Author's Notes: As I was skimming the story the other day, I saw about fifteen billion errors. Eep! This is story is un-beta'd and all errors/issues are my own and I apologize for them. Thank you for the response so far! :D
Chapter Ten
The shaking was bad.
The weakness swept through her in giant waves, twisting her stomach in knots as she tried to control it, but it was no use. Her teeth rattled against each other, her bottom lip getting caught in the crossfire and she tasted the sharp copper of blood.
Dean barely got her in the passenger side before Buffy wrapped her arms around her middle as she slumped across the seat. The air outside was chilly when it rushed through the driver door and Buffy tried to sit up, to move away from him but she had no goddamn energy. Buffy moaned when Dean pushed her up as gently as he could, mumbling under his breath, leaning her against her door.
She heard his keys jangling before the engine came to life and he jerked it into gear, taking off quickly.
Buffy opened her eyes, staring at her hands. The blood on her knuckles was bright red.
Bile crawled up her throat and she closed her eyes, trying to remember how it had gotten there. She knew it was because she had hit someone, that it had been the piece of shit balding jerkwad talking about her while she was sitting right there. She remembered him from when she'd first gone to that diner now; he'd leered at her for five minutes straight before she had ducked out.
But now, the last thing she remembered was grabbing his shirt and then… nothing.
She couldn't remember.
"Pull over," she croaked, shoving her face into the cool glass of her window.
"That sure as hell is not happening until we are far, far away."
"Dean," Buffy groaned, clenching her hands into fists again. Her hands ached from the beatings she'd delivered over the last twenty-four hours and she felt the echo of exhaustion pushing up her arms, making her stomach ache even more. "Just let me out."
Dean pressed the pedal harder, the engine roaring with life as the car sped up. "Shut up."
The shaking worsened and Buffy whined, curling up against the door, shoving her bloody fists into her chest, pushing herself into a ball to quell it. She felt Dean's hand on her shoulder and she jerked away. He grunted something at her but she didn't hear it. They drove for what like forever and she felt every single bump on her forehead before he screeched to a stop.
"Out with you," he said, whipping his door open and coming to her side. Buffy had the door shoved open and she was ready to head back to the street but Dean was already there, blocking her.
"Where are we?" she asked, pushing his hands away. She climbed out, her legs feeling like Jell-O and the sensation only made her stomach turn even more. How was it possible that the backlash was getting so much worse? Buffy clenched her jaw. She wasn't sure how much longer she could handle this; every single time it was worse. Tears burned the back of her throat.
"The motel for now," Dean replied. "Don't think it's a good idea, but I really don't think I can handle another Buffy Rage at the moment on top of dodging the police, who are probably already looking for a psychopath because of those damn bodies you left out a few days ago." Buffy glared at her, shoving him out of the way to get to the door but her legs gave out and Dean caught her. "Jesus, take it easy, would you?"
"I've got it," Buffy said but Dean didn't let her go, swinging her up into his arms again.
"Take a little goddamn help when it's offered," Dean said breathlessly, hauling out his keys and opening the door gracelessly. It slammed into the wall as he entered and he set her on the dry bed. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
Buffy sat up as Dean disappeared out the door again, starting up the car and tearing off.
Shoving herself to the edge of the bed, Buffy pushed her legs off and her boots landed with a thick thud on the thin carpet. The shaking was so much more worse than before and why? Buffy opened and closed her fists, willing her body to calm down, but it wouldn't. In fact the more she tried, the worse the shaking got.
"Damn it," Buffy growled, the tears finally blurring her vision. She felt the drops on her hands as she kept opening and closing them, her voice cracking, "Stop, stop, stop."
She wasn't sure how much time passed before the shaking finally started slowing. She felt like she'd been sitting there for hours, staring at her hands, feeling every inch of her skin crawling with the debilitating exhaustion.
Buffy closed her eyes. It was definitely getting worse and now she was actually blacking out the main events.
The blood on her knuckles had dried a while ago and there were streaks in it from her tears.
After a few more minutes, Buffy finally felt like she could move and she stood. Her legs were wobbly and she fell back on the bed for a second before forcing herself to her feet. She lurched to the door, swallowing down the nausea trolling her stomach.
Dean wasn't back yet, which was weird - after all this fronting, why would he just leave her there? Where did he go?
Buffy's hand found the doorknob. She didn't care where he was as long as he stayed away just a little longer so she could get out of there. The farther away from him she was the better. She had felt the stirrings of the darkness when he'd been pressing her in the diner - she'd felt the angry tendrils starting to get tighter around her neck as he tried his reverse psychology bullshit on her, but she'd had it under control. The rage had simmered, just below the surface, but she'd stopped it, because she had known it was Dean egging her on, until that piece of shit redneck started running his mouth.
And then nothing but blackness.
"Fuck it," Buffy mumbled, closing her eyes. "Fuck him and fuck every-fucking-thing, just fuck it."
She opened the door.
"No, Bobby, you're not hearing me."
Buffy paused, furrowing her brow. She peeked around the doorjamb. Dean was standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall, his face in his hands as he talked on his phone - likely to Bobby Singer. Buffy rolled her eyes. That's what she fucking needed, another mother hen.
And how was she going to get out of here now?
"Souls. Plural. Two."
Buffy stopped dead in her tracks, her blood freezing in her veins.
"Yes, damn it, and no, I'm not making this up. She had two souls, she called it a Slayer soul or whatever. She called it a 'soul' from a different world. Hell, Cas freaking called it that. He said something like she was… glowing or something… I don't know, it was a while ago, I'm blurry on the specifics but I damn well remember she had two souls inside her tiny little body… I don't know how it happened, I don't dabble in freaking soul business on the side… Because it wasn't really any of your business, Bobby; Sam didn't even know about her… Well how about how the hell you know her, what aren't you telling me?... I know, I know, I'm sorry, that's not what I'm saying… Something's up with her, something more than a shitty attitude. She's got… it's not something I can really describe to you, okay, it's more of a 'need to see it' sort of thing."
Buffy's eyes got wide at the thought of showing anyone else - anyone, much less Bobby Singer - her skin and the flush of anger that bloomed out of her chest eradicated the shaking instantly.
Buffy took a deep breath, scanning the parking lot. The car was gone, he'd probably parked it somewhere nice and safe and tucked away so no one from the diner could give the cops any tips. The motel parking lot was relatively empty, no cars to jack and really, how far would she get in her condition anyhow? He'd see her the minute she ducked out and this stupid motel room didn't have any other windows.
