(6/26/2021) Movin' right along (doog-a-doon, doog-a-doon)…

Thank you TheLifeStruggleIsReal, thedarkpokemaster, Morghan, RononDexSpecialist, and JimmyHall24 for the reviews!


Morning arrived, the sun washing away a night of blood and despair.

Joyce brought Bobby back to Sunnydale late in the afternoon. With her bags already in the trunk and her goodbyes to her daughter sent she left almost immediately, staying only long enough to lay admonishments regarding the health of Buffy and her siblings. Bobby promised to do what he could.

The elder hunter then headed for the Sunnydale library where a frantic Giles was trying to locate his Slayer or her brothers or anyone who knew what the bloody hell was going on. He'd gotten a terse text from Buffy an hour earlier saying she was going to do what she had to do and then nothing following. Her big brother's only response had been to yell at the Watcher to take care of it while he tracked down Sam and his demon bitch.

The first thing Bobby had to do was lay out the results of putting together months of occurrences and signs. Both Giles and Wesley had paled at his explanation. The former immediately dove into his books for a solution; the latter made repeated attempts to convince the Watcher's Council to intervene. Their knowledge could mean the difference in their ability to stop the incoming horrors.

They had convinced themselves of something all right, but it wasn't what any of them expected. Repeated instances of dereliction and apparent ineptitude meant Wesley was considered unfit for duty. He was subsequently fired. A lifetime of training and loyalty tossed out in an instant. Understandably, the young man was, for the moment, inconsolable and useless.

Bobby got a call from Dean as Giles was attempting to soothe his younger counterpart. The elder Winchester had, by virtue of a little luck and some deception, been able to find Sam holed up in Visalia (in a honeymoon suite of all things). Bobby gave the headstrong man a warning. "Remember, when you talk to Sam it's gotta be about getting him back, not pushing him away."

"Right," Dean agreed unconvincingly.

"I know you're mad, Dean. I understand. You got a right to be, but I'm just saying. Be good to him anyway. You gotta get through to him."

Dean had every intention of following Bobby's advice. He'd even cooked up a convincing, non-patronizing, quite brotherly speech to lay on Sam and convince him of Ruby's duplicity. Of course, the bitch was already there, and before Dean could permanently remove the black-eyed stain on their lives Sam stepped in to defend her.

All of Dean's carefully prepared words flew out of his head. His brother refused to listen to reason, saying Dean wasn't strong enough to do what Heaven had mandated. Desperately, Sam asked to be trusted; the same sort of trust he'd been giving Dean his whole life. "No," the elder Winchester refuted. "You don't know what you're doing, Sam."

"Yes, I do."

"Then that's worse!"

"Why?" Confused, his heart breaking, Sam once again tried to make his case. "Look, I'm telling you—"

"Because it's not something that you're doing, it's what you are! It means—"

"What?" Dread lanced through Sam's veins. His eyes teared, knowing what Dean was about to proclaim, hoping against everything he wouldn't. "No. Say it."

And even though Sam couldn't tell, it broke Dean's own heart to follow through. "It means you're a monster."

Brimming with power, the demon blood a luscious fire in his veins, Sam lashed out. His fist smashed into his brother's face, a blow Dean vaguely noted was a lot stronger than usual. Regardless, the elder Winchester responded in the only way he knew.

He punched back.

When Sam had finished growing they had discovered his great height didn't make much of a difference in terms of hand-to-hand fighting. In fact at times it became a hindrance, as his largeness gave his sparring partners a larger target. Once Buffy (easily a foot shorter) had entered the hunting sphere openly she proved even the biggest opponents had no advantages when it came to well placed blows and a quick pair of feet. The eldest and youngest of the three had often compared Sam to a lumbering Tyrannosaurus Rex; deadly if he landed anything, but flailing clumsily otherwise. He'd responded more than once by using his body mass to flatten them onto the floor.

