Fic: Gimme Shelter (1/5)
Title: Gimme Shelter
Author: Dulcedeusex
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN. All recognizable characters and situations belong to their respective owners and I make no profit off this.
Rating: M
Fandom's: Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel the Series
Characters: Dean Winchester, Faith Lehane (in this chapter)
Type: GEN, HET, pre-SPN S1
Pairing(s): Faith/Dean
Spoilers: SPN pre-season 1, BtVS post-Chosen, AtS post-Not Fade Away
Summary: Some months before SPN Season 1 (May 2005), Dean Winchester bumps into Faith in a town in Nevada. He saves her life after she's fought a demon but he does not know she is a Slayer.
Art: sucksucksmile it's so amazing, you're so amazing! I need new superlatives! But you're truly awesome. Fic wouldn't have been complete without your input and your hard work.
Author's Notes: This story is dedicated to the amazing dollarformyname, without her this would never have been published and if it had it would have been so crap! I'm also dedicating it to all the SPN/BtVS/AtS crossover writers whose works inspired me to try this in the first place.
Oh, a storm is threat'ning
My very life today
If I don't get some shelter
Oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away - Gimme Shelter, Rolling Stones
GIMME SHELTER
Faith limped out of the woods and onto the dark highway, her right hand straying up to the gaping hole that was leaking powerful Other Slayer blood with every hitching breath she took. Blinking away the stars that danced in the periphery of her blurry vision she bit her lip as she began the walk back towards the roach motel currently housing her meager possessions and, most importantly, her first aid kit.
She silently took stock of her injuries.
The twisted left ankle and dislocated left shoulder were definitely not good.
Neither were the two to four broken ribs on the right. She was not quite clear how many were broken because the whole area throbbed with pain. Especially the one that was poking out of her rib cage and costing her precious blood by the second; that rib was not making the hike back any easier. If she didn't need it to protect her lungs she would have just snapped it off and tossed it into the yawning pit that was final resting place of the Gravron demon that had broken it.
The urge to stop and just lie down on the fecund earth lining the edges of the road was overwhelming but Faith knew that if she stopped now, lost her jerky, pain-filled momentum, she would not see the sun rise tomorrow. Fast-slayer healing and all, but this time, mortality was just not impressed.
So with a brutal clenching of her jaw she turned her mind away from her injuries and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. She was no damsel in distress, she was no newly awakened Slayerette, she was the goddamned Other Slayer, the darker half of the Original Chosen Two, goddamnit. She had just fought a seven-foot-tall evil sonofabitch that had taken out four experienced Slayerettes a week and a half ago.
She was Faith Lehane, the girl that the wrong side of the tracks, the girl Kakistos, Sunnydale, Wolfram & Hart, prison, Angelus, the First and a few more apocalypses had failed to kill. No, she had come too fucking far, lost too fucking much, and she was not going to die anonymously in the woods of Bumfuckville, Famous for Watching Paint Dry, USA. Not a chance. Not tonight.
-xx-
Dean fiddled with his tape deck as he rewound his AC/DC tape back to the beginning. He peered at the deserted highway intermittently to make sure he did not end up hitting a deer or any other skittish animal likely to dart into the Impala's bright beams. Foot heavy on the gas, he whooped with joy when the tape reached the end with a loud clicking sound. Pressing play he tapped the steering wheel excitedly as the first strains of 'Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap' filtered through the speakers.
Distractedly eyeing the road, Dean fumbled on the passenger seat for his whiskey flask, letting go of the steering wheel and using his knees to keep the car steady as he opened the container. His cell phone blinked right then and he reached with his right hand to pick it up, giving a relieved sigh as he passed the 'Welcome to Bello, Nevada' sign. It had been a long drive and he was just looking forward to getting some rest before he started his hunt in the morning.
Looking at the screen Dean shrugged as he realized it was not a call, his cell phone battery was low, yet another reason he was looking forward to stopping soon. John might call with a lead on the demon he was secretively hunting (it must be very personal, if his Dad was intentionally withholding information), or one of his Dad's with some more background information on what he was gonna have to hunt tomorrow. Or maybe even Sammy Dearest, the one who'd gotten away from it all and was on the way to living a reasonably normal life would condescend from Mount Righteous Obstinance and give his big brother a call.
