(11/10/2016) Uh. So. Any other Americans out there kinda freaked out?
Thank you philly cheese dude, jkmp28, IoSolUno, RHatch89, and thedarkpokemaster for the reviews! And all you favoriters and followers get 'Murica Freedom.
When Buffy saw the Impala driving up to the front of the school her first thought was that the car looked really, really good for having been smashed all to hell by a semi. Her second thought was that she was absolutely furious that Dean's "one day" to meet with her had turned into three.
She stomped over as her brothers were exiting, the creak of the old-fashioned doors a wonderfully familiar sound, and promptly whacked Dean on the shoulder. He yelped as she growled, "That was for being late."
"I said it was gonna be a day or so!"
"'Or so' doesn't mean tacking on extra ones just because you felt like it!"
"We had some things to do," Sam said quietly. "Well… Dean had someone… he found a pair of twins to—" the younger brother's face flushed. "Anyways, we're here now. Is Giles inside?"
"Uh, I guess. Why?"
"Because we need his help with this."
"With what? I still have no idea what the two of you are so freaked out over!"
The virulent glare Sam shot his brother made Buffy uneasy. Dean, however, ignored them both and leered at the girls walking out of the school. "Hey," he said slyly, "you know which of these chicks are legal?"
"Ew. What is wrong with you?"
Sam suddenly grabbed his one each of his brother's and then his sister's arms and began hauling them into Sunnydale High. "Let's get this over with."
Willow and Xander caught sight of the newly arrived Winchesters and followed them cheerfully into the library. When Sam attempted to discourage them from coming, Buffy became adamant that they stay. She had the horrible feeling that after Dean told her what was going on she'd need the support of her friends.
Giles' eyebrows lifted in apprehension when they all walked into the library. "Sam, Dean. I had no idea you were in town."
"Hey, Jeeves," Dean answered as Buffy and her friends got comfortable. "Just got here."
"I-I see. I'm very sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man."
Dean swallowed and thanked him for his condolences. Impatient, Buffy curtailed any further pleasantries by demanding, "Tell me. Now."
"Tell you what?" Giles wondered.
"They called Buffy a few days ago," Willow told him. "Dean is supposed to say something."
When silence ensued, Sam grit his teeth and snarled, "Dean."
A resigned Dean threw up his hands and cried, "Fine! Didn't expect a freaking audience." He sighed. "Yellow-eyes is dead."
"That's a good thing, right?" asked Willow.
"There's more," Sam said ominously.
The two brothers launched into the harrowing events of the past week, beginning with Sam's disappearance from a diner they'd stopped at to get a quick meal. Dean managed to skim through most of his brother's ordeal with the other psychic children. Much to Sam's outrage, the eldest of the trio skipped over a crucial point in the story and jumped to how they'd discovered that one of the psychics, Jake, had been coerced into helping the demon. Yellow-eyes needed someone to bypass Samuel Colt's extraordinarily large devil's trap in order to open the Hellgate it contained, a plan that had unfortunately come to fruition.
"Good Lord," gasped Giles. "How many demons escaped?"
"Hundreds?" Sam guessed. "Thousands? We have no idea."
Dean then tried to explain how their father had clawed his way out along with the demons to help them and couldn't finish. Sam smiled sadly at Buffy. "Dad said… he said to let you know he loved you."
Buffy's eyes watered, but she couldn't cry. Not when she knew that there was something Dean was still hiding. Then she realized the crux of her brothers' narrative. "Wait. Dad was in Hell?"
Dean wiped a hand down his face. "Remember how we thought that there was some kind of deal involved with me getting cured? Turned out to be the truth."
A wide-eyed Willow asked, "S-So your dad agreed to go to Hell so you would live?"
"But why?" Xander wondered.
"I don't know, Dean," Sam said angrily. "Why do you think dad did it?"
"Sam," Dean warned.
"No!" his brother shouted, causing most of the rest of them to jump. "You've been trying to avoid telling her long enough! Buffy," Sam said to his sister, "I died."
Buffy had been leaning against the table, her arms folded, but at Sam's confession she was on her feet. "What?"
"Are you a ghost?" Xander asked fearfully. "Ow!" he cried when Willow stomped on his foot.
"Jake killed me," continued Sam. "And Dean… Dean—"
"I made a deal," inserted the brother in question.
"Excuse me?" Buffy asked incredulously.
"A crossroads deal?" inferred Giles.
"Yes," Dean replied.
