. "Good choice. We're headed for a motel so I can get that gash sewn up."
He doesn't respond, looking like he's about to pass out again.
"Castiel," she says sharply. "Stay with me. There's a lever under your seat that lowers the back. Find it, and tilt your seat back as far as it will go." She spots the first motel, letting out a relieved sigh to see the lighted Vacancy sign. "I'll go in and get a room. You're sleeping in the car because you've been a busy, busy boy. I won't be long, but if anyone comes up, don't get out, don't turn your face toward the window."
Faith turns into the parking lot entrance, stopping just beyond to feel around the back seat for the blanket wadded up there from her nap at the truck stop. Tucking it around him, she arranges it so his trench coat and bloody shirt are well covered. On an impulse she ruffles his hair so it looks messy with sleep, and the contact creates a complex mixture of feelings, tender and sexual and extremely confused.
She pinches the shit out of her own cheeks to bring the color up. "Don't pull off the blanket, either," she orders. "Just stay like this and I'll be back as soon as I can." She pulls the car up to the motel office. "Tell me what you're supposed to do."
"Nothing," he says, drifting. "Sleeping."
It'll have to be good enough. She gets out of the car, locking the doors. When she bursts into the motel office, she's flushed and smiling, working the dimples for all she's worth. "Hey there!" she greets the desk clerk, a scowling woman on the far side of middle age. "Do you have a room with a kitchenette? My husband and I are on our honeymoon, and we'd rather stick close to the room, if you know what I mean."
"Here?"
"Well, ya know, we're so broke we don't have a spot to kiss in --" she waves her left hand "-- no ring, even -- and any night away from the monster-in-law is a honeymoon, if ya catch my drift. Probably a room down at the end would be good. We can get loud, if you get my meaning."
"It's hard not to," the woman says, but she's looking grudgingly amused.
Faith winks. "The actual wedding was two weeks ago, and my cousin had to Photoshop the hickeys off our wedding portrait. You know what I'm sayin'."
"Ohh, yeah," the clerk says, more amused, less grudging.
"He's out there conked out in the car, but I'm gonna go rustle up some Red Bull or caffeine pills or somethin'. There a drugstore around here?"
"Walgreens, just down the road."
"Awesome. Cash is okay, right? We don't own credit cards, cause we've seen so many of our friends get into deep doo with those. I don't have to tell you."
"Cash is fine, hon."
The "hon" makes Faith's dimples come out for real. She hauls out a wad of cash from her pockets. "How long will this buy us?"
Not that much, from the look on the clerk's face. "We have a cash discount," she says. "How long have you got?"
"Three nights is all we can manage."
"That's exactly what it works out to." She pushes two keys across the desk and, after a moment's thought, one of the twenties Faith put on the counter. "You two need some food, too."
"Oh no, ma'am," Faith says. "You keep that." She pushes the twenty back toward the clerk. "We got Walmart gift cards." That happens to be the one true thing she's said since she set foot in the office. Faith always keeps a stash of gift cards in case she needs to ditch the credit and debit cards and fly under the radar.
"If you're sure..."
"Totally."
"There's one right across from the drugstore." The clerk puts the pair of keys in Faith's hand. "Last room on your left. We'll leave you alone, but if you want anything, just call or stop in, and we'll take care of it."
"You are such a peach!" Faith exclaims. She fills out the registration with some creative lies and half truths, in the meantime adding more bits of oversharing. When she steps out of the office, the clerk's friendly laughter trailing behind her, she mutters to herself, "Faith Lehane, you are going straight to hell."
***
If Faith needed any proof of how well the newlywed routine worked, their room at the far end would provide it. When she opens the door, she's greeted by the sight of the one bed that takes up a good half of the room.
"Christ," she mutters, then adds a Sorry, even though Castiel's still in the car. Well, it won't be the first floor she's slept on, or the last, either.
Leaving the room door open, she helps Castiel out of the car, keeping the blanket draped around him. His color's slightly better since he's been lying down, which relieves her. Faith parks him on the edge of the bed and returns to the car for her bag, digging the copy of Where There Is No Doctor out of the toolkit in the trunk.
