(11/4/2016) I'm finding writing this to be cathartic. Also, after getting some peer reviews on a paper I realized that my literary writing is bleeding into my scholarly writing. Apparently I have an "interesting way with words."

Fixed a plot hole regarding how much exactly they knew about Azazel's involvement with John's deal, which was supposed to be not much. Oopsies.

Thank you philly cheese dude, IoSolUno, RHatch89, thedarkpokemaster, and missmeow1968 for the reviews! And all you favoriters and followers get leftover Halloween candy!


The Roadhouse was packed by the time they had ensured both that their beaten down soccer mom van was still operational and the rental car had been taken care of. Being underage, Buffy was sent to hang out in Jo and Ellen's little setup in back of the bar. It turned out that Ash also had his own room, but when he answered the door naked and intoxicated they decided to ask him about his discoveries later.

Sam and Dean spent the hours before closing having a few drinks and chatting with their fellow hunters. Nobody had anything really interesting of note other than the sudden increase in jobs involving demonic possession. The brothers pretended ignorance regarding the phenomenon and deflected any requests to team up on a hunt.

Buffy called Giles to tell him what happened in Guthrie. He made a lot of what she privately called "proper English noises" to cover his confusion and promised to call her back if he found anything. She then spent a few hours texting Angel about everything that had transpired and exchanged the requisite blandishments over how much they missed one another.

She also took the rare period of solitude to pause her masquerade. Cheerfulness and ditziness were beautiful things to misdirect her brothers, but they were tremendously strenuous to maintain. Buffy lay back in Jo's plump bed (the woman's feminine sheets incongruent with the dark, aged wooden panels that made up the walls) and let misery wash over her.

In between texts to her vampiric boyfriend, Buffy's thoughts shuffled through the harrying events of the past few months. Her "murder" at the hands of the Master. Her father's death. Her inexplicable partial immunity to Andrew Gallagher's powers. Her brother revealing that he, too, had powers of unknown origins. And the fact that everything was tied into the enigmatic machinations of the yellow-eyed demon.

Buffy had put on the dumb blonde act after realizing that neither of her brothers were handling their father's death very well. Sam talked a little, but only to say that it was the demon's fault. He diverted any deeper conversation, and Buffy had the feeling that he was deeply contrite over the fierce divide with John Winchester that would never be repaired.

Dean… well. The more Dean remained silent, the more she knew there was something deeply wrong. Buffy recalled that when Dean had gotten too old for the playground he and his father would sit somewhere and talk while she and Sam cavorted. Knowing now what she did about their secret occupation, the two had probably been discussing various monster fighting tactics. Their closeness was apparent even then, with Dean the heir apparent to John's legacy while she and Sam were the doted upon younger children. Therefore the fact that the oldest of the three siblings hadn't made any overt show of mourning was troubling.

So Buffy had decided in those first few days at Bobby's to be strong for the three of them. The cleaning she used as an excuse to practice it and by the time they first headed for the Roadhouse she had perfected it. If they weren't going to acknowledge their grief then she would keep hers to herself.

But now she was alone. The tears welled up unbidden and she let them flow. She bent over and stifled her screams and cries with Jo's pillow. Once the bulk of the paroxysm had passed, Buffy hiccuped through a few more sobs before leaning against the headboard, exhausted. That was, unfortunately, the moment that Jo decided to check in on her.

"Hey, Buffy? You hungry—oh." The young woman shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Buffy mumbled.

"Yeah, and you smeared makeup all over my pillow because you were trying to be cute."

Buffy looked down at the colorful mess her tears had made. "Oh. Sorry." She sighed. "It's just… everything, you know?"

"Uh, not really. Well, sort of. My dad died, too."

"Really?"

"I was young, though, eight. He was a hunter and, well, died like hunters do."

A chill went through Buffy at the thought of her brothers dying before her. The consternation must have shown on her face; Jo suddenly began waving her hands and said, "Oh, no no no! I'm sure Sam and Dean—I mean, John got to a pretty old age—"

"It's okay, Jo," Buffy told her with a smile. "I'm just being, I dunno, a worried little sister." She sniffed. "It's a race to see who dies first, I guess."