Buffy forced herself to close the door gently, keeping it open a crack, instead of breaking it off its hinges.
He seemed to be listening to whatever Bobby was saying.
Fucking asshole, talking to other people about her issues… Buffy rubbed her face in irritation, perking when Dean snorted.
"You think I'm making this up? How could I possibly make this up, Bobby?" He paused, listening. "Do you remember when I told you about Zachariah sending me into the future, the bucket o' fun future where I got to see everything that freaking happened anyway? She was there, Bobby. Zachariah planned the entire thing. He took the oil out of her goddamned Jeep so she'd break down on the road I happened to be on because I happened to be away from Sam because I happened to think that was the best plan - at the time. She was in 2014… I don't know, to make shit a little more shitty, hell if I fucking know."
Buffy's heart was pounding. What was he talking about?
The demon's screams echoed in her head, "Winchester!"
Had he done this to her? Had she been wrong, had he known the entire time?
Buffy's heart felt like a gong in her chest.
"Anyway, when he sucked me back to 2009, he got rid of the Slayer soul. Snapped his pretty little fingers and she was gone." Dean made a noise, flitting his hand away like he was flicking at a bug. "And then… well, you know what happened… No, I need your help. With research. On souls. Anything on souls… Because that's what she said, she said something about finding out information on souls and…"
Buffy looked up at his pause, realizing too late that she had left the room and was standing outside with him, glaring at him. She felt the pressure in her nails from holding the doorjamb too tightly as he just stared at her.
He took a deep breath. "Bobby, I gotta go." He snapped the phone shut.
Crap.
Dean slid his phone into his pocket, licking his lips. He glanced around the empty parking lot before looking back at her.
She didn't move.
"Been there long?" he asked with a smile and if it was possible her eyes grew deader. Dean took a tentative step forward. "Look, Buffy-"
"You knew," she whispered, shaking her head at him. "This entire time, you knew what was happening to me?" She paused, her face lightening as a thought struck. "Oh god. She knew too. That fucking bitch knew too."
"What?" She didn't respond and Dean offered what he hoped looked like a hopeful smile, hoping her logic wagon was circling back to his being on her good side. "Throw me a bone here, riddle girl."
Buffy's eyes were darker than he had ever seen them when she looked at him again and he shivered, his mind flashing back to the night before when he'd found her in the office building. Only this time he knew what was on her skin, could see the black leaking into her eye; knew what was she was capable of.
"Two Buffys, Two Deans," Buffy repeated slowly, taking a step towards him. Her body was straight and sharp as a blade, the shaking gone. Yeah, he'd say her being angry after apparently hearing his conversation was a mild understatement.
"What did she mean, Dean? Two Buffys… that meant when that soul was in here with me, is that what she was talking about?"
"Hey, okay," Dean said, making a wide berth around her, circling until he was at the motel door. She followed him, turning in one spot, her eyes never leaving him. "Let's just calm down and talk about this like two very rational and very… very calm adults. Right?"
"Tell me what she meant, Dean," Buffy continued, her voice even and getting that very familiar raspy nature again. She cocked her head. "What else aren't you telling me? Do you know what this is?" Her voice was getting louder, starting to echo off the side of the motel and it scorched his ears as he flinched. He found the doorjamb for balance as he fought the urge to run from her, the feeling of being prey coming back. "Do you know what's wrong with me? This entire fucking time and you knew?"
Buffy threw herself at him.
"Shit," Dean yelped, dodging into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. He didn't pause when she ran into the door with a loud slam as he dove for his duffel bag, and the gun inside it. He hadn't even thought to bring it with him when they went to the diner, the habit sanded off from the engrained part of his brain from living with Lisa and Ben and going places with them. Safe places. Places where guns weren't needed.
Buffy slammed the door shut behind her, the walls themselves rattling from the sheer force and she stalked after him. He felt the cool metal of the gun and he gripped it as she grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him up. The leather tore into his skin painfully and she tossed him back onto one of the beds.
"Who is Zachariah? What the hell was his 'plan' for me, huh, Dean?" Buffy asked, her voice reaching shriek levels as she came at him and Dean rolled off the bed, keeping it between them.
"Why don't you pull back on the bitch act and I'll tell you everything that you want to know."
"Not. Good. Enough," Buffy growled, leaping over the bed and Dean didn't move fast enough. Using the bed as a vault, she tackled him to the ground. They rolled together until they both collided with the wall and Dean felt panic set in as her hands found his neck again. He hadn't realized how very sore his skin was from her already trying to strangle him before and that pain alone was enough for him to see spots.
And then she dug her nails into his corded muscles, sucking the air out of his lungs. Dean croaked out unintelligible words as she squeezed.
"Did you do this to me?" she demanded, shaking him. "I'm not human because of you, I'm not me!"
Dean mouthed her name, closing his eyes to concentrate on yanking her hands off but her freak strength was back in full force to rival the anger he saw flashing across her face.
With a grunt, Dean used the wall they were against and rolled them over so she was beneath him, but she anticipated the movement and used the momentum to roll them again so she straddled him, just like the night before.
Her fingers tightened, her fingertips digging in… The blackness started eclipsing everything, the room fading away. The only thing he could stare at was the angry slant of her lips, the lips that had been so pliant and soft when he'd kissed them… how much she changed when it took over…
And then suddenly she was out. Buffy toppled over, collapsing on top of him, her fingers going lax around his throat. Her forehead collided with his chin and he groaned, sucking in as much air as he could before he opened his eyes in confusion.
He blinked.
"Goddamn it, Cas," he breathed, his voice harsh. "Good timing."
Castiel stood over them, his brow furrowed in confusion. Dean pushed the unconscious Buffy off and she slid to the floor, her head hitting the ground.
Dean tried to breath but his throat burned as he shoved himself to his feet, waving his hand at the angel. "No, no, I'm fine. I got it."
Castiel took a step back, staring at Buffy. Dean glanced at her where she lay and was momentarily freaked out by how serene she looked… the literal opposite of what his last image on this earth was about to be. Dean jerked back when Cas' fingers brushed his temple before a quick burning ripped through his body. Dean blinked in surprise, looking down at where bruised hands should have been. He'd healed him.
"Thanks," Dean said gruffly before glaring. He couldn't read the look on Cas' face. "What?"
"I missed a few things."
Dean scoffed. "Wow. That sounds like a bit of an understatement, don't you think?" Dean took a step towards him, remembering all the times he'd called for him before, prayed to him… with nothing. "I called you. Like a million times, man, where were you?"
