A/N: Chapter title is an Aerosmith song from Toys in the Attic (1975).

Thanks to my beta isugirl. I played with this after I got it back from her. So any lingering issues are mine.

It's really hard to do chick flick moments with chick flick resistant characters (phew). So, hope I somewhat pulled it off.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 13 – You See My Crying

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam caught a glimpse of someone running up the street away from him. Aside from the fact that it appeared to be a woman, he wasn't able to make out many details. This had a lot to do with the lack of lighting, but it was mostly because he was focused on Faith, who was kneeling on the pavement, clearly in distress.

"Faith!" he exclaimed as he quickly ran to kneel beside her and supported her swaying form by bracing his hands against her shoulders.

She was holding her stomach with one hand and using the other to hold up a large, blood covered blade, which she stared at in confusion.

"It looks like the one I used to have," she remarked in disbelief, her voice rough with pain.

Sam regarded her anxiously. He couldn't get a good look at the wound due to the darkness and her hand being in the way, but from the amount of blood that was on the blade and seeping through her fingers, he knew she was gravely injured.

"My God, Faith! What did this to you?"

"Buffy."

"She's okay," he said quickly, clearly misunderstanding her reply. "She's with my brother. What did this?" he asked again urgently, but he stopped her before she could answer. "Never mind. We need to get you some help. Just hold on. I'll go boost one of these cars." He nodded his head to indicate several cars that were parked on the curb nearby.

As he started to rise, Faith dropped the knife and grabbed him by the forearm with a surprising amount of strength for her condition. When he looked into her face he saw panic.

"No hospital," she said.

"You have to go to the hospital," he replied impatiently. "This is way too serious for Allie."

She clutched Sam's arm tighter. "You don't understand," she said before adding hesitantly, "I escaped from prison. They'll send me back."

Sam's face registered surprise for a brief second, but he quickly recovered and continued in his attempt to reason with her. "It doesn't matter. We'll give a fake name. I'll even get Dean to make you an ID. We've done it millions of times," he assured her as he peeled her fingers away and rose. "Don't even worry about that right now. We've got to get you some help."

"Don't leave," she said with a note of desperation in her voice. "I don't wanna die alone."

"You're not dying," he stressed, "and I'll only be a few feet away." He started to go, but after taking in Faith's lost and vulnerable expression, he just couldn't leave her side. So he stopped and cursed in frustration before pulling out his phone and quickly dialing 911. "These guys better have their shit together tonight," he remarked through gritted teeth as he anxiously waited for the operator to pick up.

When the 911 dispatcher answered, he quickly and efficiently gave her the details the ambulance crew would need to find them, but she still continued to ask him questions. "There's no time for this!" he snapped impatiently. "Just send the damn ambulance and tell them to hurry the hell up!" he ordered before disconnecting the call.

Sam quickly peeled off the lightweight, brown jacket he was wearing and knelt down beside Faith again. She was still sitting back on her heels and now had both hands clutched tightly against her middle. Her position was fairly unsteady and he was afraid she might tip over or pass out and end up cracking her head open. That was the last thing she needed. So he eased her into a lying down position and placed the folded jacket behind her head. She groaned a few times, but allowed him to help her.

"Let me see," he requested gently as he pulled her hands out of the way and attempted to lift up the tattered and soaked remains of the t-shirt she was wearing. As he did so, Faith sucked in her breath sharply and moaned in pain. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice wavering in empathy. "I just need to see how bad it is, okay?"

When Sam got a closer look at her injuries, he felt his heart clench painfully in his chest. It was much worse than he'd feared. She hadn't received a simple stab wound. The blade had obviously been twisted as well.

"She gutted me good this time, didn't she?" Faith asked in a strained voice.

"I've seen worse," he said, trying not to think about the fact that the 'worse' that he'd seen hadn't been on anyone that was actually still breathing.

"You're a bad liar," she gasped out, the sentence ending in a weak cough, which obviously greatly increased her agony. Sam was horrified to see specks of blood appearing around her mouth and chin.

"What did this to you?" he asked with barely controlled rage.

"Buffy," she replied quietly, somehow managing to reflect a tremendous amount of hurt and betrayal in that one single word.

"Buffy?" he repeated, obviously confused. "What do you mean it was Buffy?"

Faith let out a short and pained laugh. "I mean, it was Buffy."

"Listen Faith," Sam said, trying desperately to keep his voice calm and even. "It couldn't have been Buffy. She wouldn't do this to you. It's not that I don't believe you. I'm sure that it looked like her, but it wasn't her," he stressed. "There are things that can steal a person's body or take their form. It had to be one of those."

"It was her," she assured him. "She knew… stuff… and she's done it before."

Sam wasn't sure how to process this information. How could Buffy have done this before? He really wanted an explanation, but didn't want Faith to waste her energy right now. She seemed to be getting weaker with every second that ticked by. Where the hell was that damn ambulance anyway? It felt like they'd been waiting there for hours. He took one of her hands, hoping it might give her strength if he assured her of his presence.

She squeezed his hand weakly in response before asking, "Sam, do you think a person can ever really be forgiven for taking a life?"

He stared at her with a perplexed expression, unsure of where she was going with this. "What do you mean?" he asked.

She closed her eyes and turned her head away before replying. "I've killed people," she admitted shamefully. "One was an accident, but the other… it wasn't... and no matter how sorry I am, that guy's still dead."

Sam gripped Faith's hand tighter. "Look at me," he said as he cupped her face with his free hand. "No matter what you've done, you're not evil. You deserve to be forgiven."

She shook her head. "You don't know that."

"I do," he replied firmly. "I've seen plenty of evil. I've even been responsible for some of it. So, believe me, I know what evil is and you're not it. Not even close."

