Through the Never - BtVS/Supernatural/Angel - 8/10
Title: Through the Never
Author: twisted_slinky
Artist: sarah_jones
Crossover: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel/Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Season 6 for SPN. Post S7 for BTVS. Sam is having an out of body experience, and it seems the only person who can help him is a girl who's rather experienced in being a glowing ball of light. Sam/Dawn.
Warnings: Violence, language, innuendos, and some non-explicit sexual encounters of the het variety. Spoilers for BTVS and Angel all seasons; spoilers for SPN through season 6.
Wordcount: ~43k
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural or Angel. Written for fun, not profit.
Link to Story Masterpost: http://twisted-slinky.livejournal.com/32939.html
Link to Art Masterpost: http://sarah-jones.livejournal.com/105137.html (or see it on her website here)
Chapter 8: When Opportunity Kicks in a Door
Dawn knew she wasn't going home tonight.
As it turned out, they weren't in Smallville, Kansas, as Sam had speculated, but right outside of Dickens, Iowa. The drive to Singer's Salvage Yard-yup, Bobby Singer was alive, because, as it turned out, having an angel as a friend was useful if you had your neck snapped during the Apocalypse-was a mere three hours away. But, for Dawn, who was stuck in the pitch black backseat of the rumbling Impala, those were a very long three hours down I-90.
Sam was exhausted.
She saw it on his face as he stumbled into the car at the farmhouse. She saw it the first hour of the drive, whenever his eyes lifted to the rearview mirror and caught hers, while he tried to give Dean the basics; where, why, how. That his story was fragmented and made almost no sense was understandable. After all, it was far into the A.M. now, and apparently he was carrying around a lot of new memories, so his head was feeling kind of heavy.
Dawn shivered at the mere thought. Over a year spent without a soul. Sure, he hadn't been a monster, like Angel, so soulless Sam probably hadn't spent his time ripping out throats and killing puppies. But, the man she saw, he'd tried to kill her. Just because he thought she might be a ghoul. How many other "mistakes" would he have made without his inner Jiminy Cricket? Judging from the string of apologies he'd sent Dean's way? A hell of a lot.
And then there was her. Dawn Summers. The parts that were even harder to explain all seemed to rotate around her, her world. She kinda hated being the freakiest freak in Freak Town.
Sam wasn't making with the explaining. He wasn't making with much of anything, a soft snore coming from the passenger's seat, where his head was propped against the window. Dawn wanted to follow his lead. After all, it had been a long. Damn. Day. But, the adrenaline pumping through her system left her jittery, bouncing one knee, and unable to stop shifting her eyes from the passing headlights outside to the men in the front seat.
Dean was quiet, his gaze intense as he studied the road in front of him, but he let his focus slide, at least once a minute, to his brother. Long lashes casting shadows over his eyes moved up as he scanned Sam's hunched form once; then his jaw twitched and he was back to watching the road. Dawn could have timed him.
He was dying to talk, to ask question, to reach out and touch his brother and shake him awake, make sure his soul was still inside. Dawn knew because she was in the same boat. Sam had described Dean as "kinetic," always moving, giving off that frenzied energy, even when he was trying to sit still. Dawn could see what he was talking about now.
"You can take the couch."
Dawn jumped at the sound of the words. "Huh?"
Dean cleared his throat a little, as if the statement had caught on something on its way up. "I don't think Bobby'll mind if you take the couch," he reaffirmed. "I called him at the gas station. Let him know we were on the way."
Dawn was nodding, which he couldn't see. "Sure. Okay."
"We'll talk about…We'll talk in the morning." His voice was strained, as if that was the opposite of what he had wanted to say. She realized it was, and that tiny allowance, that he was going to let her stay with his family without an interrogation, seemed like his way of trying to be nice to her. So, she smiled.
"Thanks," she said, meaning it.
He stiffened, then nodded to himself. "Yeah," he said, so softly she almost missed it. "Yeah, you too."
She could see the moonlight bouncing off the sign ahead, for the salvage yard. The stacks of cars, scattered metal frames, made the place look like a graveyard of sorts, but even from the road, she could see a house at center. A nice place, or it would have been with a touch of paint. The lights were on, shining out around thick curtains. A beacon of relief.
