Chapter Ten - July 2015

dogs of war and men of hate
with no cause, we don't discriminate
discovery is to be disowned
our currency is flesh and bone

our currency is flesh and bone

And so we went. Got to the factory at daybreak, found a motel a bit after that and we went our separate ways room-wise to get some rest. I spent most of the time in my room, staring at the walls and seething about how the night before had gone. All in the name of getting some good "Slayer fire" for the upcoming fight but really, I was just mad.

Who did he think he was saying all that crap? Like he knew me? Like he was one to talk? Like this random dude I happened to talk to every couple of months knew me better than the people I lived with?

So I was pretty angry, yeah.

Anyway, the plan was to go back around noon and do a recon run around before attacking. Get a lay of the land before using the daytime to our advantage.

I think you're beginning to get that the message of this entire story is that things never quite go the way you plan.

Ever, in my case.

Things were going pretty well for about ten minutes - we busted open most of the outer windows and took out at least fifty percent of the sleeping vampires inside in one hit. And then we got inside, the plan to stick to the sunshine-y spots and make sure we didn't get dragged too far inside because the place was huge... You know, a plan of safety and using our brains…

Like I said... never quite the way you plan it.

Buffy let out a cry of frustration when three vamps converged, working together to slam her up against the giant thick-pane glass. Her head bounced off the glass too easily, rocking around on her neck as a deep ringing sounded in her ears. She groaned, feeling one of the vampire's use her arm to propel her away from them. Buffy stumbled to the ground, rolling until she hit the opposite end of the large office.

Blinking harshly to keep unconsciousness at bay, Buffy rolled over and climbed back to her feet, her body moving uncomfortably as she fought for balance before raising her fists. She moved like liquid, her body instinctively covering her wounds and working past them. Time for that later; now was time for the saving of the life and the killing of the vampire.

But holy moly, she was gonna hurt like hell the next day.

The fight continued, escalating before calming down before escalating. Buffy's entire body burned with the exertion of having to keep moving, keep fighting, keep killing... Dropping her stubby stake, Buffy moved to grab one of the extras in the band of her pants... except there was suddenly a stake drought.

"Crap," Buffy whispered. Double crap, triple crap. She had used up all her stakes. Dusting too many vampires turned them into those pencils that ran out of lead even though it was right there. And it wasn't like she made a habit of carrying around a giant stake sharpener.

Buffy backed up, glancing around for more weapons. She heard the tired grunts of Dean as he fought and she immediately nixed the idea of calling out for more stakes. That's all she needed to complete the best trip ever - a headless Dean when she yelled at him, distracting him, because she ran out of wood. As if she wasn't still angry enough with him after all the crap he had spewed on about the night before and then giving her - HER, like she was the one who had been a jerk - the cold shoulder all day. She wouldn't be able to yell at him if he was headless.

So no on the getting help front.

She vaguely remembered the entrance of the factory, the long wooden rails that were rotting outside and she frowned. Great. Outside of the factory a.k.a. across the damn factory. Did the vampires have to use such a gigantic space? Despite all the punching and kicking and bruising and slaying, she had yet to see any real reason they were in this space other than massing large numbers. Which was never good, even if the reason wasn't obvious. Vampires had the tendency to be persnickety which meant they had someone strong leading them if they managed to get this many together and keep the location under such tight wraps.

So, there were a lot of not-good-things happening here.

As a circle of six vamps moved towards her, Buffy felt a shiver of nervous energy crackle across her spine. They really couldn't have signed up for a worse idea. They were severely outnumbered - one Slayer and one reckless human being did not make a right.

"Come on, sweet girl," an old man hissed at her, his face looking like an elephant's ass from the wrinkles twisted in his demonic brow. "You smell so delicious."

"Yeah, who set up delivery?" a young punk cracked from the other side. Definitely something going on if Grandpa over there wasn't wanting to throw sticks at that stupid kid. He looked like he fell face first into a box of needle pins.

"Now, now, fellas," Buffy said, her eyes scanning her surroundings. Right, she'd just have to mow her way through. "There's plenty to go around. Or haven't you heard about Slayer blood - a little goes a long way."

"A Slayer?" a female said, her eyes darkening. Purpose filled her voice and Buffy felt like slapping herself. Secret identities were just so passé apparently. "You won't get far."

"Yeah, well," Buffy said. "I've got this crazy wild urge to keep on breathing."

The woman chortled and for a split second, her eyes danced over Buffy's shoulder. Buffy stiffened, her mind jumping to conclusions at what she was looking at just as the soft twang of an arrow splitting through the air behind her reached her ears. Her body was already moving to duck down and thinking about how awesome it would be if the angle got Grandpa in front of her, but she was too late. Too late and too distracted. She managed to shift enough for the arrow to splice through the middle of her back on the left, embedding itself in her insides as it tented through her shirt in the front.

