Though Buffy insisted that they head for the hospital, Sam adamantly refused. He was fairly certain his brother had a cracked jaw, but he also knew Dean would raise all kinds of hell if he woke up with his mouth wired shut. Since Buffy wasn't the one who would have to liquefy the hamburgers Sam thought it best to wait for Castiel and his innate healing abilities.

Buffy drew silent, pondering. If the angel was capable of such things, could he heal her mother…?

She was jolted from her speculation when a sudden right turn caused Dean's slouching form to lean against her side. He lay his head on her shoulder and deliriously muttered, "You smell nicer than usual."

Perturbed that the hunter might think her hygiene was questionable, Buffy didn't bother to respond. Then he mumbled, "Sammy? Why're you so skinny and soft?"

Buffy choked back a laugh. "I think he has a concussion."

Startled by the obviously feminine voice (that in no way could have belonged to his brother), Dean lurched into an upwards sitting position then grasped his head in both hands. "Ugh, that thing hits like a Mack truck."

Sam sighed. "She took every single bullet and was annoyed you messed up her dress."

"An ugly dress," proclaimed Buffy.

A moan came from the back seat. Dean immediately turned around. "Cass? You okay?"

The angel slowly pushed himself up. Dried blood crackled on his chest and arms. "I need some more time to regenerate. Then I should be all right."

"Yeah? How long?"

"A few hours of rest."

"That's it?" asked Buffy surprised.

"If it were any other weapon I would have already been whole." He looked ruefully at the wounds around his body. "She… It… was incredibly thorough."

"Well, we should be at Giles' in a few. I'm sure he won't mind lending you a shirt while we're there."

"That will not be necessary," the seraph said, "but I do have a question, Slayer. The Hellgod kept asking about a Key. It is obsessed with this thing and believes you have it hidden. Do you know where it is? I fear you will continue to be in danger for as long as she clings to this assumption."

Buffy now had a dilemma. Only two others so far knew the truth of the Key: her mother and Giles. Could she trust them? Really trust them? It wasn't as if they would go blabbing to Glory about the truth. Plus they could handle themselves, and having a literal angel watching over the Key couldn't hurt.

Buffy let loose a shuddering sigh. She'd been bearing this burden practically alone for far too long. Even as she made the decision, some of the tension lifted from her shoulders. "I need to tell you something about my sister…"

When they arrived at Giles' flat, the Watcher generously allowed Castiel to use his shower and had him rest on his bed. The rest of them spread about the living room where Dean was bullied into taking some Tylenol for the headache and the growing pain in his jaw. Willow and Tara picked a clear spot on the floor where they leaned on each other sleepily. To Giles' annoyance, Spike started rummaging through his refrigerator. "I'm quite certain there's nothing in there that would appeal to you."

"Pickles, chutney, and mustard," catalogued the vampire, "and not a drop of blood to be seen."

"Yes, well, it was never my intention to stock my refrigerator to meet your needs."

"Bollocks." Spike closed the door and looked wistfully up at the bedroom. "I wonder…"

"You take one move towards those stairs and I will stake you right now," said Buffy as she approached the two Englishmen.

"Just thinkin' about it. You know, you eat chocolate ice cream all your life and suddenly someone hands you a vanilla…"

"Spike, do you really need to be here?"

The vampire shrugged. "Guess not, since Rupert's so stingy. It was fun; hope Glory doesn't smash the lot of you anytime soon."

As Spike left the apartment, the Slayer looked over to the others. They had begun regaling each other with overinflated versions of their feats during the fight and the lies were becoming more and more ludicrous as the conversation went on. The group cheered or jeered depending on how inventive the speaker was. While Xander was describing his Herculean strength and carrying Castiel away wailing like an itty bitty baby (from upstairs, the angel called out, "I am a celestial being. I can hear you"), Buffy quietly said, "Giles, I told them about Dawn."

The older man took his glasses off, gave them a quick polish, and put them back on. "I suppose you swore them to secrecy?"

"Yes. Apparently having a sibling in imminent danger is a Winchester tradition. I was hoping they could help watch over her."

The Watcher sighed. "Buffy, I don't think they'll be staying much longer. It's my impression that they have this Amara to take care of as well."

