A/N: I do not own any of the characters except my OC, unfortunately. Thank you to everyone who visits this story and reviews are greatly appreciated. This is absolutely AU, somewhere in between episodes one and two of Supernatural Season 4 and a somewhere after Season 7 of Buffy. The characters from Buffy aren't really going to play a huge role in the story, but they are referenced from time to time. I hope you enjoy!
CHAPTER ONE: WELCOME BACK
"Sammy!" Dean yelled, running towards him just as the demon they were fighting was about to bash his brains in with a steel bar. "Behind you!" As Sam ducked, Dean brought his blade across the demon's throat, slicing the whole way through, hearing bone snapping and muscle tearing as it's head was severed from it's body.
The head feel to the floor, right next to Sam's hand. Quickly, he pulled his hand away, scrunching his face in disgust. He pulled himself from the floor, standing next to Dean, rubbing his wrist. It was sprained; or broken. Either way, he was going to have to get it looked at. Sam was surprised that Dean could still fight the way he used to after being in Hell for four months. At least he hadn't lost his touch; he really wailed on that bastard.
Dean leaned over, resting his hands on his slightly bent knees. Slowly, he allowed his eyes to map out the room they were standing in. The walls were all painted black, tiny red symbols drawn randomly over the walls in blood. The carpet was a deep gray, making it look almost black, and it was completely void of any furniture or windows. On the floor, there was a pentagram, also drawn there in blood. There had been a ritual performed here. Dean could feel it. Plus, that demon hadn't come from nowhere. He had Sam do a little research on this particular demon before they came running; turns out, this demon had to be summoned. With a blood sacrifice.
"I don't see a body, Dean," Sam stated, scanning the room. "They must have performed the ritual and got rid of the body before we got here." Sam sighed, shaking his head just slightly, certainly not enough for Dean to see, feeling somewhat unaccomplished.
"Yeah, looks like." Dean straightened up, feeling pretty good about himself. "But hey, on the bright side, we killed the demon." He smiled at his younger brother. "Yea us. Now, we can head over to the bar, grab a few quick drinks, maybe a couple girls, and head out of here in the morning." He started walking to the door, ready to leave this place, only to stop when he noticed Sam wasn't following. "Sam?"
Sam turned to Dean. "Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm coming." With a final glance around the room, Sam followed his brother out the door and to the '67 Chevy Impala he swore Dean loved more than his own life. He didn't know why, but he just couldn't shake the feeling their work here wasn't done. Looking at Dean, he pushed that thought to the back of his mind, knowing his brother was itching to get out of this town and to go start a new case. Ever since he came back from Hell, it seemed he was always eager to take any case that even seemed as though it might be supernatural. Maybe he was restless seeing as how he had been lying on his back in a pine box for four months straight.
Dean had insisted they go to the bar before going back to the motel after the hunt, and Sam was in no mood to argue with him. Therefore, they went to the car, staying there until close, of course. Many girls had come on to Sam, but he just wasn't in the mood to bother with any of them. Dean, on the other hand was the exact opposite. It seemed as though every time Sam looked over at him, he had his lips locked with a new girl. Of course, he wasn't surprised by this; Dean had always been quite the ladies man.
Due to their late night bar visit, they hadn't gotten home until nearly 3 A.M. Sam had instantly turned his computer on, ready to do some research to ease that feeling he had in the back of his mind that they still had business here while Dean, totally hammered, had crashed as soon as they threw their stuff on the floor.
As he searched the various sites he had bookmarked for this particular case, he found some disturbing information. Quickly, he printed everything he could find about the topic. At 5 A.M., he walked out the door and down the street to get coffee, knowing Dean would need it after the night he had. About twenty minutes later, Sam returned with two coffees and an order of pancakes for Dean. He had learned the hard way Dean was always nicer to talk to in the morning when he was given food.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder, shaking him. "Dean, wake up." Groaning, Dean rolled away from Sam not wanting to be bothered. That however didn't stop Sam. He just scooted closer, shaking him again, more violently this time. "Dean, we need to talk. Wake up."
"Five more minutes," Dean mumbled, grabbing his pillow and placing it over his head like a five year old.