The pain was like white hot finger of fire racing through her body as she paused. A thick rush of white noise filled her ears as she looked down at the arrow poking through her body where no arrow should be, her face twisted in pain. She thought she heard Dean yelling something. She thought she heard the vampires giggling like mad little jokers in front of her as a series of black spots collected before her eyes.

Not good. Very bad. Did it hit something vital, like… well, everything felt vital but couldn't some of the stuff in there be hurt and she could live. Blood was already pooling, leaking down her stomach and Buffy thought about when Cordy had gotten skewered. She'd been fine, which meant she'd be fine, right? Not a lot of other 'poke you through the stomach' wounds to think on…

Buffy stumbled backward as the pain infiltrated her lower half, her hands flying out to catch on something to lean on as the vampires advanced. She heard the twang of the arrow fired again, followed by another. She felt something hit her shoulder before something else poked at her thigh. It was like her muscles were doing a new twitching dance in response to the pain - would be nice if there was a way to tell them to calm the hell down, now wasn't the time.

God, everything HURT.

Crap. Her mind instantly flew to Dean, wondering where he was, if he was okay; she wondered if she should yell for him to run, get to that wonderfully healing sunlight… which sounded so darn good right now, her limbs were feeling kinda chilly.

Yeah, sunbathing was a great hobby.

"Buffy, get the hell down!"

Dean didn't give her a chance to respond as his body rocketed into her eyes, knocking her to the ground. He landed on top of her, wrenching the arrows in her body which sent a series of fireworks off inside her brain. The pain that had felt like a pleasant numbing coolness just a second ago was now exploding. Buffy cried out, tears welling. Arrows. She was… carrying a lot of arrows. Bad.

Thinking coherently is also really hard when you've become a walking pincushion.

"Plan B, plan b, always have a plan b," she heard Dean mumbling next to her as he scrambled to his feet before pausing when he saw whatever was sticking out of her. "Crap."

It clearly wasn't as bad as it felt because he got up, his eyes on whatever was happening behind her, grabbing her arm and forcing her to her feet.

"We gotta move," was all he said, his grip fierce but Buffy's body was made of Jell-O and she stumbled over her feet, her hand on the arrow in her stomach. She felt it pricking her palm from pressing too hard as her brain registered smelling gas, the smell gaining strength as it curdled in her nose. Oh man, that wasn't good - wasn't there something about smelling something when you were hit with something that had to do with dying… "Buffy!"

Buffy looked up, feeling like her head was living in a city of fog, as Dean bent over and she saw the arrow in his shoulder, one that had been meant for her… A tear slid down her cheek as everything around her came back in full 3D, surround sound force and something hot licked at her back. She wanted to turn and see what it was but Dean was crouched in front of her, his hand on her cheek, forcing her to look at him.

"Get your ass up right now, Summers, and move it!" he snapped, his voice more gravely than normal. Buffy felt his thumb slip on her cheek as he brushed away blood. "Get up!"

Buffy nodded slowly, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath. But instead of the clean dusty factory air she had been inhaling a moment ago, she sucked in a lungful of smoke just as a vampire whose clothes were on fire barreled past them, slamming into Dean.

Buffy screamed his name, her body moving on instinct to push the vampire off as they landed in a fire-y heap. The arrows were no longer there in Buffy's mind as a lick of fire hit her hand. Looking around quickly, Buffy grabbed the first thing she saw, a heavy piece sheet metal that was already getting hot from the flames building up behind her.

Right. Plan B indeed. Would have been nice to know burning everything down was Plan B.

The edge of the metal cut into her hand as she used it to shove the vampire off of Dean. He had a patch of fire on his jeans that he quickly patted out while the vampire rolled away, an inhuman scream on its lips before it burst into a pile of dust. But Buffy wasn't staring at that - all she saw was the blossoming wound in the center of Dean's stomach.

Dean was already moving, scrambling to his feet and kicking the metal out of Buffy's hands. He grabbed her hand, their fingers slipping from the bloody wound on her palm, the dirt on his stinging the open gash. They made it about three feet before Buffy reached back and ripped the arrow from the back of her thigh.

Seriously going to hurt like hell tomorrow.

Buffy watched in horror as they scuttled through the debris of the factory, the stray vampires and falling embers as the fire licked up the walls quickly, the dry land and abandoned factory the perfect kindle. Jeez, what the hell had Dean used?

Buffy's free hand was on the arrow in her stomach, the arrow in her shoulder tearing at her muscles as she limped after Dean as fast as she could. The bright light of the sun streaming through the open windows was so welcoming Buffy almost started weeping just as a loud crack echoed in the building followed by a thundering groan before a beam of sunlight incinerated a vampire heading for them.

The roof was collapsing.

I guess I could have also prefaced this part with Murphy's Law hates me the most.