Castiel's eyes didn't leave Buffy. "I've been busy."
"Busy?" Dean's mind hit a wall and he scowled at him. "Seriously? After Sam, after I tried calling you for months and-"
"I know." Castiel's eyes flicked to Dean's before going straight back to Buffy. "I heard you."
"You heard me?"
"Dean, I didn't come because you called. I came because of her." He paused, making a face. "Again."
"Well, that's just awesome, thanks for keeping me on your priority list," Dean snapped but Castiel ignored him, moving towards Buffy's limp body. Dean rolled his eyes, swallowing his aggravation, rubbing his throat. "What? What radar did she hit on this time, 'cause she sure as hell ain't sporting two souls again."
"No."
Dean waited for more but the angel didn't offer any. He squatted down next to her, staring at her. Dean followed his gaze. Despite the scratches and bruises from their fight the night before, she did look peaceful. Whatever whammy Cas had put on her had taken her to a very happy place. She looked… exactly how he remembered her from his future self's memories.
She suddenly one hundred percent looked like Buffy. Like the Buffy he'd woken up with this morning, the Buffy from 2014, the Buffy who had been at his side for so many years…
Dean realized with a start he didn't like it.
"A little more explanation would be nice," Dean said.
Castiel's eyes didn't leave Buffy. "She has been raising a few questions with the questions she has been asking."
"About the soul thing?"
"Yes."
"Okay, what questions?" Dean caught Cas' eyes glancing away from Buffy, and he looked violently uncomfortable for a second before returning his gaze to the knocked out woman. Dean frowned. "Cas, what questions?"
Castiel narrowed his eyes, never taking them off her. "What 'huge black hole of mystery something else' were you referring to?"
"What?"
Castiel glanced at him. "You mentioned 'huge black hole of mystery something else' yesterday. I don't know what that means."
Dean sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "It means that something's wrong with her and I don't have a damn clue what it is."
"What's wrong with her?"
Dean was too tired to think. He got up and leaned over Buffy. He found the zipper of her jacket, yanking it down and shaking his head at himself. "Man, she's gonna kill me."
And then he unzipped it.
Dean lifted her up, sliding the jacket off her right arm. The tank top she had on was stretched to hell and was tugged low enough to show the crappy bra and where the darkness led and Dean pushed it back in place. Not that modesty was really a big priority at the second but oh yes, she was definitely gonna kill him. He could at least get some points. A voice in the back of his head argued that she had just tried to kill him, so he should get triple points.
Her body was warm and for a split second, Dean didn't want to let her go but he laid her back down on the floor, tugging the jacket off the rest of the way and tossing it on the bed.
He waved at her right shoulder. "This."
Dean watched Cas lean forward, his 'how curious and worrisome' look on his face.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Out loud, Cas, think out loud."
"Interesting," was all he said. Dean narrowed his eyes. Castiel leaned closer, and Dean irrationally wanted to shove him away. He knew Cas wasn't a threat in the least, but whatever Neanderthal he-man crap was floating in his head didn't like it either way. She was knocked out and vulnerable and Dean just wanted to cover her.
Would he ever get his head on fucking straight?
"When did this start?"
"I don't know."
"Curious."
"Enough with the monosyllabic answers here. Do you know what this is?"
"No."
"What kind of questions are coming up about her then? Surely there's something out there that can give you some clue as to what the hell this crap is."
Castiel ignored him. He reached forward, pressing his fingers to Buffy's temple and Dean flinched, standing up. "Cas, I don't think-"
Buffy's eyes shot open. They flew between them before she jerked back, crab walking her ass into the wall when she saw them hovering over her. Dean's hands went up to calm her down but she didn't even see him. The recognition was clear in her eyes as she stared at Cas and the shock turned into what was quickly becoming her customary glare.
"You."
"Hello."
"Hello?" Buffy spat mockingly.
Castiel turned to look at Dean. "That is still the customary greeting?"
Dean shrugged at him when he saw Buffy shove off the wall towards him. "Cas!"
Castiel turned to her just as Buffy's fist landed on his cheek. His head rocked to the side with the force, his shoulders actually moving slightly, giving credence to how much punch she had in her little fist, but he still barely moved an inch. Dean winced, remembering very well how much Cas' face was like concrete.
Buffy hissed in pain, pushing herself back against the wall, cradling her hand to her chest. Dean noticed they were still bloody from her adventures in Mindy's Café.
"Goddamn it," Buffy breathed, closing her eyes. She brought her hand up, moving it around experimentally. Her eyes narrowed at Castiel and then up at Dean. "What the hell is this?" She noticed her jacket was missing and she gasped, pressing herself further into the wall. "What the fuck is going on?"
"We should really start up some yoga or something to keep you calm," Dean said and Buffy shot him a hard look that gave him chills. He gestured at Castiel. "He's here to help."
Buffy snorted. "How, by engraving some more weird shit on my bones or zapping me around against my will?"
"It's in her eye as well," Castiel ruminated softly, ignoring her, and Buffy's look turned murderous. "When did this start?"
"Fuck you."
"Buffy," Dean said with a tired sigh and Buffy whipped her head to him.
"Yeah, that's for you too, Winchester," she continued, pushing herself to her feet, forcing Cas to his. "Who the hell do you think you are butting your goddamn shit into mine?" Her voice bounced around the room and she buried her face in her hands. Dean saw her nail beds turning white from the pressure of her fingers digging into her face. "I didn't ask for this!"
"This is the help you've been looking for, blondie," Dean snapped, grabbing her wrists before she could draw blood, forcing her to look at him. "Yeah, let's go stab some more things, that sounds real helpful. That's goddamned psychotic!"
Buffy pulled her hands back, both her elbows slamming into the wall behind her and she growled, "Screw you."
"Yelling helps nothing," Castiel interjected and both Buffy and Dean turned to glare at him.
"Shut up, Cas," Dean said, stalking away. He ran his fingers through his hair and turned to find them both staring at him. "Just do your thing, will ya?"
"Fuck that," Buffy snapped.
Castiel slowly turned back to Buffy, his face thoughtful. He looked at her shoulder. "I don't know what that is."
"Wow, Dean, you're so right, he is just so helpful," Buffy said. Dean glared at her.
"But there is a way to see," Cas continued, stopping both of them. "What did Zachariah do exactly? With her souls?"
Dean noticed when Buffy's eyes turned to him, they were darker with accusations and he forced himself to look at Cas, stopping himself from doing his own accusatory dance because Cas clearly knew more than he was letting on.
