Dawn had her head buried in a book. What else was new? She also had a book in her lap, as did Spike and Dean. That alone wigged her out somewhat. Even though Buffy knew her vampire had a brain, he didn't always like to let it out to play.

*thunk*

The sound of heavy boots shifting on the table made Dawn lift her head, obviously aggravated at being distracted from her reading.

It made Buffy feel self-conscious that she'd been leaning back in her chair, balancing on the back two legs. It was one of Mom's biggest complaints. Buffy settled her chair back down with a solid bump.

Another *clump* from Spike's heavy Docs and an answering *thud* from Dean's boots frayed the last of Dawn's patience. "Damn it, you guys!" she snarled. "Don't you have any respect for the really old books? If you ruin them with your dirty, stinky boots, you might just screw up any chance of me ever leaving this place."

Buffy blushed with surprised embarrassment. Even though she hadn't done anything wrong, she felt as if she'd just been scolded by mom, instead of her little sister. Or Giles, for that matter.

Dean picked that moment to grab yet another handful of the salty chips that he'd been munching on all morning.

"And that goes for your greasy fingers, too, mister," Dawn admonished Dean.

"Yes, Mom," he snarked back at her, stuffing still another handful into his mouth.

"Why do I always get stuck with the philistines?" Dawn groaned, once more an almost perfect imitation of Giles. "Do you think your brother would like it if you ruined his library? These books are irreplaceable, and I wasn't kidding about the grease."

Buffy smiled as Dean quailed the tiniest bit under her sister's scrutiny; the girl was a force to be reckoned with. And it was obvious from Dean's reaction, that his brother was his weak spot. She filed that under handy things to know, along the lines of Spike's addiction to Weetabix, Xander's tendency to do the Scooby dance during the holidays and the fact that you should never give Willow a cup of coffee right before bed.

A snicker from Spike's direction turned her laser-eyes on him. "You're no angel, either, buster," she chastised. "You're not even reading. I haven't seen you turn a page in the last half hour."

As Spike straightened up in his chair, he dropped the book he was holding. A faded old porno magazine, easily thirty to forty years old judging by the cover photo's style, entitled 'Voluptuous Asian Lovelies' fell to the table.

Dean glared when he saw it. "Dude, that thing's worth a fortune on Ebay… treat the ladies with respect, man."

Spike froze as Buffy dropped her own book. "You wanna 'splain yourself, vampire?" she asked, her tone cool.

"What?" he asked innocently, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. "I used to love reading these…"

Buffy snorted. "Yeah, right – are the boobs printed in Braille? And don't you dare tell me you were only reading the articles."

"Check out the one on page eighteen." Dean had to stick his own two cents in. He ducked when Buffy grabbed the magazine and tossed it at his head. "Hey, that's a collector's edition," he shouted, bending over to pick it up. Much as she loved Spike, Buffy couldn't help but appreciate the view.

"Oi, Slayer... keep your eyes in your head," Spike snarled. She should have known he'd follow her line of sight.

"Who? Sweet, little old me?" she simpered. "Why would I look at anyone who isn't my Big Bad vampire?"

Dean seemed to enjoy both the attention and getting on Spike's nerves.

"You know I only have eyes for your ass, Spike," Buffy continued sweetly, batting her lashes.

Spike glared and stood up from the table. "I need a fag," he muttered, heading out the door, practically storming out of the room like Dawn used to when she was pissed off.

"What crawled up his ass?" Dean asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"You," Dawn said, her demeanor not pleasant. Dean cringed at her annoyed features.

"I'll be right back… or not," Buffy excused herself. She had her boyfriend's feelings to soothe.

"They're so lame." Buffy heard Dawn's words as she left the room.

"I'm gonna go do something manly, before you start up with the girl talk." Dean responded, good nature woven through the words. "I'll be at the shooting range if you need me." He nodded as he passed Buffy in the hallway.
Buffy stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching as Spike smoked and flicked his ashes into the sink.

"Oh come on now, you big baby," she cooed, sidling up to him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "There was no need to go flouncing off in a snit."

"I don't flounce," he muttered, tossing the remains of his cigarette into the drain. "I storm out like a force of nature."

"What did you want me to do, Spike? A nice ass came into view, and I looked. I'm not dead," she reasoned.