"And, um," the Watcher stuttered anxiously as he adjusted his glasses, "you got the standard ten years, I imagine, before they own your soul."
"Nope. I got one."
Silence descended. Xander and Willow stared at Dean, appalled. Buffy's face was assiduously blank while Sam's clenched fists reflected the frustrated anger in his eyes. Giles, however, slapped his hand on the table he stood by and barked, "You bloody fool!"
Dean shrugged. "It's done."
"For God's sake—" Sam began.
"It's done."
The clack of fashionable boots hitting linoleum echoed into the ensuing quiet as Buffy approached her elder brother. For a long moment, Dean merely eyed his inscrutable sister. He knew her usual reaction to tragedy (real or perceived) was to vocalize her feelings. He should be seeing tears, hearing screams and recriminations, maybe experiencing the pain that came with a kick in the shins. Any one of those would be less unnerving than this emotionless stare.
Therefore when Dean abruptly found himself on his back, ears ringing and lip split, he wasn't quite sure how he got there.
Through the haze he could faintly hear Willow crying Buffy's name and running past him. Sam and Xander were looming above and from what Dean could make out they were trying to decide whether or not to leave him there. With a wry smirk, Sam gave in to pity and reached a hand out to his brother.
After a few steps Dean moaned and collapsed into the nearest chair. Remorselessly, Giles tossed him a handkerchief to blot the blood on his lips. "Thanks," Dean mumbled.
"I don't appreciate gratitude when it comes from large imbeciles."
Dean did his best to glower at the Watcher while Sam broached the question they'd been meaning to ask. "Do you have anything that'll help? Any spell, or–or history that we can read up on?"
Giles took a moment to clean his glasses and collect his thoughts. "I've never heard of anyone getting out of a crossroads deal. In fact, most of the tales that I've read appear to be tailored to try and prevent such a thing from happening." With great pity, Giles gently told Buffy's younger brother, "I'm sorry."
Distressed, Sam tried to continue with his inquiries, but Dean cut him short. "Enough, okay? If the freaking Watcher doesn't have any info, then no one does."
Sam sat next to his brother and hung his head. "We have to keep looking. We just have to."
"Buffy, stop," pleaded Willow.
The Slayer halted and faced her friend. "What?" she snapped.
"Buffy, I'm so sorry."
Bereft of any sort of coherent response, Buffy burned off some of her outrage by pacing back and forth a few steps. Finally she managed to utter, "He's… He's so stupid!"
"He did it to save Sam."
"So now I've got both my brothers for, what, a whole year and that's it? How is that any better?"
"It's better than not having him around at all?" Willow tried.
"I-I don't know. I don't know! I need to go." With that, Buffy turned back around and ran. She burst through the double doors and took off at a sprint.
Buffy's best friend had no need to speculate about whose arms she was fleeing into. Willow only hoped Angel could offer the Slayer the comfort she so desperately needed.
Once Dean regained his equilibrium Sam said goodbye to Buffy's friends and dragged his brother to the Impala. He dropped the shorter, dumber man into the passenger side after appropriating the keys. "Are we telling Joyce?" Sam asked as he revved the engine.
"What for?" came the surly response.
"She does care, you know. When… If you're gone in a year she's going to want to know why."
"Good idea. Except, far as I know, Buffy still hasn't told her about all this crap. Just forget it."
Sam's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. They drove in silence for a few miles before he finally uttered, "I hate this."
"Hate what?"
"This! You acting like this isn't some big deal!"
They drove past the alleyway that held Sunnydale's most popular club. "Hey, how many chicks you think I could pick up at The Bronze?"
"I'm serious!"
"So am I! I told you to leave it alone and I meant it. End of story."
They pulled up at the Summers' home as Dean finished speaking. Sam left the car as quickly as possible and used the walk to the porch to calm himself down.
He couldn't understand it. His brother had been maudlin since their father had died, but Sam hadn't thought the depression Dean had fallen into had gone so far as to make him suicidal. He had to have known that if he did this Sam wouldn't ever stop searching for a way to get him out of Hell. If it took months, years, decades, the quest would continue until he found a solution or he dropped dead himself. Sam would be lost, and but for Buffy he'd have no blood relatives left.
But then again, Buffy's lifespan hung on a thread as well, with her calling making her a veritable magnet for every dark creature on Earth. If he lost both of them…
Sam buried his fearful suppositions and rang the Summers' doorbell. He knew Giles would continue to help him with research. They had time. They would find something in time.
