Chapter Nine

Noises were coming from downstairs.

Dean rolled over on the bed, squinting open an eye and saw the other side was empty. He touched her pillow and it was cold, the indentation from her head already disappearing. With a heavy sigh, his head fell back onto his own flat as hell pillow. His neck hurt from sleeping on the crappy thing and he knew he should have just stayed downstairs on Bobby's couch. How was that piece of crap more comfortable than an actual bed?

Another bang came from the kitchen followed by someone's pattering feet and the sound of the kitchen sink coming on. What the hell was she doing down there?

The night before filtered through his head and he groaned again.

Sam had called.

Because Buffy had called him. Like the stupid nosey little bitch she was.

The thought a flare of anger rocketing through him again and he sat up, trying to push it down. They'd spent the majority of the night arguing - Dean telling her to mind her goddamn business, that she didn't know what she was talking about and how dare she even think she can talk to Sam in the first place and Buffy telling him that he was being a stubborn asshole and his brother needed him.

It didn't matter who needed who or why. They were safer away from each other. That was the deal, that was the decision that had been made and Dean didn't care what the hell came their way - as long as they weren't around each other, as long as they weren't even in the same damn town, the bad guys couldn't use them against each other.

It was as simple as that.

No Sam meant no Apocalypse.

Why Buffy couldn't get that through her thick skull was beyond him. His voice was raspy from yelling it at her all night.

Glancing at the clock, Dean figured they still had a few hours before Bobby came back from whatever Rufus had dragged him off to do. Something about a dead body, a stick and a strawberry. Dean hadn't wanted to know what the hell that meant and was okay watching house until Bobby got back to show them the spell or whatever it was called to get rid of the Hiduji a few towns over.

At least nobody was dying with their hunt - he didn't want to know what a strawberry had to with anything Rufus-related.

Something else banged from downstairs and it shot straight through Dean's head, straight to where the headache from his argument with Buffy had lived and right where it was starting to grow again. His luck she was probably down there doing the stupid spell herself, ready to go off and face the danger just to spite him. She had a nasty habit of doing that, disappearing without saying a word when she got pissy with him. It was downright stupid and he was getting sick of chasing after her.

Maybe he'd just stop going after her and let her die, save himself the damn grief.

Dean shambled over to the bathroom. When he came back, he shrugged on a pair of jeans and headed downstairs.

"Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap," he heard from the kitchen and something hissed.

Dean shook his head, suddenly wondering if it was a better idea to just go back upstairs and bury his head back in the bed and pretend like none of this was happening. He didn't think he could handle catching her in the act of running off to face a baddie without him, causing yet another goddamn argument, while they still had yet to find any resolution in the sense of Buffy getting over her nasty habit of thinking she knew what was best for him and Sam - especially Sam, where she knew not a damn thing.

Dean gritted his teeth. Goddamn it, he was still pissed as hell at her. Maybe he should just take her phone away from her, how'd she like that? Hell, maybe he'd just tie her to the bumper of the car whenever he had to let her out of his sight to keep her out of trouble; that sounded like a bucket of fun.

Dean rounded the corner, flattening his bed hair and stopped.

Buffy was standing on her tiptoes, reaching into a cabinet above the stone, a stove that was covered in pans. Two bowls of batter sat on the left counter and a bowl of something yellow and sticky was on the right and egg shells had fallen to the floor. Dean's jaw fell - she was wearing one of his flannel shirts and that puppy was angling up high, high, high the further she reached and he could see she wasn't wearing a stitch of anything to cover her ass.

With a grunt, Buffy grabbed the tiny bottle of cinnamon, slamming the cupboard shut again. "What the hell does everyone have against short people? Short people like cinnamon too," she mumbled under her breath, pushing her hair out of her face. Dean couldn't stop the grin tugging at his lips, feeling the remnants of their fight starting to dissipate…

Damn it, he should be pissed about that too - he wanted to stay angry, he didn't want to find her cute.

Dean walked up behind her, watching her sprinkle the cinnamon into a bowl. She mixed it loading up a spoon and pouring it onto the pan where it immediately sizzled and popped.

"Christ," she snapped, turning down the burner with a quick flick of her wrist. "You know, mom, you'd think it would be nice to imprint a cooking manual for these stupid things on my brain, but no, had to take that with you to the grave."

Dean's stomach dropped at her words.

He looked at the batter, at the mess she had left, at the handprint of flour on his shirt at her hip… she was making pancakes. Her mother's pancakes. The mother she never talked about, the woman he had only ever heard about maybe once or twice, and only because he'd prodded her into talking about it when they first met and the second time because she had been piss drunk when they got near her hometown of Sunnydale.

Jesus Christ, Dean felt like a dick, shoving all that crap down her throat about her not knowing anything about family last night.

"Hey," he said softly behind her, his hands finding her hips.

Buffy yelped, jumping and spinning around with the spoon of batter, a blob of it flinging onto the stove, his chest and her face.

Buffy shoved him away, growling, "Jesus, I almost hit you!"

"Sorry," Dean replied. He offered her a tiny smile. She turned and grabbed some paper towels, wiping her face with a quick glare at him before reaching out and wiping the blob off his chest. A stagnant silence filled the space between them, the rough paper in her hands digging into his skin as she scraped up the batter.

She was… cooking for him. It was so domestic and so anti-Buffy. The shame of all the crap he had yelled at her last night tripled in his chest.