"Well, I am, but that doesn't mean I'll drool over some bint while you're in the room," he argued, bottom lip pouting in the way that made Buffy's knees quiver.

"How can you be so pissed off that I checked out a little butt when you were ogling those naked women?" Buffy really tried to keep her tone light. She wasn't in the mood for an argument.

"We're not trapped in here with those naked women, are we?"

"Like I'm gonna make a move on Dean when I have you to play with?"

Spike glared at the hall, as if he could vaporize Dean with his intent alone.

"Spike," Buffy murmured as she gently massaged the small of his back. "Dean... he's so not my type. He's the kind of guy who'll sleep with any woman he can get his hands on – like Parker. Trust me; I'm too old to fall for that again. Besides…" she practically purred in his ear. "I love you. I don't need anyone else. You should know that by now."

Spike's eyes softened at her words.

"Do you really think that little of me that I would leave you and fall for his type, again?"

Inching closer, Spike brushed an errant lock of hair from her forehead and sighed. "Sorry, love. It's just... we need to get Bit out of here. I've never been good stuck in one place for long and it's driving me bug-shagging crazy."

"And you should know, having been there," Buffy smiled at him, glad to see the stormy clouds had parted from his eyes. "Now that we've gotten over this moment of manly insecurity, can we get back to business?"

Spike slipped his hand under her blouse, gently cupping her breast. "Monkey business?" he asked, flashes of amber permeating his blue irises.

"I wish," Buffy murmured as she leant into his arms. "Getting Dawn out of here business, unfortunately."

With a fond little tweak, Spike smoothed her blouse back down. "Fine," he agreed, "but we're getting back to this later. Now, where do we go from here? And will that ever stop conjuring up singing nightmares?"

"I wouldn't call them nightmares, exactly." She blushed, remembering their first real kiss; one that wasn't under the influence of Willow's spell. In retrospect, their 'engagement' wasn't so bad. Kinda sweet, actually.

"Seein' the world through rose-colored glasses again, love?" Spike took that moment to poke her in the shoulder. "If I remember correctly, you didn't exactly love me back then... 'Just wanted to feel', I believe you sang."

"Spike, please," Buffy begged. "Don't…"

His quirked eyebrow told her more than words could possibly express.

"Fine," she huffed. "Whatever. I'm going to find Dean and see if I can scare up any more information. Can you try not to be a pain in the ass for a little while?"

And the second eyebrow rose up to meet its mate.

"Big Bad, here," Spike snorted, as if that covered everything.

Buffy swatted Spike's behind before planting a kiss on his cheek. "That's right... my Big Bad. And don't you forget it, mister. Later, I promise to knock all thoughts of those busty Asians right out of your mind."

Dean tried not to think of what the vampire and the slayer were doing in his kitchen as he made his way down to the range. He swore he'd scrub all the flat surfaces down with disinfectant before eating another thing in there.

He set up the targets, in need of a distraction from all the goings-on, adding a little something special to his first effort. He snagged his gun from the waist of his jeans and checked to see if it was loaded. Earphones on, he released the safety and took aim at the target – a cartoon image of Spike's face on it. The shot was exceptionally easy to make – Bullseye!

Unfortunately, that image was immediately overlaid in his mind with Benny's face, and suddenly Dean's hand shook.

He tried to shrug it off. Why was he putting the two vampires into the same boat? He wasn't having warm fuzzies for the blond vamp, but Spike hadn't lived up to Benny's description of a bloodthirsty killing machine, either. Why had he been so willing to take him out on Benny's word alone? They were both vampires, both had a past history of killing… why was Benny 'good' and Spike 'bad'?

Benny had never hidden his past, he'd known better than that. He'd killed another vampire, the very first minute they met. And yet Dean trusted him with his life. It was the same innate trust he had in Sammy to always have his back, which made him believe that it was the right thing to bring Benny back from Purgatory.

Dean fought hard to resist the urge to call Benny – to make sure that he was okay, but he had to trust Sam. He had to have enough faith in his brother to believe that he wouldn't harm Benny in spite of how he felt. It would have been simpler if Dean had gone with them or maybe in Sam's place, but then who would be up to keeping an eye on their 'guests'?

He didn't get attached to people, the exception being his brother, and still... people kept creeping up on him – worming their way into his consciousness – making him hurt when they left… or died; tearing his heart to pieces.

