Buffy snapped awake. The moisture in the air suffocating her. She tried to get ahold of her surroundings and failed. Darkness had her enthralled. Her eyes were open, her senses alert, yet she saw nothing but a black void.
"Buffy? What is it, what's wrong?" A voice called to her from the bed she had just shot out of. Her bruised heart lurched to life at the familiar sound. Sam.
A light clicked on, harsh tones flooding the small room. It was unfamiliar. A cheesy motel by the looks of it. Sam lounged a few feet away on the bed rubbing his gritty eyes.
Buffy didn't blink. She let the sudden illumination burn her eyes. The sight of him alone laying more scars upon her soul. This isn't real.
When Sam sat up Buffy tried her best not to visibly flinch. Her lips quivered in confusion. "Where am I? What is happening?"
Sam raked a hand through his hair. Buffy watched the motion, entranced. He sighed at the expression on her face, a dawning coming over him. "Did you have another nightmare? Come back to bed, please. You are here now, with me."
Buffy listened to the words with a fascination she hadn't quite felt since she'd first fallen for him. "You are here..." she mumbled, as if in a daze.
He got up from the bed, revealing that he wore a simple gray undershirt and jeans, his feet bare. Buffy shook her head. "This isn't real, this is the dream. You are dead!"
The words burned her throat. Sam's eyes cast shadows of doubt. "Buffy, it was just a nightmare. I'm here." He reached for her and she moved away swiftly. He frowned at the gesture. His hand stilled midair, a question in his gaze. One so simple it screamed across the mere feet that separated them, but one she didn't have the answer to; What is wrong?
"Buffy?" Sam started, concern in his voice.
Buffy's head shook violently, tears threatening, "This can't be happening."
Sam waited a moment more, his eyes taking in her defensive stance. He sighed deeply, his large chest rising and falling with the effort. She watched as his lips set in a grim line. So like him...
"D-dean came to tell me you were dead."
Sam looked fraught with worry, but his head firmly shook once. "No Buffy. Dean is down the hall, just a few hotel rooms away."
Buffy followed his glance towards the door. Her head shot through every last memory she had of yesterday. The message from Sam she'd been looking forward to listening to before bed. Dean's arrival in Sunnydale. His news of Sam's death. Her world splitting from any version of reality that mattered.
Her and Dean had drove off towards Sam's body, hell bent on a way of saving his soul. Or forever fighting for a way to clean up this world before joining him themselves. They'd finally shut their eyes just before two o' clock in the morning, Dean resting his head back on the driver's side of the impala, Buffy curling up in the backseat.
It was an unspoken bond they shared now. Words weren't needed. He'd simply pulled over and they'd shared a look, one meant to close the day for them. It was their version of goodnight. Moments later both had been asleep, exhaustion taking them both swiftly.
Buffy's last thoughts were of what morning would look like. A world without Sam surely wouldn't welcome the sun, would it?
Sam now stood closer. His fingers reached for her again, cautious. She allowed the contact, their fingers intertwining. He pulled at the fabric of her sleeve and before she knew it she was buried beneath his grasp. His strong arms enfolding her tightly. She cried out once, a force almost inhuman holding her tears back. Alive, he is alive.
"You are here." She whispered fiercely.
He cradled the back of her head against his chest. "I am."
"What happened? I-I need to talk to Dean." Sam broke away from Buffy, a question in his eyes. Yet he nodded just the same. He flipped open his cell and hit one button. The silence in the room allowed her to eavesdrop on the short conversation.
"Yeah?" Dean's gruff voice barked out from the receiver.
"High tail it over here. Buffy just had a dream."
Silence yawned back at them for a second. "Are we talking about her freaky slayer-mind stuff again?"
Buffy flinched. The last time she'd had a prophetic dream Dean hadn't quite handled it well. Any power that came from her demon side scared him and he wasn't afraid to let everyone know it.
Sam sighed again, his eyes apologizing the best they could. She accepted it with a telling look of her own.
"Yes," Sam said quickly, "just get over here."
It wasn't even a minute before Dean burst through the door. His eyes soaked her up, taking in every inch. Buffy allowed it. She used to feel uncomfortable with their closeness. Now she wouldn't know what to do without it.
"What is going on?" he asked, his concern evident.
"I had a dream," she started slowly, "it felt more real than anything I've ever dreamt of." She glanced at Sam for a second and back to Dean. "You came to Sunnydale with news Sam had died."
The words hung limply in the air. The weight of them off her shoulders. In the dead of night and in the silence she suddenly felt embarrassed for making such a big deal out of a dream.
She continued in hopes to alleviate some of the guilt, "It just felt so real. Just as real as this does now. The memories are clear and they aren't fading."
Dean nodded at Sam who was getting out his laptop. The brothers sat by the window, a small table with two chairs and no room for Buffy. She was a bit relieved. Her memories swam in unison with the present too violently for her to decipher. Until she could, she didn't want to be too near either of them again. What if this is the dream?
Dean barked orders at Sam. "Dreams, curses, get it all rounded up."
Sam's fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard. The sound echoing back to her in what seemed like delayed time. She moved to the mirror slowly. Her expression was stricken, her eyes holding a heaviness she didn't want to accept.
Her question came to her own ears as if in an echo, "What happened the day before yesterday?"
Sam looked up from his work, a frown carrying his concern in a way she often saw from him. It was Dean who spoke first. "You were in Sunnydale so we don't know exactly. We only came for you last night, Bobby insisted a certain hot-spot army of baby vamps was a three man job. We explained all this to you yesterday."
Something in Buffy's eyes must've shown her true confliction over that statement. In a second Sam was reaching for her again. "Buffy, we are real, this is real."
His hands engulfed her face and forced her chin up. Dean looked away. Buffy's eyes slid to Sam's nervously. "It doesn't feel real."
She ignored the pain that flashed across his features. "Don't," he ordered her suddenly. "Don't do this to yourself. I am real, we are here, and we are together. Don't you know by now, nothing can keep me from you."
The power of his gaze. The strength of his will. The ferocity of his words. He was so confident that even she began to believe it.
She nodded gingerly and he pressed a kiss to her temple before turning away. It sealed her doubts away for a moment. Her eyes flickered to Dean and she knew he saw it in her; the hesitation Sam had been confident he assuaged.
She let Dean see it for a second too long, but then again she let Dean see a lot in her. More than she ever showed Sam. With Sam, it was more than sharing her fears, it was pretending like she didn't have any. When he stood by her side she wanted more than anything to change the way she saw the world.
It would hurt him to know his efforts to ease her fears barely scratched the surface. She loved him too much to be another burden to him. She wanted to be the one thing he could see all the beauty of the world in. Even if it wasn't true. Even if she had to spent the next sixty years swallowing her black secrets.
Dean's gaze darkened on hers, thoughts passing between them. I will figure this out for you.
Her head wanted to shake, but she held it still. I am not sure if you can.
Never say never, remember?
She turned from him then, listening to their theories from the farthest window. She basked in the light of a new day yawning over the motel parking lot. The heat in the small room was now stifling. Their location, wherever they were, must've been south of Sunnydale. Far from the dry heat of California.
Location, destination, future. It all piled higher. Questions she wanted, but was afraid to ask for. If this moment truly was tangible she'd grasp it with all her might and never let go.
In this existence Sam was alive, and for this moment and the next, they were together again.
But until she knew for sure she'd bite her tongue. Because when all this was said and done she needed something of some reality to salvage, and in this one, it just happened to be named Sam Winchester.