"I know. I'm thinking that maybe Castiel could at least use his angel-vision or whatever to keep an eye on her. That's what angels do, right? Watch over things? And sit on clouds and pluck guitars?"

"Harps, and I honestly have no idea. I always assumed they were a myth; I couldn't fathom what sort of abilities they may have. It couldn't hurt to ask."

"Yeah. I guess we should all head home. Mom's been texting me all night asking how everyone is doing. Actually," she said as she glanced at her phone, "she's just been asking about Castiel. Something tells me mom might have an angel-crush."

The group separated soon after with the Winchesters heading for Buffy's and the others heading to their respective homes. Two hours later, as he was enjoying a cognac and a book on ancient prophesies, Giles was dumbfounded to see a completely healthy Castiel coming down the stairs. "Good Lord, are you certain you're all right?"

"Yes, thank you." The angel was once again dressed back in his tie and trenchcoat. With great effort the Watcher forwent asking where the clothing had come from. "I will need to retrieve my blade," he continued. "I believe the vampire has it."

"Yes, well, please don't be gentle getting it back."

"I must also tell you something important. Glorificus is sharing its form with the young doctor who cares for the mental patients. I believe his name is Dr. Wilkinson."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Yes. You should find him and seek what he knows."

"Find who?"

Castiel's brow furrowed in confusion. "The doctor."

"Which doctor are you talking about?"

"Something very strange is going on here."

Giles adjusted his glasses. "Perhaps if you could tell me if you saw or heard anything significant when you were with Glory."

"I just told you: the Hellgod shares its form with a young doctor."

"What? Are you sure?"

The angel blinked. "This is very frustrating."

After finally giving up on Giles (it appeared some spell was preventing humans from comprehending Glorificus' transformations), Castiel flew to the graveyard. He found the vampire busy discovering how well the point of a Heavenly weapon could be used to write obscenities on the back of a tombstone.

Spike stubbornly refused to return it. "Finders, keepers, mate."

Immediately after he spoke, the hand of the owner of said tombstone burst out of the dirt. When the newly risen vampire fully emerged and stood up, Castiel reached out, grabbed his head, and proceeded to incinerate the creature from the inside out. He then turned his gaze at Spike who hurriedly placed the stiletto onto the top of the granite and backed away. "Yeah, all right. I was done with it anyways."

Castiel then headed for the Summers' home and healed Dean's jaw, a procedure which Buffy observed with great interest. The Winchesters were cozily settled into the living room again while Joyce and Dawn plied them with hot chocolate. While Dean asked if they could possibly make their drinks Irish, Buffy drew the angel aside into the dining room.

"I don't know if you're able, but would you be able to look in on Dawn every once in a while? If-If you have that kind of power."

Castiel knew the request was coming after Buffy had told them about her sister's true nature. Even now he could see that the young girl was false; that her form was, in truth, incandescent green tendrils of power skillfully woven into flesh and blood. "I will try. I do not have the resources I once had, but I will try." He moved to rejoin the others and paused when the Slayer suddenly gripped his arm.

She drew in a shuddering breath, afraid she was asking too much. "Can you also please look at my mom? Just double check that the surgery went as good as they said?"

"I can heal the wound on her skull."

"Good! That's good! But what about her brain?"

"I will see."

They returned to the living room just as Sam was preventing Dawn from pouring Bailey's into her own cup. "Ms. Summers," said Castiel, "if you will allow me, I will repair your head wound."

"Oh, yes please! It would be wonderful not to have to wear these scarves all the time."

The angel touched the woman's skull and repaired bone, skin, and hair. He could see the area where the tumor had been removed and the few cancerous cells that were still present. Those he swept away. What Castiel couldn't immediately fix were the weakened blood vessels. A human body simply had too many to be able to do all at once. He shored up as many as he could and told himself he would return to finish her healing once Amara was handled.

The entire process, healing and decision making, took only a moment. Then the entire room congratulated Joyce on her "angelic plastic surgery" and made a hot chocolate toast. As the others jokingly offered hair care advice (the Summers matriarch was very admiring of Sam's high volume coif), the seraph quietly told Buffy, "I did what I could. I do not have time to do more."

