Sam watched over Buffy's sleeping form. The brother's had her patched up at the local hospital before bringing her back to the hotel, using their false credentials to get her in and out without too many questions or mandatory 5150 holds—which they had tried to impose on Buffy, due to the nature of her injuries.

The slayer slept soundly. Two pints of O negative and thirty-three stitches later. The rational part of Sam's mind told him her color had returned and with her slayer strength and healing she'd be right as rain in a day. Two at the most.

The irrational part rose up to choke him every time he saw the white bandages covering her delicate wrists. She'd risked herself. Again. He'd almost lost her. Again! This wouldn't ever stop. Buffy was Buffy. And as much as he loved her for every part of who she was, her being herself was also the thing that hurt him the most.

Could he ever admit that to her? Could he risk what it'd do to her? No. The answer was always no. He wouldn't—couldn't—put that on her shoulders. He loved her too much.

So that left him only one option; endure.

Dean came out of the bathroom, freshly showered, swiping a hand through his wet hair. "She still out?"

Sam broke his revere, looking up at his big brother. "Yeah."

Dean nodded. "She will wake soon enough, then the real battle begins. Think about what you are gonna say to her yet?"

Sam sighed. "Yeah, nothing. I'm letting it go."

Dean chuckled as if Sam was jesting, then realized his brother was speaking the truth and his face fell, disappointment taking over. "You can't be serious."

"I am. It's none of my business what choices she makes. We fight every damned day for freewill. And as much as I want to, I can't save her from every terrible decision she decides to make." A long breath. "But I can sure as hell try."

Dean placed himself in the desk chair near the window, peering out the slits in the blinds for a second. Dawn would come soon. And they'd need to get some shut eye before reconvening with Alice at noon like originally planned. Sam found himself daydreaming of the short-lived honeymoon Buffy and him had spent back in California. Back when "problem" wasn't a four-letter word and sleep was at their behest.

Dean spoke, sifting inside Sam's wayward thoughts, "I know you've never liked my advice, nor accepted it, but ignoring this may be the final nail in the coffin, so to speak."

Sam's heart was heavy. Heavier than it'd ever been. Buffy was slipping away from him. More secretive than ever, even as she appeared to more forthcoming on the surface. He knew she held some dark secret from him…just out of reach. He wondered endlessly what it could possibly be. "She will tell me in her own time," he mumbled, more to himself than his brother.

Dean shook his head, baffled. "Sammie, if you think that, you are a bigger idiot than I thought. Have you met the girl? You think pushing her will push her away? She's elastic, more so than ever. Pull her, push her, she will snap back, but she will come back. You shouldn't let this go. Everyone needs a little push sometimes."

"I think I know her pretty well." He was offended that Dean would even dare suggest that he knew Buffy better than Sam did.

"No, you know her, you just ignore the warning signs out of fear."

"Enough, Dean. Alright? Can we just focus on the case?"

"If you say so." Dean leaned back, kicking his feet up on the desk in front of him. "Why don't you get some rest, huh? I'll watch over her."

Sam took another lingering look at Buffy, soaking in her perfection. The girl was going to be the death of him, he knew it. So why wasn't he running from her? He had given up trying to explain his attraction to her. She was brave—brash? —brilliant—foolhardy? —and beautiful…breathtaking was more like it. But he had zero doubt at this point he'd follow her happily into an active volcano if she asked him to.

"Hurry up now," Dean chastised him, "The last thing she needs is to wake to find you hovering over her, all googly-eyed and lovesick."

Sam leaned back, glaring at Dean. He folded his arms over his expansive chest and kicked his feet gently onto the bed, assuming the position to get an hour or so of shut eye. "Make fun all you'd like. I saw the way you reacted when you thought that innocent, Alice, was trying to outrun you on the road earlier. You like the little scientist nerd. Refused to let her think she could escape you. The display was ridiculous. Therefore you can shut up anytime, or else I'll spoon feed you an extra dose of your own medicine."

Dean huffed, but remained silent. Sam knew he'd hit the soft spot Dean was developing for the student they were teaming up with. He hadn't seen Dean react so strangely around a girl…ever. The last and only time he'd given a female any extra thought was Cassie, his first "love" and girlfriend of a few months several years past. He'd told Cassie what he did for a living and she called his bluff, dumping him. They'd reunited for a split second when the boys had put to rest a vengeful spirit that had taken her father's life a few years ago. But the two just as easily went their separate ways. Alice, though…no the pretty brunette was a different story. Somehow she'd captured Dean's undivided attention, and the elder Winchester was very obviously unhappy about it. Seeing it as a weakness of sorts.

Sam couldn't disagree with that notion. Didn't he sometimes see the slayer as a weakness as well? It was appearing as though this case was biting them both in the ass.

Buffy stirred in her sleep and the adorable noises she made had Sam leaning forward to check her pulse. It was slightly elevated. Was she having a nightmare?

Dean leaned back with an audible sigh, shutting his eyes. "So I guess you will take first watch. Thanks for the silent-offer Sammie. Wake me in an hour."