Tonight. Tonight, she'd be sleeping on a couch here, with strangers she knew too well. And-she pictured in her head-Xander would be sleeping on her I'm-an-adult-now sofa. Giles taking the guest room. Buffy standing over her little-but-bigger sister's bed, and not sleeping at all.
"I'm okay, Buffy," she whispered, assuring the universe in general. With slayers, angels, witches, demons, and magic portals in the equation, there was even a chance her sister would get that message, somehow.
Castiel could smell the blood upon arrival. It was rich, saturating the air, and if he had been just a man, he might have felt his stomach turn. But, he was an angel, and his expression didn't shift in the least when he took another step, deeper into the laboratory.
Crowley was straightening the tools of his trade onto a platter, wiping off the thick, drying gore marring their gleaming edges. The demon was dressed in his black suit pants and charcoal button-up, with a permanently stained once-white apron tied across his front. Castiel stayed back, watching him clean up.
There was no body on his table. Whatever he'd been questioning had already been taken away.
"You drop in, feathers ruffled, at three in the morning-something tells me you're not here for tea." Crowley turned his head, giving the angel a cocky wink. "A fella might get the wrong impression, you know."
"Did you know about the Key?" Castiel asked, his voice ringing with more curiosity than accusation.
Crowley's brow lifted with surprise. "Since you're playing it close to your chest, I'm going to step out on a limb and say you're asking about the one with a capital 'K'?" He gave a slow, sour smile. "Well, now that you mention it… I knew it might be on the table soon enough. Why? What have you heard about it?"
Castiel stilled. The demon wasn't telling him everything. But, the demon never told him everything. The angel straightened, bristling from the thought.
"Did you know the Key had arrived in this world?" Castiel bit.
Amusement glimmered in Crowley's too-human eyes. He chuckled, low. "How on earth would I know that? After all, as you're well aware, I couldn't have possibly have collected it on my own. I might be the King of Hell-but that kind of power would take a player on the other side of the fence." The demon paused, in thought. "But, I can't fault you for asking. The Key…That's just the sort of thing the two of us have been looking for, isn't it?"
Castiel forced down the conflict brewing in his mind. Already he was holding on to so many secrets. They threatened to spill out of him at any moment. But, he held fast to his stony expression, his sureness, not letting the doubt show on his face.
"You believe it could be used to open a door to Purgatory," he stated.
Crowley gave a careful shrug. "It is a Key, after all. We find the map and door, and I think we could put it to good use." His eyes darted up, darker, menacing, even though his voice remained light. "Where is it?"
Castiel didn't like the expression. Crowley didn't know what form the Key had taken-and he wouldn't care even if he did. "I will collect it," Castiel assured. He took a step forward, looming over the demon. "You do your job."
Crowley's jaw twitched. "We're partners in this. You'd do well to remember that."
"Do your job," Castiel repeated. With less conviction, he added, "I'll do mine."
He was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving the demon to his work, and when his feet hit solid ground again, Castiel found himself in the foyer of a large manor. The chandelier above was darkened, the boxed air cold. As clean as it appeared, the estate felt abandoned. Castiel needed wait only a moment before there was a stirring behind him, the faintest clap of wings-unseen.
"You know, these meetings of yours have seriously cut into my social life," Balthazar greeted. "Triplets, Cassie. Triplets and a bathtub of champagne."
Castiel tilted his head in a slight show of acknowledgement. "There was a weapon stolen from Heaven long ago. The Key of Many Doors."
Balthazar snorted. "Universal lock-pick, wasn't it?" He shook his head, and leaned against the stair's curving banister. "I hate to tell you this, Castiel, but that wasn't so much stolen as put away for safe keeping. I heard Father had a hand in making sure it went where we were forbidden-which, in retrospect, should have…" Balthazar paused, eyes widening slightly. "Wait-are you…? Why are you asking about the Key of all things? It's not exactly a weapon that would be useful in fighting Raphael."
"The Never," Castiel breathed, deep in thought, and purposely ignoring his brother's question. "That's where it was sent."