"He snapped his fingers and then poof. There was a bright white light and that was that."
Buffy squared her jaw, narrowing her eyes. Dean chanced a glance at her before looking back at Cas who had turned back to studying Buffy.
"There is a natural way for souls to leave their bodies."
Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Meaning what exactly?"
"What happened to you was not natural."
"Wow. Thanks, Sherlock, that just opened my eyes to everything."
Castiel frowned. "My name is not Sherlock." Buffy furrowed her brows at him. "When something happens to a soul, a trace is left behind. For example," Castiel turned to look at Dean, "When one sells their soul, a brand is left, a sign of ownership for the duration of the deal."
Buffy raised her eyebrows. "You sold your soul?"
Dean opened his mouth but Castiel answered for him. "Dean is unique in that his soul has been through… a lot. It would have multiple -signatures of those who have touched it, sometimes even if it was just in the presence of a powerful demon. For example, when he was in Hell, Alastair-"
"Hey, hey, this isn't walk down Dean memory lane here, Cas, can we move on please?" When Dean looked at Buffy, she was staring at him with a frown and he looked away. "No Hell talk, no Deal-soul talk. The topic is Buffy-soul. Stick to it."
"Yes. Sorry. There is a method I can use to… check, and see what happened to you."
Dean felt like the air was sucked out of the room as all the fight left Buffy. If it was anymore possible, she shrunk in on herself even more, her shoulders dropping like they had been carrying the weight of the world and just gave out.
"What?" she whispered. Buffy stared at the angel, wrapping her arms around her middle.
"What do you think happened?" Dean asked, his eyes darting to the black splotches on her skin. If the moment could get even creepier, he felt like he was getting used to them.
"I don't know. But I can read her soul and see if something was… left behind. A clue."
"Do it," Buffy said just as Dean asked, "How exactly are you going to do that?"
"Painfully." Castiel glanced back at Buffy. "The pain will be close to excruciating, in fact."
"What?" Dean asked as Buffy said, "That's fine, I can handle it. Do it."
"What? No." Dean held his hand up. "Buffy, wait."
"Not your decision, asshole," Buffy bit out, her eyes never leaving Castiel. "What do I need to do?"
"I can put you to sleep for the process if you prefer, although you'll still feel everything."
Dean watched Buffy go rigid at the thought of being in such a vulnerable state while Cas did whatever the hell it was he was going to do. She shook her head. "I'll stay awake."
Castiel nodded and started unbuckling his belt and Dean held up both hands, moving between them. "Jesus, Cas, what is this, a porno? What are you doing?" He turned to Buffy. "You're not doing this."
"If you don't get out of my face, I'm going to break your kneecaps."
Dean snorted as Castiel ignored them, sliding the belt from his pant loops. He handed it to Buffy. "You'll need this."
"Where do you want me?"
"Whoa, whoa, stop! Everybody stop!" Dean looked between them. "Why don't we start with you explaining exactly what it is you're going to do to her."
Buffy shoved him aside as Castiel replied, "It's hard to explain."
Buffy didn't wait for Dean to reply or Cas to try and explain anything. She grabbed one of the chairs, dragging it over. "Will this work?"
"It will suffice, yes."
Buffy sat down. "Ready when you are, cupcake."
Castiel gestured to the belt. "You'll want that in your mouth."
Buffy glanced at the belt, shrugging. "Can't say I've ever sucked on anything from an angel before."
"Really, Buffy?" Dean asked as Castiel said, "We are celestial beings, we don't have a physical form to suck on."
Dean's jaw dropped as Buffy actually smirked at him before folding the belt in half and sticking it in her mouth. She wrapped her arms around her back of the chair, holding onto it. Castiel glanced at Dean, and if Dean didn't know better, he'd think he looked might uncomfortable again. Like talking about sucking on an angel wasn't freaking uncomfortable enough.
"Do you have any securing implements?"
"What, like rope?"
"Yes, that will work."
"Sorry, Cas, I don't make it a habit to carry rope with me everywhere I go," Dean replied sweetly, looking back at Buffy who was staring at him. He met her gaze. "I don't like this."
"Then get the fuck out," Buffy growled around the leather, glaring at him and Castiel spared him a long glance before turning to face her.
"No, Dean, you have to stay, you need to hold her down."
"What?"
"When I say the pain is excruciating, I think that is even a light way to describe what it will feel like."
"Oh good, that's making me want to help even more."
"Dean-"
"Dean!" Buffy interrupted Cas, closing her eyes as she tugged the belt from her lips. "Pull your big girl panties the fuck up and… just get the fuck over here."
Dean's eyes flew from Cas' face to Buffy's, where she was glaring at his chest. She chanced a glance up at him before looking away and Dean shook his head in disbelief. It was like her cowardly way of saying, 'Please, just do this.'
Dean rolled his eyes, throwing his head back to look at the ceiling. And then he whipped his jacket off, throwing it onto the table. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he said, biting his lip and crouching down behind the chair. He looked at Cas. "Will there be permanent damage?"
"Mentally, no. Physically, it's very minimal."
"Meaning there will be damage," Dean argued and Buffy rolled her eyes.
"Just do it already," she snapped at Cas, shoving the belt back between her teeth and wrapping her arms around the back of the chair again. Dean glared at the back of her head, sharing some of the glare with Cas. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her middle and securing her to the back of the chair.
"I need to enter there, Dean."
Dean clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes instead of snapping Cas' head off like he wanted to. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to remember the rage she had been in before Cas stepped in - how she had almost killed him again. Yeah, that was a mighty important point. If this was the way to answers, then he needed to let her jump into the shit pile and stow the protective crap. Hell, he needed to stow that shit anyway. What was his pansy-ass deal anyway, he was treating Cas like he was going to cut her head off. It was just Cas.
Despite the logic circles running around in Dean's head, he couldn't shove down the bad feeling that had rocketed through the ceiling at the mention of Cas' solution.
Wrapping an arm around her hips, Dean wrapped the other over her chest, holding her tightly. He felt her quick intake of breath as he pressed against her breasts and his body responded in kind.
Jesus, he was holding her down to get her little soul felt in what sounded positively like torture and he was getting a hard on? Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
Torture.
Dean's arms tightened as his eyes snapped open and he stared at the beds. He felt Cas' hand on her shoulder.
"Hold still," Cas said and then Buffy's breath hitched. Dean felt her fighting to strain against his hold on her as Castiel leaned towards her. Dean couldn't see what he was doing, but he felt her reacting to it.
