Fire

By Bre

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I don't own much of anything really. They belong to the minds of The Whedon and The Kripke.
Rating: R/FR18 (overall)
A/N: Made for my series What Happens In Vegas Series. Day 11 of 31 in the twistedshorts community on LJ where you post a ficlet/short (between 300 and 3,000 words) every day of August. Everything in this series is designed to be a one-shot but the plot line will follow the two characters throughout this revelation.
A/N 2: Italics indicate flashbacks.
A/N 3: While this does follow one plotline, each installment is meant to stand alone at the same time for the requirement of the challenge. So this series will be stilted at best and not as smooth and pretty as a chapter story.
A/N 4: I apologize if this update is a bit "in limbo." It's a limbo update, deal.
Pairing: Buffy/Dean (BtVS/SPN Crossover)
Word Count: 1,434
Timeline: Post Season 7 for BtVS. Turning into mid Season 2 for SPN (after Nightshifter and before Folsom Prison Blues – in reference to whether the government knows Dean is alive to you wonderful inquiring people!).

Summary: TwistedShorts Challenge. Day 11: Dean has a moment of "clarification."

The minute they got back to their room, he felt it.

It being something… off. And weird. And itchy. And hot… really, really hot. Dean Winchester shrugged underneath his suddenly too heavy suit jacket, reaching up to massage the back of his neck where his skin felt like it was on fire. Christ, it was hot as hell in this room. He barely heard Sam shutting the door and saying something to him, the words sounding like white noise as Dean blinked, staring at the bed.

"Is it hot in here?" he asked, interrupting his brother.

"What?"

"Man, it feels like it's a hundred degrees or something."

Sam Winchester leaned back from where he was untying his shoes, his suit jacket thrown over the chair carelessly, and stared at him. He frowned as Dean loosened his tie a little before tugging on it harder. After a second of struggling with it, he finally got it loose enough to just slip over his head and he threw the piece of cheap silk into the bathroom with an aggravated sound. He wiped his forehead, turning around before turning back the other way.

"What's up with you?" Sam asked.

"What?" Dean asked, whipping around to give his brother a 'who me?' look. "Nothing."

Sam lifted his eyebrows, kicking his shoes off. "Right."

"It's just, like… hot in here or something." Dean Winchester ripped his jacket off and threw it on the bed. He glanced at Sam. "You don't feel that?"

Sam looked around the room before focusing on Dean once more. Yes, they were in Las Vegas and it was warmer here than say, Canada, but it was still fall time and it was still pretty chilly at night. He glanced outside as he said, "Dean, it's like sixty degrees outside."

"Huh," was all Dean said in reply before shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the bed. Sam watched him sit down, as Dean paused before leaning back on the bed, like he was testing it. He looked confused and he looked… flushed. Dean turned to look over his shoulder at the bed, looking contemplative and even more flushed before he turned back around and heeled off his shoes.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"You okay?"

"Uh, yeah," he said. He leaned forward, touching his neck again, rubbing the back of it before shooting to his feet. "I'm gonna take a shower."

"What? No, that's stupid; you just took a shower a few hours ago." Dean just stared at him and Sam sighed in aggravation, already seeing where this was going as Dean went into the bathroom. "We're going to the Bellagio, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah, just give me five minutes," Dean replied absently before closing the bathroom door behind him. Sam stared at the door where he had just disappeared, confusion inked on his face.

Taking in a few deep breaths, Dean turned to look at himself in the mirror. He felt like something was alive under his skin, creeping and crawling and literally on fire. He blinked at himself, shaking his head. Man, it felt like someone was raking coals over his delicate outsides and then pressing them in deeper, deeper… like a really nasty itch he just couldn't reach. It wasn't an itchy itch but rather something that felt… like... It felt like he really needed to just get the fuck out of this room.

Closing his eyes, Dean bowed his head, counting to ten. He jumped when Sam slapped his palm against the door.

"You can't hide in there forever, Dean, we're going to the Bellagio."

