Disclaimer: I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Buffy blinked heavy eyes at the fuzzy blob of white above her. Parts of her dream swimming around in her head and others drifting away. Slowly, the ceiling came into focus and as it did, she picked up other details - the beeping at her bedside, the ache of her body, the ugly headache that pounded behind her eyes, the smell of disinfectant and, so very faintly, of Dean. Turning her head gingerly to the side, she saw Faith blinking back at her with sleep filled eyes. Buffy found that she wasn't at all surprised to see her. She was leaning back in an oddly cushy looking chair with her big black boots propped up on Buffy's bed. Yawning widely, she put her feet down, letting the chair thunk back down on four legs.
"Comas suck, huh?" Faith said, standing and stretching before walking over to the water pitcher on the side table. "You wake up feelin' like somethin' died in your mouth while you were sleepin'."
Buffy rolled her thick tongue around in her mouth, making a face at the gross, but accurate description. She took the glass with shaking hands and sipped at it slowly as the fog cleared out of her mind.
"How long?" Her voice came out low and gravely, like she was doing an imitation of Dean.
"You been out for little over a week."
"Dean? Was he alright? What about Sam and-''
Buffy broke out coughing, stalling her questioning and Faith refilled her glass.
"They're all fine. Your boy got pretty banged up, but the docs got him all patched up."
"Where…"
"They left last night."
Buffy stared at Faith blankly, not comprehending. Left? She'd been in a coma for a week and Dean just left?
"Man… Don't make that face," Faith said, looking uncomfortable. "Listen B, don't get the wrong idea. He was here, right by your side the whole time - even when he should've been in his own hospital bed. Hear he even decked an orderly to get here. Your night in a shining hospital gown."
Faith then told her all that had happened while she was out - how Dean had asked her to find out what Dawn had been working on, the information she'd come up with, how Dean's family wanted to book it out of there when they heard, leaving Dean to decide whether to stay or go, how Faith had convinced him she'd watch over Buffy if he wanted to go with his family and how he'd grudgingly gave in. She even told her about the Council and the new girls while Buffy sat in silence, trying to soak it all in. She didn't really care about what was happening with the Council or with the other Slayers, she was more interested in what Faith had found out about what Dawn had been looking into. She remembered her dream, maybe not every detail, but most of it - the cemetery at the end where Angel had told her it would all begin, that must be where they were headed.
"So, I kinda walked in at the end of the movie there. All I caught is we gotta stop something from gettin' free and then you and Angel did your usual emo routine. 'I want you to be happy', 'You saved me', 'I love you' - don't know if it's possible to barf in a Slayer dream, but I almost found out," Faith said, snickering as she dodged Buffy's pillow.
Buffy sat back, rolling her eyes and smiling slightly at Faith - ignoring the sharp pang that Angel's words caused and instead focusing on the "we" Faith had purposely used.
"Yep, time for us hot chicks with superpowers to get back to work saving the world," Buffy said, nodding solemnly.
"Fuck yeah," Faith said, with a big grin. "Things've been boring without the end of the world breathin' down our necks. I'm ready for some apocalyptic ass kickin'."
Buffy shook her head, trying not to show that just the thought of fighting back another apocalypse wore her out. "Well, you're the expert on breakouts, so lead the way Cool Hand Luke."
"B, Luke failed at breaking out - over and over. Then died at the end."
Buffy shrugged, "Coma-girl here, it's all I could come up with. I didn't really watch it all. I just know there was some guy in prison, getting his ass kicked and eating a lot of eggs. It made me think of you."
"That hurts me, B. Right here in my heart."
All her clothes were in her car (Buffy didn't even want to think about the shape her poor Camaro was in), so Faith gave her a set of her own - Slayer road rule, always keep spare clothes around in case of blood or other ick encounters. Buffy groaned and Faith smirked at the sight of the black leather pants and red tank top.
"Red makes me look fat," Buffy grumped, starting at the pile like it'd magically change just by the force of her dislike.
"Trust me, B. No way is that going to make you look fat."
And she was right - it was far to tight for that.
While it was good to get out of her hospital gown, Buffy wasn't sure getting into Faith's clothes was a big improvement. They clung to every curve and smelled slightly of high octane gas, for good reason she later found out, after they'd crept silently out of the hospital.
Buffy stood looking at the motorcycle and felt her eye start twitching. It was just going to be one of those days.
Dean stood by the broken Camaro, realizing how absolutely amazing it was that Buffy had survived. Without his thoughts clouded by pain and panic, here in the light of day, he could see what a complete and total wreck the car was.
