8/5/2016 - I got busy writing epilogue in order to firm up everyone's fate. It's kinda long, but how long is an epilogue supposed to be anyways?

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The Winchesters refused to let the MacLeod "family" inside the Bunker. In fact, Dean took out some of his anger over Buffy on Spike, treating him to a blistering rant over his stupidity in leading the demon and the witch to their haven. The vampire took it stoically while smoking on a cigarette and, when the elder Winchester finally finished, flicked the butt at the hunter's chest. If Dean had been holding anything remotely sharp, Spike would have found himself shorter by a head.

Dean then turned towards Crowley and Rowena who were observing the spectacle from the other side of the vampire's vintage Buick. He informed them that they could come in wearing sigil-inscribed cuffs or they could stuff their scroll up each other's asses and human centipede it back to whatever hole they crawled out of.

While Crowley pondered the logistics of such an act, Rowena rolled her eyes. "It's a spell to contact yer so-called God," she said impatiently. "So if yer wanting to be rid of the dark force you unleashed than maybe ye should be a wee bit more polite."

"Problem is," added the demon, "it's only half the bloody spell."

Unwilling to reveal to the pair that they already had the other portion, Sam asked, "So what are we supposed to do with half a spell?"

"Go snuffling about for the other part, Moose. In the meantime, I'll be off looking for these bleeding ingredients."

"Like what?" Dean snarled.

Crowley ticked the items off his fingers. "Stone from a Devil's Bridge, dirt before a Gate to Hell, and, quite classically, the blood of a virgin, which includes absolutely no one in the immediate vicinity. And that's only some of them."

There was Dawn, most likely, but the thought of Crowley getting near her again was abhorrent. "Well?" snapped Dean after a beat of silence. "Leave!"

Sam and Crowley exchanged bemused looks. "Squirrel got his tail stuck in a blender?" quipped the demon. He then disappeared when Dean clenched his fists and began to advance.

"Dude!" exclaimed the younger Winchester.

"Well, this has been absolutely fascinating," said Rowena, "but it's getting late, or… early," she amended, looking at the dawn peeking over the horizon, "and I'd like a place to put my head, if you please."

Spike, who had been chain smoking on his car's hood, let out a curse and got in the driver's side. Without preamble he drove off, ostensibly to replace the auto back into the garage and to hide from the sun. The vampire's departure left the Winchesters standing there with a puzzled witch. She lifted an eyebrow.

"Which of you has the scroll?" asked Sam.

"Fergus, unfortunately."

"Fine," growled Dean. He pulled his gun and used it to gesture Rowena towards the door. "You do what we say when we say, got it?"

The witch lifted her hands. "That's quite unnecessary, I assure you."

"Yeah, well, not taking chances."

Dean guided Rowena to a spare, dusty bedroom and gestured her inside at gunpoint. She folded her arms and expressed her deep dissatisfaction with her lodgings before the hunter slammed the door closed and braced a chair against the knob. It might not do anything to hold a witch of her caliber but it would at least make enough noise to warn them of her pending escape.

After passing a smirking Spike through the hallway, Dean decided he really, really needed a beer. He headed for the kitchen and grabbed one out of the refrigerator. "What are you still doing up?" he asked Sam.

"Needed to talk to you," his brother answered. "What the hell is going on? You're acting like a dick."

"What, to Fergus and his mommy?" Dean scoffed as he sat across from Sam.

"Well, no. Not like I'm ever worried about how crappy they think we're treating them. I meant whatever happened with Buffy."

"Dunno what you're talking about."

"Oh don't give me that crap. She already told us you were being an ass."

The elder Winchester remained silent, taking slow swallows of beer. "Well?" Sam finally demanded irritably.

Dean sighed. "Dude, she used to screw a vampire."

"Wait, what?"

"One of those vamps from her town, guy named 'Angel' of all things. Used to run around Europe murdering and torturing people with our resident Bieber and two chicks. Apparently there was some curse that stuffed his soul back in and he turned into an emo douchebag. Then Buffy had sex with him and he went back to being a regular douchebag and killed a bunch of people."

Sam lifted his eyebrows. "None of that makes any sense."

"You're telling me."

"And?"

"And what?"

"That can't be everything."

"Why not?"

"Because you two have been eyeing each other from the start, and now you're acting like you finally got her pants off and found out she has a penis."

"No, she definitely does not have a penis."

"How would you–" Sam cut himself off and stared at his brother disapprovingly. "When?"

"Right before we saved your brain-sucked ass from the Hellgod."