"Because you go out hunting with those guys?" Jo didn't bother waiting for an answer before telling her, "Wait. Just wait. I'll be right back."

Bemused, Buffy watched the older girl hurry from the room. She took the time Jo was gone to try and rub out the stains she'd made on the pillow. Mostly they just ended up smeared about. Flipping the pillow over, however, did a nice job of hiding her faux pas.

Jo returned several minutes later with a bottle of beer and a glass of Coke. She handed the latter to Buffy with a wink. "Don't tell your bros, but there's rum in that."

Buffy took a sip and coughed. "Thanks?"

Jo wrenched the top off of her own drink and said, "Hey, I think you need it." The two sat in companionable silence for a bit. Then Jo broached her query again. "So why is it you think you're dying sooner rather than later?"

Giles had tried to instill in her the sense that secrecy was of the utmost importance, but Buffy didn't think that it would matter much where the Harvelles were concerned; Sam and Dean, as paranoid as they were, trusted them and so their sister felt she could do the same. Buffy laid out the basics of being the Slayer as she and Jo drained their drinks, then, a tad bit inebriated, launched into the battle that had culminated in her almost-death.

"So you see," Buffy concluded, "Slayers don't tend to live too long. Shelf life of an unpeeled banana when I want it to be a Twinkie."

"Wow," Jo said, her eyes wide. "That… sucks."

"Right?"

"Okay, let's make a pact." The older girl held out a crooked pinky. "I'm thinking that you got your friends out there in Sunnydale, but you don't got a girl who really knows what kind of hell monsters and demons raise. You feel free to give me a call if you need talking to and I promise to do the same."

Beaming, Buffy locked her own digit in Jo's. "To fatherless blondes!"

"May we live until our hair turns gray!" The two girls clinked their drinks together and quaffed what was remaining.

They had an hour more to go until the last of the stragglers headed out the door so Jo and Buffy stayed where they were, gossiping. The two of them ended up having more similarities than just their hair color. They both loved makeup (though Jo's tastes ran to more subtle shades than Buffy's preferences), tall men, and had over-protective mothers. Their musical tastes were vastly different, however, and they teased each other over it. All in all, despite the altercation that had been their first encounter, the two of them found plenty of common ground and, in the end, were happy to call each other a friend.

The two were in the middle of poring over Buffy's cell phone pictures when Sam knocked on the door. "Uh, hey," he stammered.

Buffy was alarmed at her brother's pallor. "What happened?"

"There's a problem. Come on, it's just us out there."

The two girls followed Sam to join Dean, Ellen, and Ash out in the now empty Roadhouse. Dean was sipping at a beer, despondent, while Ash was typing furiously on his homemade laptop. Ellen was making a half-hearted attempt to wipe down the bar.

Jo immediately headed for her mother. She grabbed a spare rag and joined in on the cleaning. Buffy plopped down beside her brother and asked, "So?"

"Ash found a way to track the demon," Dean responded.

"And yet we're all depressed."

Sam sat down beside his sister. "That's not the problem; that came from dad's notes. It's that Dean had the idea to have him look into, you know, more kids like… like me. And Andrew Gallagher."

"Six month old baby's birthday with pyrotechnics, right?"

"Except I found out that there was no fire at Ansem Weem's house. He breaks the pattern."

"Which means we're screwed," Dean grumbled.

"But like I said," Ellen said firmly, "we're doing this together. So we hear of any more of them psychics out there we'll let you know. And you, sweetheart," she told Buffy, "you are going to make sure you're being careful back on that Hellmouth, y'hear?"

"Well," Buffy drawled. "I'll try. But those pesky vampires, they just don't know how to give a girl her space."

"Yeah, well, these two let slip that you're some kind of super powered monster killer, but that don't mean you're invulnerable."

Jo and Buffy exchanged glances. "I know," Buffy told Ellen.

"C'mon," Dean ordered as he picked his sister up off her stool by the back of her shirt. "We need to get going."

"What? Why?"

"I got work to do and you need to be heading back home soon."

"Ugh, fine. Can I drive?"

"Yeah… no."

The trio made their final goodbyes and headed for the van. Buffy and Jo reiterated their promise to one another and Ellen gave all of them farewell hugs. Then they were on the road back to Bobby's, Dean quietly seething with rage and remorse, Sam pushing down his guilt and fear, and Buffy trying not to agonize how fate had slated her for an early, violent death.