"You want to be lying down," Faith says when she returns, "but not quite flat. Keep that wound elevated. Get those clothes off first." She hopes she manages to sound as brisk and businesslike as Giles. "I'm gonna put on some water to boil." Rummaging in the cupboards, she pulls out as many pots as will fit on the stovetop. They're cheap, dented aluminum pots, but they'll hold water. She gets them filled and sitting on the burners, then pages through the book to see what else she needs.
"I've got two jobs for you to do." She turns to find Castiel still sitting on the edge of the king bed, fully dressed. "Three. Number one, don't faint." Going to him, she tugs off the blanket and begins easing off his coat. "Second, if you can put any pressure on that wound, do. We need to slow down the bleeding." Faith sucks in a breath as she sees how much the bloodstain on his shirt has spread. "Third, once the water boils, shut off the burners on all but the biggest pot. I need some water that's been boiled but cooled off, but I'll have to boil some things. I have to run out for supplies, and it'll start boiling when I'm gone. You'll hear it when it's ready. This pot stays on, the others you turn off. Can you hang in and do that?"
"Yes." Castiel sounds irritated, which she takes as a good sign.
She gets him situated in bed, propped up slightly, with a folded towel on the knife slash. Taking his hand, she places it on the towel, pressing down with her own. "As much pressure as you can," she says, as his breath hisses inward. "Yeah, I know. But it'll help. I'll be back as quick as I can make it." As she rises her fingertips brush across the skin of his arm, and she thinks again what a well-formed body he's chosen while he's earthbound -- but this time she can't help thinking of the man who took care of it before Castiel stepped in. "Don't let anyone in."
She's heading across the Walmart parking lot when her phone rings. "Yeah."
"Where the hell have you been?"
"Hello to you too, Dean."
"I mean it. You were supposed to check in."
"Yeah, well, things have happened. For starters, I got him patched up, and he popped everything open again. I'm getting ready to sew him up this time, just have to get some supplies."
"You don't already have that in your first aid kit?"
"Believe it or not, the way I've managed to live my life so far, I've never had to sew anybody up. Anything else you feel like giving me shit about? I'll try hard to give a rip."
A young woman gives her a dirty look, and Faith realizes she's just said "shit" in front of her precious gaggle of tots.
"Sorry. Guess I'm on edge," Dean says.
"Anything going on?"
"Nah, just getting ready to head up to Bobby's place in South Dakota. Think you can meet us there when you can get away?"
"Don't see why not. I'll call for directions when I'm ready to head out there." She waves off the greeter who tries to shove a shopping cart on her, picks up a hand basket. (So convenient for goin' to hell, she thinks.) She heads for the first aid aisle, starts tossing boxes of gauze and bandages into the basket, along with plenty of tape and a bottle of peroxide. "These guys, when they play poker, they ain't playin' for matchsticks."
Dean snorts. "You must've met Uriel."
"Who's Muriel?"
He laughs out loud. "Uriel. One of Castiel's ... colleagues. He's a total dick. Was it one of the others, then?"
"No. Just him. Did you know his name was Mark?"
"Whose name?"
Looking around, Faith lowers her voice. "The vessel. The guy whose body Castiel hijacked."
"Castiel told me the guy was real religious. He prayed for that."
"So what if he did? Did his wife and kid pray for it? Did his friends?"
There's a long silence on the other end. "What makes you think he's got a family?"
"We ran into a friend of his, which didn't go that well. I'm just sayin', Dean. Don't get me wrong, I'd rather help these guys than the other team. But there's a chance we'll pay a price. These boys play hardball."
"Wait, I thought they were playing poker."
"Dick." She snaps the phone shut, jams it in her pocket, then goes in search of the sewing aisle.
nwhepcat
Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Sam and Dean Winchester, Castiel, Faith Lehane
Follow up to
Like the White-Winged Dove and Waiting for the end of the World. Also, Vessel becomes relevant.
Faith has a slayer dream which sends her on a reluctant journey to her old territory, on a quest to save a new ally.