Now it was if his unwieldy overgrowth meant nothing, his muscles honed to a lethal edge. Sam shrugged off punches as if they were swats, and his returns were given with interest. Blood was dipping down both brothers' noses and mouths, but Dean's quivering limbs and slowly diminishing impacts showed which of them suffered more.

In a final surge of strength, Dean struck Sam in the nose. The taller man staggered, blinded by pain. Furious, Sam's fist snapped, and his brother went flying through the cheap decor. Before he could really think about what he was doing, Sam was on top of the other man, hands wrapped around his neck.

The younger Winchester remained only long enough to incapacitate the elder. Sam stood and loomed over his big brother, his burden, and declared, "You don't know me. You never did. And you never will."

Dean didn't mean to. He really didn't. But before he could think, he was spouting the same ultimatum their father had given when Sam had announced his intentions to abandon the hunter life and go to Stanford. "You walk out that door, don't you ever come back!"

And just as he'd done before, Sam left.

At the same time Bobby was warning Dean against doing exactly what he'd eventually do, Buffy was pressing the off button on Faith's Bluetooth speakers. "Thought I'd stop by," the original Slayer said calmly, her tone belying the rapid pounding of her heart.

With a smirk, Faith asked, "Is he dead yet?"

"He's not gonna die. It was a good try, though. Why? Why would you do this?"

"You don't know what's about to happen, do you? Man, you are so out of the loop!"

"I don't care. I don't care what crazy shit you've gotten into this time. Besides, I found a cure."

"What is it?"

"Your blood."

They bantered, Faith's nonchalance and obvious glee serving to wipe away the last of Buffy's doubt. She pulled a long blade from inside her coat, one she hoped Dean would forgive her for borrowing without asking. "You told me once I was just like you. That I was holding it in."

Looking delighted, Faith asked, "Ready to cut loose?"

"Try me."

"Okay, then. Give us a kiss."

With Faith's opulent apartment serving as a battlefield the pair fought. Two Slayers, each endowed with strength and speed multiple times their natural level, swung fists, kicked, threw furniture, slashed. Glass broke and tables were upturned. They were evenly matched, and as such the outcome was predicated on endurance and skill.

Faith's abilities waned first. Whether it was overconfidence or lack of skill, she made a mistake. An swing with a weaponized metal pipe going too far off to one side and Buffy found the perfect opening to plunge her blade into the other Slayer's flesh.

She stilled, transfixed to the point where her knife entered Faith's body. Sickened, wanting nothing more than to get herself away from the warm redness starting to spill onto her skin, Buffy jerked out the knife. She stared, horrified, as the blood welled out in earnest from between her foe's fingers. "You did it," the other girl said weakly, but proudly. "You killed me."

Buffy couldn't speak, couldn't move, her thoughts running a million miles a second while her body refused to move. She'd taken a life, a human life. What repercussions would she face now? Was saving Angel worth so much? What would her brothers say? Giles? What would her mother say?

She was brought abruptly to focus by a series of clumps as Faith's boots mounting the concrete railing. With a bloodied, satisfied grin, the other Slayer said, "Still won't help your boy, though," and tipped backwards off of the terrace.

Too late, much too late, Buffy surged forward . A tremendous clatter echoed down the street as Faith's body landed onto the back of a trunk hauling the remnants of a grocery delivery. It roared off into the night and took with it the only thing that would have made all of the trauma worthwhile.

Despondent, Buffy made her way back to Angel's mansion. As Dean was pulling into the parking lot of Sam and Ruby's shared motel, Buffy was relieving Willow and Oz from their post watching over the dying Angel. She revealed her failure in as few words as possible and received the requisite reassurances that they would find another way. Guilt-ridden over their own contentment the couple left the home. It might be Angel and Buffy's last few hours together and they deserved whatever happiness could be gleaned from them.

But that wasn't what Buffy had in mind. "Angel, I can cure you."