They joked. They smiled. They laughed and bickered with each other. And behind each poorly built wall lay an explosion straining for release.


Dean's would crack first.

They arrived at Bobby's in the small hours of the morning and went straight to bed. However, while Sam and Buffy slept for several hours, Dean was up in less than two and went straight back to the Impala.

His brother and sister peered at him through a second floor window. "He keeps putting on a front," Sam murmured, "but there's no way he's okay."

"Is there even anything we can do?" Buffy asked. "I mean, you know how Dean is."

"Yeah, but the longer this goes on the worse it'll be. I say we go out and just… you know… say something."

"Okay, but if he pulls a gun I'm using your overgrown butt for a shield."

They headed downstairs. Bobby was standing by the open door, his face grim. "You two're going out there?" When they nodded, he shook his head. "Well, good luck. You're gonna need it."

Buffy and Sam marched out, their spines stiff, fairly certain that this was what it felt like to be marched out to the gallows. They found Dean underneath the car hammering something on the chassis. He slid out on his creeper and lifted his eyebrows at them. "What?"

"We need to talk," Sam said.

The eldest sibling stood up and began wiping grease from his fingers with a nearby rag. "About?"

"You! Dad's funeral was almost a week ago and you haven't mentioned him once."

"You know what? You're right. Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug, and maybe even slow dance." Dean held out his arms and Sam took a step back.

"Don't patronize me, Dean. Dad is dead, the Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this. And you're acting like nothing happened!"

"And?"

"Aren't you angry?" asked Buffy. "Sad? Something? Anything! I saw you and Jo. She basically threw herself at you and you did nothing. You're not right."

"Revenge," Sam added. "Don't you at least want revenge?"

"Sounds good," Dean replied, slapping the rag back onto the rusty frame it had been sitting on. "Either of you got any leads on where the demon is? You know, Ash might finally find it and we can—oh. No, wait, like you said: the Colt's gone. We've got jack shit, okay? So you know the only thing I can do? I can work on the car."

Dean picked up his hammer, intent on lying back down on his trolley. His sister, however, stepped forward and kicked the rolling device several feet away. "No! You're going to say something, anything! Something that's not just, 'My name is Dean and I'm okay and leave me alone.'"

"Fine!" Dean snapped. "I'm not okay, but neither are you." He pointed the hammer at Sam. "There's something messing you up more than just that crap with Ansem and Andrew." The tool then went to Buffy. "And you've been hiding whatever it is ever since all that crap with the Master. Don't be raggin' on me when you two hypocrites haven't said shit!" Dean threw the hammer down with a clang and began walking towards his wayward creeper.

"Fine."

Dean stopped in his tracks and Buffy blinked. Sam shrugged. "I'm sorry that the last time I was with dad I tried to pick a fight. I'm sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. I mean, for all I know he died thinking that I hate him. So you're right. I feel really, really fucked up." He drew in a shaky sigh. "I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And now… now I've got this thing hanging over me; that yellow-eyes has something horrible planned and I'm involved. So you're right. I'm not fine. Not at all."

A few tears escaped Sam's eyes despite his efforts and he turned his head away. Buffy's head dropped and the three of them stood in uncomfortable silence. After a few moments of twisting her fingers and steeling herself, the youngest sibling finally whispered, "I died."

Sam looked downwards at her. "What?"

"I died," she repeated, her head still hung. "The Master killed me. I'm sixteen." She lifted her eyes, the fury and despair behind them startling her brothers. "Somewhere there's someone, something, that decided I got to be the Slayer; that I don't get to live a normal life. I don't get to spend Friday nights out with my friends because I have to patrol and I can't have a normal boyfriend because they'd freak when they find out what's really out there. I've never even had sex!"

"Uh," a now deeply awkward Dean mumbled. "Too much information."

Buffy ignored him. "Then–Then I find out my own father knew about all of these monsters and I thought, oh! I finally have something important, something real that I can share with you all and-and-and then he's just… dead." Her eyes were bright and wet. "My daddy is dead." She heaved in a sob. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

"None of us did, Buffy," Sam said gently. "He just… went."