"Aptly named."
Castiel's eyes shot up. "Did you feel the disturbance earlier?"
"That little tickle? I assumed it was one of your favorite mud monkeys doing something stupid again." Balthazar frowned, mock despair written across his face. "Don't tell me one of them opened the door to that dimension with talking ducks again…"
"The Key is here. It has been put in human form."
Balthazar's amusement disappeared in an instant. "But I thought only Father could…" His voice broke off, and he shook his head. "Unlike the other toys upstairs, it was hidden for a good reason, Castiel."
"She," he corrected. Castiel swallowed it down, almost ashamed of the admittance. "The Key has been made into a woman's form. She's here now. And, I mean to collect her. I need you to create a diversion. Other angels may have felt the shift-Raphael surely did. But they won't know what it means. It should be easy to convince them that it was caused by one of the other weapons."
Balthazar was quiet. Castiel felt a prickling sensation across his neck. A sense of wrong from his vessel. A warning. But he ignored it. As he did the guilt beginning to well up in him as his plans solidified. This was for the greater good, he assured himself. Better he collect her than wait for Raphael to find her first.
It was as if a mask had slipped back over Balthazar's face. Too many thoughts covered by a narrowed gaze that only pretended to be casual curiosity. The expression on the other angel's face was almost enough to make Castiel regret coming here.
"We're in a room without doors, Cas. What could you possibly want to use the Key for?"
Castiel shook his head. "Do as I ask, if you still wish to stop Raphael," he said, and flew.
Sam woke at sunrise.
It took him a moment to get his bearings, remember that he had a body, a form that could move on its own, that he didn't have to stay put and watch from afar. While he lay in bed, curling and uncurling his fingers, as if to assure himself that he was using them properly, he looked out at the room. For as often as they'd stayed at Bobby's, they hadn't used this upstairs guest room much. It was usually brimming with papers and books, supplies. And, truthfully, he and Dean were more comfortable downstairs, especially before Sam's trip to the cage, when Bobby, wheelchair-bound, had been stuck living out of the main room.
Sam remembered Bobby saying something last night, about the room still being made up from when Ben and Lisa were staying here. Sam couldn't help it; his eyes went straight to the cot where Dean was sleeping, stomach down. His big brother looked peaceful, which was in direct contradiction to what Sam had been considering, that his own presence had managed to steal away Dean's sole moment of normalcy, the vague promise of new family… Dean didn't look like he was suffering, though.
Sam smiled and quietly pulled himself out from under the covers. He was still in dirt-crusted jeans and a bloody flannel shirt, because he'd been too dead on his feet to shower the night before, even when it was offered up. Spotting his duffel, no doubt dragged in by Dean, he went to it, pulled out a fresh set of clothes, and slipped out of the room and down the stairs.
He purposely kept his eyes away from the doors to the living room, Bobby's study, as he walked down the hallway, toward the downstairs bathroom. He wanted his head clear, his body clean, before he looked at her at all. Before he let himself remember how his two worlds had just been smashed together so catastrophically.
As the first one awake, the shower was deliciously hot. Sam let the water pound against his back and considered taking up worship. In his mind, he knew he'd taken showers since his trip downstairs. He knew it. He knew he'd drunk beer, eaten burgers, screwed women, and killed monsters since then. He knew all that, but those memories felt like they were from a dream. The ones vivid, the ones real, were from being with Dawn, in her apartment, in her classes.
Sam sucked in a breath, realizing the heat coursing over his skin wasn't just from the shower. A familiar, lately very familiar, frustration was building in him, traveling south in a hurry. He switched the water from hot to cold and rinsed himself off before hopping out.
It was surprisingly easy to do, put aside that primal urge to get a quick release- I probably have Dawn to thank for that. Damn tease. Of course, the difference between then and now being that he couldn't actually do anything about it as a crystal ball.
Sam shook his head, slinging water droplets out of his hair like a dog as he stepped back into the chill hallway, dressed. He needed to get his mind off this subject. He needed to-
The hell?
He hadn't realized he was stopped in front of the front window until his mind did a double take and made him look past the curtains again. Yeah, his brain had been right the first time. That was Dawn, standing outside in the cold, a maroon afghan wrapped around shoulders, like she didn't have a care in the world.