The loss of blood was starting to slow Buffy's movements as Dean shouted something at her. She couldn't hear what it was as another screech echoed in the building, quickly swallowed by the roar of the fire eating everything in its path. The heat was suffocating behind her, catching up so fast she found herself hoping the blood loss was quicker - because getting burned alive?

What sort of bucket list would even include that?

A blood-stained hand popped out from behind a fallen pillar, the chocolate skin riddled with small pieces of metal in various places from whatever Dean had done to start the fire, the fingers grabbing Buffy's ankle. With a shout, Buffy's finger dug into Dean's hand but the blood was too slick for a grip and she fell.

"Blood. I can smell your blood," the vampire moaned, his eyes crazed. He hissed with pleasure as he pulled Buffy's injured leg closer, baring his fangs in preparation to bite her. Buffy caught a glimpse of his lower half. It was gone. "Slayer's blood… such sweet elixir, please."

"Get off," Buffy growled, her words slurring as she kicked him with her other leg but her movements were sluggish from the blood loss and he burned with anticipation of the bite coming. Dean's boot suddenly connected with the vampire's head, rocking it to the side. He leaned down, digging his hands under her armpits to lift her as the vampire came back, driven by pure bloodlust and bit Dean's calf.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean roared, dropping Buffy to the ground before shoving his fist into the vampire's throat. It squealed like a pig in a fryer, but it didn't let go, its instincts taking over as it sought out blood, any blood. Instead of using the stake she saw in his pants, Buffy watched Dean move quickly, ripping his leg from the vampire's mouth, leaving behind a chunk of skin and denim.

Dean stood, limping away before reaching out for her. He heaved her up and the room tilted wildly as Buffy fell into his arms, her eyes visiting a place of pure darkness before the world flickered back to reality.

"Stand, goddamn it!" he snapped and the voice sounded far away. Like he was standing at the end of a long tunnel and she wondered why the hell he was all the way over there… "We have to move, Buffy. Look at me!"

Another crack echoed from the ceiling and instead of seeing what Dean wanted at the opposite end of wherever he was she looked up at the sky. And sky she saw. The remaining ceiling was on fire, smoke billowing out, clearing the air inside the factory for a split second. Just enough for her to see a tumble of rocks falling right for them.

"Dean!"

Buffy didn't have to tell her body to move; she didn't know where she found the strength but her feet were suddenly underneath her and she shoved Dean away as hard as she could. He flew away at the force, a foot catching the corner of a desk and he fell back, slamming his head on the concrete floor just as the rocks slammed into Buffy.

This time, the darkness stuck around.

Isn't this the best story ever?

Alright, wrong person to ask. Or thing. You know, I never got the distinction – I mean, you're a demon inside a human body. A thing inside a human. So I guess you're a human thing. Whatever.

Anyway, thinking back on that day is like looking through broken binoculars. You know you should be able to see something, know it's right there but all you see are cracks and lines and everything is blurred and messed up and no matter how hard you try, you can't fix the glass. That's what blood loss is like - knowing something was there but unable to do anything about it.

The first thing Buffy was aware of when the fog started clearing was, "Ow."

Lots and lots of ow. Shifting her body felt like she was shoving it into a blender. And putting it on high or super spin or 'turn your muscles to mulch' mode. At least she was laying on something soft. Bonus.

Or was she suffering from a massive concussion or hemorrhage and she thought the concrete floor was soft?

An explosion of images shattered in her head as she saw the rock waterfall cascading from the ceiling, right where she was standing with Dean… oh god, Dean…

"No! Dean!"

The scream left Buffy's throat in a dry rasp as she shot up in the bed, her hands above her head to protect herself from the rocks about to collide with her skull. She felt the arrow wounds pulling on her body and a sharp sting on her cheek while she waited… for nothing.

Buffy opened her eyes, her lids feeling like sandpaper; her throat was pissed as hell that she was trying to use it at all after all the smoke-breathing she had done. Had done.

Had done.

The room was dark save for the beginning light of dawn from behind the blinds - dawn? - and she whipped her head around, hissing in pain but not giving an ounce of hell that she felt something tearing on her skin all over her body and something wet leaking out as she instantly recognized the motel they had chosen.

But this wasn't her room… Buffy's eyes flew around before spotting the grimy jeans on the bloodied legs lying next to her on the bed.

"Oh god," she croaked, relief and horror at the sight of him consuming her as another tear fell, sliding through a cut on her cheek. It stung worse as a few more followed and she turned to Dean where he laid on his uninjured side, facing her. "Dean? Dean?"

He was still dressed in the clothes they had been wearing during the raid and he was covered in cuts and bruises and the smoggy residue of the fire. Buffy didn't even think; didn't care that she might hurt him, that she was hurting herself. She started shaking him, willing him to open his eyes. "Dean. Dean!"