The driver's side door had fallen all the way off and was propped against the back fender. He sat down heavily in the seat with one foot inside and the other on the ground. Despite the fact that it had sat out here minus a door for over a week, he could still smell Buffy in there just as strongly as if she'd just gotten out. That wonderful scent that reminded him of warm, sun dried laundry. There was also an underlying smell that it took him a minute to identify, making him smile when he realized it was Pez. But on top of that, coating everything, was the smell of blood. His smile faded away and he clenched his hand around the steering wheel, causing a dusting of dried blood to flake off. He closed his eyes and forced his mind off of Buffy and the urge to just leave his dad and brother to it, to get back to her and make sure she was alright. For the hundredth time he wondered if he'd made the right decision. Maybe he should have stayed and sent Faith with them. No doubt she'd be more useful than he was. But underneath there was still that bubbling need for vengeance that said he'd made the right choice. That sonofabitch had killed his mother, fucked up his family and hurt Buffy - it was going to pay and Dean was going to be there when it did.
He could hear yelling up at the house as he climbed back out of the car and ignored it - let Sam keep dad and Bobby from killing each other, it was his turn to play peacekeeper. He dropped down onto the ground gingerly, still sore and stiff, and slid underneath, letting out a low groan at the damage he found. Twisted metal, missing parts and leaks galore. Fanstastic. Scooting back out and dusting himself off, he went to check under the hood next. Or he tried to, but it was damaged to the point where it wouldn't open. He'd have to get some tools and either pry the sonofabitch off or cut it open like a can. He sighed at hasty promise to fix this car. Buffy had been unconscious, maybe he could pretend like he'd never said anything…
"Think you can fix it?"
The sudden voice made him jump guiltily, and he turned to scowl at his brother who looked back at him like a stray puppy hoping for a scrap of food. Dean had barely spoken three words to him since they left the hospital, but with the constant eye beams of sorrow Sam seemed to be constantly shooting at him, his anger was slowly dissipating.
He sighed and looked back at the Camaro, "Don't know. I'm gonna try."
Sam was silent for a moment, maybe shocked that Dean was speaking to him. "Listen Dean, I'm really-"
"I know, Sam," Dean replied tiredly.
It didn't really matter how many times Sam apologized, he really didn't have to say anything at all for Dean to know that he was sorry. But that didn't change anything that had happened, and the words weren't what made Dean want to forgive the kid. It was the fact he knew Sam, and knew how hard he was taking this - not only Dean's anger at him, but the damage he'd caused, knowing how much worse it could have been. Plus, Dean's anger was always worn down by his big brother instincts in time. Now, if Buffy hadn't been getting better before they left or she had-
No, he wasn't going to think about that.
"Is Bobby coming along?" Dean asked still looking at the car.
He knew that was what all the yelling had been about up at the house. They'd decided to stop back at Bobby's and load up on supplies but, although Dean hadn't said anything, he'd thought his father was a fool to think he could just pop in on the way to such a huge demon killing mission and think Bobby would just calmly agree to sit this one out. Bum leg or no. He'd had everything ready and his own bag packed when they got there. Dad, of course, had flat out said no and Bobby, who was a lot like Sam in this respect, had bristled immediately at being told what to do.
"I don't think so. I think dad convinced him that he'd be more of a hindrance than a help," Sam said, sounding relieved as he walked a little closer to Dean. Dean wasn't sure if it was because he was talking to him again or because Bobby'd be safe at home while they were out probably getting their asses kicked. He didn't ask.
Dean snorted a little, "I'll believe it when I see it. Twenty says he shows up in the middle of the fight and saves one of our asses."
Sam huffed out a laugh, "You're on."
They both walked back without a word, but this time the silence wasn't loaded with accusation and guilt. Maybe not everything had been forgiven and forgotten, but Dean knew he didn't want to go into this fight angry at Sam, and he didn't want Sam going into this thinking he hated him. The sudden regret that he hadn't told Buffy that he loved her hit him then. What if this was-
"Stop it, dude," Sam said from beside him as they approached the Impala, John already in the driver's seat. "I can feel the doom and gloom from here. We're stopping that bastard demon and we're making it out of this. All of us."
Dean was taken aback by the surety in Sam's voice and, though he'd never admit it out loud, he was comforted by it. He grinned, knocking his shoulder into Sam's slightly. "Quit talkin' like a grown up, Sammy. It's freakin' me out."
Sam rolled his eyes with a slight smile before sliding into the back seat while Dean got up front.
"You boys ready?" John asked, looking at them closely, subtly relieved at the restored peace.
They both nodded and John started the car. The roar of the engine, his dad's larger than life presence beside him and the smell of him and Impala, which Dean just realized were one in the same, made him feel like he was ten years old again. That if he turned around he'd see Sam, all of six and still shorter than him, playing with army men in the backseat. Things were so much simper then. Maybe less simple for him than other ten year olds - their dads didn't come back to the rundown motel room that was "home" for the week, drunk or bleeding and they weren't playing the role of a parent to someone only four years younger than themselves - but simpler nonetheless. Just say "Yes, sir" and follow dad's orders and take care of Sammy. That was it. Back then dad was a hero, not a flawed man. Sam was Sammy, brainy and annoying but a sweet kid who told Dean every thought that crossed his mind and never imagined keeping secrets or lying.
Sighing and pushing away thoughts of what had been, Dean leaned against his door and looked at his father.