Sam found a frown and wore it. "Night, Dean." The exchange was another jab at Sam's inability to let the Slayer out of his sight…but screw it, and screw Dean. Hell, screw Buffy, too, if she dared even act nonchalant about this episode.

He was at the end of his invisible tether. Despite all his earlier ramblings about letting this all go.

Didn't she care about him at all? Care that every stupid risk she took hurt him to his very core? Her impetuous actions were slowly killing him, and she did them anyway! He knew, deep down, that something in him would snap soon. That Buffy wouldn't like it when they did. Ultimatums were not his thing. But he couldn't be witness to Buffy's self-destruction anymore.

She walked a tight rope of induction, introducing herself to new avenues of adventure while he only was introduced to new avenues of pain and adversity.

He had tried endlessly to understand her time in Hell. To forgive her for all her infidelities with Dean, even though he knew they'd both been infected by the Underworld's poison touch upon the soul.

So much…so very, very much, he had had the strength of will to let go. For Buffy's sake. And yes, for Dean's. But this?

A strange fluttering flitted across his chest, one born of painful resolution. He'd offer Buffy what they both deserved, one last chance to forge forward into hunts together, or…

Or he'd have to keep his distance from Buffy. She was his kryptonite. His glaring weakness. Somehow, some way, this terrible world they resided in would try and use her against him…or Dean…

And he couldn't risk anything more of himself. He'd already thrown his entire heart on the line. She already possessed his soul. What left was there for him to do to prove to her he was invested in this partnership? She just didn't see it that way. She still saw herself as the solo warrior, the anti-hero. And if he wasn't enough to prove to her that she was so much more than that, then he wasn't sure anything was. His chest heaved at the very thought of losing any part of her. He could only hope against all hope that she'd come around, but despair inched closer as he knew Buffy like the back of his hand, and she never, if ever, gave herself up to such vulnerabilities that easy.

With a final resolve, one a long time in the making, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple, inhaling her intoxicating scent and whispering, "Don't forget, babe, you promised not to leave me."

Buffy's dream was just as much a nightmare. She traipsed through the maternity ward, in search of her son. The one she knew without a doubt she carried inside her. Yet, her dream had her heart on the hunt for him, like he'd already arrived in the world and was lost unto her.

She must be lucid dreaming again. She hated it when she did that. It was like a vision underwater, liquid and yet somehow it held her down like the weight of something solid.

In real life, she'd gotten the news the traditional way, some serious nausea and a missed period…okay, two missed periods. Yet, she refused to take a test or go to the doctor. Denial was a fun state; lawless, and the residents endeavored to live free there. But alas, she was only visiting.

She knew her fears were a reality. She also knew it had come several years too soon. Which made her even more scared. What if this baby wasn't the boy she saw from the visions Lilith had shown her? What if she lost this baby? What if…it wasn't the right time, the right place, the right reality?

Fear was a choke-hold, and she was dragging in uneven breathes for over six weeks now. Slayers didn't have babies. They lived fast, died young. Sacrifice was their middle name and retirement was a pipe dream.

Without a Slayer, the world would slowly drain away. Vampires would overrun the earth. Demons would take back all she'd done to keep them underfoot. Dawn's sacrifices would be for nothing.

She couldn't—wouldn't allow that.

The corridors of the hallway stretched on and on, babies cried out from the nursery she knew was all too close, yet far enough away she may never reach it before she woke.

She heard Sam call out for her from somewhere just out of reach. She hesitated. Should she call back? What would he say about her being here? Would he be happy to hear he would be a father soon? Or would it push yet another wedge between them? She was ashamed to say she was terrified to find out.

Then the thought slithered by her again…You are dreaming, Summers. Wake up.

With a jolt, she did. Prying her eyes open, awakening into her waking world, where life was no joke, and she had some very serious choices in front of her.

She spied Sam asleep in the arm chair next to her, his breathing deep, face serene in slumber. She registered that their fingers were loosely twined, his calluses rough beneath her soft palm. To let him go, or keep him forever? She wished she had a crystal ball, wished she still had the resolve to believe in freewill as strongly as she had that day Lilith showed her an avenue of her future she found herself craving as deeply as it scared her.

Choices…her mind reminded her, so many choices. Maybe, just this once, she wouldn't be making all the wrong ones. But to do that she'd have to forgo her instincts—which all had led her here—and open up to Sam.

Fear situated itself inside her wounds on her wrists, dragging reality like a lightning strike, inside her battered heart. Memories bombarded her; her leaving Sam behind, her journey through Snowden (one she'd taken as a test of Lilith's vision of the future; if she survived to see her baby born, that silly forest had no control over her), her losing herself in there to a despair she'd not felt since Dawn died, the blade she'd carried at her belt, finding its way inside the soft flesh of wrists. And the pleasant freedom she found in the act of it.

Shame scaled her. She risked more than her relationship, more than her own life…she risked her future son's, too. How could she have been so stupid?

What have I done? Oh, Sam, please forgive me…