Their lips met and they devoured one other for a lifetime, for an eternity. They parted far too soon. Two pairs of green eyes gazed at one another… and had very different reactions.

Buffy felt a spark of optimism. She barely knew the man, and he had nearly two decades on her in age, but being right here right now just felt so lovely. A part of her worried, just as she'd told Angel the night of her mother's funeral, that the way her life had been going was making her vulnerable. Yet she couldn't shake the idea that there was so much potential here with the hunter, with a man whose life seemed so similar to hers, that the Slayer contemplated throwing caution to the wind. She leaned in to continue their embrace.

Then Dean turned away and stood up, swearing under his breath.

She was too young. Far too young. Despite the maturity in her eyes, Buffy was technically only twenty years old. What was he thinking? He'd seen it in her eyes; the hope, the romance, that particular sense of wonder that was always evident in the naive. It pierced him cruelly because despite all the good he had done in his life, all the lives he'd saved, the horrors that he'd wrought couldn't possibly be forgiven by this small, beautiful girl.

"Yeah, okay," he said without looking at her. It took everything he had not to sit back down and see where their ardor took them. "We should get going."

Bewildered, Buffy didn't move. "What?"

"Getting late. We should be heading back."

Her heart sunk and the extraordinary feelings she'd had shattered. "You go. I've still got time to be out here." …And think, and maybe cry a little about what just happened.

"Goddamnit," Dean muttered as he wiped a hand down his face. "Look. You're a kid. That was a mistake."

Incensed, Buffy was instantly on her feet. "'Kid?'"

"Yeah, a kid!" The hunter wheeled around, finally looking at her again. "You're a frigging kid!"

"Excuse me? You don't know anything about me! What I've been through, the things I've seen. Don't you dare talk like I'm just some stupid little girl!"

"Yeah? Well you don't know crap about me." Dean stabbed his finger at her. "There's lives, human lives, on my conscience and I'm not gonna draw you into that!"

The Slayer spread her arms and let them drop. "Oh, here we go. The old guy, telling poor little Buffy that he's too much trouble, that there's no future, that all his dark past is too much for me to handle. Well guess what? You think your past is bad? I've loved a man who spent a hundred years writing the book of badness. And that vampire in there who thinks he loves me? He helped! I know darkness, I've dealt with darkness. So why can't I decide for once what's good or bad for myself?"

Furious, Dean's volume rose. "No, I am not doing this crap, not now, not with Amara and Glory and everything else that's gonna come zooming in because we care about each other. You think it felt bad when your mother died? How much you worry about your sister dying? How about knowing that your dad died and went to Hell because he wanted you to live instead? How about finding out the demon you were after burned down a bar full of hunters to keep them quiet? Or how about," he said, his voice growing soft, "how about watching the angel you let inside your brother burn the life out of an innocent kid that you swore to protect?"

By the time his litany ended, Buffy's hands were over her mouth and tears glimmered in her eyes. "Oh God, Dean, I didn't know…"

"I don't need your pity and I'll be damned if I'll draw anyone else into my life just to watch them die!"

At that, the Slayer's hands fell to her sides and bunched into fists. "You know what, Dean Winchester? You're a coward. A stupid, self-absorbed coward too afraid to even try to feel for someone just because of maybes and what-ifs. Well I don't need a coward in my life, and I certainly don't need you." Buffy turned and sprinted into the cemetery. Within moments she was gone.

Dean spent the next several minutes uncertain if he should leave or go look for her. She was a young woman alone in the dark, at the mercy of whatever creatures might haunt the cemetery. Then he remembered that she was the one that they were afraid of and began walking back to the Impala. He halted at the scritch of a match being struck.

Leaning against a small crypt was Spike. He was busy lighting the cigarette in his mouth by a match covered by his cupped hand. The vampire didn't bother to look up as he commented, "She's right you know."

The hunter glared and resumed on his path. Spike followed, smoking. "Look, mate, I spent over a hundred years with Drusilla. Beautiful woman, completely insane. She left me and now Buffy won't have me."

"There a point to this? 'Cause right now it just sounds like your life is just pathetic."

"The point is," said the vampire as he walked quickly in front of Dean and forced him to halt, "death is always going to be part of her life, your life, and it bloody well dances with mine. She don't seem to care about it so why should you?"

"Yeah? Buffy said you think you're in love with her. Why the hell should you care what I think?"

"You're right, I don't." Spike flicked the butt of his cigarette onto a nearby grave. "But I thought I'd point out how idiotic you are. Helps me feel better. Cheers!" He gave Dean a two-fingered salute and limped back towards his crypt.