"So…" Dean glanced around, avoiding her eyes so she didn't see how shittastic his words were starting to make him feel. "You're cooking?"

Buffy frowned at him, crumpling up the globbed-up paper towel and tossing it on the counter. She turned back to the stove, flipping a pancake. It was perfectly golden. The sight struck him as overly weird. The entire thing did; Buffy never did these sorts of things. She barely agreed to get him a slice of pie when she went out to get dinner...

"Is that a problem?" she asked, the perfect amount of snip in her tone and he rolled his eyes.

"Am I supposed to say yes?" he responded with the same amount of attitude and grabbed her hips again, pulling her back into his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder, watching her push the spatula under the pancake but it wasn't ready to be flipped yet. Her back was stiff but she didn't move away. He pushed his arms around her waist, hugging her to him and she finally sighed, leaning back.

"So this is an apology?" he asked, a hint of a smile in his voice. He waited for her to pull away from him and turn around to smack him in the face with the spatula. But she didn't. Instead, she patted his hands on her waist.

"No, this is to give you energy because we aren't done talking yet," she replied brightly. She grabbed a glass of half-drank orange juice, holding it up to him. "Juice?"

Dean closed his eyes, stepping back. "Buffy…"

Buffy dropped the spatula, wrapping her arms around his on her waist to hold him to her. Dean rolled his eyes, dropping his forehead to her bony shoulder.

"I made a list of all the reasons you're being a moron and how this will all backfire on you," Buffy said, the pep in her voice starting to grate on his nerves. He dug his forehead into her boney shoulder. "Ow, stop it!"

Despite himself, Dean felt a warmth that he had learned to call 'happiness' filling his chest at her words. She did, in her own fucked up and entirely annoying way, actually care about him and really probably thought she was helping. Still…

"What happened to the glowery woman I met a few years ago, huh? I liked her. She didn't talk nearly as much." An outraged noise slipped from Buffy's mouth and she whipped around within the circle of his arms, her hand with the spatula raised to whack him but he caught her wrist, pulling her tighter to his chest. "She mostly ignored me and cursed at me. This thing just doesn't know when to quit."

"Sorry for caring, Winchester," Buffy snapped, glaring at him but Dean could see the hint of a smile on her lips. She twisted her wrist so the spatula hit his arm and slid his hand up her arm, forcing her to drop the offending piece of plastic. "Hey, no, dirty floor, dirty floor!"

"Let's clean it," Dean said before capturing her lips with his, yanking her closer. He pressed his hips against hers as his hand slipped down the length of her body. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing herself up on her toes for a better angle, and he slid it up underneath the shirt. She was completely bare. "Oh, nice."

Buffy smirked against his lips, shaking her head. "You only think you've distracted me," she whispered, kissing him again and he chuckled. Ha. He was only beginning…

She pulled back again to turn to the stove but Dean held her still, one arm wrapped around her waist still, the other sliding from her ass under the shirt to her stomach.

"I'm making pancakes, go away."

"I have things that need distractions," Dean said playfully, pulling her in for another kiss. His hand dancing down her abdomen to the nest of hair between her legs and Buffy gasped when his fingers delved between her lower lips. His kiss turned harder, more demanding, when he felt the wetness already pooling…

Then the phone rang.

The phone was ringing. The sound pierced through his head, spiking through the fog of the dream, interrupting it completely as he dropped back into reality with a start. He realized he wasn't in Bobby's kitchen, the smell of a burning pancake was not in his nose and there was no scantily-clad Buffy Summers in his arms…

It kept ringing.

Dean felt like he was in an endless tunnel: all he could feel was warmth and all he could hear was ringing.

He didn't want to move. He felt like he'd been sleeping for three decades and he wasn't in the mood to wake up until he got at least a couple more under his belt. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so damn well and he really, really didn't want to wake up any more than he already was. Dean rolled over, burying his head under his pillow, his eyelids heavy and he felt himself falling back into sleep.

The ringing came again and then cut off abruptly. The darkness behind his closed lids grew darker and he sighed, remembering…

She'd been so upset with him when the pancake had burned. It took it smoking for them to realize what was happening and she had flipped her lid, berating him while she scraped off the remnants. She'd gone into a lecture about cinnamon and burners that hadn't actually made sense and he had a feeling she was making it up when he turned off the burners and took complete advantage of her on Bobby's kitchen table, getting her to finally shut up when he'd bitten her nipple.

Warmth spread through his body, remembering the screech of the table legs on the tile, the sight of Buffy wearing his shirt spread out around her naked body as he had licked a small trail of batter down her chest…

Dean rearranged himself. They'd always been good at that part. They sucked at being in a relationship, but the sex always seemed to come around and put a Band-Aid over whatever had gotten them riled up until the next time something blew up between them…

Something shifted against him underneath the blankets, a warm lithe body pressing against his, their legs entangling as she turned towards him. He felt her face pressing against his arm, the soft crinkling of her leather jacket reaching his ears as she curled closer to him.

Home.

Dean moved without thought - on instinct, out of habit, he didn't know - but he leaned back into her, turning towards her when she didn't pull away. Dean wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her closer, the sleepy edges of the dream still dancing along his consciousness. He groaned in satisfaction at the feel of her against him, pulling her closer, shoving his face into the crook of her neck and taking a deep breath. She smelled like the cheap motel sheets, old rain and Buffy. She smelled amazing.