"What?"

The Slayer took off her jacket and lifted her head. "Drink me."

Horrified, Angel pushed Buffy back and struggled to his feet. He leaned heavily onto a bedpost and shook his head. "No. It'll kill you."

"Not if you don't take it all. The blood of the Slayer is the only cure!"

"Faith…?"

Buffy swallowed, her sense of guilt over her failure eclipsing the guilt she'd been harboring over having committed murder. "I tried. I killed her. But—"

Angel shoved her aside. "Then it's over."

They stumbled into his living room, Angel continuing to mutter feverish denials while Buffy continued to push. Finally, the vampire's weakened frame could hold him up no longer. He fell onto the backside of his couch, upsetting a decorative table and spilling its contents onto the floor. "It's over," he repeated, his voice shaking.

"It is never over!" Buffy cried. "I won't let you die. Drink!"

She pulled him upright. He couldn't do this. He would lose control. If he killed her, Dean would kill him, and Angel would stand there and let him. "Please…"

Buffy's fist snapped his head to one side. When he brought it back up, she smacked him the opposite direction. He tried one more time, his head ringing and his thoughts jumbled, and she hit him straight on.

Coherent thought had been difficult before, and now Angel's beaten brain couldn't focus. Instinct took over. Bones shifted on his face as the demonic essence within him ascended. Something was trying to hurt him and it needed to be killed. It was baring a neck at him, soft skin and veins just begging to be pierced. Well, if it wanted to die so badly then the vampire was more than happy to oblige.

Dean was opening the Impala's door to slowly make his way to Sam (his prepared speech running over and over in his head), as Angel bit down. There was no mind, no reason behind the act other than a feverish desire to both slake his thirst and stop the pain. They went down to the floor and he drank and drank and drank. His fever receded, his thoughts cleared, the wound Faith had inflicted was no longer a constant burn…

Scents. Sounds. It was all coming back. Taste. Something absolutely delicious was slipping across his tongue. The smell of something that was good and wonderful filled his nose.

No, not something. Someone. Her. Buffy.

The realization of what he was doing struck him like a physical blow. Angel jerked himself upwards, gasping, blood still lingering on his teeth. His face warped back to human as he leaned forward and called Buffy's name. She was pale, cold, and the wounds from his teeth bled sluggishly.

He had killed her.

No. Wait. He hadn't. There, that sound. That was her heartbeat. Faint and ragged, but it was there.

Angel ran into his bedroom, pulled on the first pieces of clothing he could find, swept Buffy into his arms, and took off running out the door and into the night. She'd saved his life, as worthless as it was. This would be the last time. Whatever the consequences, whatever the pain he'd feel and inflict; this vampire would ensure it would never happen again.

As Angel was bursting into Sunnydale General's ER, Dean lay on the motel room floor, stunned. He felt guilty, he felt ashamed, but most of all he felt angry. How dare Sam do this? Choose a fucking demon over his own brother?

A small voice in the back of Dean's head reminded him that he'd acted just like their father, and was it really so surprising Sam had reacted badly? Buffy trusted a vampire. How was this any different?

Whatever. At least Dean knew Angel would never hurt his sister. Ruby, however, was going to lose vital body parts before he sent her ass back to Hell.

Eventually Dean was able to stand and stagger his way to his car. He flopped down into the driver's seat before using the rear view mirror to check out his face. Some spectacular bruises were blossoming here and there. If it hadn't been for Sam's stupid reason for beating him up, Dean might have been impressed.

The raucous noise coming from his pocket was a little surprising. Only a little. He certainly didn't almost have a heart attack. When Dean looked at the screen there was an unfamiliar number. "Hello?"

"Mr. Winchester?"

"Uh, yeah." A woman. Did he leave his wallet on someone's nightstand or…?

"Mr. Winchester, my name Grace Asunción. I'm at nurse at Sunnydale General. I'm calling because you are listed as an emergency contact for Elizabeth Summers."