Maybe it was that he knew Benny. For all that he believed Sam's research on Slayers, who were definitely on the side of good, their notations on Spike distinctly made him out to be a vicious killer and a damned dangerous one, at that.

He couldn't just take Buffy's – a stranger's – word that the guy had reformed. But…

"Oh. My. God!" Buffy's voice broke Dean's from his reverie. "What is it with guys and drawing their 'enemies' as cartoon targets?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind," she said, shaking her head. "As long as it helps to diffuse the tension between you and Spike..."

"Almost," Dean said, before rearming his gun and aiming it at the target, repeatedly hitting the heart.

"It's not like bullets kill vampires," Buffy said, waving off the results of Dean's marksmanship. "So why bother?"

Dean grinned. "That's 'cause you're not using the right kind of bullets."

Buffy's eyes lit up. "No! You use wooden bullets?"

"I haven't tried those yet but that's not a bad idea," Dean admitted. He emptied the used clip and reloaded, settling in front of the next target. "But you'd be surprised how much damage cast iron bullets dripped in holy water, or bullets inscribed with runes, can cause a demon."

"Personally, I prefer the classics," Buffy said, pulling a stake from behind her back and miming a killing move. "Stab, poof, no clean up. And they can easily pass through a metal detector, well… undetected."

Dean nodded, able to see her point. "I wish it were that simple. In hand-to-hand combat stakes could be a formidable weapon. However, half the time we end up running from the cops as often as we do from the demons, and we need something with a bit more range."

Buffy shivered, causing Dean to wonder if it was because she was truly chilly, wearing such a flimsy, little blouse, or because she was really that disgusted by his choice of arms. And if his eyes lingered a little too long on the curve of her breasts... sue him.

She immediately raised her arms, crossing them in front of her and blocking his view. "No wonder Spike wanted to deck you," she muttered. "You really need to stop with the blatant lookage."

"Not gonna happen, Cupcake. You're just too delicious for words. No touching, though," he said, holding his hands up to placate the irate woman. "But I'm all man, and it's a thing. I'm sure even your vampire…"

"You should ask Spike what happened to the last guy who treated women that way – as an object for their enjoyment. I'll give you a hint – it involved a wooden club and a man's head."

Dean laughed. "Maybe so, but you got to admit it's fun winding him up."

She paused for a moment, before looking him square in the eyes. "Spike wasn't the one wielding the club," she said before picking up a gun and hefting it to test its weight.

Buffy rose up just the slightest bit in Dean's esteem. "That's a Colt 1911 A1 – 45 caliber you have in your hands. I thought you didn't like guns," he said, watching as she sighted the target.

"I don't, as a rule," she replied, twirling the gun around her finger. "It doesn't mean I don't know how to use one if I have to. I used a rocket launcher, once – that was fun," she smirked. "Took out half a shopping mall along with this huge, blue demon, too."

Dean gave her another look, this time one of respect. "I once pulled a sword out of a stone with a little help from explosives… mostly. The sword came out in pieces, but the boom was fun."

"Pulled a scythe out of a stone, myself," Buffy giggled. Actually giggled like a little girl. "No explosives necessary."

"Showoff," he muttered, but there was no venom in his words.
Buffy just preened.

"How about a challenge?" Dean asked and pushed the button to set up a couple of new targets.

"Such as?"

"Call a body part, and then hit it. Sort of like a game of Horse with bullets?"

"How about blindfolds?" Buffy countered, a gleam in her eyes.

"Really, Princess? Blindfolds?" Dean looked at her, incredulous.

"What? Haven't you ever been stuck in darkness, and had to hit something without being able to see it? It takes practice," she said, nodding. "Lots and lots and lots of practice, no matter what weapon you use."

"You're on," Dean said, accepting her terms. The way Buffy talked, she reminded him of Dad, with the same level of preparation; of training over and over until he could hit his target in the dark of night; on no sleep, no food; hands chilled to the bone.

Just how good was Ms. Buffy Summers? He wondered if her trainer – no, her Watcher - was as strict as Dad had been. Did she end up resenting him as much as he resented John, even as much as he loved him? Whatever… now wasn't the time for self-reflection.