They just had to.
There was an opulent mansion for sale in Sunnydale and Bela Talbot thought she might buy it just so she had somewhere to go when she needed to be in Southern California. A veritable smorgasbord of artifacts were lying about near the Hellmouth just waiting for someone to pick them up. Besides, this wouldn't be her first time visiting the town; the mayor was quite generous when it came to paying his procurers, not to mention that he was a reliable repeat customer.
Then she saw that damned Impala driving past her with those damned Winchesters inside and decided it would be best to conduct her business quickly and then leave town.
The vampire had given directions to a factory on the outskirts of town that from the outside looked rather dilapidated. Disappointingly, the interior wasn't much better, though there had apparently been a token effort to clear the dust. A long wooden table complete with high-backed chairs took up the middle of what must have been an assembly room. Dead flowers littered the floor.
"Hello?" Bela called amiably into the semi-darkness.
"Bela," came the delighted answer. A platinum blonde figure in black leather emerged from a side doorway and swaggered towards her.
"Spike, I presume?"
"That'd be me, love."
"Very well. You promised details if I came in person and here I am."
The hungry look in the vampire's eyes had her reaching into her jacket for a pistol. "I didn't come unprepared."
"Bullets won't save you."
"They will if they're tipped in wood. Kindly tell the lackey you have sneaking up on me to back off." When Spike merely continued leering, Bela turned on her heel, cocked the hammer, and shot her would-be ambusher in the heart. The anonymous idiot turned to dust, and when the thief turned around she placed the weapon on her (now alarmingly close) employer's chest.
"You're good," said Spike, impressed. He sauntered towards the head of the table where a bespectacled vampire sat surrounded by ancient papers and tomes. Without warning he wrenched away the sheet that the other vampire had been writing on and walked it over to Bela. "Here. Dalton was kind enough to draw you a map."
Bela lifted her eyebrows at the scrupulously detailed diagram. "Explain to me why I'm getting this and not one of you? I thought graveyards were where most of you lot made your home."
"It's a large cross," said Dalton as he adjusted his glasses. "Vampire physiology makes it rather painful to grasp holy objects without—"
"Yes, yes, I know," Bela cut in impatiently. "But you could pick up the bleeding thing with oven mitts and save yourself my fees."
Spike withdrew a cigarette and lit up. Bela found the fact that a highly flammable creature kept a zippo in his jacket greatly amusing. "There's a Slayer in town," the vampire explained. "And, if you haven't noticed, most of the rest of these blokes are idiots."
"Fair enough."
"We'll keep the girl distracted while you get the bloody cross. We meet back here when it's all said and done."
"And what about the hunters?"
Frustrated, Spike threw up his arms. "Oh for—you saw hunters? Here?"
"Sam and Dean Winchester. Trust me when I say that they're a right pain in the arse."
"He's here," a mellifluous voice sang happily from the shadows. "The melody in his blood fills my ears. The dance is beginning." A sickly female vampire, her eyes bruised from fatigue and her skin pale, floated out of the darkness. She placed graceful fingers on Spike's chest. The way they looked at one another made Bela inwardly gag.
"Drusilla, love," Spike urged, "you should be resting."
The female looked fondly at her mate before turning dark, luminous eyes on Bela. "You," Drusilla whispered, the madness in her gaze freezing the thief in place. The thief's eyes widened as the vampire swayed closer, a malevolent smile turning up the corners of the creature's lips. "I know what you did."
Bela scrounged up her courage to say, "I've done a good many things. You'll have to be more specific."
"He came to your room," said Drusilla as she circled the other woman. "He wanted to play games. Naughty, naughty games." Once she was in front of Bella she brought her hands up, fingers splayed. Ever so slowly the vampire lowered her digits one at a time until only her left pinky remained. "It's come due. She'll send the dogs to collect."
Drusilla giggled and stepped back into Spike's arms. He whispered something in her ear and gave her a discordantly gentle kiss on the lips. Horrified, Bela turned away and hurried from the factory. The thing might say something else, dredge up more of her past, make her feel the room and the tears and the pain.
The sooner she was done with this job the better.
As soon as Angel opened his door Buffy fell into his arms and burst into tears. Without a word the vampire pulled her inside and sat on his bed. He held her close as she wept piteously.