He felt her moving against him again, stretching her legs. Her toenails scratched his shin and he pushed his free arm under her pillow, his other hand sliding across her hip and underneath the jacket, cradling her in his arms.

Logic was dictating that he should be wondering why she was wearing a leather jacket in bed without any pants on but he wasn't thinking.

He only felt her, his body still very aware and very awake from the memory of their time in Bobby's kitchen…

Dean burrowed his face into her neck, his lips finding the soft skin of her throat. He pressed kisses up to her jawline, his tongue finding the scar she had gotten from a barbed wire fence before they'd met. She shivered, just like she always did, arching her head back, a soft sigh slipping out. Her hand found his arm, her nails digging into his muscles as she pushed her hips against the hardness jutting from his boxers.

The world didn't exist for the moment but for what was happening in that bed. They were buried underneath the comforters and the dull light of day leant it a soft glow. Dean worked his way up her jaw, nibbling on her skin. When she turned to face him, her mouth opened in a pant, his lips found hers; it was gentle and soft, the lazy place between sleep and awake…

Buffy pressed herself harder against him, turning towards him, opening her mouth in invitation and Dean took full advantage.

She wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him closer, lifting her leg so her thigh cradled his hip. Dean arched into her center, pushing up until he found exactly where he wanted to be and her heady groan was enough clearance for him to not stop. His hand slid up her back, her leg sliding up his hip, their mouths moving urgently against the other. They pulled and tugged until they didn't know who was where, until the only thing that mattered was just feeling.

Dean was in a fuzzy bubble - he couldn't think straight, he couldn't bother to be concerned about anything but her in his arms.

And then Buffy stopped, breaking off the kiss abruptly. She sucked in a quick breath, her hands stilling, her leg stopping, staying anchored to his hip as she just… stopped.

Dean didn't even open his eyes, one hundred percent certain he was dreaming now because it felt too weird to not be a dream - too good and too true and too much like all the times he'd thought about what he would do if he ever found her again…

"Buffy…"

His hand spanned her back, keeping her warmth pressed against him, never wanting it to go away again…

"Dean?" she breathed uncertainly and she swallowed. "What are you doing?"

"What?" he whispered, brushing his nose along the long scar on her cheek. The scar that had gotten softer from running his thumb over it all those years…

Except those years hadn't happened.

Being with Buffy in Bobby's kitchen had never happened. Buffy never made pancakes and she had never worn his shirt like that. She would never get the chance to put her nose into business that didn't concern her because Sammy was… dead.

Dean forced his eyes open, the remnants of the dream shattering as he looked at her with sticky eyes. She hadn't moved, but her eyes were wide and she was staring at him… like she was willing to push it if he was, like she wouldn't say no.

Christ, he was a goddamn lecher.

"Damn it," he groaned, releasing her immediately, pushing back across the bed and shoving the blanket down. The rising sun was still a dark orangey hue in the room but it was bright enough to burn Dean's corneas as he sat up. And he wasn't the only thing awake. Dean rolled his eyes at himself, shoving his face into his hands to rub his eyes until they burned. He bunched the blanket over his lap.

She sat up next to him tentatively and it he didn't know any better, he'd say he was blushing. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she replied softly.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was staring out the window, her hair disheveled and he could see the light abrasions his beard had made on her gentle skin. He hated that he liked seeing it there - goddamn him, was he that fucking brainwashed that he couldn't tell the damn difference between a willing participant from his dreams and this closed-off woman?

"No," he replied. "It's not." He shifted, the erection in his boxers still very present and still very eager and he wanted to flick it. Get back down, you bastard. "Next time just punch me in the throat. I know how much you like that."

Dean glanced at her again, waiting for a response, but she only bit her bottom lip, her eyes never leaving the window. She still wore that stupid jacket. She held her hands pressed together, digging her broken nails into her fingers.

"I'll be right back," he said, darting to the bathroom.

Buffy's heart was racing and her lungs were tight from trying to control her breathing.

When Dean disappeared into the bathroom, she released her body with a giant exhale, closing her eyes and bowing her head. She shifted until her legs were hanging off the bed. She didn't move, trying to think.

Her body was still hot, her skin aching with a need she hadn't felt in a long, long time. It was like there was an endless hole inside her that had started growing the second Dean's lips touched hers, reminding her of everything she was missing having someone around, someone near her… how much her body needed it.

"Get up," Buffy whispered to herself, clasping her hands together. Her nails - jagged from last night, from fighting and from trying to open the door in her wild desperation that suddenly felt like it had happened a hundred years ago - dug into the back of her hands and it helped jolt her back to the here and now.

Her clothes were still on the chair and she stood on shaky legs, ignoring the ache between her thighs, the tingle in her breasts and the yearning in her limbs to stay right there and let whatever happened happen.

Goddamn, how pathetic was she? How desperate?

Why couldn't she think?

She knew that if he had kept going, if he had kept touching her, kissing her, holding her, and she had pulled him on top of her that she wouldn't have stopped anything from happening. It had been like sitting in a tunnel of need - her body had wanted him so badly, remembering how he had made her feel before, and suddenly needing to feel that way again with a violent urge. Needing to feel normal, like she was still human, that the disease wasn't taking over her completely. She knew without a doubt that he could give that to her.

But that was the worst thing that could possibly happen right now.