Spoilers through SPN 4.10 "Heaven and Hell," incorporates world-building details revealed since.
Previous parts are here.
Faith tries to sort out her next move as she attempts to find her way through a city stripped of its Central Artery landmark. If someone's going to be looking for them, the last place they'd be expected to go is down to the Cape. It's the off-season down there, so there wouldn't be a swarm of people in someplace like P-town.
But there's a reason no one would expect that -- it's a shitty plan. They'd be backing themselves into the tightest corner in the whole lower 48. Their chances are better if they head inland, where there are options and a spreading network of roads, and not enough cops to cover them all. Problem is, they can't go far. The knife slash needs attention, the sooner the better.
The one bright spot is that Mark's friend can't identify her car.
Her cellphone chirps and she pulls it out, muttering curses. "Yeah."
"Faith, it's Giles."
"Not the best time for a chat."
"I didn't expect that, given your message." Oh. Yeah. This wouldn't be a social call. "Are you in danger?"
"Not immediately," she says. "What about everyone there -- are they safe? I couldn't reach anyone."
"Minor injuries at worst. We had a flurry of demonic activity over here."
"Here too. We'll have to talk about that soon. Something big is trying to raise something bigger, and it's a lot of battles that add up to something apocalyptic."
"So you said in your message."
"Did I? Shit, Giles, I'm so tired I don't remember what I said. I haven't slept since I left it. That's important, but right now, I've got something else to deal with."
"Tell me, Faith. I'll help in any way I can."
"I've got an injured angel in my car. We're past first aid and onto third aid, but I can't take him to a hospital."
There's an eruption of stammering, then Giles says, "Angel? But we all thought --"
"Not Angel. An angel. Harps, haloes, the whole deal, except not. Some demon sliced him open with a knife, and he needs stitches."
"Is it life threatening?" The sound goes muffled, and she can faintly hear him ordering someone around on his end.
"Who knows with an angel. I don't think so. It's more a slash, but he's torn open the butterflies I put on, and he's losing blood."
"Right," Giles says briskly, and suddenly Faith feels better about things. "Do you still have the book Xander gave you?"
"Book?"
"Where There Is No Doctor."
Right, yeah. Xander had presented her with a copy of the handbook he'd sworn by on his African travels, telling her, "If you're going to go charging off on your own, at least take this." She'd rolled her eyes, but she'd taken it.
"Sure," she tells Giles. "It's in the trunk of my car."
"Good. The book will tell you what to do, but I can walk you through the first bit." She hears the rustle of pages being turned, and pictures him bent over his desk, peering through his own copy of the book. "Did this happen less than twelve hours ago?"
"Yeah, but we're cutting it close."
"If it's going to be done at all, you must do it soon. But not if there's infection or any dirt or foreign matter in the cut which you can't remove."
"Got it."
"You'll need some supplies. A needle, nylon or silk thread, a suction bulb to wash out the wound. You'll need to find some way to boil water."
"I'm gonna need a motel room with a kitchenette, and I don't know where to find one."
Another muffled mush of sound, then Giles says, "We'll find something online, just tell me where you are."
"Boston. Beyond that, I don't fucking know." Without warning she finds herself about to cry. "Everything's fucked up, they tore down my landmarks. Hang on, I see a sign to Mass Pike."
"Mass Pi--"
"The turnpike. I-90." She relays her exact location once she merges onto the Pike, and Giles feeds the info to whoever's on the computer. In a few moments she has directions to a couple of motels on the outskirts. "Ain't modern life something," she says. "People in London finding me a place to crash in Boston."
"See that you do get some rest," Giles says gently.
"I'll do what I can. We may have cops on our ass."
"Why is that?"
"Castiel's walking around in human form. A guy he possessed -- he gets pissed when you put it that way, but it's the shorthand. We ran into a friend of the original owner. Didn't go that well." She almost misses her exit and has to veer across a couple lanes of traffic, jostling Castiel to consciousness. "I gotta go, Giles. I can't talk and drive."
"Stay in touch," he says urgently. "Let us help if you need us."
"Thanks," she says fervently, and breaks the connection.