When she finally stopped, Angel handed her a handkerchief and she blotted her eyes and nose. Before he could ask what the outburst was about, Buffy launched into a tirade about her brother Dean's fatal decision and the events that had led up to it. Angel had already been aware of their supposition regarding John Winchester's death and he was chagrined to hear the theory confirmed. That Dean would make the same deal after knowing the consequences was disturbing. And yet… "I understand why he did it."
Buffy gave an indelicate sniff and glared. "This isn't some self-sacrificing noble thingy, is it?"
"It's about love," Angel replied gently. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "It's about making sure that those you care for are okay."
"Yeah, well, I'm not okay. There is no okay in this. This is just… just… I don't know." Her head fell into her palms.
The vampire sighed. "It's also about guilt."
Buffy's head shot up so fast she nearly bludgeoned Angel's nose. "Guilt? For what?"
"You said your dad died so that Dean would live, right?" She nodded. "Buffy, I know all about guilt. I've been atoning for a century trying to alleviate my own. But no one has ever sacrificed themselves for me. No one would have."
"I would," Buffy whispered.
"And I for you," Angel replied quietly. "Do you see?"
"Yes." She laid a light kiss on his lips. "But promise me that you won't?"
He laid his forehead against hers. "I can't do that."
"You suck."
They shared a small chuckle. "You'd better get home," Angel finally said.
"I don't wanna," Buffy pouted.
"I know, but your mom will get worried."
She groaned and stood. "Okay, okay. Meet me at the graveyard later?"
Angel smiled. "All right."
Dean eyed his sister apprehensively when she stepped into the kitchen, but beyond not speaking to him she didn't convey that there was anything untoward. He had a moment's flash of irritation; instead of at least hearing his side she'd gone and ran into the arms of that stupid vampire, or so Willow had said. Maybe Angel was good, maybe he wasn't, but a vamp was a vamp and Dean would be damned if he'd let Buffy be hurt by it.
The two brothers had been corralled into chopping meat and vegetables for dinner. Joyce was preparing spices and a pot for a stew while they labored. When Buffy asked what she could help with she was told to set the table and then slice up the loaves of crusty bread that were sitting near the refrigerator. Buffy pointedly glowered at Dean when she picked up the serrated knife and kept eyeing him as she cut.
Dinner ended up being somewhat tense. Buffy continued to refuse to talk to her eldest brother. Dean's method to cajole her into speaking was to gradually get more and more inappropriate. In order to save them from his brother's increasingly pornographic commentary, Sam was forced to spin out plausible stories for their travels and to stretch each new one out as long as possible. He managed to linger the longest on the incident with Bela Talbot and the pilfered cursed rabbit's foot by claiming it had been a heirloom of their father's. Somehow he managed to coax Joyce into a lengthy rant about what she thought should be done with thieves.
They retired to their beds soon after, Buffy claiming that she had homework and the brothers truthfully saying that the drive had exhausted them. They discovered that the guest room had been given a slight change. After realizing that Sam and Dean would always be visiting together, Joyce had traded the queen bed for two twins. The taller brother eyed his with trepidation.
"What's with you?" Dean asked.
"My feet are going to hang off that thing."
"Aw, poor Sammy. If you want, we can shove our beds together and cuddle instead."
Sam dropped his duffel on the bed and rolled his eyes. He knew Joyce meant well, but it would still be uncomfortable. Most of his bag was filled with the dirty clothes of the past few days and he began dutifully piling them up to throw into the wash.
The younger brother let out an exasperated sigh when he encountered an item that most definitely wasn't his. "Come on, Dean," Sam complained as he hung the offending item off one finger.
"Oh, there it is!" his brother exclaimed cheerfully. He reached out to take it as Buffy popped her head in the room.
Their sister peered at the tiny piece of clothing. "Do I want to know which of you wears lacy black g-strings?"
"It was in Sam's bag," Dean explained.
Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Gross." She then stepped all the way in and plopped herself down on Dean's bed. "I need your guys' help with getting out tonight to patrol," she stated quietly.
"What for?" Sam asked suspiciously.
"Because it's easier than climbing out the window?"
"You could finally tell her."
"Sure. Then you could tell her that a big cloud of black smoke could come swooping down at any minute and make everyone a demon!"
"Uh, fair enough."
Without warning, Dean walked to the doorway, stuck his head outside, and yelled, "Joyce! We're going to take Buffy to The Bronze, okay? Bro and sis bonding."
From down the hallway Buffy's mother replied, "Just don't be too late."
"There," Dean said. "Let's go."