Her jeans were still damp but she didn't care, tugging them on. The denim clung to her like a second skin and she wrestled with the material until they were up her hips. Glancing at the bathroom door, she heard the sink coming on as the toilet flushed and she quickly took off her jacket, sliding the slimy tank over her bra. It was at least dry but it had stretched until it was miles long and hanging off her like an apron. Nice.

Studiously ignoring her shoulder, Buffy ran her fingers through her hair before sliding the jacket back in place. She had to get out of there. She couldn't be near him. She just… god, how did she go from wanting to kill him - the thought sent a nauseous stab straight into her stomach - to wanting to jump his bones three seconds later?

Everything felt foreign and wrong inside her; things she hadn't let herself feel in such a long time… She had reacted without thought when he started kissing her, not even bothering to say no or what the hell or hey, you, stop that…

She could still feel his lips on hers.

Pulling her hair back, twisting it around and tucking it into her jacket, Buffy saw her boots by the other bed where he had warmed her with his body when she'd run into the rain. The thought was like spraying gasoline on a fire as her body leapt to life all over again, need pounding through her veins. She remembered with vivid intensity her leg going over his hip and he pressed himself against her, right where she needed him.

"Fuck," Buffy snapped, slapping her temple. "Stop it."

Buffy's fingers curled into fists, the familiar ring of anger starting to build in her chest again and she breathed through it. It was different this time, not as potent, since she was just willing to throw herself into a wall to get these goddamn thoughts out of her head, to cool her body down, to just… just stop.

She realized with a jerk that she actually missed the cool, calm intensity she had been living in since she'd discovered the black spot, the coolness that had grown like a wall between her and her fear when the spot had appeared, taking on a life of its own… a wall between her and the anger that seemed to be worse every time it came… She had gotten used to it. The backlash from the anger was something she had learned to live with, something she had told herself would just go away when she finally got an answer…

How entirely fucked up was it that she was actually missing that? That she preferred that insanity to whatever it was that her body was experiencing when he was near her?

What was he doing to her?

Buffy had done an excellent job forcing herself to forget what those first few weeks after leaving Dean had been like. At first she had just been pissed - what the hell was this business with the souls, where had it gone, what had Dean been doing and where was he? But then her body remembered what it felt like to have him around, how he had made her feel.

That stupid other soul, wherever it had come from and wherever it had gone, had left something behind when it disappeared: feelings.

She'd only been with him for a few days but she'd started falling for Dean almost instantly, like the other soul's warmth and love had spread into her like another fine malady and left a few kernels behind to remind her of what she had had for such a small amount of time. The dreams had been the worst, but they had finally faded away and she had filed it into her folder of 'Forget and Move On.'

The djinn hadn't helped matters, jostling shit around in there. Jesus, what the hell had she done to Dean to put him on the railroad to insanity if a few touchy-feely moments did this to her?

"Two Deans, two Buffys…"

Whatever that fucking meant.

Buffy regretted ever thinking she should go after that bitch djinn. She should have just left her to her business, left her to her killing of the sheepy humans, left her to fucking with Dean's head until God only knew what would happen. Because then none of this would be happening.

She had to leave.

Buffy grabbed her boots, ignoring her wet socks, and shoved her feet into them. There were still little pools of water that were chilly but she ignored them, lacing them up quickly as the water in the bathroom turned off. He was taking a ridiculous amount of time in there and she was grateful for that.

Because he was still wearing his stupid boxers… and he'd been hard, she'd felt him pressing against her, just as ready as she was to keep going…

"Fuck," Buffy hissed again.

She hadn't had any of her weapons on her, had left them on the bike because the demons from last night had already done all the work for her. She just needed… her bike. Goddamn it, her bike that was still at the abandoned building where she'd left the bodies and all her supplies. Hell, she didn't even know where she was and how to get back to that stupid place.

What she needed was transportation. Buffy found Dean's jeans on the floor. They were still wet in places from sitting in a lump all night and she found his keys in his pocket.

If the only way to go was to leave his ass stranded there, then she was absolutely okay with that. Although he might lose his mind if she took his car, she'd just leave it at that building and by the time he found it, she'd be long gone and she'd be better about covering her tracks. She just needed to be more careful from now on.

The bathroom door opened just as she swung the keys into her hand and she turned, her eyes wide. Dean stopped in the bathroom doorway, his eyes narrowed at her hand, his face darkening and she shoved the keys into her pocket, forcing her face to a blank canvas, relishing the feel of detachment that came over her as she forced herself to see Dean as a hurdle between her and the door.

They both stopped, staring at the other.

She had to leave.

Buffy turned to the door, stopping when Dean chuckled, walking towards her.

"I don't think so," Dean said, an incredulous smirk on his lips as he held his hand out. "Keys."

Buffy ignored him, taking a few steps towards the door and Dean immediately jumped in her path. Despite herself, Buffy noticed that he was still only wearing his boxers and his moving so quickly was a very bad thing to do. If she hadn't just been wrapped up in that stupid bed with this stupid guy, she wouldn't have noticed them because the look he was shooting her promised more than a few dark things if she kept moving.

He grabbed her hand but Buffy danced out of the way, glaring at him.

"I just want to leave," she said calmly.

"That's just great for you, but it's not going to be in my car."

"Dean, I don't want to hurt you," Buffy said before she could stop the words, annoyed that they came out and even more annoyed when he snorted at her.