Sam saw his boots further down the hallway, at the edge of the stairs-he didn't even remember taking them off last night, just Dean pulling him out of the Impala, Bobby forcing a swig of holy water into each of them before having a heated discussion with Dean in the closed-off kitchen. Sam could only guess that his family treated Dawn half-way decent since she wasn't currently locked in the panic room.
He slipped on his shoes and out the front door. The cool morning air slapped him across his still-damp face, but, for this time of year, it was damn-near mild.
Dawn's shoulders stiffened when she heard his steps on the porch. She was standing just off of it, staring at the driveway, the exit.
Sam swallowed hard.
"I expected you to sleep the day away. What time is it?"
He smiled at her back. "Me, too. Uh, dunno. Six…ish? Have you been out here long?"
She shook her head and turned. And, Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He'd expected to see tears. Maybe even hate. Instead she had a serene blankness to her expression.
"Not long. Just enjoying the early morning. I couldn't sleep." She rolled her eyes. "And, yeah, I realize it's probably not exactly the safest move, wandering about a hunter's property, but there you go. Dawn Summers, ever laughing in the face of common sense."
Sam stepped up beside her, trying to enjoy the gray overcast view. He took in her change of clothes, her own, so they had probably been salvaged from her overnight bag. She was clean, too, hair dry-obviously he hadn't been the first one to hit the showers, after all.
"I'm sorry, Dawn."
She raised a brow, giving him a once over. "For?"
He huffed. "Seriously?"
"For not fixing me breakfast yet?" she supplied.
Sam shook his head, trying to be annoyed, and failing. "Dawn, you know… This is my fault. You're stuck here right now because of me. You nearly got killed by me… I'm so damn sorry about this."
Dawn took a step away. "Sorry," she muttered, like she was mocking him. "That's just great…"
Sam found himself chasing after her as she quickly walked down the drive, rounding the side of the house where they'd parked only a few hours ago. He gently grabbed hold of her arm.
"I know you don't have a reason to forgive me, but-"
For a second, he thought she was sobbing into her hand, but when she stopped, to turn around, she was stifling her laughter. She held her hands up to stop him from continuing, and backed into the Impala's tail-light, all but bouncing from the impact in her frantic need to get away.
"Are you freakin' kidding me?" she snapped. And, there was more than a little annoyance bleeding out past her strained grin. "I promised you I'd do this. I promised I'd find a way to get you back to your brother and your body." She waved her hands at him dramatically. "Ta-da! I can officially check that off my to-do list."
Sam held a hand up, stopping her from side-stepping away from him. She stayed against the back of the car, staring up at him.
"And I could never thank you enough-"
"Here comes the 'but'," Dawn announced, pursing her lips. "This is the part where you explain that you can never repay me for being a good friend and trying to help, 'but' now it's time for me to get out of your hair so you can go back to living your life. I get it. Body returned, you no longer need me to entertain you. You don't have to say it, Sam."
Sam blinked. "Entertain me? You can't actually believe that."
Dawn swallowed, suddenly interested in the ground. "Stockholm syndrome," she muttered.
"What?"
"Well, okay, maybe not Stockholm syndrome but..." She shook her head. "Look. You were stuck with me. You didn't have a choice. I was the only one you could talk to, so of course you had to be friendly to me."
Sam reached out, cupping her cheek. He lifted her head until her red-rimmed eyes were locked onto his. "Dawn. I want you to look at me. I may have been stuck with you, but that doesn't mean I don't…I doesn't mean I never…God, you drive me nuts!"
She snorted. "Wow. Sam Winchester, word smith. You sure we went to the same Stanford?"
He found himself hunched forward, pressing his lips against hers to stop her from speaking. She surrendered to the kiss, groaning into his mouth as he pulled away.
"Actions speak louder than words," she admitted, her hands lingering at his sides. She made a move to sit on the back of the car and Sam raised a brow of warning.
"Like Dean'll ever know," she smirked.