And then that breath turned into a high-pitched breath before she screamed.
The sound pierced Dean's eardrums, echoing inside his chest from the vibration through her body. Her head flew back, narrowly missing his and her hands immediately let go of the chair to come out and whip Cas a new one. Dean cursed, sitting up and pressing his chest to her arms, holding them still, gluing her to the chair. Her hands found his jeans and they bunched up the material at his hips, pulling on it as tight as she could as she threw her head back again, landing on his shoulder.
And then Cas moved deeper and her pained whimper was almost enough for him to hit Cas himself.
Buffy bucked against his hold. Dean almost lost his grip and his eyes went wide when he saw the bright orangey fire coming from her abdomen. He watched as the fire spread across her skin like lightning bolts in her veins, and she looked like she was lit up from the inside.
She screamed again, writhing under their holds before she shoved her face into his neck. The belt bit into his skin as Buffy sucked in as much air as she could. Dean saw Cas' arm moving and she whimpered, her body shaking violently against him, her nails digging into his hips as she held on for dear life. Dean gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain still as Cas searched.
Her skin started getting warmer.
"Cas!" Dean shouted, his eyes flying to the angel's. Castiel's face was set in concentration as he stared over their heads. His eyes flickered to Dean's and he nodded slightly before slowly retracting his hand from inside her.
Buffy sucked in a quick breath and then the bright light disappeared like it had never been there, leaving her looking sallow and withdrawn. Cas stepped back, staring at her.
The belt fell from Buffy's lips and she gasped before coughing violently. Dean didn't let her go for a second, pressing his face to her still too-warm cheek. She was limp in the chair, still trying to remember how to breathe. A bad idea, a bad fucking idea, she hadn't been sleeping or eating at all, she didn't have the damn strength for this.
Buffy moaned, her eyes fluttering open. She let go of his jeans, yanking on her arms.
"Hey, take it easy," Dean said, letting her go. Buffy swayed, almost falling over and Dean grabbed her, steadying her. "Easy."
"I'm fine," Buffy breathed, shaking her head. "Let me go."
Dean sighed in aggravation, remembering how hard she had been holding on before doing just that, standing as she pulled herself from the chair. Her hand hovered over the spot Cas had slipped his into her as she moved towards the bed, slumping over on it.
Dean was there before she could say no. He kneeled in front of her, grabbing her face in his hands.
"You okay?" he asked and he was sure if Buffy hadn't just had an angel's hand playing Cat's Cradle with her insides she would have rolled her eyes and flipped him off. Instead she pulled her face free and pushed his hands away.
"I'm fine. Just… stop." She held up her hands, closing her eyes. "Stop touching me."
Dean didn't move for a second, staring at her closed eyes, willing them to open and look back at him. But for what? Who was he fooling? Hell, the only one he was fooling was himself.
This Buffy? This Buffy was broken. Irreparably. What was he doing? But he couldn't help it - it was instinct, pure instinct to find her, help her, hold her. Dean closed his eyes at the sinking sensation in his stomach, rubbing his face before standing up.
He turned to find Cas hovering right behind him. He leaned over, touching Buffy's forehead and she tried to jerk back, hissing in annoyance when all of the wounds - from their fight, from whatever the hell had happened to her arm, from everything - disappeared.
Buffy didn't seem to notice, leaning away from him as Cas said, "That will hopefully help."
"Don't touch me," she murmured, closing her eyes.
"Did you find anything?" Dean asked.
Castiel's face was grim. "Yes."
"And?"
Buffy looked up at him as well. The bruises and cuts that Cas had healed had hidden everything underneath. Dean noticed the circles under her eyes had grown and her skin sunk in even more, if that was possible. She looked like a walking skeleton.
"Your soul is fragmented," Castiel said. Buffy shuddered at his words, closing her eyes. "Your soul, Buffy Anne Summers of this world, is missing pieces of it." The sinking sensation turned into a ball of fire in Dean's stomach. "Likewise, the soul that was placed inside you when Zachariah pulled you from the other world left pieces of its own behind."
Buffy's face was twisted in confusion and pain. "I don't understand."
"You gotta go over that one more time, Cas," Dean said slowly. "Like I'm five. Is that even… possible?"
Castiel was looking at Buffy as he spoke. "That soul and your soul were melding together after Zachariah brought you here. It is only natural, it would seem, although it's never happened before, two souls inside one vessel. But it seems natural since they were forced into one space and they are, in essence, the same entity. The souls started… integrating, for lack of a better word. Becoming one."
"One," Buffy repeated slowly.
"Yes. Placing a human soul inside a vessel is no easy task but it does the soul no harm, in theory. Unless, of course, there is already a soul in place."
"Smaller words, Cas," Dean interrupted.
"When Zachariah 'snapped his fingers' as you said, Dean, he ripped the soul from its vessel. Normally this would not be a damaging act, although it would certainly leave a trace, but it would not… damage it, as what happened here. Because there were two souls inside your one vessel," he said, gesturing to Buffy, who was starting to look green, "The souls were damaged when one was removed."
"I'm damaged?" Buffy whispered and Dean whipped his head to look at her, her broken words hollowing out his chest. She looked ready to crack.
"Your soul is. Or rather, your souls."
Buffy shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She looked away, swallowing. "I don't…"
"Think of it as mixing two colors," Castiel said. "When black and white mix, they are never the same. Each side will always retain a part of the other side."
Dean's head was spinning on its axis. He wanted to go to her, tell her she wasn't damaged to erase that look on her face, but he didn't move. This entire time, she'd been carrying around a part of that other soul? It just hitched a ride for two years? Dean shook his head. "I don't get it. How does this explain her shoulder? Her freaking eye?"
Castiel once again looked wildly uncomfortable, looking away, and Dean had the wild thought he needed to work on his human skills because he was doing a piss poor job hiding anything. The angel glanced at Buffy before looking at Dean again.
"The souls come from two different worlds. The other soul, from the other world… is that world's savior. A hero. But here… it is an abomination."
Buffy's gasp turned into a chuckle as a tear slipped from her eyes. "An abomination."
"Yes."
"Well." Buffy nodded, wiping the tear away. "That's just… dandy. Sure explains a lot."
"Abomination?" Dean repeated. "Like what, she's the black sheep of the weird creepy soul family?"
"I don't know," Cas replied, staring at the bed Buffy sat on.
"You don't know? Cas, you were in there. You felt her soul - or, her souls, whatever - and you don't know?" Dean asked. Castiel didn't reply and Dean ducked his head, trying to catch the angel's eye. He finally looked at him, his eyebrows raised in passivity. "Cas."
