Disclaimer: Do not have rights to Buffy or Supernatural. Using the 'verses for for fun, not profit.
*****
Dean woke to the sound of thunder at the door.
"Wake up, Faith. I know you're in there," a masculine voice called. "Get up. You have ten minutes before I come in there and haul your fine ass out."
"You wish, Boytoy," the brunette beside him called out, grinning. She then turned, and afforded him a blinding smile. "Well, BT2, nice to meet you, but I gotta split." With that, she bounced out of the bed and began to collect her clothing.
Somewhat dazed, Dean watched her drag her clothes on - tight leather pants and a matching leather corset top, socks and boots were all checked, donned, and straightened in ultra-quick time. A knife was slipped down the front of the corset, and arranged to her comfort. Dean had a feeling she had turned around just so he could get the whole show. And a very nice, if rather disturbing, show it was. Then she gave one final pat down to make sure everything was smooth and straight, before starting to finger-comb her hair.
Dean took that as a cue to roll out of bed and drag on his jeans. He had a feeling that the show wouldn't be over until the girl was gone. He had just done the zip when the door rattled again.
"Coffee!" the man from before called out.
"X, you are a god!" the woman called out, throwing the door open. The other side of the door was a man about Dean's own height, with dark, shaggy hair, wearing a flannel shirt over a dark t-shirt, dark jeans, and boots, and carrying two coffees.
"You better damn well believe it," he agreed, handing one of the coffees to the woman. "And what is it with your bag? Why do you girls always seem to pack everything plus the kitchen sink? I just about got a hernia dragging it out to the car," he grumbled. "If I can pack light, why can't you?"
"Hey! Those who can, do. Those who can't," she went on, poking his chest, "watch!"
The man rolled his eyes. Make that, Dean decided, eye. The shaggy-haired man wore an eyepatch that looked not just real, but well worn. The man looked back at Dean, as if to say good-bye, but then tilted his head and frowned. He then shook his head, and pulled out his wallet. With a bit of maneuvering, he managed cradle his coffee in the crook of his arm, and pull a business card from his wallet before handing it over to Dean.
Dean looked at the business card in shock, then back to the man in front of him. The man sighed. "If you ever need help with a Hunt, call that number. Let them know where you are, and what the problem is, and if they can help, they will. If you need to contact me directly, my phone and e-mail are at the bottom of the card."
"Who the hell are you people?" he asked in wonder.
"My name's on the card. If you want more than that, well, I'm called 'The One Who Sees' and she's 'The Dark Slayer.'" With that, he walked away.
"What the hell?" Sam asked, having just returned to the apartment.
As the man walked off, they could hear him muttering, "God damned woman picking up a God damned Hunter!"
Dean handed over the card, which Sam checked out. In large type at the top, it had the initials 'RWC', followed by a phone number. Below that was the name Xander Harris, with his contact details.
"What the hell?" Sam repeated.