"Nice change of tune from last night, sweetheart, but that doesn't mean I'm letting you leave with my car." Dean grabbed her arm, his fingers like steel as he held out his free hand. "Keys. Now."

"Take me back to my bike," she replied, yanking on her arm but he didn't let her go.

"Tell me why you're torturing everything in sight," Dean replied, his voice saccharine sweet with a mocking smile on his lips.

He was acting so flippant and completely okay with her doing cutting up human bodies until they were Swiss cheese and it chilled Buffy to the bone, realizing that he wasn't going to let her out of his sight. That this wasn't just a 'help Buffy, she's unraveling' party - he was actually sticking around. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks and she just stared at him, watching his eyebrows draw together sarcastically.

Buffy opened her mouth to tell him that he needed to learn how to mind his own business but he yanked her against his chest, his fingers delving into her jean pocket for the keys. Buffy gasped, trying to push off his chest but he held her tighter, his fingers pressing into her pocket.

Everything inside her burst back to life.

It had been too long, she couldn't control her body's response to touch - any touch, but especially his - and her eyes fluttered as the warmth she had spent the last few minutes talking herself out of came back like a cannonball to her chest. Buffy gripped his shoulders as he dug. Her jeans were still damp and she felt every single movement his fingers, her skin overly sensitized at the memory of more than just his fingers being there, before he yanked his keys out.

Buffy was short of breath when he let her go and she stumbled back, closing her eyes, forcing the air through her nose as her body burned. When she looked at him again, he was staring at her like he had been last night before he'd kissed her and she turned away, her face burning.

She swallowed a large lump of humiliation. Christ, she might as well have just dropped her pants right there. Rubbing her face, Buffy made her way to the window, staring out of it. The sun pierced her eyes and she welcomed it blinding her.

Dean cleared his throat behind her. She heard him moving to his duffel bag, yanking clothes out.

"I vote breakfast," he said, the sound of his legs shoving into jeans getting lost in the sudden uproar of white noise in her ears at his words. Breakfast?

She turned, staring at him like he had grown three heads. The speed with which he went from attacking her in bed, to manhandling her to food was too fast to keep up with. "What?"

Dean tugged on a t-shirt. His bruises and cuts looked even worse this morning, like he had gone through a paper shredder a few times. She could only imagine what she looked like.

"Food."

Buffy chuckled incredulously. "No." She shook her head. "No, you're taking me to my bike. End of discussion."

"Kinda hard to end a discussion when one hasn't started," Dean replied smartly, sending her a glib smile as he tugged out a green flannel from his bag, slipping it on. He started rolling up the sleeves as Buffy just stared at him. He raised an eyebrow at her in question.

"I'm not going anywhere with you unless it's back to where you jacked me from in the first place," Buffy snapped, crossing her arms. "I want my bike. Now."

"And I want some bacon," Dean said, grabbing his jacket. He tugged it on and went to his boots. "You can stand there talking until you're blue in the face, I'm not driving your ass back and you sure as hell aren't walking." Dean grabbed his cell phone, checking the display before snapping it shut. He shot her a look over her shoulder when she huffed. "When was the last time you ate anyway?"

"I'm not a puppy, jackass, I don't need you feeding me," Buffy bit out, flipping him off. "I'm not going anywhere."

Dean finally stood, fully dressed, and he stared at her. The smile on his face was nothing near pleasant. "Buffy, if you don't get your ass out to that car right now, I will pick you up and do it for you."

"I'd love to see you try."

Dean shrugged, taking a step towards her and Buffy flinched away, glaring at him. "Fine. Fine, whatever."

She hated giving in, hated seeing the pleased smirk on his stupid face, but she knew she didn't have the energy for another roundabout. He wasn't wrong in that she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything and getting so much sleep had only worsened everything - at least when she was on edge, she was constantly ready for something, but now, she knew she wouldn't last more than two seconds.

She didn't even know how far she'd get if she walked. She couldn't remember how long it had taken her to get to those empty buildings.

She glared at him. "How about I just jump off the next cliff when you ask, how does that sound?"

"Depressing. You wouldn't look good as a pancake." He paused at his words and a flicker of something passed over his face before he pushed it away. Then he squared his jaw, turning to the door. "Let's go."

Buffy clenched her jaw and followed him. He held the door for her and the second she stepped outside, she immediately scanned the surroundings, checking the streets to get a clue as to where she was.

The realization might as well have slapped her in the face.

"Where are we?" she demanded as Dean locked the door behind her.

"We're just outside Ronan."

Buffy stopped, glaring at the back of Dean's head as he made his way to the Impala. "What?"

Dean shrugged, knowing exactly where she was going with her questions. They were miles from the building she had used. Miles. "Not my fault you chose a place in the goddamn middle of nowhere."

"And you just had to choose this motel?" Buffy responded. "This one that's nearly eighty miles away?"

Dean smirked, sliding into the driver's seat. "They had cable."


She looked like road kill.

She literally looked like someone had held her upside down and dunked her into a bowl of the dead juice. Buffy sat across from him, staring at the tabletop before looking around before her eyes found his and if looks could kill…

Her cheeks were still flushed with anger from him confirming that she didn't have a chance in Hell to get back to her bike with her own two feet. He had mostly done that because he wanted to get as far away from the new bodies she had left behind last night as possible. He wasn't sure if he had been running from the fact that he would be considered an accessory or from the fact that she had done it all. He didn't want to think about it.