Sam gave it some thought, glancing at the back of the house, up at the windows, where Dean and Bobby were still deep in sleep. Dean, especially, had never been an early riser. Sam ran with the notion, reaching down to grab her by her jeans and pull her up on to the trunk of the car.
She made a breathy gasp at the display, and it sent a ghostly caress down his spine. He wanted to hear that sound again. And, soon.
"Me Jane, you Tarzan-enjoying the manly feats of manliness?" she joked.
Sam didn't give the answer he wanted to give, biting into his lip to stop himself from explaining just how manly he could be. Instead he shook his head, trying to get back on topic.
He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I want you here. I do. But, when Castiel comes back, he might know of a way to get you home. If he does-"
"I've been worried, you know," she said, cutting him off. "I've been worried about Buffy. About how my friends are, if they'll know I'm okay or if they'll spend the next month tearing apart Sacramento and Joey the Drooler." She paused. "But I haven't been as worried as I should be. It's not because I don't love my sister. It's not because I wouldn't tell her where I am in a heartbeat, if given half a chance…"
"But, you have to find a way to let her know. You'll never forgive yourself if you don't."
"I will," she promised. "I will. But, that doesn't mean I'm looking for a way home. Not right away. I feel guilty for even saying it, but I know Buffy can take care of herself. And, if your angel friend said I could leave today, I don't know if I'd-"
Sam leaned his forehead down against her hair, taking in her scent. "Dawn, I don't think you know what you're saying."
He was surprised when she let her hands drift under his shirt, finding smooth, taunt muscles beneath, and he returned the welcome gesture by pushing the old blanket off of her shoulders and onto the car behind her.
"Then stop me from saying it," she whispered against his neck, and planted a biting kiss on the spot.
Sam pushed himself against her, dipping his head so that he could catch her lips again. The slope of the car, the slickness of the metal, sent her body sliding against his, thigh bouncing against his hip when he pushed her back to deepen the kiss. The accidental friction left his pulse racing, but he hesitated when her fingers tugged his zipper down.
"If keep doing that, you better commit," he warned. Not his most romantic line, but he was straining against his boxers as it was. He couldn't stand it, the thought of not having her again, after months of knowing exactly what he wanted. As chill as it was outside, it was no deterrent, and he wasn't even sure if a cold shower would do the trick again. Still, he had to give her the chance to back out. "If you're planning to stop, stop now."
Dawn let her hand slip past the denim, finding him hot and hard, and forcing a choked, anxious sound out of his throat. Sam clenched his jaw, trying to muffle the moan.
"I don't know need a right time or a right place, Sam. You're the only part of the equation I need."
"Dawn." Sam swallowed. It took all of his will power to pull her hand free from his jeans. "Stay."
He disappeared around the front of the car, quietly opening the door, rifling through the glove box for the protection behind the extra Glock. There had been a steady supply left here ever since Dean had been given the Impala, but Sam had the strangest feeling he had been the last one to re-stock. He shook his head, refusing to dwell on those memories. They were fog; this was real. When he reappeared with a small foil packet in his hand, Dawn grinned.
"Screw the boy scouts -'be prepared' must be the Winchester motto."
Sam already had her shirt off her shoulders before she could finish the statement. He kissed a line down her stomach as he worked her jeans free, studying her soft skin as he moved. He lingered on the faint scars at her stomach, then raised a hand to part her knees so he could slide back between them. Christ, her legs…Sam had been thinking about these long legs wrapping around him for ages.
Once again, he was considering the Impala his friend-the slick trunk left her sliding down to meet his mouth with ever shimmy of her body.
"You're going to pay for all those strip teases," he warned with a wide smile.
The stifled gasp she gave when he gently scraped his teeth against the soft inside of her thigh was acknowledgement enough. He let his fingers find her heat and provide a guide for his mouth. Suckle. Bite. Kiss. It was the right combination to elicit another one of those wonderful sounds from her lips, and once he found the pattern, she melted in his hands.
When he lifted his eyes, her head was raised, gaze glued on him. Watching him enjoy her. It made him heavy, made him ache with need, but he still had work to do before he got around to himself. Hell yes, she'd pay, and he was going to make sure she loved every second of it.
READ CHAPTER 9