***
Faith flicks a glance at Castiel as she waits at the stoplight at the end of the off-ramp. He looks rough. "How are you holding up?" she asks, mostly out of curiosity about what he'll say. She can't imagine him lying, but she can't picture him admitting that he feels like hell, either.
"Where is this?"
"Avoidance," she says. "Good choice. We're headed for a motel so I can get that gash sewn up."
He doesn't respond, looking like he's about to pass out again.
"Castiel," she says sharply. "Stay with me. There's a lever under your seat that lowers the back. Find it, and tilt your seat back as far as it will go." She spots the first motel, letting out a relieved sigh to see the lighted Vacancy sign. "I'll go in and get a room. You're sleeping in the car because you've been a busy, busy boy. I won't be long, but if anyone comes up, don't get out, don't turn your face toward the window."
Faith turns into the parking lot entrance, stopping just beyond to feel around the back seat for the blanket wadded up there from her nap at the truck stop. Tucking it around him, she arranges it so his trench coat and bloody shirt are well covered. On an impulse she ruffles his hair so it looks messy with sleep, and the contact creates a complex mixture of feelings, tender and sexual and extremely confused.
She pinches the shit out of her own cheeks to bring the color up. "Don't pull off the blanket, either," she orders. "Just stay like this and I'll be back as soon as I can." She pulls the car up to the motel office. "Tell me what you're supposed to do."
"Nothing," he says, drifting. "Sleeping."
It'll have to be good enough. She gets out of the car, locking the doors. When she bursts into the motel office, she's flushed and smiling, working the dimples for all she's worth. "Hey there!" she greets the desk clerk, a scowling woman on the far side of middle age. "Do you have a room with a kitchenette? My husband and I are on our honeymoon, and we'd rather stick close to the room, if you know what I mean."
"Here?"
"Well, ya know, we're so broke we don't have a spot to kiss in --" she waves her left hand "-- no ring, even -- and any night away from the monster-in-law is a honeymoon, if ya catch my drift. Probably a room down at the end would be good. We can get loud, if you get my meaning."
"It's hard not to," the woman says, but she's looking grudgingly amused.
Faith winks. "The actual wedding was two weeks ago, and my cousin had to Photoshop the hickeys off our wedding portrait. You know what I'm sayin'."
"Ohh, yeah," the clerk says, more amused, less grudging.
"He's out there conked out in the car, but I'm gonna go rustle up some Red Bull or caffeine pills or somethin'. There a drugstore around here?"
"Walgreens, just down the road."
"Awesome. Cash is okay, right? We don't own credit cards, cause we've seen so many of our friends get into deep doo with those. I don't have to tell you."
"Cash is fine, hon."
The "hon" makes Faith's dimples come out for real. She hauls out a wad of cash from her pockets. "How long will this buy us?"
Not that much, from the look on the clerk's face. "We have a cash discount," she says. "How long have you got?"
"Three nights is all we can manage."
"That's exactly what it works out to." She pushes two keys across the desk and, after a moment's thought, one of the twenties Faith put on the counter. "You two need some food, too."
"Oh no, ma'am," Faith says. "You keep that." She pushes the twenty back toward the clerk. "We got Walmart gift cards." That happens to be the one true thing she's said since she set foot in the office. Faith always keeps a stash of gift cards in case she needs to ditch the credit and debit cards and fly under the radar.
"If you're sure..."
"Totally."
"There's one right across from the drugstore." The clerk puts the pair of keys in Faith's hand. "Last room on your left. We'll leave you alone, but if you want anything, just call or stop in, and we'll take care of it."
"You are such a peach!" Faith exclaims. She fills out the registration with some creative lies and half truths, in the meantime adding more bits of oversharing. When she steps out of the office, the clerk's friendly laughter trailing behind her, she mutters to herself, "Faith Lehane, you are going straight to hell."
***
If Faith needed any proof of how well the newlywed routine worked, their room at the far end would provide it. When she opens the door, she's greeted by the sight of the one bed that takes up a good half of the room.