The Winchesters were silent for a few minutes, each lost in their own musings. Honestly, Sam couldn't fault his brother for finding solace in the Slayer's arms during those tumultuous days. He'd done the same and worse with the demon, Ruby, all those years ago. However, what had been between him and Ruby was lust and not much more, especially after he'd been intoxicated with demon blood. Beneath Dean's surly attitude, however, Sam could hear that little bit more that said Buffy's revelations had actually hurt. Whatever was going on between them was actually transcending simple sexual desire.

"Do you love her?" Sam asked quietly.

"No!" his brother denied as he clunked his empty bottle on the table. "I don't know! Maybe. What difference does it make?"

"Dean, it makes all the difference in the world. When was the last time you had something more than just casual sex?"

"Uh, Lisa, I guess."

"And that was, what, five years ago? Come on, man. Don't tell me you're sabotaging this over some old boyfriend, even if he is a vamp."

"Dude, why the hell are you getting so much in my face about this?"

The younger Winchester sighed then shrugged. "Maybe because I've had Jess and Amelia, and I wanna see if my brother will ever get the chance to experience the same thing."

"Yeah? And where are they now, huh?" Dean's temper inexplicably rose. "One's six feet under and the other one is… I dunno, not here! Look at you, Sammy. Not like you're rocking the picket fence and crap."

"Well, no, but–"

"Uh-uh, no buts! There ain't one relationship with anyone at all that we've loved that's turned out good!" He started ticking names off his fingers. "Dad, Jess, Jo, Ellen, Bobby… Hell, look at all the crap Cass has been through because of us! We're frigging poison!"

"So that's it?" Sam scoffed. "You're gonna give up on a good thing because you're scared of something that hasn't even happened?

"You're goddamn right I'm scared," Dean said, his anger suddenly deflating. He stuffed his fingers in his hair and leaned an elbow onto the table. "I'm freaking terrified, man. Losing her to some demon or angel or whatever because she's part of my world? I don't think I could live with myself."

The younger Winchester looked at his brother. He understood Dean's reticence, but it was still disappointing. "Just… think about it, all right?" Sam asked. "Don't throw this away just because of what might happen or you're going to look back and regret not knowing what might have been."

Dean made an indifferent promise and stood up. He flung his beer bottle into the trash and headed for his room. His brother lingered in the kitchen a few moments longer, waiting for that door to slam down the hallway, before saying, "How much did you hear?"

Buffy came around the corner of the doorway on the other side of the room. "Pretty much everything," she quietly replied as she sat in the seat the elder Winchester had vacated.

"And?"

The Slayer heaved a sigh. "Do me a favor? Tell me about all those people you mentioned?"

Sam got up, retrieved two beers, and handed one to Buffy before sitting back down. "Sure you don't wanna go get some sleep instead?"

"Vampire Slayer, remember?" Buffy countered as she twisted off the top of her bottle. "Sleep is for the not-regularly-slaying-creatures-of-the-night population."

Sam took a swig of beer, smiled sadly, and began with his murdered fiancée.

It was nearly five in the morning, but seeing as how nearly everyone had a late night nobody else was up. Buffy could hear Giles snoring down the hallway.

She'd been staring at Dean's door for nearly ten minutes. Those stories, all that death…

Buffy remembered what Dean had screamed at her that night in the graveyard, about his father and the bar and the kid. Now she knew about the demon Azazel's role in both John Winchester and Jessica Moore's deaths, the Harvelles and their sacrifice, and Bobby Singer. The last one seemed to linger with her the most, not only for the fact that the brothers looked at the man like a father, but because she remembered what Spike had told her when she'd asked him how he'd killed those two Slayers: that all the bad guys needed was "One good day." That particular day had been Dick Roman's.

Then there was Castiel, the fallen angel, who gave up all he'd known for untold eons, who had done so much wrong trying to do right, and who had, time and time again, put himself in mortal peril for the brothers he called friends. Buffy felt ashamed for how angry she had been at the seraph over her mother's death now that she knew how much Castiel tried to do.

She was the Slayer. She'd faced countless vampires and demons and even a few apocalypses. So why was it so hard to open a damn door?

Buffy reached out for the handle and found it yanked away. A sleep-tousled Dean was standing there blinking blearily at her. "Why the hell have you been standing there?"

"Can we talk? Again?"

With a grumpy affirmation the hunter walked back in his room. Buffy walked in and looked around. On one wall hung a variety of blades and guns, including an ancient looking one that seemed to have teeth. Behind the queen bed was a collection of other sorts of weaponry; crosses, hex bags, things that looked like stakes but most likely weren't. There were no posters, no photos other than a small one of a woman and a boy on the desk (his mother?), nothing that really denoted a personalized touch other than the arsenal. As Dean sat on his bed, yawning, she slowly paced around.