At the mention of the hotel's name, Dean felt a chill race up his spine. The Bellagio. Where Buffy was. Buffy… his wife. Dean furrowed his brow, his mind racing through the past few days. Waking up next to her in her hotel suite, touching her lovely flesh, wanting her, needing her, hell, wanting to just eat her up right there. And then the kissing, the holding, the moving around, the…

And then realizing they were married. And then realizing she had super freak strength. And then getting punched in the face. And then getting slapped. And then realizing that something supernatural really was probably going on…

Dean shook his head to clear his thoughts but it did nothing to help. He wanted to just rip his shirt off to get it away from him quicker but he undid the buttons, his fingers suddenly clumsy and sweaty and he barely got it off in one piece before throwing it in the corner. Goddamn, it was doing nothing for this ridiculous heat.

"What the hell, Sam?" he yelled through the door as he banged it once with his fist. He could practically hear Sam rolling his eyes on the other side. "Grow some goddamn balls and turn the heat down."

"The heat isn't on, dumbass," he heard his muffled reply from the other side and Dean paused, but just for a minute before unbuttoning his pants and kicking them off. He turned on the shower, the water beating against the rusty tub but he didn't get in. He just stared at it, feeling the strongest sense of déjà vu from the morning when he woke up with Buffy… in bed.

Except this time he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. And this time he wasn't nearly as confused about what his body was telling him. Dean didn't need a shower. The moment his mind lit up on her face, the fire abated some. It retracted its claws and he felt a strange sense of clarification.

Buffy. Wife. Bed.

Sam knocked hard on the door again, leaning against the jamb as he waited for Dean to respond but nothing came. He heard the water running but it didn't sound like he had stepped into the spray yet. "Dean?"

The door swiftly opened and Dean pushed past him, wearing only his boxers. Sam turned to watch him grab his duffle bag, pulling out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He shrugged the jeans on as Sam said, "What the hell is going on with you?"

"Nothing," he replied gruffly. He abruptly stopped and turned to face Sam. "Why don't you go get us some food?"

"What? Where did that come from, random?"

"Man, I'm starving," Dean replied, his voice forcedly jovial. Sam just stared at him and Dean made a face. "Just go next door, dude, what's your problem?"

"Um, okay," Sam replied. He took a stutter step before changing his mind. He gave Dean a stern look. "We're still going to go talk to her tonight."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, dad, I know. Now move it, Sammy, so we can go…" Dean paused, his eyes dancing all over the room, not sticking to one spot. "Talk."

Sam narrowed his eyes, his mind racing but he still nodded. "Alright. I'll be right back."

"Yeah."

"Literally two seconds."

"I get it," Dean snapped as he tugged the shirt over his head. Sam slipped into some shoes, grabbing his suit jacket. Dean didn't see the look Sam shot him before he left the room. Instead, Dean waited until he heard the door close before grabbing his favorite leather jacket and shrugging it on. The heat was suddenly not such a big deal anymore as he leaned down to shove his feet into his boots.

He just… knew.

It was almost like he was on autopilot as Dean snagged the Impala keys from inside his wrinkled suit jacket. Almost like his body was walking, talking, doing the actions for his brain as his mind focused on one thing…

Buffy.

Dean knocked on the hotel room door. He just stared at the room number, the numbers 1131 blurring together when he didn't blink. Nothing happened for a moment until he heard somebody pulling back the deadbolt on the door and it swung open.

Buffy stood before him, looking gloriously rumpled from being asleep. Dean didn't take a moment to note that it was only 6 p.m. or that he had no fucking business there. She just stared at him, her face the color of shock before melting into confusion and then annoyance.

She licked her lips and Dean stared at them.

"What-"

She didn't finish as Dean stepped forward, his hands coming up, one slipping around the back of her neck, the other cupping her cheek as he kissed her. Hard, painfully and Buffy stiffened for a moment before her own fire started, her skin erupting as she responded.

They fell into the room, the door slapping shut behind them with a solid click.

The End