"No, Dean, I don't know. I'm sorry."
Dean shook his head slowly at him, furrowing his brow. "Despite you pulling the dick card this last year, I still know you pretty damn well and you're a shit liar." Dean narrowed his eyes at him. "What aren't you saying?"
"I'm saying I don't know, Dean. I'm sorry. But I might… there might be a way to help her." Cas' eyes slid to Buffy where she sat and he said, "I'll be back."
And with a loud flap of wings, the son of a bitch disappeared.
"Cas!"
Buffy jumped at Dean's shout, her eyes still glued to the floor. She looked up as he glared at the ceiling before throwing his hands up, mumbling under his breath. Buffy's eyes found the same tear in the carpet she had been staring at for the last minute as he walked around in a tight circle before her.
She was numb. Her chest had grown a balloon full of noxious gas and she could feel it slowly leaking away inside her, eating up her insides.
Abomination.
She was an abomination.
Buffy closed her eyes, the sick feeling at the center of her body spreading out to her limbs. Everything she had been feeling - the dreams, the anger, the pain… she didn't belong here anymore. She wasn't human because of that other soul - because of the…
Slayer. Slayer meant killer. Which meant she was a killer. Everything she had been doing over the years, ever since her family had been murdered. The rage and the hatred she'd felt, how focused it was over the last few years. Everything she'd been doing since she'd discovered the darkness… she was a killer. That's all she was.
A murderer.
An abomination.
Buffy shuddered again at the thought, the pallid taste of stomach bile crawling up her throat. Buffy placed her hand over her mouth, bowing her head before bolting from the bed and to the bathroom.
She vaguely heard Dean calling her name as she pushed him out of the way, but that out of body experience was back.
Buffy felt like she was floating above the room again, watching her body run into the bathroom, watching herself shove the toilet seat up and heave into it. She still didn't have anything in her stomach and the icy burn of stomach acid coated her mouth as her body tried to pull everything bad out of itself. Trying to get rid of the darkness any way it could.
Buffy didn't hear him coming into the bathroom, didn't feel his hand on her shoulder or his pushing her hair out of the way, holding it back for her as her stomach regurgitated again. Buffy coughed at the taste in her throat and she spit out as much of it as she could. She leaned her head on her arm and realized with a start how sweaty she was, how chilled but feverish at the same time.
But she couldn't feel anything at the same time. She couldn't feel the toilet under her fingertips or the hard floor against her knees.
All she felt was… empty.
Abomination.
When Buffy opened her eyes, she saw a wet washcloth hovering in front of her face and she grabbed it with numb fingers, pressing it to her mouth as she pushed off the toilet, sagging against the wall. She watched Dean flush the toilet before settling down next to her, so close but not touching.
Nausea and pained tears roared through her as she realized she wanted him to touch her. Comfort her and hold her and tell her everything would be okay. That she wasn't an abomination, that she was still human and that she wasn't… disappearing inside whatever that shit soul had brought along with it.
Buffy's mind flashed back to just a few hours ago. To his hands on her, his lips on hers, his body promising more than a few minutes of distraction… she had completely forgotten everything for those few seconds…
Buffy sighed, burying her face in her hands.
Her stomach still ached where that angel asshole had dug his hand into her. He was right: excruciating was a goddamn understatement. She felt like someone had stuffed her insides into a kiln and turned the temperature up to eight hundred. She could still feel the ghost of him moving through her although that didn't make a lick of sense since you can't actually feel your freaking soul… or in her case, souls. But she could still feel him… touching something inside her and Buffy grabbed her stomach, digging her nails into it, increasing the burn.
Maybe he should have just stayed in there and burned the darkness right out of her… Burned her right out, burned out everything that was just wrong with her…
"You okay?" Dean asked softly.
Buffy just opened her eyes in response, staring at the toilet.
A heavy silence passed before Buffy replied, "I wish I'd never met you."
Buffy could see Dean's knees and his hands propped up on them from the corner of her eye and h stiffened at her response. She heard him licking his lips before he shrugged.
"Can't say I blame you."
Buffy blinked. "I wish my mom had never died." She paused, her voice cracking. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd thought about her mom… or her sister, much less the last time she'd spoken about them. "I wish my sister was still alive. I wish she'd gotten to go to school and just… lived. Instead of me, it should have been me on the side of that road… I wish I didn't know about vampires, or demons or… anything. I wish I was just…
"I wish I was dead."
Dean didn't reply. He was motionless.
"I wish that werewolf had killed me instead of you finding me." She heard Dean's hitch in his breath but she didn't stop. "I don't… I don't know what I did to deserve this. I know I'm not a good person, but I don't…"
Buffy shook her head as she cut off the words, crossing her legs and pulling her hands into her lap to chase off the stupid fucking vulnerability. She closed her eyes as more tears burned to the surface, more wanting to spill but she didn't let them.
Silence reigned.
She started picking at her broken nails. Her hands held the worse scars from countless abrasions and scratches all over her skin from hitting and hitting and hitting… She stared at them blandly, absently noting that the cuts that had been there weren't anymore. The crust of blood was still there though from the balding asshole at the diner.
Her hands already looked like they belonged to a dead person.
She finally looked at him. "Dean…"
"If you say what I think you're going to say, I will knock your teeth out," he growled, his voice rough and Buffy stared at his jaw.
She saw the muscle flexed when he clenched his teeth; he hadn't had a chance to shave in a while, his stubble was much more stubble-y than normal. Dean glanced at her and for the first time in a long while, Buffy felt a stab of sadness - not for her, but for him. The misery in his eyes was bone-deep as he looked at her, his face drawn in a despair she couldn't understand before he looked away.
"Why do you care so much?" she whispered suddenly and he stiffened again, looking back out into the room, away from her. Buffy raised an eyebrow, looking back at her hands. "Can't say I'd ever see the day when Dean Winchester cared about anything other than his brother and his car."
Dean's head whipped back to glare at her and she barely caught the anger in his eyes before he seemed to catch himself, bowing his head. He took a deep breath.
"Yeah," he finally said, his voice distant. "I guess it is kind of weird."
"I'm just saying… I don't know." Buffy shrugged. "Guess the normie lifestyle with the house, the wife and the two point five kids with the whole white picket fence deal didn't really work out for you." She paused. "Did you have a dog?"
Dean's face was pinched when he shook his head. "No."