"No, Dean, now. This is important." Sam shook him again.
"No, go away!" Dean was in no mood for Sam's games this morning. He had a throbbing headache, and for some reason, his arm felt like it was on fire.
"Dean, I'm serious!" Sam shook him again, hard. "I need to talk to you." When Dean didn't stir, Sam gave him a good push, knocking him off the bed.
Dean yelped as he was pushed from the nice, comfy bed. As he stood, he yelled. "Damn it, Sam! What do you want?" He lowered himself back down to the bed, taking one of the coffees out of Sam's hand, glancing at his watch. "It's 5:30 in the morning!" Sam gave him a look that said, 'So?' Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Boy, you're a pain in my ass." Dean waved for Sam to talk to him as he took a long swig from his coffee cup, not caring the liquid was burning his throat and mouth as it went down. That pain canceled out the pain he felt in his head.
Sam looked at Dean, wondering how he could drink his coffee so fast. "Dean, we can't leave yet," Sam explained.
Dean looked at his brother, lowering his coffee cup to rest on his knee. "Why not?"
"I did some research this morning while you were sleeping," Sam started, shoving the papers into Dean's hand. "It says here that the ritual for the particular demon we killed last night, needs to be done months in advance, which explains why we didn't find a body last night."
"And?" Dean took another swig of his coffee, skimming through the fine print on the pages Sam had given him. "What's your point, Sam?"
"Well, on the next page it says, 'Once the demon is slain, there will be certain consequences that must be dealt with, otherwise the outcome will be dire.'" Sam looked at Dean. "Look, we have to stick around to deal with these consequences, Dean."
Dean knew Sam was right, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Groaning, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great. So, any idea what these consequences might be?"
"I'm working on it." Sam pushed the bag he held into Dean's chest. "Here. Eat your breakfast while I do more research."
The girl awoke, gasping for breath. She felt like her lungs hadn't been used in months. It was dark where she was, and it was hard to see, however not impossible. Feeling claustrophobic, she felt around, her palms connecting with wooden walls on each side of her. Beginning to get nervous and scared, she began beating at the walls, trying to call for help, though her voice just came out in a low rasp; so low it was almost inaudible. It was becoming harder to breathe, now, which only added to her fear.
Suddenly, she realized where she was. In a coffin. She reached for the fabric on the top of it, tearing at it, ripping it away from the wood above it. Once she could see the stained pine, she punched through it, putting as much force as she could muster into it, wanting to cry as she felt the skin on her knuckles splitting. As her hand went through the wood, dirt came tumbling down on top of her. She closed her mouth and eyes so the dirt wouldn't get in them as she continued to smash her wooden prison, clawing her way out of her own grave.
Finally, she felt her hand penetrate the surface, grasping for the solid ground so that she could pull herself up out of the ground. When her body was completely free, she forced her shaky legs to stand. Slowly, she turned around, her eyes connecting with the gray stone that sat upright just inches away from where she had crawled out. She breathed heavily as she read the words engraved on the stone. Not able to bear the sight any longer, she turned away, running as fast as she could to the last place she remembered, her heels digging deep into the soft ground.
Sam and Dean strolled to the front door, Dean feeling tired and uninterested. This was the fourth house they had been to in the last hour. It was already dark outside, and all Dean wanted to do was get a drink. The only thing that he had to look forward to was the hope that he might be able to kill something tonight, which really was the reason he hadn't fought Sam harder about stopping at a bar on the way.
He leaned against the side of the house as Sam knocked on the door. Only when Sam gave him a look did he straighten up and at least pretend he wanted to be here. Not a minute after Sam knocked, a woman opened the door. Well, now Dean was really interested; she was hot. Long, red hair cascading over perfect shoulders, and jade green eyes that felt warm and friendly. Dean's eyes trailed down her slender body, and he wanted to give a whistle of approval, but knew it would be inappropriate.
"Can I help you?" the woman asked, a warm smile forming on her face revealing her pearly white teeth.
"We sure hope so," Dean answered, returning her smile. "I'm Dean and this is Sam. We're here to talk to you about a woman you may know; Abigail Hanson."