Buffy pretended to gussy up for the club for her mother's sake, then changed into jeans once they had driven off. "Angel is going to meet us there," she announced.
"What for?" Dean asked sullenly.
"So we can make out in front of you. Why do you think?"
While Dean sputtered over the idea of his baby sister smooching a vampire (in plain view no less), Sam wondered, "He been helping you a lot?"
"Once in a while. Giles too. Since Spike showed up they've been kind of hovering like… hovering things."
"Look," Dean interjected, "is he actually your freaking boyfriend or what? Are you guys… serious?"
"You mean have we had sex yet?"
The Impala suddenly swerved into the (fortunately) empty adjoining lane and wobbled for a few seconds afterwards. Its two passengers went sliding about until its horrified driver regained control. Dean did his best to feign nonchalance as his brother and sister stared.
"You okay now?" Sam asked irritably.
"Yeah," his brother muttered. He cleared his throat. "Sure."
"Did you want an answer?" Buffy queried blithely. Dean's knuckles whitened on top of the Impala's steering wheel.
"Let's finish traumatizing Dean after we get out of the car," Sam suggested.
They arrived at Eden Memorial Park, one of the Sunnydale's larger cemeteries, a short while later. Dean shot out of his seat as soon as possible and headed for the trunk. His siblings soon joined him and the three began squabbling over who got which weapon.
"Dibs on the crossbow!" Buffy cried as she snatched the weapon.
"Hey!" Dean objected. He yanked it back. "I'm oldest. I get the coolest weapon."
"No fair," his sister whined.
"Here," Sam said. He handed over a machete and a stake.
Buffy admired the blade under the street lamp. "Ooooo, shiny."
"That it is, darling," a woman's voice called in a familiar English drawl.
Dean lifted his purloined crossbow and pointed it at the approaching figure. Bemused, Buffy watched Sam grab a pistol and mimic his brother's stance. When she looked towards what they were aiming at, she saw a pretty brunette with a generous set of lips striding towards them. She wore an exquisitely fashionable short coat over a black pants outfit and had her hands up in surrender.
"Bela," snarled Dean. Buffy recalled the name as the thief Sam had spoken about during dinner.
"Boys," she replied. Then, after a moment, amended her statement with, "And girl. Fancy meeting you here."
"Fancy, my ass. What sort of crap you planning on pulling here?"
Bela made a disapproving noise. "Shameful language in front of such a young girl. Since I spotted you I figured you might want to help."
"With what?" demanded Sam.
"I was set to meet a client in Los Angeles but I found him dead. Vampires. I'd heard word of a cross in this cemetery, one that disintegrates the creatures by sight: the cross of Josephus du Lac."
"And?"
"I'm not the Slayer," Bela scoffed. "I have no intention of going hand to hand with a gang of bloody vampires. But with this I could handle them from a distance."
"Sounds good," Buffy declared. "Let's go find the super cross."
"Hold up," said Dean. He peered at Bela. "Why the hell would we want to help you find this thing?"
"He might have been a client," Bela explained sadly, "but he was also a good man with a wife and a young daughter. All he wanted to do was protect them. I gave them the hex bags he requested, but I think this would be a far better monster deterrent, wouldn't you say?"
A few long seconds passed as the brothers considered her request. Disgusted by the woman, but moved by her (supposed) motives, Sam dropped his pistol and said, "Fine."
Dean lowered the crossbow before walking over to Bela and stabbing her in the chest with one finger. "You fuck with us again, I'm shoving one of these bolts so far up your ass you'll choke on splinters."
"That's lovely," Bela purred. "You use that line with all the girls?" She looked at Buffy. "So. Do I get a proper introduction?"
"I'm Buffy, their sister. I love your outfit. Where did you get it?"
Sam slammed shut the Impala's trunk as Bela and Buffy struck up a lively discussion about fashion and began heading into the cemetery. He exchanged bewildered looks with Dean before following. Neither had any doubt that Bela was holding something back, but the minute possibility that she was working for a noble cause had them amenable to a temporary alliance. A very temporary alliance.
Somehow Bela managed to convey a single minded focus on her conversation with Buffy (the young girl really did have an acute fashion sense) while inwardly gloating over having taken advantage of the Winchesters' altruism. They didn't trust her, obviously, but they believed enough of her fabrication to at least be complacent.
The boys were good for a night's entertainment, and after her conversation with Spike's woman Bela felt her suffering was justification to indulge in some petty revenge.