Dean took another swig out of his flask then shrugged reflexively, shutting the door on any feelings of betrayal or self-loathing that always threatened to drown him whenever he was on the road to nowhere on yet another soon-to-be forgotten hunt. Wedging the flask between his thighs, Dean steered with his left hand and screwed the cap back on with his right. The Impala swerved a little off-course as he turned the music up for the guitar riff, then swerved again violently as Dean caught a figure weaving out of his blind side and onto the road. He slammed on the brakes, skidding across the tarmac and into the other lane, swearing profusely as the Impala burnt expensive inches of rubber, then shuddered to a halt. Dean swore again loudly as he turned on his hazards and leapt out of the car.
"Are you fucking crazy? What are you doing, you irresponsible drunk!"
The rumpled almost-victim clutched the brown, paper bag closer and flipped him the bird as he ambled off into the trees. Dean clenched his fists in fury and with another string of epithets, got back in the Impala and drove off. His heart was racing and his lips were drawn in a flat compressed line that would have made his sanctimonious little brother proud.
He shut the music off with an aggressive jab of the eject button. His good mood ruined, Dean observed the speed limit, driving the rest of the way into town with both hands on the wheel.
-xx-
Dean shouldered his duffel bag and slammed the trunk of the Impala shut as he took out his newly procured motel room keys from his back pocket and cast a critical eye over the lodgings. This was a new low, even for him. The entire façade of the building was a dirty, cracked and peeling indeterminable brownish grey. He squashed down the urge to shudder and started to walk up to his door. Taking out his protesting cell phone he switched it off then tucked it back into his front pocket. When he looked back up, he growled low in his throat with irritation; yet another one of this town's drunks was half walking, half stumbling to the room next to him. No wonder something was eating this town's children - divine intervention to prevent them from turning into fucking degenerate adults.
As he got closer, Dean's eyes widened in shock, this one wasn't some unshaven hobo but a chick, and a young one at that. Dressed in dark jeans, steel-toed boots, a gray hooded sweat-shirt and a black leather jacket, Dean guessed she was probably a drug-addict.
Faith heard her breath rasp and gurgle in her chest and bit down even harder on her lip. Come on girl, just a few more steps and you're home free! She noticed the guy walking towards her and prayed he would just walk away and not try and hit on her. Human or vampire she did not want to play.
As Dean got closer to the girl, his eyes narrowed sharply, under the dim lighting of the motel sign he could see the blood and mud on her face and there was something wrong with her right side which she was holding tightly.
"Hey, are you okay?"
Brown fiery eyes met his and Dean was reminded of a cornered wounded animal. The girl stopped at her door and smiled at him humorlessly.
"I'm five by five. Now move it along, asshole. I'm not selling anything and I sure as fuck am not buying anything."
Dean would have been a whole lot more intimidated if she didn't finish off by bending over and coughing up bloody spit. Instinctively he leaned forward and put his arm around her to offer support. It was only when he caught the dull gleam of the 6-inch blade she dropped out of her sleeve that Dean appreciated just how much he should be intimidated by her.
Jumping out of the way Dean stared at her in surprise; the knife had missed his face by half an inch.
Faith grinned for a second, back against the door and subtly fighting to hold onto the knife in her blood-slicked hand. Dean dropped his duffel bag and held both his palms up.
"Okay sorry, no unauthorized touching but, by the looks of the blood dripping on the floor, sister, you need medical attention." His tone was half amused, half matter of fact.
"Not that it's any of your fucking business, but I've got a first aid kit in my room," Faith rasped.
Her vision was still blurred but she could distinguish the handsome lines of his face and body. She prayed this hot asshole would just get the message and leave her alone; she was operating on fumes here, and she was not in the mood.
Dean studied her intently, weighing how much strength she had left in her if he tried to wrestle the knife from her. As if she had read his mind, Faith straightened a little, her stance shifting in anticipation of an attack. Dean shrugged, making a split-second decision.
"Okay, sorry I bothered you. I'm just gonna pick up my duffel and go into my room. This is my key, see? It's got the same number as the door next to you."
He inched closer, keeping his eyes trained on her, right hand still holding up his room key for her to see. Bending down slightly he picked up his bag with his left hand. Faith did not speak, not sure she was still able to talk and breathe at the same time. Dean walked away from her with his back to the door, eyes still trained on her. Unlocking his door he gave her one last look before stepping into his room and shutting himself in.
Faith turned around, one eye on Dean's door, put the knife hilt in her mouth and, wiping her blood-slick palm on her left thigh, reached forward and broke the door handle. She had lost her room key and cell phone at some point during her fight with the Gravron demon. As soon as she crossed the threshold she feebly pushed the door shut and fell to her knees, letting out a strangled cry of pain as the action jarred her broken ribs. Dizzy, she fell backwards, landing on her back and facing the door.