The woman shifted her weight to her left foot, standing crooked now. "Um,...yeah, I know her. Why?"
"We just have a few questions for you, if you don't mind," Sam said, using his persuasive voice to gain access into the house. He gave her a gentle smile.
"Uh, sure." The woman opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Come on in."
Dean and Sam walked through the door, allowing the woman to lead them to the couch. She motioned for them to sit and they did. Dean suddenly felt a little uncomfortable, like there was something off about this house.
"Miss, what can you tell us about Miss Hanson?"
The woman leaned back in her seat. "Oh, she was great. Nice, strong, beautiful. She was-she was always there when someone needed her, ready to lend a help hand." The woman sniffled, and her eyes filled with tears, one escaping, rolling down her pale cheek. She wiped it away. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay." Sam leaned forward, looking into the woman's eyes. "We know how hard this is for you." He looked at the ground, knowing what question he had to ask next. "Um,...how did she die?"
The woman looked at Sam, confused. "What?"
"Abigail, how did she die?" Sam repeated.
"Why would that matter?" the woman asked, rising to her feet.
Sam didn't have an answer. He had to think quick. "We're just...curious, is all."
The woman's gaze ticked from Sam then to Dean and back again. "Who are you guys?"
"We're, uh, reporters for the Tribune Review," Dean piped up, standing so he didn't feel so short.
The woman shook her head. "No, you're lying." She could see right through their charade.
"Miss,..." Sam started, taking a step towards her.
The woman shot out her hand. "Stop."
Suddenly, purple shocks of electricity danced around Sam's front, stopping him from moving.
"Sam!" Dean yelled, running over to Sam. "What did you just do?" Dean tried to move towards the woman but couldn't walk past the electric barrier.
"It's just a little barrier to stop you two from coming any closer to me. Now, who are you? And why are you so interested in Abbey?"
Sam put his hand out in front of him in what he hoped looked like a calming manner, but he was so nervous he didn't know if that's how it came across. "Okay, okay. You found us out. We're not reporters." Sam knew this woman was a witch, and that scared the shit out of him. He had only met a few witches in his time, and they had all been evil; real evil. "We...hunt demons. Or, the supernatural, really. Anything strange or unusual, we hunt it."
The girl lowered her hand, a look of understanding on her face. "You do? " When Sam and Dean nodded their heads, Willow let the barrier die. "Well, why didn't you just say so? Geez, I hope I didn't come off too strong there, it's just, Sunnydale. You can't be too careful when you live on a Hellmouth. Well, even if it is a rebuilt and modified version of the original town that just happened to be destroyed when the apocalypse was stopped." She closed her eyes, catching herself babbling. "Anyway, I'm Willow. So, what does this have to do with Abbey?"
"We killed a demon last night and we think she might be connected to it somehow," Dean explained, glad he could move past that little space once again. "So, how did she die?"
She pushed her way through the door, hearing it creek loudly as she opened it. Instantly she was met with the smell of blood and sulfur. Continuing to walk in, she saw a demon on the floor, it's head severed, a pool of dried blood surrounding it. Chills shot through her body as she looked around the room, remembering everything all too well. She walked over to the pentagram, kneeling down onto it.
Closing her eyes, the memory rushed back into her head. She was at a party. Willow had got wind of some vampire action near the premises, and she had volunteered to go check it out. She could have easily let Kennedy go, but she was itching for a smack down. As far as the Hellmouth went, it had been pretty quiet in Sunnydale lately. A boy offered her a drink, and not wanting to be rude, she took it. He watched as she downed the liquid, smiling at her. After a while, she began to feel dizzy, and her body wasn't listening to her brain. He had spike her drink. As the feelings continued to grow, it became hard to stay awake, and eventually, her body just collapsed.
When she had woke, her head was still throbbing. She tried to put her hand on her head, and that was when she realized she was bound. She looked around the room, seeing little red symbols painted on the walls in blood; Wicca symbols, real dark magics. Under her, there was a large pentagram. Suddenly, a door opened and the man from the party stepped into the room, followed by three girls and another boy. All wore dark robes, the hoods casting shadows over their faces.