Her vision blurred as she waited for him to respond. God, what if he was dead? What if he hadn't survived, what if Dean was gone and…

For all my brain knew, rationality was actually a country on the other side of the world.

"Dean!" Buffy snapped, her voice cracking from her dry throat, her lips feeling like they were made of tissue paper. Relief bamboozled her when she felt him moving underneath her hand.

"Christ," he groaned, his eyes still closed. He rolled closer, brushing her hand away and burying his face into a pillow. "Knock it the hell off."

"Oh god, thank god," Buffy breathed, followed by a sob. She fell down on him, wrapping her arm around his shoulder as more tears fell.

I will say this about blood loss - it messes with your head in some weird ways. For a split second there, I was convinced I was dreaming. La la land for Buffy, that I was just nightmaring it out with the upcoming raid but then not so much.

And instead of the

fog the lack of blood in the body had given me, everything was suddenly more vivid and painful and… real.

I lost it.

"I thought I lost you… I-I thought you were dead. I saw you fall and hit your head and that vampire and then the rocks and the fire and-"

"Hey, okay, it's okay. Shh," Dean said. She felt his arms pulling her closer to him before he seemed to change his mind, letting them hang loosely before awkwardly rubbing her back. But she didn't want that. Buffy held him closer, pushing herself against his chest as everything caught up. She wanted to know he was alive, that he was here lying next to her and not bludgeoned to death back at that factory. She wanted… "Hey, I'm fine. You're fine. We're fine."

Buffy just shook her head, pinching her lips together to keep the cry inside. Her face was catching on fire from the salty tears in her wounds and she rubbed against the ratted t-shirt he wore, breathing him in. Gone was anything Dean-related and in its place was the smell of burning building. Which only reminded her of how close…

A long moment passed before rationality started burrowing into her brain and then everything else followed as she realized they were in the motel. They were safe and alive.

"I'm sorry," Buffy whispered, squeezing her fingers into his shoulder before forcing herself to let him go. Another bubble of blubbers was building in her chest and Buffy wiped her face roughly, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling. The nice neutral ceiling that was, thankfully, intact and not falling to pieces. "Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I-"

"Hey," Dean said, lifting himself up on his elbow to look down at her. More tears floated about in her vision as she stared at the ceiling, not willing to look at him as he tried to catch her eye. She would just cry more. Like a big freaking non-Slayer who had never seen a fight. God, what was wrong with her? She just felt… way too overwhelmed. And the ceiling was so the definition of underwhelmed. "Buffy, look at me."

Buffy shook her head, closing her eyes. "I'm okay, I'm sorry. I'm just…" She offered a watery smile, embarrassment getting pretty darn fat inside her head as Dean moved more, talked more and stared more. "I don't know, I'm sorry." She gave a watery chuckle. "Happy you lived. Go you."

Hot shame filled her chest as she swallowed, not feeling the bed move even a little. She still kept her eyes shut, a tear that felt like it was scorching her skin sliding out the corner of her eye and dipping over her ear and into her hair.

I had no idea what was wrong with me. I had survived some pretty hairy situations - including the world ending and sending someone I loved more than life itself to Hell. This was just… pure hysteria. And what's the definition of hysteria? Extremely exaggerated, and in my case unexplained - at the time at least - emotions that fill you to the brim with its craziness and makes you emote all over the place.

That was me. Good mental imagery, huh?

Buffy took a deep, shaky breath, trying to push it all back down.

The pain aspect of the entire event was starting to take precedence again, knowing Dean was alive helped elevate that, and she started mentally taking evaluation of her body parts, feeling a level of sanity coming back to her as she found something else to focus on.

Right. Head still on shoulders, good start. Shoulders seemed okay except for that nagging tugging where the arrow had gotten her but that hadn't gone through. Right, like the stomach. Buffy stretched, already feeling her healing powers having kicked in. The wound was closed, thank the stomach gods, it was just tender as hell. If she hadn't been up since early afternoon, that was about sixteen hours of sleep under her belt.

And god, she was hungry and-

Dean cupped her cheek, his thumb rolling underneath her eye to wipe away the salty residue and her eyes snapped open at the warm touch, his face barely an inch from hers. Anticipation like she hadn't felt in years suddenly roared through her body as he hovered over her, his smoke-smudged brow furrowed, his eyes dark. She stared back, eyes wide, leaning into the hand cradling her cheek.

Buffy bit her lip as he watched at her with an unreadable expression; her eyes danced down to the freckles on his nose - one of the first things she had noticed about him, she remembered - and to his cracked lips before finding his eyes again.

Buffy felt the air around her getting hot and thick and she tried to take a deep breath as he did nothing. He just stayed there, staring at her… pitying her probably because she obviously cared way too much about him, this random guy, this guy who-

He kissed her.