"All right then," Dean began, rubbing his hands in anticipation of putting Her Highness in her place. "Why don't you suit up, fire a couple of rounds to get the feel of the Colt, and then we'll go dark. I'm sure the Men of Letters have a couple of blindfolds stashed somewhere." He rummaged through several drawers and with a shout of triumph, held up a handful. "First call's mine, babe. Head, heart, knee, shoulder."

Dean watched as she aimed. She was a bit slow with the first shot, clearly not used to holding a gun, but she quickly found her comfort zone and hit every target she aimed for.

"Not bad, kid, not bad at all." Dean smiled as he took the Colt from her. "Now let's see how the pros do." He knew that when he shot, it didn't look like he aimed. He did aim – he wasn't stupid – but he was so used to aiming and shooting in one motion, that it was barely distinguishable. Mere seconds later, all his targets had been hit dead on.

"Huh!" was all that Buffy said. Obviously the girl wasn't used to not being the best.

Dean looked at her, trying to figure out what was going through her mind. "Don't get your panties in a bunch," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "I've been shooting at things for so many years, it's second nature to me."

"You're not that much older than me," she said testily. "And I've been training since I was fifteen."

He gave her another look, feeling sorry that another child had lost her innocence about the world early on in the war against evil.

"My Dad started teaching me when I was about six. I still have the old sawed-off shotgun I made when I was eleven."

She stared back at him, an odd mixture of pity and annoyance crossed her face. "Life sucks, sometimes," was all she said.

"And yet we're still alive, so how bad can it be?" Dean replied.

"Well, besides the times we died." She smirked.

"Doesn't count if it doesn't stick," Dean retorted, throwing her one of the blindfolds he'd scrounged up earlier. Tell that to those who mourned. Dean shrugged it off, trying not to think of Sam in his arms, those horrifying hours that Sam had been dead. The crossroads deal had been a suicide as much as an attempt to get Sam back. He knew that now, and thinking of Sam, the way Ruby had wrapped him around her little finger because Dean hadn't been there to stop her...

He could only imagine Buffy's family and friends when they lost her.

Mentally, he gave himself another shake. "Enough... let's get back to the now, and get on with our little wager," he said. "I'll call the shots and you'll do your best. Just remember, the target's about six feet tall."

"I'll imagine it's you," Buffy said, glaring at him, before she pulled down the blindfold.

"Whatever floats your boat, sister."

She took aim again, waiting for Dean to call out the specific targets. Again, her first shot was a bit tentative, but she re-settled, managing to hit the remainder of the targets.

Whoever had trained her had done a good job at it, Dean thought. Especially if she hadn't started until her mid-teens. Not that he'd ask a woman her age, but he didn't think she was much more than thirty.

"Let's see it," she said, handing him the blindfold. Dean retrieved the target for her. Several shots were slightly off the mark from where she'd intended the hit.

"Considering guns aren't your weapon of choice, you did fine," Dean complimented. "At least all your shots hit the target."

Buffy glared as she tied Dean's blindfold, herself. "To keep you from cheating," she muttered.

He grinned as she did so, knowing it would annoy her, before turning to the target. He calmed, focused on the logistics of everything, and then he fired. He knew even before he took off the blindfold that he'd hit every target right on the nose.

"Okay, fine," Buffy muttered. "Next time I go to a carnival, I'm taking you with me. You're going to win me the biggest damned bear they have, deal?"

Dean looked shocked. Holding his hand to his chest he said, "What? And risk your boyfriend eating me for lunch?"

She slapped at him in passing. Little love tap, he guessed – no real power behind it. "Hands off, princess," he leered, "unless you want your pet vamp to think I'd gotten fresh with you."

"I should present you to him on a silver platter with an apple in your mouth," she muttered. "Pigs... you're all pigs!

"Oink, oink. So, how are you with throwing knives?" he asked, changing the topic. Nobody had ever accused him of using his brain.

"Knives, stars, swords... all good." Buffy was smiling again. Obviously she was more than comfortable with the steel.

An hour later, Dean couldn't help but be impressed. Damn, the girl was good. Not only with a gun, but with knives, as well. Her aim with a blade was impeccable, blindfolded or not. Part of him wished he didn't enjoy her company so damn much. It would be easier to hold onto his suspicions if he didn't.

After Buffy left the room and Dean made sure she was out of sight, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. "Hey Charlie, it's me," he said when the call was picked up. "Did you get me the information I asked you for?"