They all knelt down onto the pentagram, one at each point of the star, forming a circle around her. Placing the lit candles on the stars point where it connected, they pulled their hoods down, chanting in what she thought was Latin. This was a ritual. An ancient ritual. Right away, she knew what they were doing. She had been warned about this. Willow had been doing some research, and had come up with a demon named Diabolus, which translated in English to Lucifer. He wasn't exactly the real Lucifer, just a lackey. However, he still would be a pain to have to kill.
The boy from the party walked over to her, a very unique knife in his hand. He ran the blade over her wrist, collected the blood that fell in a small bowl. She cried out in pain as the blade cut through her flesh, closing her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. The bowl was then passed down the line of people, each one dipping a finger into the blood. Once they had blood on their finger, they drew a vertical line down the middle of their forehead, and a horizontal line on each of their cheeks. Again, they began to chant.
White light began to form under the surface, growing brighter and brighter as they chanted. "What are you doing?!" she demanded, becoming scared. She was going to die, and she knew it. She didn't know how, but she knew it was going to happen. Hopefully it wouldn't hurt. Suddenly, the light burst through the surface, engulfing her. She tried to scream as the blinding, white hot pain shot through her body, but her voice wouldn't work. Tears rolled down her eyes as the pain intensified, making her want to die.
When the light disappeared, the summoners stared down at the girls unmoving, lifeless form.
"A Slayer?" Dean said as they walked out of the house and to the car. "A Slayer?!" He turned to look at Sam as he opened the driver's side door. "Damn it, Sammy, I knew there was a reason I didn't want to come to Sunnydale."
"What's wrong with being in the same town as a Slayer, Dean?" Sam asked, climbing into the passenger seat. "It's not like she's going to kick our asses for lending a helping hand."
"Slayers are a one woman kind of team. They work best alone, and they do not like people messing with their territory." Dean got into the car, putting the keys in the ignition and starting the engine, loving the way it roared to life. "We're in her territory, Sam."
Sam scoffed, amazed by how Dean was acting about this whole Slayer thing. "Dean, come on, you're overreacting." He pulled the map out of the glove compartment, staring at it in an attempt to find the fastest way to the house they were in the other night. "Okay, drive up the road, and make a right onto Hamilton Street. The house is about three blocks away from there."
Dean stepped on the gas, speeding away from the house, still pissed about the Slayer problem. "You're telling me you didn't see the way that Kennedy girl looked at me?" Dean shrugged his shoulders as though to shake the feeling away. "She was pissed."
"Dean, you were hitting on her girlfriend."
Dean frowned, tossing his head to the side. "Okay, I'll give her that. But still, that's not all it was about. We're in her territory, Sam. And she wants us out." Dean slapped the POWER button on his radio, turning the VOLUME knob so his music blared, not feeling like listening to Sam talk to him about how crazy he was sounding right now.
The tires skidded to a stop as Dean pulled into the driveway of the old house. He and Sam climbed out of the car, slamming the doors as they headed to the house. It seemed different than it had last night when they left, which made Dean very uncomfortable. He lifted the gun he held up slightly, ready to shoot if necessary as he walked through the open door, Sam right behind him.
As he turned the corner, he saw a girl in a black, long sleeved dress and black high heeled, open toes shoes sitting on her knees in the middle of the pentagram. His first thought he noticed she looked like she was about to go to a funeral. He raised his gun, cocking it. "Hey!" he yelled, pointing the gun directly at her.
She spun around, falling back onto her elbows, gasping at the sound of his voice. She hadn't known anyone else was in here. As she looked at the gun pointed at her, she immediately starting thinking of battle plans, her brain kicking into it's Slayer mode, figuring these new arrivals were a threat.
Dean lowered his gun, seeing that the person before him didn't pose a threat, she was just a scared little girl. "Hi, there." Dean smiled, turning on his Winchester charm. "I'm Dean, and this is my brother Sam." He took a step closer to her. "What's your name?"
