Aug. 8th, '15: The Bear and the Badger
Title: The Bear and the Badger
Author: SweetChi
Rating: R for a little language
Crossover: Supernatrual
Word Count: 722
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Supernatural, I am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.
Summary: John finds peace with the most unlikely person.
Author’s Note: An addition to my “Gone” series, but can be read alone. John/Faith
The Bear and the Badger
The morning sun seeped through the curtains, casting the room in a warm glow. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, John looked over at Faith stretched out on the bed beside him and smiled crookedly. Most people looked peaceful, younger, when sleeping. Not Faith. She looked thoroughly debauched with her thick, dark hair swirled around her, her pouted lips slightly parted and pulled into an unconscious smirk, long tan limbs stretched out and fingers occasionally twitching in the sheets. He just knew she was dreaming about fighting or fucking. Maybe both.
When John first heard about the last battle, on all he’d missed out on when he’d been unconscious, he’d been furious. No, beyond furious. He’d chased that bastard demon for so long, SO long dammit, for it to end like THAT? He’d fantasized millions of times about the killing blow and he hadn’t even gotten to SEE the sonfoabitch bite the dust. Everyone else had shied away from his rage. Placated, soothed and talked. Not Faith. She’d simply given him a shrug, and a “Yeah, life’s a real bitch like that, huh?” And when the dam had broken, when the fury gave way to all consuming relief - joy that it was finally over - she was there. More than willing to celebrate with him.
He never would have thought this was how he would end up. Happy. Not after Mary. Looking back on it, he wondered how he didn’t see it right away. How perfect she was… Nothing that flawless and beautiful ever lasted - like a butterfly or a shooting star, always fleeting - one moment in a long life where you were just hit with perfection. Faith, she wasn’t fleeting or perfect. She was real. A mountain, unmovable and forever. A river, flowing and winding, but never stopping. The sky, forever changing, beautiful one minute, scary the next. A torrent then a calm, but always there.
Mary was day and Faith night, light and dark, peace and chaos. He took a moment to marvel in the two women. He’d be damned if they could be more different. Yet he felt that same soul deep tugging when he was with her - contentment and a sense of belonging. Not that he’d ever say that to her, she’d be running for the hills before got all the words out, he knew. The fact of the matter was that he just wasn’t the same man he’d been back then.
He’d seen and done some horrible things in the war and he’d been drawn to Mary’s light to chase away the shadows. But after she died, everything changed - him especially. Now he lived in that darkness he ran from before. He hunted the other things that lived there. He was the nightmare the things in the dark dreamed about. Something Faith knew only too well.
Mary wouldn’t even know him anymore.
If she were miraculously brought back today, no one would be happier than him. But it wouldn’t change anything. He’d still be right where he was now - a broken man; a horrible father; a hunter.
And with Faith.
They didn’t talk about things in the past. Things they’d done. They both knew they weren’t good. They both had done things they regretted, that much was obvious. Things that couldn’t be changed. So they did the only thing they could, they kept moving forward. Any other woman would want to know all about his past, to pick at all those wounds just to satisfy their curiosity or to help “fix” him. Not Faith. She left his scars alone and was grateful he did the same.
She stirred beside him, stretching with a little growl before opening her dark eyes. She looked at him for a second, brows furrowed, then reached over and tugged on his chest hair a little too roughly.
“Ow,” he said with a raised brow, but he made no move to remove her hand.
She just smirked and turned over. “I don’t like wakin’ up to the smell of angst,” she said, her usually rough voice even more gravely with sleep.
“I’m aware of how you like to wake up,” he said with a half-smile, sliding up behind her. The feeling of her warm skin against his chasing away his earlier thoughts.