Dean turned the Impala's engine over and screeched his way backwards out of the parking space. "What happened?"

"We're not certain. A friend of hers brought her in. Apparently there had been an animal attack of some sort."

He barely made the next stoplight, zooming past a startled group of pedestrians who'd thought to try and walk into the road a little early. "Is she okay?"

"She'll be fine, but we need a family member here to sign off on some treatments."

"I'll be there soon."

Dean snapped his phone shut, made a few illegal turns, and found the nearest exit to I–5. As soon as he hit the highway, he floored it.

A four hour drive to Sunnydale was shortened to three. He burst into the emergency room at Sunnydale General, shoved his way through a line of people, and demanded to see his sister. It took him a minute to realize why the staff was eyeing him sideways; he'd forgotten about the beat down he'd received a few hours prior and the contusions were most likely purpling.

On the way towards Buffy's room, Dean was forced to pause. There, hooked up to a myriad of unnamable medical machinery, was Faith. It didn't look like she'd be waking up any time soon. Whatever had befallen the young woman, Dean was fairly certain she'd deserved it.

Giles and the circle of Buffy's friends were waiting for him. "What the fuck happened?" Dean demanded.

"Wh-What happened to you?" Willow countered. Her finger swept here and there to the marks on his face.

"Nothing! What the hell happened to Buffy?"

Dean's voice was nearly shouting towards the end of his query. A diminutive nurse came hurrying over, her brown hair tied back into a smart bun. "Mr. Winchester?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm Grace. We spoke on the phone. Let's take care of a few things."

Impatiently, Dean took care of the hospital logistics. Insurance card (fake), approval of treatments (of which he knew little of), and more contact information (lies). When he returned, Giles was alone. "Well?"

The Watcher drew Dean off to one side. "Angel did this to her," he whispered furiously. "I don't doubt it was on Buffy's… insistence, but he couldn't control himself."

"Are you…" Dean stuffed his fingers in his hair and resisted the urge to scream. "What happened to Faith?"

"I'm not sure. Suffice to say whatever occurred to her is most likely related to why Buffy sacrificed herself. Might I ask what happened with your brother?"

Dean pointed at the bruises on his jawline. "What do you think happened, genius?"

The former Watcher removed his glasses and polished them on a corner of his vest. "I believe you two did not come to an understanding." When the other man tensed (bringing to mind the volatility of the late Winchester patriarch), Giles held up a hand. "I'm not blaming you. In fact, I'd go so far as to not blame your brother. Remember, Dean, who the real enemy is here."

"I guess."

With great effort, Giles restrained himself from commenting about the similarity between Dean's sullenness and his sister's pouts. "Have you spoken with Mr. Singer?"

"Not yet. Why?"

"Then I think it best you come with me."

"I ain't leaving my sister here by herself!"

"Tell me: is there truly anything you think you can do for her right now?"

Dean stole a quick glance over his shoulder where Buffy lay comatose. After the way Cass had acted in that stupid room he doubted the angel would offer any assistance. "No."

"But you can be of use to us now. Mr. Singer has finally pieced together what has been going on here."

"And other than freaking Lucifer trying to break free of his Cage, what else could there be?"

"The location of said Cage. It's here. Somewhere on the Hellmouth lies the door."


There was a good deal of information to be shared all around. Buffy's friends (Cordelia included), the duo of ex-Watchers, and Bobby and Dean met in the library. "The hell happened to him?" Dean asked as he pointed at an uncharacteristically disheveled Wesley.

"Hey!" Cordelia said, hands on her hips. "He just got fired, you jerk. Leave him alone!"

"Yeah!" Wesley slurred. "L-Leave him alone! Who are we talking about?"

"Dude," Dean said to Giles, "how much did he have to drink?"

In response, the elder man brought up an empty bottle of Cabernet from under the table. "I'd been saving that, you know," Giles grumbled.