"Huh…" Buffy bit the inside of her lip. And then she added sarcastically, "Guess I should be lucky I happened to need a savior when you needed someone to save."
Dean snorted, shaking his head at her. "Man, Summers, you just don't have a goddamn clue what you're talking about."
"So there's more to the sordid tale?" Buffy asked dryly. Her tongue felt like sandpaper against the top of her mouth. She raised her eyebrows when Dean looked at her again and his face was back to its normal venue: blank. She nodded, turning to look at the toilet again. "Looks like that's something you and your boyfriend have in common."
Dean didn't reply and Buffy looked at him, furrowing her brow when she saw him just staring at her. Buffy couldn't stop the blush that spread over her at the intensity of his gaze, and the very naked longing reflecting back at her.
Buffy stopped breathing for a second, her mind hitting rewind and she bounced back to how he had woken her. So softly, so intimately, so knowingly. Like he'd done it a million times before and had no issues taking liberty with her as long as they were in the same bed. The way he was looking at her now… it was the same look from just a few hours ago. And it ignited something hot and deep inside her in response - a wild longing that swept through her body.
Buffy shivered, closing her eyes and she turned away, bringing her knees up to her chest. She hugged them tightly, laying her head on her arms so she was looking away from him.
No, she couldn't deal with that. It was almost better to remember how shitty she felt having Freaky Deaky Cas and his freaky deaky hand dance inside her or hearing the words 'abomination' and 'Buffy' in the same sentence than dealing with whatever she just saw in his eyes.
Buffy heard the rustle of his clothes as he slid up the wall, standing, and then his boots as he walked away. Buffy propped her chin on her arms, staring at the toilet, remembering vividly the warmth of his hands as he touched her shoulder, held her hair back… the look in his eyes came back to her and she shivered again, shoving her face into her arms.
She was getting one thing right at least: thinking about what the angel had told her about her souls suddenly felt very far away as she tried to think about anything else that did not involve Dean Winchester.
A fucking curse and a fucking blessing all wrapped into one pile of misery. Put a Buffy sticker on it and you had her life.
"I'm getting some food," Dean said. "You want anything?"
Buffy shook her head.
"Buffy?"
Buffy glanced up at the doorway, expecting to see him there, ready to grill her about not being receptive to his kind offer or something equally douche-tastic, but he wasn't there.
"No," she said. He didn't respond. She heard the motel door opening and then closing and then silence.
No words of warning that he wasn't going far. No words of warning that he would find her if she took off.
And she still didn't move.
Hell, she didn't have a reason to.
She was in the bed when he got back.
Dean dumped the fast food bags on the table, taking his jacket off and sitting down with a sigh. She didn't move.
He was tired. And despite getting next to no sleep the night before, it wasn't entirely physical - his mind was starting to run on fumes trying to handle every hurdle that kept getting thrown at him in the form of Buffy Summers.
Dean shoved a fry in his mouth, chewing it slowly. He knew he should be eating, he was starting to get a headache from all the exertions without any fuel and his stomach knew damn well that anything past ten in the morning meant there should be food in his stomach but it tasted like raw seaweed for all his taste buds knew. He didn't even remember where he'd gotten it.
"Why do you care so much?"
Dean heard the bed sheets shifting behind him and he wanted to get up and turn the TV on but that seemed like too much effort. Christ, all he wanted to do was wallow in his bullshit. And he hated fucking wallowing.
Dean shoveled the food into his mouth, eating it like a robot.
He wondered where Cas was. He wondered what the hell kind of solution that guy thought he had for this. What, surgically remove the bad part? Dean was still having a hard time wrapping his head around that. Something… bad was inside her. Demon bad? Did that explain why the markings on her were black and inky?
Jesus, how could he have never made the connection before? What kind of world did the other soul live in where it was its natural state to have that inside it? But have what exactly? And goddamn, how was he able to even think in this circular way knowing he was talking about two separate souls, from two very different worlds, in one body?
His head hurt. And nothing was made better by the fact that he wanted to go over to the bed, ask her if she was okay, ask her if he could just hold her for five seconds so he could start feeling better. But she felt…
Dean stopped his train of thought, hating when the word 'not human' twittered through his head again.
Dean crinkled up the wrappers before him and shoved them into their bag. The Coke in his cup was nasty, way-too-sweet crap that made his tongue want to curl up and die. At least he'd gotten something in his stomach, it was better than nothing.
Rubbing his face, Dean stared at the TV. He had no idea how long Cas was going to be. Hell, he didn't even know if the jerk was coming back or not, he'd just skedaddled without any mention of a plan or a thought about how things were going to play out.
"That's real awesome, Cas, real awesome," he said under his breath, shooting a glare at the ceiling before looking over at the beds.
Dean jumped when he saw Buffy sitting up against the headboard, her arms crossed and her eyes trained on him.
"Jesus!" he snapped, glaring at her. "Why the hell are you so freaking creepy when you do that crap?"
Buffy looked away, looking more annoyed than apologetic. "Sorry."
"What, do I have something on my face?" he groused, grabbing the bag and walking to the door where the little trashcan was. He threw it in there with force and turned to his duffel bag. He paused after picking it up, looking back at her. She still hadn't moved, and her eyes were dark and focused on him. She hadn't bothered to put on another shirt or put her stupid jacket back on and the black spots on her skin were blaringly obvious. She noticed him noticing her spots and she seemed to shiver, pulling the blanket up to cover them.
How in the hell did he go about telling her that he wasn't thinking about those spots when he looked at her?
How in the hell did he go about telling himself that he should probably look into some shock therapy because that was the very last thing he needed to be thinking about?
"I'm taking a shower," was all he said before he walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
London, England: The Other Reality
Buffy had to remember to talk to Faith in the morning about Giles' under bits being in a tangle about one of the girls. It wasn't like she was the one who trained them - hadn't he given that mantle to Faith? So why was she hearing about it? She was the one who went out and found the girls, talked to them, brought them into the fold if they wanted or just warned them that spontaneously being able to lift a car wasn't exactly normal.
Buffy sighed, taking off her shirt and pants, pulling her hair up on her head. She needed a shower in the worst way. She'd gotten caught in a sewer with something that had tentacles where there should never be tentacles before coming back to hear about how Cristie had taken something of Chandra's and that it was part of her training and blah blah blah…
Buffy rolled her eyes, rubbing her neck. It hadn't taken her long to realize she was not built for the whole training thing. She had tried it and no. She had enough whining of her own to do without having to deal with the baby Slayers, as Faith called them. And since Faith seemed more than willing to call the shots, Buffy was glad to hand it over.