As Dean walked closer to her, she crab-walked backwards, stopping only when she hit the wall. She put her hands on her lap, trying to hide although she knew she couldn't. She shook her head, her hair falling over her face as she closed her eyes, hoping they would go away.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," Sam coaxed, pushing past Dean and kneeling down in front of her. "We're not here to hurt you." As he looked at her shaking body, sadness swept over him. Her long, brown hair was matted and dirty. The dress she wore was covered in mud and grass. He looked at her hands which he noticed were also filthy; and bloody. "Dean, look. Her knuckles." Sam stood up, looking at his brother. "How did they get like that?"
Dean looked at her knuckles, anger rising within him. He ran his fingers over the broken skin of his own knuckles. "I know how they got that way." Sam looked back at him, seeing he was rubbing his own knuckles. Dean looked into Sam's sympathetic eyes. "She clawed her way out of her own grave." He looked down at the cowering girl. "Didn't you?"
When the girl looked up at the two men, Sam noticed that she looked very familiar. In his mind, he erased the dirt from her face, picturing her with her hair down, clean and straight, a smile on her face. Suddenly, he remembered where he had seen her before. "Abbey?" he asked, kneeling in front of her again. "Are you Abbey?"
Abbey stared into Sam's hazel eyes, wondering how he knew her. Suddenly, she noticed something behind the boys stand, her eyes widening. "Behind you!" she yelled, trying to warn them of the danger.
Dean spun around, gun at the ready. As he did, he was greeted by a huge fist. He felt the blinding pain shoot through his shoulders and neck as his head spun in the opposite direction. He fell to the ground in a heap, hearing the sound of a roar.
"Dean!" Sam yelled, raising his gun and shooting a couple rounds into the demons chest. Unfortunately, the demon didn't seem phased by the rock salt rounds. The demon backhanded Sam, sending him flying into the opposite wall, a large crack forming in his wake. Sam crawled over to Dean, looking into his brother's eyes. "What the hell's going on here, Dean? We killed that thing last night."
Dean rolled his eyes. Was Sam really asking him what was going on? Sam was the smart one. "Well, I guess we didn't do it right. I mean, obviously. How else would you explain it being alive and kicking our asses?"
Abbey stood, stepping in front of the demon, blocking it from harming Sam and Dean again. With as much strength she could muster, she threw a punch, causing the demon to falter. As it did, it became disoriented, and Abbey used this to her advantage. She uppercut the demon, following it with a quick kick to the abdomen, her heel digging in to the soft flesh. The demon yelped, falling to it's knees. Once it was on the ground, Abbey stood over it, grabbing the flabby skin on it's head. With one violent jerk, the demon stopped its squirming, falling to the floor in a heap.
Dean was the first one to his feet, staring at the girl in sheer amazement. "Damn! I knew Slayers were wicked, but...damn!"
Abbey looked at Dean, then at the demon. She was in Hell. She had to be. Slowly, she walked back over to the pentagram, kneeling down again, hoping that if she closed her eyes and thought real hard, she would open her eyes again and all this would be gone; she would be in Heaven again, surrounded by her family. Safe. Warm. Loved.
Sam was on his feet now. He walked over to Dean, wondering why he was staring at Abbey. "Look man, we have to burn this thing. It's the only way it will stay dead."
Dean rolled his eyes. "And how do you know that?"
"I read the fine print on the internet. I missed it last time I read the page."
"Wonderful." Dean pulled the lighter out of his back pocket. He looked up at Abbey again, then turned to Sam. "Grab her. I burn this demon, this whole place burns with it."
Sam walked over to Abbey, grabbing her elbow. He lifted her from the ground, dragging her out of the house as Dean threw the lighter onto the dead demon. The blood from the demon acted as a great accelerant and the place shot up in flames just as Dean ran out the door.
Suddenly, the house exploded, sending flames shooting into the sky. The explosion caused all three of them to fall to the ground, Sam on top of Abbey. Quickly Sam stood up, reaching his hand out to help Abbey. She didn't take it, however, climbing to her feet by herself.
"Where...am I?" she asked, her voice low. Innocent.
"Earth," Dean answered with a smile. He took a step closer to her. "Let me guess, you were in Hell, right? Well," he threw his arms out to his sides, "welcome back to Sunnydale, California." He smiled.