"Too bad!" crowed Wesley. In a tone that was probably meant to be complimentary, he added, "'Twas a good vintage, by the way."

"We don't got time for this," Bobby growled from the center table. He unfolded a map. "Look. Here, here, here. That's what I've narrowed it down to. Omens and hearsay are all I got."

The others peered over at the map. "Those two are churches," Xander explained. "But that one… whoa."

"It-It's the old Wilkins House!" Willow exclaimed. "It's supposed to be really, really haunted."

"Isn't the mayor named Wilkins?" Dean asked.

"Would say it's not a name that's rare or anything," Bobby said grimly, "but considering what's goin' on?"

"Willow," Giles said, "go into Sunnydale's history. Find out all you can about the Wilkins' family. While you're at it, find out who might have been paying for Faith's new home. I highly doubt she could have covered it on her own. Dean—"

Bobby stood up. "Me and Dean have some talking to do." Without waiting for an acknowledgement, the two men headed for the back door.

Unperturbed, Giles continued. "Oz, help Willow. I believe Sam's laptop is still in your possession?" At Willow's confirmation, Giles nodded. "Then Oz can use my computer. While you're at it, call the hospital and check on Buffy."

"What about me?" Cordelia complained.

"Put a pot of coffee on, please."

"Excuse me?"

"We need to sober up Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. He's of no use as it is, and I will need his assistance if we are to stop Lucifer's Ascension."

Everyone hustled around and got to work, with Cordelia coaxing a clearly nauseated Wesley to the school bathroom, Willow and Oz working together in the library office, and Giles muttering to himself as he selected one book after the other off his personal collection. It was relatively quiet, other than being punctuated by some incomprehensible shouting from Dean and Bobby, until the latter burst back into the room, clearly agitated. "Is something amiss?" Giles wondered.

"Dean in here?" Bobby demanded.

"No," Giles said, baffled, as Oz and Willow emerged from office. "Wasn't he with you?"

"One second we're talkin', then I blink and he's gone!"

The group exchanged uneasy glances. There were very few beings who could snatch a person without being noticed, and none of them were benign. Amidst the silence Wesley (from where he had been left prone on the floor) mumbled into the carpet, "Fain-gulls."

"What?" snapped Bobby.

"Fain-gulls. Dey wan' Dean. Dey take. Cash. Call cash."

Xander took a stab at interpreting the drunken man's gibberish. "Seagulls took Dean for cash?"

Bobby and Giles stared pensively down at their younger, drunken counterpart. "Not gulls," Bobby said finally. "Angels."

"Myess," came Wesley's affirmation.

"They want Dean and they took him," Giles added. "But… cash?" Bobby shrugged.

"Oh!" Willow exclaimed after a brief moment. "Cass!"

"Myess," Wesley repeated. "Cashewell."

Bobby gave a frustrated sigh. "Ain't nothin' in my library about summoning angels."

"I might have something," Giles said. He walked over to a stack of books sitting innocuously on the edge of the checkout counter and slid one out from the middle. "Yes, here. Cordelia, please drive Willow downtown and pick up these items."

"I make coffee, I chauffeur," Cordelia complained. "What's next? Want me to pick up your dry cleaning and vacuum the floor?"

"Yesh, please," Wesley called. "Ish shmelly."


Mayor Wilkins stared at the blade he'd given Faith what seemed like ages ago. One of the demons had brought it to him after scouting the girl's apartment. It had been set lovingly on the mantle in its case, incongruently undisturbed amidst the strewn furniture and broken glass. Thinking his Slayer cared enough to ensure his gift wouldn't be soiled was enough to infuriate him all over again.

Well, there was still the seal. Perhaps Lilith would make an exception and allow him to break it despite her apparent desire to escape her demise. There were, after all, six hundred and sixty-six seals. Who could sift through all of those to get sixty six? Most of them probably weren't even possible in these modern times.