That, the elder Winchester decided, was the cherry on the top of this particular night's disgustingly putrid pie. There was only one solution that presented itself.

Go find the rattiest bar in town and get blind, stinking drunk.

Buffy wandered the cemetery hoping for a vampire, a demon, a bad guy of any sort that she could take her frustration out on. Sadly, no one obliged.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! With what he'd been through of course Dean thought she was just a little girl. She should've known after all those war stories and friendly banter that something was up. No one could be that nonchalant about Lucifer and Hell without hiding something. The problem was that Buffy was used to the way Angel dealt with his past: with deflection and brooding silence. The Winchesters, particularly Dean, hid theirs behind a veneer of humor and self-deprecation. She suspected any time their actual emotions came to fore like they did tonight it came in the form of an explosion of pent-up rage and grief.

Buffy sighed. Both she and Dean were unfortunate victims of fate, but there was no mistaking that the hunter's life had been far harder and infinitely more tragic. Perhaps that's what lay in her future as well. Who knows what she may have to go through in the next two decades? How many close to her would she have to watch die?

All this speculation tore her away from the primary problem: addressing that they'd kissed. Not just some fumbling meeting of the lips over and done with before their next breath, but deeply, passionately kissed. It was obvious the two of them were starting to feel something for each other, wanted to be something more than just colleagues in the business of monster killing. However, if Dean was incapable of letting himself even try, then it was better than they end it before it went further.

The big, stupid chicken.

Sunlight glinting off of a car window made Buffy realize that she'd been walking all night. The cuts she'd gotten from the Knights of Byzantium were nearly healed thanks to her Slayer physiology. She headed home.

Mentally and physically exhausted, Buffy unlocked the front door and started stumbling up the stairs. Then she heard Sam call, "Hey! You seen my brother around?"

"You mean he didn't come back?"

The younger Winchester shrugged. "No, uh, figured he was with you all night." He suddenly became flustered. "Not… with you, but… you know, hunting?"

"No, we separated a while ago. Cover more ground."

Sam nodded. "Makes sense, I guess. Well, wouldn't be the first time he got too tired to drive home and decided to sleep in the car. Anyways, you look bushed. If you want, I'll walk Dawn to school."

"Thanks, I really appreciate it." Buffy's jaws cracked wide open as she yawned. "I'm beat."

"Cool… Get some sleep, all right? And if you hear from Dean, let me know."

The Slayer nodded and gave Dean's younger brother a reassuring smile. As she headed for the bathroom she told herself that it wasn't worth the brain cells to think about her issues with the other Winchester. Right now those cells needed to get her washed, undressed, and into bed before she fell flat on her face.

Sam knew something had happened between those two, but how far that something went was questionable. Dean was normally greatly considerate of the women he bedded, at least the following morning, so Sam was pretty certain it hadn't gone that far. Anyways, whatever it was, he was positive it had been his brother's fault.

The walk to Dawn's school was peaceful enough, and he indulged the younger Summers' puppy eyes. He stopped walking with her across the street and waved as she hurried to join her friends. The giggling and sly glances that headed his way made Sam cringe. With great effort he froze his genial expression and avoided rolling his eyes until he was out of sight.

Dean had probably gotten drunk, therefore the first thing to do was check around the local bars. The first two were closed; the third, "Willy's," wasn't precisely open but the proprietor hadn't locked the door. The individual that Sam presumed was Willy was standing behind the counter drying glasses.

"Hey there!" the rather skinny and greasy looking man called. "What can I getcha?"

"I'm, uh, actually looking for my brother, Dean. Bout this high, short brown hair?"

"Oh, him! Yeah, he was here. Didn't blink an eye at my other customers. I was pret-ty impressed at your brother's constitution I must say."

"Other customers?" Sam looked around at the empty room, bemused.

"Yep! You're at Willy's, only place in town what allows all sorts of beings this side of the Hellmouth."

"Oh." The younger Winchester gave the bar a scan that was now more along the lines of threat assessment rather than curiosity.

"Anyways, that brother of yours? Stumbled outta here around four in the morning. Dunno where he went after that."

Sam sighed. "All right, thanks." He left a twenty on the counter as a thank you and headed out the door. It was still before noon, so it was probably a good idea to give Dean at least another hour or two to sober up. After that he could harangue him over whatever had happened with Buffy. He started heading for the Magic Box with the intention of passing the time with more research when a wooden bat whacked the hunter on the back of the head.

When Sam merely dropped to his knees, he was struck again, hard, flattening him onto the cement. Before he fell unconscious he heard the bar owner saying, "Don't let it be said that Willy wasn't takin' care of you guys. You let that Glory of yours know that I did good, yeah?"