Panic crossed her face for a moment before she schooled it back to normalcy. "What? What do you mean? It's okay now, right? You fixed everything?"

"Your mother has endured a very substantial amount of head trauma. There are things in there it will take time to repair, time that I do not have. I promise to return to finish what I have started as soon as I can."

"B-but you just can't…"

Castiel's face hardened and for the first time Buffy had a glimpse of the immensely powerful and ancient being that lay inside the human shell. She shrunk a little under his glare. "I cannot be everywhere at once," he admonished harshly, "and the god that you battle pales in comparison to the one that we must return to face. I have given my word."

The Slayer swallowed. "Thank you."

He nodded and looked over to the Winchesters. The angel heard their laughter and his expression softened. The hunters' lifestyle made moments of carefree happiness rare and Castiel didn't think another one was coming anytime soon. It was imperative that they continue the search for Amara's weaknesses, but another day or two wouldn't make a difference. "Please tell Sam and Dean that I will see them soon." With the fluttering of wings, he was gone.

Buffy turned as the others were trying to convince Sam to wear his hair in pigtails. Dawn was offering to do one side while Dean was offering to do the other. Joyce was reflecting on how cute her two daughters looked when they wore the hairstyle.

"Buffy," pleaded Sam, "please tell everyone how ridiculous I'd look."

"It'd be even better with ribbons!" Dawn added excitedly.

"You'd be missing out," said Buffy as she sat on a recliner. "Dawn and I became ponytail masters."

"Yeah, except the one time you tried to get fancy and made my hair into a giant knot."

Aside to Sam, their mother said, "They tried to hide it by cutting it out and hoping I wouldn't notice."

Except really they hadn't. That memory of being eleven years old and sitting on the living room floor snipping her seven year old sister's hair was a fabrication. Everyone in the room, except for Dawn herself, knew what the monks had done to insure that the Slayer would protect the Key. Yet whenever Buffy tried to deny their familial bond as a lie something in her rejected the idea as ludicrous. There sitting before her wasn't a ball of energy, but a living, breathing person who could walk, talk, and be as irritating as only a little sister could. Whatever she had been before, Dawn was now her family and there was nothing she wouldn't do to keep her from Glory's hands.

But that was for tomorrow. Tonight was for alcoholic chocolate and reliving embarrassing memories. As Dean poured a shot of Bailey's into her cup, Buffy gladly described the ugly aftermath of the Great Scissors Disaster and enjoyed a night of unfettered camaraderie.

Late the next morning, the brothers packed their belongings into the Impala and made their farewells. As Buffy approached, Dean sat in the driver's side and shut the door. "Hey, you sure you don't want us sticking around to help you guys with this one?" he asked while leaning on the open window. "Could look more into our archives, see if we can dig anything up."

Buffy considered for a moment, then smiled and shrugged. "Nah. You go do your apocalypse and we'll do ours."

Sam leaned over. "But you will call us, okay? If it turns out, you know, you need us."

The Slayer waved her cell phone in the air. "Got your numbers. All three hundred and seventeen of them."

For a long moment, Dean and Buffy looked into each other's eyes. They allowed themselves to consider the infatuation they'd had for one another following their impromptu sparring session. When they realized how similar their thoughts were running, Dean cleared his throat and looked away and Buffy pretended to scout the weather. The elder Winchester started when he saw the knowing glower on his brother's face. "What?"

"Never mind," Sam replied. Then the brothers were calling their goodbyes to the two other Summers (who were standing on the stoop) and the Impala's engine roared away.

Wistfully, Buffy stared after the quickly disappearing car, realizing that she would miss the both of them. Then she turned around and went back inside the house.

They still had a god to defeat.

END PART I

Thanks for reading so far! This is where I originally intended to end this story, but then got some inspiration to keep going. The next section will jump ahead to events after BtVS 5.18 and SPN 11.17 but will focus primarily on the Buffy side of things. More Glory, more conflict, more good times!

Reviews are always helpful. If you're a fellow writer then you know just how awesome a pat on the back can be. I'm also always open to critique - so far had several people help me out with plot holes and such. So if you've got the time, leave a bit of a note :)