"Did you just come to snoop?" he snapped. "Or do you actually got something to say?"

Buffy sighed, frustrated. "Look, I came to say I'm sorry, okay? I should have said something a long time ago, probably before we got all naked and sweaty."

"Damn straight you should've."

She nearly kicked him in the shin. "You're such a jerk, you know that?"

Surprisingly, Dean ran fingers through his hair, his irritation vanishing in an instant. He looked at the floor. "Yeah, I know."

"You do?"

"You ain't the first girl I've run off. Buffy, I'm not an idiot. I know there's somethin' in me that's broken after all these years. It's not fair to anyone to have to deal with it or try to fix it."

The Slayer folded her arms. "And what if that 'anyone' is okay with dealing with it? And doesn't want to fix it?"

Dean gave her that smirk of his. "Then that 'anyone' is a crazy person."

Buffy threw her arms out and let them drop to her sides. "I just wanted to say that if you're willing, I'm willing. If you want me to stay when this is all over I'll stay. If you can't get past what I've done, or who I've done, or you can't get over whatever you're afraid might happen then I'll go."

The hunter just stared, his expression inscrutable. When he didn't say anything more, Buffy grimaced and headed for the exit. Before she could walk through, however, the door slammed shut. Dean grabbed her shoulders to flip her around and face him, pressed her tight against the wood with his body, and kissed her.

After momentarily dealing with the surprise, she kissed him back. This was something more than the hunger they'd sated before facing Glory. Then, there had been the impending sense of doom, and the urgency of what could have been their last hours alive. This was purer, more about love than lust, and yet just as ravenous as before. When she tried to push him away, just to catch a breath, he grunted something incomprehensible and kissed her deeper. Her fingers tangled in his hair.

They eventually made it back to his bed. Buffy fleetingly hoped that the walls were thick because the sounds that Dean was drawing from her were nothing she wanted anyone else to hear.

"Doggy!"

The glee in Lucifer's tone boded nothing well for Crowley. Slung chained between two traitorous demonic lackeys, the former King inwardly cursed. They dumped him on the floor before the throne. He coughed, clearing his mouth of what felt like pieces of lung, then looked up to behold a pair of expensive heels. A hand with pristinely lacquered nails grabbed him by the neck and hauled him up. The Hellgod's unnatural blue eyes looked into his own, rather normal brown ones and promised pain.

"Hey, you!" greeted Glory. "I have so much planned for us! Do you want to start with sharp or blunt?"

Crowley responded with an incomprehensible gurgling, choked sound. "Glory, honey?" said Lucifer. "Doggy can't speak with a crushed larynx."

The Hellgod dropped her package and sighed. "Fine," she pouted.

The archangel swung her leg off of the chair arm. She walked over and knelt in front of the demon. "I didn't think you were that stupid, doggy. Walking around in broad daylight? You were just asking to get caught. So that begs the question: what in the world were you thinking?"

"Need… blood…" Crowley spat. Those damn idiots had probably perforated a lung. He had expected a beating as soon as that van door opened, he just hadn't calculated how severe it was going to be.

"Seeing as how you're leaving a puddle of it on my floor, you must need someone specific. So," Lucifer wondered, her index finger lifting the demon's chin, "is it me or blondie?"

"'Blood of the first fallen.'" Crowley recited. "Which if it isn't you, then I've wasted a good suit for nothing."

The archangel's brow furrowed. "Is there a reason or are you starting some sort of macabre collection?"

"Sounds like a spell," offered Glory.

"May I?" begged Crowley. When Lucifer stepped back, the demon brought himself to a sitting position against a pillar and withdrew a blood stained scroll from his jacket. The archangel snatched it away and unfurled it.

"Why are you running around with half a spell, dummy?" she pondered. Then her eyes widened.

"What? What is it?" Glory inquired.

"This is a spell to phone good ol' dad," murmured Lucifer as she scanned the parchment up and down. When Crowley made to stand, she slammed a booted foot into his chest and turned her eyes to him. "Where's the rest?" she snarled.

"My best guess is with the Winchesters," the demon replied.

"And they are where exactly?"

When Crowley didn't answer, Glory plaintively asked, "Can I have him now? Guarantee you I can make him sing."

"No!" the demon cried. "I came to make a deal."

The Hellgod lifted an eyebrow at Lucifer who explained, "Crossroads demon." As Glory rolled her eyes, the archangel looked back at Crowley. "Well?"

"You leave me alone after the Darkness is gone," he stated, "and I'll give you what you want. Both of you."

"What the heck could you possibly have that I want?" Glory asked, puzzled.

Crowley smiled knowingly at her. "I can get your Key. And the Slayer can't do a thing about it."