"Christ," she mutters, then adds a Sorry, even though Castiel's still in the car. Well, it won't be the first floor she's slept on, or the last, either.
Leaving the room door open, she helps Castiel out of the car, keeping the blanket draped around him. His color's slightly better since he's been lying down, which relieves her. Faith parks him on the edge of the bed and returns to the car for her bag, digging the copy of Where There Is No Doctor out of the toolkit in the trunk.
"You want to be lying down," Faith says when she returns, "but not quite flat. Keep that wound elevated. Get those clothes off first." She hopes she manages to sound as brisk and businesslike as Giles. "I'm gonna put on some water to boil." Rummaging in the cupboards, she pulls out as many pots as will fit on the stovetop. They're cheap, dented aluminum pots, but they'll hold water. She gets them filled and sitting on the burners, then pages through the book to see what else she needs.
"I've got two jobs for you to do." She turns to find Castiel still sitting on the edge of the king bed, fully dressed. "Three. Number one, don't faint." Going to him, she tugs off the blanket and begins easing off his coat. "Second, if you can put any pressure on that wound, do. We need to slow down the bleeding." Faith sucks in a breath as she sees how much the bloodstain on his shirt has spread. "Third, once the water boils, shut off the burners on all but the biggest pot. I need some water that's been boiled but cooled off, but I'll have to boil some things. I have to run out for supplies, and it'll start boiling when I'm gone. You'll hear it when it's ready. This pot stays on, the others you turn off. Can you hang in and do that?"
"Yes." Castiel sounds irritated, which she takes as a good sign.
She gets him situated in bed, propped up slightly, with a folded towel on the knife slash. Taking his hand, she places it on the towel, pressing down with her own. "As much pressure as you can," she says, as his breath hisses inward. "Yeah, I know. But it'll help. I'll be back as quick as I can make it." As she rises her fingertips brush across the skin of his arm, and she thinks again what a well-formed body he's chosen while he's earthbound -- but this time she can't help thinking of the man who took care of it before Castiel stepped in. "Don't let anyone in."
She's heading across the Walmart parking lot when her phone rings. "Yeah."
"Where the hell have you been?"
"Hello to you too, Dean."
"I mean it. You were supposed to check in."
"Yeah, well, things have happened. For starters, I got him patched up, and he popped everything open again. I'm getting ready to sew him up this time, just have to get some supplies."
"You don't already have that in your first aid kit?"
"Believe it or not, the way I've managed to live my life so far, I've never had to sew anybody up. Anything else you feel like giving me shit about? I'll try hard to give a rip."
A young woman gives her a dirty look, and Faith realizes she's just said "shit" in front of her precious gaggle of tots.
"Sorry. Guess I'm on edge," Dean says.
"Anything going on?"
"Nah, just getting ready to head up to Bobby's place in South Dakota. Think you can meet us there when you can get away?"
"Don't see why not. I'll call for directions when I'm ready to head out there." She waves off the greeter who tries to shove a shopping cart on her, picks up a hand basket. (So convenient for goin' to hell, she thinks.) She heads for the first aid aisle, starts tossing boxes of gauze and bandages into the basket, along with plenty of tape and a bottle of peroxide. "These guys, when they play poker, they ain't playin' for matchsticks."
Dean snorts. "You must've met Uriel."
"Who's Muriel?"
He laughs out loud. "Uriel. One of Castiel's ... colleagues. He's a total dick. Was it one of the others, then?"
"No. Just him. Did you know his name was Mark?"
"Whose name?"
Looking around, Faith lowers her voice. "The vessel. The guy whose body Castiel hijacked."
"Castiel told me the guy was real religious. He prayed for that."
"So what if he did? Did his wife and kid pray for it? Did his friends?"
There's a long silence on the other end. "What makes you think he's got a family?"
"We ran into a friend of his, which didn't go that well. I'm just sayin', Dean. Don't get me wrong, I'd rather help these guys than the other team. But there's a chance we'll pay a price. These boys play hardball."
"Wait, I thought they were playing poker."
"Dick." She snaps the phone shut, jams it in her pocket, then goes in search of the sewing aisle.