"Because of me," Dean admitted harshly.

His brother and sister looked at him, appalled. "What are you talking about?" asked Buffy.

"Me. It's my fault he's gone." When they continued to stare at him, baffled, he explained, "Doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Back at the hospital, I made a full recovery. It was a miracle. And five minutes later dad's dead and the Colt's gone."

"Dean, come on," Sam said uneasily.

The eldest of them continued as if he hadn't heard the plea. "I don't know how the demon was involved. I don't know how the whole thing went down exactly. But dad's dead because of me. And that much I do know." Dean drew in a shuddering breath. "You guys and dad, you were the most important people in my life. And now…" He looked from his brother to his sister, the tears running heedless down his cheeks. "I never should've come back. It wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it. I was dead and I should have stayed dead. So there. That's what I'm feeling." Dean rubbed an eye with the heel of his hand and mumbled, "We done?"

Nobody moved, save to sniffle or shuffle feet. "I don't feel much better," Buffy said finally.

"Yeah," Sam muttered. He sighed and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. "We'll let you get back to work," he told Dean. Then to Buffy he said, "I better get your flight booked."

Apprehensive, the youngest sibling lay her hand on her elder brother's arm. "Come in for lunch?"

Dean turned away and pretended to be engrossed in rubbing away a spot of dirt on the Impala. "Sure."

Buffy got on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek before she and Sam headed for the house. Bobby was waiting for them on the steps. "You guys gonna be all right?"

"Eventually," Buffy replied. She was about to ask where he kept the sandwich supplies when the sound of shattering glass echoed around the junkyard. Buffy immediately turned to go investigate but stopped at the presence of a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"It's Dean," Sam said, swallowing the aching lump in his throat. "Just leave him be." Hard, low clangs began coming one after the other. The rest of them wondered which of the rusted heaps were now bearing the brunt of Dean's rage.


Buffy's flight back to California wouldn't leave until mid-afternoon so the three siblings stowed their heartache in order to have a peaceful goodbye lunch with Bobby. The elder hunter was surprised when Dean asked if he had another trunk lid lying about. "I thought you already fixed that."

"Did," Dean replied through a mouthful of bread, ham, and fixings. "Got broke again."

Which meant that the vehicle that had suffered his wrath was his own beloved Impala.

The others didn't bother vocalizing this revelation, but continued eating and drinking. Slowly, with Bobby's ornery commentary helping, the three began to slide back into cheerier moods, only this time there was more truth to their smiles and it was far less of a strain to find a reason to laugh.

Eventually the critical hour arrived and the siblings once again borrowed the questionable minivan to head to the airport. Buffy and Sam spent most of the trip ribbing Dean over his aviophobia and when it came to say their farewells there were only promises, not tears.

Sam and Dean drove the derelict to an area that offered a prime, secluded view of the planes taking off and took a moment to speculate as to which one contained their little sister.

"You think she'll be okay?" Sam asked.

"Hell no," snorted Dean. "Dude, they call it a Hellmouth for a reason."

"At least she's got Giles and those friends of hers."

"Better than nothing, I suppose."

Sam waited for a Boeing 747 to pass and began to ask, "Are you–"

"I swear to God if you ask me that question one more time I will shoot you in the knee."

"Okay, okay, fine. I was thinking maybe we'll wait until you're done with the Impala before we take on another hunt."

"Why? I'm starting to get attached to ol' Betsy here."

"Dude, she smells like mold."

"It's all part of her charm." Dean fondly patted the hood of the car and the license plate clanged to the ground. "Yeah, okay. I'll get my Baby up and running before we head on out."

"Want to work our way west? Check in on Buffy after the school year starts?"

"Yeah, sure, why not. It's not as if she could get into that much trouble before Christmas."

The two brothers looked at one another, cringing, neither believing the sentiment. Without further word they entered the minivan and drove off.


Acknowledgement : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episodes "Everybody Loves a Clown" (SPN 2.01) and "Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things" (SPN 2.04).

Author's Note : The Supernatural Wiki has a discrepancy regarding Jo's dad's death. On Jo's page it says he died when she was 8, on his it says he died when she was 4. Way to handle continuity guys.