Not good, to the power of infinity.
Dean set his duffel down and picked up the motel room phone muttering a fervent plea that it was working. He smiled in relief when he got a dial tone and called 911; he was no college graduate but Dean knew injuries and that girl was too banged up to not call the emergency services. She could thank him when she lived, or not. He was betting on not if that blade and her willingness to use it was anything to go by. His lips twisted in a pained grin; he liked that about her.
Reading the motel name off his room key, he told a nasal-sounding woman that there was mugging victim in need of assistance. Putting the phone down, Dean unearthed his current fake driver's licence and then strode out of the room.
Faith's fingers scrabbled against the dirty, maroon carpet, futilely trying to find the knife that she had dropped when she fell. She was not gonna go down without a fight!
Dean pushed her room door open and began to approach; Faith bit back the panicked whimper of fear that unfurled in her chest. She was the Slayer, damnit, and if this bow-legged guy was going to finish her off she would not give him the satisfaction of showing fear.
Dean crouched down and picked up her blade. This guy had to be some kind of pervert - what else would a young good-looking guy like him be doing at a motel that made her old room in Sunnydale look like a suite at the Bellagio?
Dean made a cursory sweep of her room. He did not see anything else that would raise police questions so, pocketing the knife, he turned back to her, kneeling by her head. Her eyes shot him daggers.
"I'm Dean, Dean Winchester, and I promise you I'm not a psycho… or a sicko. But I'm gonna keep your knife safe for you, okay?"
She tried to speak but her breath came out in a gurgle and Dean instantly lifted her head onto his lap, his hand moving down her body to check for broken bones. She stiffened in protest but the strength to move seemed to have deserted her.
Dean noted her dislocated shoulder with a sympathetic intake of breath. Faith hissed when he touched her ribs and Dean pulled his hand away, making soothing sounds.
"It's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you. The ambulance will be here soon," he reassured her.
Faith was fading in and out, playing tag with consciousness. He must think she was stupid; she had not seen or heard him call anybody. Bitterly she observed heightened Slayer senses had to be good for something. Even if in this case they were telling her to abandon all hope.
Faith was also struggling to shake the eerie feeling that she was having déjà vu. Despite her best efforts not to explore this feeling any further, she remembered another skeevy motel room. When she had killed that very first demon for the Mayor. He too had died injured and alone, having foolishly put his trust in an attractive face. So had Alan Finch, his own breath gurgling out of his chest, much like hers was doing right now.
Pain and despair flooded through her. This sick bastard was gonna hurt her, maybe kill her. And Slayer strength and a special destiny were not going to save her from this ignoble death.
An unwanted tear trickled out of her eye as she realized that she was going to die anonymously in a seedy motel in the middle of nowhere like she had never mattered. Her mother had always said 'blood will out' and it made her murderously angry that after everything she had been through and done, she was going to prove her right. Karma was a bitch.
Dean saw Faith's right fist clench and he looked back into her eyes, trying very hard not to look at the bone jutting out of her rib cage. He felt something tug in his chest as her eyes spat anger, fear, dread and sorrow at him. Something about what he saw there reminded Dean of himself; she was a fighter, a loner, and she too had done things she was not proud of. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he realized that was happening to her could happen to him one day. Subconsciously he stroked her blood-soaked and mud-encrusted hair away from her face and tried to give her an encouraging smile.
"I called 911 as soon as I got into my room, here's hoping they've got more than one ambulance. If they're not here in five minutes I'll carry you to my car and drive you to a hospital myself. I know you don't trust me, that's why I didn't offer to take you earlier but I'm here to help… and just ignore the fact that I'm actually boarding in this nasty-ass skid-mark of a motel when I say that," he added with a cheeky grin.
Faith's eyes twinkled briefly at the last part and Dean beamed in response, blinding her with the intensity of his smile. It was like staring at the sun. Without thinking she smiled back, her fist uncurling of its own volition. Dean took her hand in his, stroking her hair back with his left hand now. He heard the faint, distinctive wail of a siren and squeezed her hand.
"The cavalry's here. Present digs aside, I knew this town wouldn't let me down. Just gotta have a little faith."
Her mouth weakly turned up at the corners at this; now it was guaranteed she wasn't going to die yet, after all. The PTB had a weird sense of humor and they never liked to waste a good joke, no matter how lame it was. The fake ID in her back pocket calling her Julia Desmond, meant that if she kicked it, nobody would get the joke. The sirens became louder, drawing closer as Faith lost her tenacious grip on consciousness.
-xxx-