He'd thought the poison quite clever. After all, the inferior Slayer's brothers were paragons of self-sacrifice, and he'd assumed she would open her own veins to cure her unnatural beloved. Leave it to the selfish little delinquent to try and sacrifice his Faith instead. "Only one thing to do," Wilkins said to himself quietly. "Drive Buffy Summers to such misery that she would be compelled to kill herself. Except how to go about it? How, how, how…"

"Don't bother," Crowley snapped from the side of the room where he'd suddenly appeared. "Damage has been done."

The Mayor slapped closed the weapon case. "Knocking would be the courteous thing to do."

"I don't need your permission to do anything," snarled the demon. "You, however, might have to do some begging to get yourself out of this. There's only one seal left and Lilith wants it to remain unbroken."

Wilkins laughed derisively. "Impossible. Neither Slayer is dead."

The demon sighed, his hands in his pockets and a wry smirk bending his lips. "Modern medicine. I guarantee one of those little whores' hearts stopped at least once."

The Mayor's face fell, not only for the insult to his Faith, but to the implications of having a single seal remaining and the fury Lilith must be directing his way. "You be careful," he said calmly.

Crowley continued as if he hadn't heard, reciting in pedantic manner, "'As it is written, she who is gifted the strength and skill to slay the forces of darkness will herself be slain not by her enemies, but by her own hand'. I suppose those prophets of old never counted on having two Slayers strutting about, both of them with hands. Case in point: your darling Faith, Slayer number two, got herself inappropriately, and fatally, penetrated by her blonde-haired counterpart, Slayer number one—"

"That's enough."

The quiet menace in Wilkins' voice would have cowed any of his subordinates, be they demon or monster, but the King of the Crosswords merely affected a shudder. "You know when you talk like that it gives me tingles right around my short and curlies."

"If you have no further useful statements I think it's best you leave."

"Gladly." However, instead of leaving Crowley dipped his fingers into his breast coat pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. "Requested preparations, courtesy of our lovely Lilith."

Wilkins snatched the proffered note out of the demon's hand. He unfolded it and frowned. "This is highly irregular."

"The way I see it, you've got two choices here." Crowley held up one finger. "Follow Lilith's request or follow Lucifer's. Personally, I prefer working under the one least likely to obliterate the lot of us, but it's up to you."

Crowley vanished, leaving behind a creature fraught with indecision. On the one hand, preventing Lucifer's Ascension would give the human doctors time to fix whatever it was keeping his Faith in a coma. True, things would go on as before, but he was used to it and there were just so many things he and his Slayer could do together in a world not torn apart by feuding archangels. Besides, despite malcontents such as Uriel he figured most of the angels had to be appreciative of an Apocalypse averted.

On the other hand, Lucifer was a celestial being, and Wilkins owed him his life. Sure, the planet would be annihilated and most of humanity gone, but not himself or Faith, he would see to that. A much faster solution than waiting about for medicine to advance. Plus, wasn't it Azazel, and by proxy Lucifer, who had taken in and nurtured an orphaned Richard Wilkins all those centuries ago? He needed to choose. Soon.

After all, if one was the mostly powerless son of a demon and an angel, and if one was stuck in the midst of a battle between Heaven and Hell, one eventually had to take a side.


Author's Note : Dun dun duuuun! Okay, now we know what the Mayor is. I'd been toying back and forth between cambion and nephilim but both of those are way too powerful in Supernatural canon. I'm going to take a lot of liberties here in terms of the "new" species, so I hope it doesn't put anybody off.

I'm still riding on the idea that Lilith was trying to avert the Apocalypse. She does say, "We're saving the world," right before Sam blasts them all at the end of season 4.

Acknowledgement : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episodes, "When the Levee Breaks" (SPN 4.21), "Graduation Day, Part 1" (BtVS 3.21), and "Graduation Day, Part 2" (BtVS 3.22).