"So, what's the plan?"
"Hopefully we get there before the demon. We each find a position and we watch. From what I can tell, Samuel Colt had the area pretty much on demonic lock down. Nothing gets out, and nothing gets in - including Azazel. He'll have to send someone in, a human, with the Colt to open the Gate."
"And once the Gate is open, the barrier will break?"
"That's what I'm guessing. The whole thing seems to be tied to the Gate and the Colt, I'm pretty sure when it gets unlocked the protections he has in place will fall."
"So, we find this person he's recruited and stop him from opening the Gate, get the Colt back," Sam recapped from the back. "How do we find the demon after we get the gun?"
"He'll be in the area, I'm sure of it. I doubt we'll even have to look for him if this is as big of a deal as we think it is. He'll want that Colt back and he'll come looking for us."
"What if it's gotten rid of the last two bullets?" Dean asked.
"Then we use the Scythe."
"The… Wait, what?" Dean's train of focus lost its bearings and screeched to a halt. "The Scythe? Tell me you did not steal Buffy's Scythe."
"We didn't really steal it," Sam offered from behind him. "More… borrowed it. I hid it in here before the medics and police showed up, and it just… is still kinda here. And it's really more of a lochaber axe than a-"
"Shut it, geek boy," Dean said, closing his eyes and rubbing them roughly. "I had nothing to do with this. When she shows up looking for someone's ass to kick, it ain't gonna be mine."
Sam snickered and made a whip cracking sound.
A comfortable silence fell over the car for most of the trip, but as soon as they crossed the Wyoming line, tension started to hum in the air. Night had fully fallen when they parked the Impala on an old dirt track off the main road. Their breath was visible in the cold night air as they huddled around the trunk, each of them hiding as many weapons on them as they could. Then there was just the Scythe, gleaming in the yellow trunk light and, to Dean at least, looking defiant.
He must not have been the only one noticing the hostile vibe from the weapon, because John waved at it slightly and said, "Go ahead, Dean. Grab it and lets get going."
"Me?" He asked, his voice two octaves higher than normal.
"It belongs to your girl, you should be the one carrying it," John insisted, still watching it warily, like it might just fly out of the trunk on its own and kick his ass.
"Uh-uh, no way. I told you, I've got nothing to do with this," he said, holding up his hands. He looked to Sam, "You get it, dude."
Sam shook his head, "I used it last time, its already pissed at me."
Dean snorted, realizing they were being ridiculous. It was just a freaking weapon. So there was some magic nun/goddess/Slayer mojo on it? It was still an inanimate object. That logic didn't stop him from taking a fortifying breath before reaching for it though.
What happened when he wrapped his hand around it was completely unexpected. Instead of a shock or a buzz of energy or anything along those lines, it was comfort he felt. It was like Buffy was right there with him. He could practically feel her pressed up against him like she'd been in those last stolen moments together in the panic room - warm and soft, her sweet smell surrounding him and the feeling of home in a way he'd never really known before.
"Hey… You alright, man?"
Sam's voice seemed to drag him back to the present and suddenly he was just standing behind the Impala with nothing more than an odd looking, but normal, weapon in his hand. He swallowed hard, willing his heart to quit pounding.
"Fine, lets go."
Both dad and Sam watched him closely as they left the Impala, Sam especially. But Dean shrugged it off and tried to ignore the way the incident with the Scythe had made him miss Buffy like he'd miss a lost a limb.
The woods were thick, almost completely blocking out the meager light from the crescent moon above and making the trek toward the cemetery annoyingly slow. While they wound their way through the brush and saplings, dad went over the plan again.
"We'll start at the center, where the Gate is, then spread out and find good vantage points," John said as he ducked under a branch. Dean almost groaned out loud - a 'good vantage point' meant 'climb a fuckin' tree if you have to'. "Hopefully we'll be able to spot this guy before he gets anywhere near the Gate. We take him down as quick as possible. Yellow Eyes won't know what's going on in here, so maybe we can get the drop on him after we have the Colt."
Both he and Sam mutter a quiet "Yes, sir" and they all continued their fight with the foliage. It seemed like an eternity had passed when they finally reached the clearing. Old, crumbling tombstones dotted the area and, at the center, there was a little shitty mausoleum.
"Hell's locked in there?" Dean asked, eyeing the shack with disbelief.
John ignored him, already in the zone and looking to off the side with squinted eyes.
"Okay, Sam, you go to the east," John said pointing to the left. "Dean, you go-"
His sentence was cut off by the small face that a fist had just appeared from nowhere and cold cocked him right across the jaw, sending him sprawling on the ground. Both Sam and Dean blinked at him with wide eyes for a second before turning their shocked gaze on the owner of that fist.
A girl. A girl had just laid out John Winchester. She was about Buffy's height, but lacking her delicate structure - more muscled, stockier. The gleam in her dark eyes and the way she held her self edged over the line of confidence and into cocky. Dean had no idea where she'd come from or who she was, but one thing was certain.
She was a Slayer.