Yes, definitely needed to remind Giles of that.
Buffy made her way to her bathroom and turned on the showerhead. The steam was instant and she took a deep breath of it, imagining it cleaning out her brain as well as her skin.
"I need a vacation," she said softly. "A vacation to… to see Dawn. Yeah, that's what I need. I need to go bother my little sister before she starts to forget that she has a sister and her entire world doesn't revolve about stupid Robert." Buffy snorted. "Boys are stupid, why didn't she learn that lesson? How could she possibly not have learned that from the Buffy show called 'How to Lose a Guy in the Worst Possible Ways?' I should write a book."
Buffy grabbed her toothbrush, plastering toothpaste on it before looking at herself in the mirror.
"I should write a book. That's an idea! Instead of trolling all over the world, convincing girls I'm not crazy and she's not crazy, but hey, you can punch me really hard in the face but you really shouldn't. A How-To. It'd be a best seller… well, with only them, but still."
She was tired. She always babbled when she was tired - coffee was a no-no since that kept her awake so until her shower was done, it was planning for her next publication deal.
The cinnamon toothpaste was heavenly as she scrubbed her teeth and Buffy leaned down to spit out the first blob.
When she stood up, she nearly jammed the toothbrush down her throat in surprise. A man was standing behind her, smirking at her in the mirror and he reached out and touched her back. His fingers were ice cold.
"Hello, darling," he said with a weird creepy accent usually reserved for the sketch pubs out by Giles'.
Buffy wrapped her hands around the toothbrush to use it as a stake to nicely place it in his eye for being a weird creepy dude and entering the very wrong house when blinding pain suddenly enveloped her entire body, pulsating from his hand.
Buffy screamed.
Whitefish, Montana
Buffy screamed.
She jerked up in the bed as the white hot pain seared through her body. Buffy clenched at her chest, her nails digging in to get it out, to make it stop. Her throat felt like it was being ripped apart right along with her body as she screamed again from the agonizing pain piercing her insides and she scrambled from the bed.
She fell off the mattress, hitting the floor with a loud thud. She didn't hear Dean yelling her name, following her from where he'd been lying next to her. She didn't hear her own screams anymore as the pain completely took over everything.
And then it all went black.
Buffy wasn't sure how long she played in the black ocean inside her mind before awareness started coming back, but she was sure it was a long while.
She felt something soft and cushy on her back and she realized she was lying down on a bed.
Someone's hand was in her hair, brushing it from her face and it felt really good. The hand was warm and comforting - familiar - and she turned her face towards it, seeking more to ease the throbbing behind her eyes.
"Buffy?"
The voice sent a cascade of chills raining down her back. That voice…
Buffy's chest started getting tight as she started waking up further. She hurt, everywhere. And this wasn't her normal kind of 'oh this will go away in a few hours' Slayer kind of hurt. She hurt. Like someone had broken her bones and put them back together in a really fucked up jigsaw puzzle.
Fucked up jigsaw puzzle. Jesus, that sounded like something Faith would say. She was really spending too much time with the brunette Slayer these days.
"Buffy, hey," the voice said again and the sound of the voice sent rips of recognition shattering through her chest. She tried to take a deep breath but her ribs felt like they have been shoved into her lungs. "You with me?"
"What?" she whispered, opening her eyes. The room was bright, way too bright, and she shoved her lids closed, trying to get her bearings.
Like where was she and who the hell was talking to her? He - definitely a he, a he she knew very well, a he she was okay letting touch her like they just got done doing something very un-ladylike - was sitting next to her on the bed, his hand brushing over her forehead before touching her cheek again.
His thumb traced over her scar, so familiar.
What scar?
"Hey, look at me," the voice continued before she heard a catch in their breathing. Warm fingers touched her shoulder like they'd never seen one before. "Jesus Christ, your shoulder."
Buffy frowned. The recognition felt like it was a million miles away, just out of reach, and she knew she should know what was happening. It was so familiar, something she had dreamed about for so long after… after Willow had brought her back from the dead, after she had come back… wrong.
With a gasp, Buffy's eyes flew open again as the sense of being made whole trampled through her. The light inside the room was still too bright and her eyes snapped closed again as she realized… she felt like her.
Completely her. One hundred percent Grade A Buffy Summers.
A sob racketed through her body as the sense of rightness took over.
God, she hadn't felt this since… since…
Since she'd jumped from the tower in Dawn's place; since the dots had connected that death was her gift, not her tool, that she was finally being given the chance to do what she had been working towards her entire life as a Slayer. Her gift was her death and everything should have been good…
And nothing since coming back had felt that real, that sincere and that true… until now.
God, it was like all the missing pieces, the things that had somehow gotten left behind… were back in place.
Home.
The sob tore from her throat and the voice's hands were on her face, holding her still. "Hey, take it easy, take it easy."
That voice. His touch. It all felt so real, so good, so…
Buffy opened her eyes just as the last two years funneled through her head. The anger, the rage… the strength, the self-hatred, the hunting, the running, the torturing - God, the torturing, the things her hands had done - the looking for answers but never finding anything…
Buffy opened her eyes, the face hovering over hers coming into focus.
Dean.
Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean…
The name felt like a weed whacker in her head as everything came to the surface. She'd been here before. But… that had just been a dream, hadn't it?
Buffy suddenly remembered with a vivid slap to the face how she had felt after digging herself out… when Spike and Dawn and everyone had left her alone and she had been sitting alone in her room, the weird sense that she had left something behind somewhere, that she was missing something, that she had abandoned someone and the sadness that they had let her get taken away… she had always thought that was heaven, the missing piece was heaven, but now…
"Dean," she whispered, staring at him. He looked different… older, more tired, more ragged… Oh god, she had dreamed about him, about his face, about knowing about him. They had gone to high school and they had hunted together and she had liked him and…
His eyes. She remembered his eyes - dark mossy green eyes with tiny little dark flecks in them. She remembered how big his pupils got when he liked something, when he was looking down at her, when he was talking to her…
But those had just been dreams, weird dreams about a guy she'd never actually met.
Her body was shaking so badly she couldn't even lift her hand and it got worse as he smiled at her, nodding his head. "That's me, Summers, unless my name's gone and changed on me."
This was real. Too real. Oh god…
It'd all been real…
"Oh god," Buffy choked. She felt the regurgitation in her stomach before she could stop it. The nausea inside her came to the fore.
Buffy turned away and dry heaved over the side of the bed before losing consciousness again.