Her hair was frizzy and dry from the rainstorm and from sleeping on it and she had circles under her eyes that Benicio Del Toro would envy. She sat in the opposite booth staring at him like she wanted nothing more than to snap his ears off. The sun was moving slowly across the sky as it rose and her face was in the perfect spot for the window beam to cut across it, casting half her features into darkness.

The combination was… fucking creepy looking. And it was the perfect antidote for how they had woken up just a little bit ago.

He cleared his throat and she didn't budge.

"Hungry?"

Buffy raised an eyebrow at the question. Dean looked at the menu in his hands. The ding of someone entering Mindy's Café seemed to echo throughout the entire diner and it felt a little eerie. It was almost eight in the morning and the second crowd was just starting to come in.

The minute he had entered, he'd caught Mindy's eye and again, if looks could kill…

It's not like he did anything, so why was he at the center of everyone's shit lists?

"Looks like you found her."

Dean looked up to find Mindy. She was staring at Buffy. He offered a smile when she glanced at him, nodding. "Yeah."

Buffy just glared at him and he shot her an uncomfortable look before glancing back at the menu.

"I'm glad," Mindy continued, touching Buffy's shoulder as she spoke. Dean stiffened, waiting for her to swing a fist out of her pocket and punch the poor woman in the face but Buffy just glanced at her, her eyes dead. Dean was even more surprised when Mindy's façade softened. "Honey, you aren't a peach of a person, but I was worried when I saw those men following you out. Did they do that to your face?"

Fuck.

Dean hadn't even thought of that. Had he gotten so used to seeing her face all bruised to hell already? She had a nasty scrape along her forehead and a bruise on her cheek with a tiny cut in it. She looked like she hadn't showered or taken care of herself in a few weeks, and on top of that the rain and his molesting her in bed this morning. The self-disgust roared back inside him and Dean swallowed uncomfortably. Not that he didn't look like he'd been shoved into a hamburger grinder himself; he knew he had a black eye and more than a few scrapes all over his face and body, not to mention the damage she had done internally.

"No. He did."

Dean's eyes bulged as his head shot up. "What? I did not." Well, he might have had a part of it, but she did worse to him, damn it. Buffy smirked at him while Mindy looked at him with a raised eyebrow and he shook his head. "No, she's joking."

Mindy pierced her lips, her eyebrow not going down and Dean had a wild flash of her calling the police on some random domestic charge and getting arrested and having to leave her again… Mindy looked at Buffy. "Well, honey, if you did all that to him then I suppose you won the fight."

For the first time since he'd seen her those few years ago, a chuckle ripped past Buffy's lips and she actually looked pleased. Dean narrowed his eyes at her and she offered him a cold smile.

"Well, I suppose it's none of my business. How 'bout you two order before the breakfast rush beats you to it?"

"I'll just have the special with a cup of coffee, please. And a side of bacon." Dean handed Mindy his menu and stared at Buffy expectantly. She didn't move, crossing her arms and leaning back.

"Eggs again, honey?"

"I'm not hungry," was all she said and Mindy's eyes narrowed this time.

"How 'bout I get you some flapjacks and your beefcake honey here can eat them if you really aren't hungry." Mindy grabbed the menus. "Bone-skinny women are my pet peeve, honey."

Buffy glanced up at her slowly, a flare of annoyance flickering over her face, watching her walk away.

Dean pointed over his shoulder, unable to help himself. "Hey, she's treating you like a puppy too."

Buffy's glare was made of razor-sharp icicles. "Fuck. Off."

"Right. Okay."

Silence reigned. Dean leaned back into his side of the booth, setting his arm over the top of it. A waitress named Lucy brought over the coffee and two waters before hopping over to the next table to get their order. Dean heard the ding of the bell as more people entered.

Dean cleared his throat, looking back at Buffy. Her eyes hadn't left him and the sinking sensation of being something's prey from last night started rising up his spine again.

He licked his lips, putting his hands up in surrender, keeping his tone light. "Alright. You got me. I'm here to wrangle answers out of you with food. Is it working?" She didn't respond and Dean sat forward, all jokiness gone. "Alright. What the hell is going on with you?"

"None of your business."

"What's on your shoulder? Your back? Your goddamn eye?" Dean watched her duck her head, almost like she'd forgotten the black mark was there. She closed her lids, clenching her jaw. When she opened them, she was staring at the table. "Jesus, Buffy, come on."

"What?" Buffy asked, glancing back at him before looking away, changing her mind.

She stared at the table, looking like she was trying to come to terms with what she wanted to say before she suddenly looked straight at him. The light caught her eye, making the black jump out of her natural hazel. She didn't miss him wince at the sight.

"What do you want me to do here, Dean? You want me to tell you that I need help? That I'm in over my head, that something is after me, that I'm chasing something, that the world is ending… What? What are you looking for here, because I can tell you right now I am nothing you want to get involved with and I want fucking nothing to do with you."

Dean acted like he hadn't heard a word she said. "So you're torturing things for fun then? Is that how you get your jollies these days, finding innocent people." Dean didn't miss the scared look that smoothed over her features as she glanced away quickly before she pushed the emotion down, back to glaring at him. He narrowed his eyes at her. "So that bothers you still. Good. That's a good sign."

Buffy's lips pulled back into an angry snarl. "I can do without the psycho-analyzation, thank you very much, dick."

"Does that bother you?" Dean kept his tone conversational, easy and simple like they were talking about the different variations of a rainbow. He grabbed his coffee, taking a sip of the bitter liquid. "That you care about not killing innocent people? Does it bother you that you actually stopped before you killed me last night?"

Buffy stared at him with an open mouth before she shook her head. "I wanted to kill you last night and you just want to sit here drinking coffee and chatting like we're bosom buddies or something, like none of that happened?"

Dean stared at her. "You wouldn't have killed me."

Buffy scoffed. "You're a fucking idiot."

Dean nodded. "So are you if you think for one second that I'm letting you out of my sight, with that crap on your shoulder," he pointed at her, "And a new list of torture pals. No way. Not until you tell me what's going on."

Buffy's cheeks flushed with a deep red, her glare deepening. She looked away from him, pushing herself back into the booth, crossing her arms. Her fingers were bone white from clenching at her arms so hard when he noticed the fine tremble in her frame, like she was holding herself back.

Dean frowned. "So that death wish I remember so well hasn't gone away. That's nice."

Buffy snapped.

"Fuck you," she whispered harshly, leaning forward and shoving the table roughly. Everything on the tabletop rattled ominously as she leaned closer, her eyes dark and the scar on her face looking like a terrifying smile. "You don't know anything about me, you never did. You think I asked for this, you think I want to be running around doing this shit? You think I'm okay wanting to…"

Dean stared at her as she choked off on the word, and she shoved on the table again, making everything rattle. Dean placed his hands on it to settle it but she wasn't done.

"I don't want this, Dean; nobody should want this, because I'm always angry." Her voice hitched with tears gathering the back of her throat, her eyes flashing with a glimpse of what he had seen last night as tears shimmered at him. "I'm always mad at everything and I am always trying to find a way to make it stop, to make it better, but there is nothing out there. Nobody knows anything and so yeah, I run around, sticking knives in people because that's all I can do, asshole, because what else is there but driving myself into a brick wall and hoping my neck breaks in just the right spot, huh? I don't know what's wrong with me and nobody else does so is that my only solution? Is that what you're telling me, that it's better to kill myself than sit around, hurting people I don't want to hurt? Wanting to kill people I don't want to kill?"

Dean just stared at her, her words rattling through his head at warp speed. He didn't know what to say.

Buffy shoved the table again, knocking down the condiment bottles. She crossed her arms, closing her eyes as she took long shuddering breaths, digging her nails into her leather-covered arms as hard as she could.

Someone walked by, staring at her and Dean glared at them.

"I don't want you near me," she said softly, her head bowed. Each word got heavier as she spoke, "I don't want to be near you, I just want you to take me to my fucking bike."

Dean stared at her. She didn't move, her arms crossed tightly, her body stiff, barely breathing through her nose as she spoke. Her voice had deepened to the familiar rasp he remembered when he'd first met her. He waited for her to look at him, but she kept her eyes closed.

"You need help," Dean said and her eyes snapped open. The glimpse of vulnerability she had let him catch was gone in an instant and she literally snarled at him. Dean jerked back, holding his hands up in surrender.

"You don't think I haven't tried, you prick," Buffy snapped, her voice loud and Dean glanced around, noticing some people were starting to stare. "I've hunted down every single thing I could think of to ask them, and guess what? Nothing. Nada. Fucking zip. Nobody knows anything about it, about what's happening, about souls, about anything, goddamn it!"

Buffy closed her eyes, pressing her palm to her forehead. The people who were staring looked away when Dean caught their eye.

A long moment passed, the diner noise around them growing steadily.

She took a deep breath. "I want to leave."

"Buffy."

"Now, goddamn it," she growled, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking on it. Dean winced for her, but it seemed to calm her down for a second as she whispered, "I don't want to talk anymore, I want to leave."

"I-"

"Now!" Buffy hissed through her teeth and a loud angry crunch sounded underneath the table.

Dean shoved back with wide eyes to look under the table. Her boot was between his legs, the shoe embedded in his side of the booth where she'd kicked a large hole. With wide eyes, Dean looked up. Buffy was breathing heavily, her tiny frame starting to shake again. He swallowed uneasily.

"Alright, okay. Just… take a chill pill over there. We're going, okay?"

Her eyes narrowed just as someone stopped at their table. Rather, two someone's.

Buffy's eyes moved towards them the same time Dean's did and he felt a wave of exasperation wash through him. Really? Chuckles One and Two who had only the nicest things to say about anyone the night before looked like they'd just finished breakfast and were heading out. Christ, didn't they eat anywhere else?

"Hey, you found her," Baldy said, smacking Dean on the shoulder. Dean heard the loud crunch of Buffy pulling her boot out and he very badly wished he'd chosen somewhere else. Goddamn it, he was a fucking idiot sometimes. He glared at Baldy but he missed the look completely as he focused on Buffy. "Was she everything you'd hoped?"

Buffy's entire demeanor changed as all the anger she'd had directed towards Dean - all the anger she'd obviously been keeping in relative check if the nice new hole in his seat was any indication - shifted to the two men.

Not good.

Dean stared at her, looking at the two men and then back to her. Her face was blank, but her eyes looked like lightning was ready to strike out.

Chuckles Two was wearing a red hat today and he chuckled uncomfortably when he looked at Buffy. Dean remembered his weariness about her and he wondered where Baldy's common sense was. He grabbed Baldy's arm. "Leave them to their food, Bill, we got shit to do."

"Nah, come on, tell us the story," Baldy continued, leaning on the table. "Did those fellas catch up to her or did you find her first? Looks like she likes it rough, maybe it was all you; in which case, good for you, son." His salacious tone was low enough so only they heard but his laugh was boisterous enough to fill the entire diner.

Dean's jaw dropped, completely forgetting that he should be worried about his booth companion. "Are you serious?"

"Completely, friend. Might take her for a ride myself."

Dean moved to stand up, ready to politely ask him to step outside when Buffy moved.

She reached up, grabbing Baldy's shirt and yanked him down so hard it was a blur. The vicious sound of his nose connecting with the table was loud, ringing in Dean's ears, but she wasn't done. Baldy cried out in pain, blood spurting from his nose like a fountain and Buffy stood and yanked on his shirt again, sending him flying down the mini-aisle between all the tables. He slid across the floor, running into a table where a couple were eating. He hit the legs so hard their plates slid off and crashed to the floor.

The rage was coming off her in waves, tinging the air, and her mania spread to the customers as people shouted and pushed to get away from her. They could see it, just like he could - the darkness of whatever was inside her.

"Buffy!" Dean shouted but she was already moving after Baldy while Red Hat shouted something behind them.

Dean followed her, grabbing her arm and she whipped around, the same look from last night when he'd first found on her face - she was full of pure, unadulterated wrath.

She shoved him away, that same freakish strength back and he flew into the stools at the bar with a loud crash, shoving other people to the ground. The diner was full of screams and shouts and people trying to get to the exit, get out of her path as she went for Baldy again.

"Fucking bitch," Baldy mumbled through his bloody nose and Buffy leaned down, picking him up like he was nothing more than a five year old and she punched him right in his broken nose. The scream that left his mouth was horrendous and it echoed in the diner, the room going quiet as she punched him again before letting him drop to the ground where she kicked him in the ribs. Something loud cracked there.

"Buffy!" Dean shouted again, his own ribs groaning from the stools. Dean threw himself towards her, slipping on the floor before shoving back to his feet. She kicked Baldy again and the sound made him nauseous. "Buffy, goddamn it!"

Dean wrapped his arms around her from behind and she shoved her head back, her skull colliding with his forehead. They both dropped to the floor at the same time, the chaos in the diner nothing compared to what she was doing. Dean cursed when she grabbed Baldy's shirt again. He found her elbows and tried to pull her away, but her body was pure steel in comparison to his measly muscles.

Dean scuttled in front of her, covering the quivering fist that gripped Baldy's plaid with his as he tried to catch her eye.

"Hey, look at me!" Buffy didn't give any indication she saw him as she raised her fist back. "Goddamn it, Buffy, look at me!"

Baldy's head rolled limply. He had lost consciousness and was limp in her hands. Despite his heavy weight, she held him without effort, her lips pulled back in a snarl and Dean sent out a quick 'fucking work, goddamn it, please' prayer and ducked in, so she'd have to hit him before Baldy.

Dean grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him, and she tried to jerk away.

"Hey! Hey, look at me, look at me," Dean said, forcing her face to stay even with his. She was breathing so hard he could tell her lungs weren't actually contracting. Her eyes were on fire, bouncing all over the place before Dean shook her head, forcing her to focus on him. Their eyes met and he saw the flare in her eyes when she recognized him. "That's right, look at me."

A choked sigh escaped her throat and she released Baldy. He fell to the ground with a heavy smack of his head on the tile and Dean winced at the sickening sound, but his eyes never left hers.

"Dean?" she whispered, blinking rapidly and Dean frowned. He felt her shaking getting worse, heard people talking around them, but none of them moved.

"Yeah, me."

The recognition sputtered out. Buffy growled and tried to twist away from him but Dean held on, his arms slipping around her waist and holding her still, yanking her against his body. She struggled against him, making the shivering worse, and she lurched to her feet and he let out a startled shout. She started dragging him behind her. People scattered, the sound of more dishes clinking and some crashing to the ground a macabre dance when her body gave out.

Just like last night, she went completely limp, like all the strength inside her had been spent in those precious few minutes. Dean caught her before she hit the ground, her weight almost taking him down with it.

For a split second, nothing happened. Dean's head dropped on her, the adrenaline yanking any energy he had to begin with, his own limbs thrumming with ill-spent drive.

"Damn it," he breathed, pulling her closer. Anxious fear spiked through his chest as her quick breaths jostled between them, her fingers digging into his thighs, before he remembered where they were.

Dean glanced around the diner. Every single person was staring, some at Baldy's unconscious body, some at them and he glanced over at Mindy as she hung up the phone.

Fuck.

"Let me go," Buffy moaned, and Dean wondered if she realized she was leaning into him rather than trying to get away anymore. Either way, he ignored her. He couldn't deal with what just happened, he didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to realize that something was so wrong with her that… that maybe she couldn't be fixed.

Later.

Dean picked her up, cradling her thin frame to his chest as he backed up towards the door. She didn't struggle anymore as she curled in on herself, pressing her face into his shoulder like she wanted to hide.

He involuntarily cradled her closer.

Still, nobody moved.

"Sorry," he managed, before backing out the door and running to the Impala.