"Buffy said -" she began, her voice trailing off into another painful cough. "I'm scared, Sam," she admitted in a raspy whisper as tears began leaking out of the corners of her eyes. "I don't wanna go to hell."

"You're not going to hell," he exclaimed sharply, "and you're not dying! So stop talking like that!" He was really beginning to panic now. Faith's breathing was getting shallower and each word she spoke took more and more effort. It was like she was fading away.

He squeezed her hand tightly and turned her head back toward him. "Faith, open your eyes," he ordered firmly. "You can't do this!"

She did manage to open her eyes, but only halfway and she didn't seem to be able to focus.

Sam was about to give up on the ambulance and go hotwire a car when he heard the siren.

"You hear that?" he asked her desperately. "That's the ambulance. They're almost here. So, you just have to hold on a little longer," he said encouragingly, although his voice was wavering. Faith tried to open her eyes again and mumbled something unintelligible.

"Hurry up, hurry up," Sam chanted as he began digging through her jacket pockets. He had to make this look like a mugging, which meant no cash and definitely no weapons. Most importantly, if she did happen to have any ID on her, he needed to get rid of it quickly.

XXXXXXXXXX

When Buffy and Dean burst into the ER, they spotted Sam sitting on one of the waiting room chairs, tightly gripping what appeared to be a cup of coffee in both hands. He jumped up when his brother said his name and hurried toward them.

"How is she?" Buffy asked urgently.

"We need to talk," he replied tightly, "away from all these people."

The couple followed him out of the large sliding glass doors and into the empty ambulance bay outside. Buffy started to ask another question when Sam suddenly spun and drenched her with the contents of the cup he was holding.

She just stared in shock at the large wet spot that was now on her jacket and used her sleeves to wipe at the droplets that had splashed onto her face and hair. "Was that holy water?" she asked in wonder.

"What the hell?" Dean yelled.

Sam pulled out his silver knife and held it up in front of him with a hard and determined look in his eyes.

"Put that away, Sam," his brother ordered. "Have you lost your freakin' mind?"

"Faith said it was Buffy," he replied. "So, I'm sorry, but I've gotta test her," he insisted firmly.

"Oh God," Buffy said, looking like someone had just knocked the wind out of her. "Oh God."

"Sam," Dean warned.

Buffy gathered her composure a bit and held out a hand for the knife. "Okay," she said evenly. "Just give it to me and I'll prove to you that I'm me."

"Sorry," Sam said with a shake of his head. "I'm not handing a knife over to a potentially possessed Slayer. I'm not that stupid. So, hold out your arm."

"Goddammit," Dean ground out as he pulled out his own silver blade and turned to face Buffy. He uttered a deep, frustrated sigh, unable to believe he actually had to do this. "Give me your arm," he requested reluctantly.

She immediately rolled up her sleeve and held out her right hand to him. "Don't worry about it," she assured him sincerely. "It's okay. Just do it."

The hunter part of Dean knew that his brother was only trying to take the necessary precautions, but he knew this was Buffy and she'd been through enough for one night. Plus, Sam had a crazy look in his eyes. There was no way he was gonna let the Incredible Hulk take a knife to his girlfriend, even if she was the Slayer. He cursed again before making a shallow cut on her forearm. She didn't even flinch.

"Are you happy now?" he asked angrily. "Or do we need to perform a full on exorcism right here in the parking lot? Because I guess an anti-possession charm and a silver bracelet aren't enough for you these days. Jesus Christ."

"Dean," Buffy said calmly as she placed a steadying hand on his arm. "It's okay. I know he's just doing what he has to." She then turned her attention to Sam. "If you need to do more tests, I understand. Just please hurry, because I have to know how Faith is."

"I'm sorry Buffy," he said sincerely as he lowered the knife he'd been holding and relaxed his stance.

"It's okay. I understand," she assured him again. "Just tell me how she is."

Sam sighed and ran a shaky hand through his hair. "She's in surgery. It'll probably be a while. She was cut up pretty bad… her heart stopped in the ambulance." The last part was obviously hard for him say. "I was sure it was over, but they finally got her back."

"Faith's tough. She'll pull through," Buffy stated confidently. "She has to. She can't die thinking I…" She paused for a moment, obviously horrified by the possibility. "You don't know how terrible that would be," she finally added. "This can't be happening again. It just can't."

Sam observed Buffy closely while she spoke. It seemed there was something behind the things Faith had said. The two apparently did have some dark history between them, but he could also tell that Buffy was genuinely concerned. Whatever had happened in the past, it was obvious that she did care about Faith. He'd have to get the full story later. Right now he was too overwhelmed to hold any more information and Faith's survival was the only thing that really seemed to matter. He needed to get back inside in case there was any news.

"I almost forgot," Sam exclaimed as they were about to walk through the main doors again. "I gave the hospital a fake name," he confided under his breath.

This didn't faze Dean, it was standard operating procedure as far as he was concerned, but Buffy looked a little puzzled for a moment.

"Oh," she gasped suddenly. "I completely forgot. I'm so glad you did that. It would be awful if…"

Buffy trailed off and Dean raised an inquiring eyebrow at her. It sounded like Faith might just have a Winchester's reputation where the authorities were concerned. He'd have to talk to her about the benefits of being considered legally dead.

"So, does she have a cover?" he asked.

Sam looked a little embarrassed. "Rhonda Van Zant," he mumbled. "I was under pressure. It was the best I could come up with."

Dean grinned. "That's awesome dude. I'm impressed."

"Ronnie Van Zant got killed, Dean," his brother stressed. "It probably wasn't the best choice in aliases."

"Ronnie died in a plane crash," Dean remarked with authority, "and Faith wasn't anywhere near a plane tonight. Besides, the 'Gods of Rock' wouldn't be that cruel. That kick ass name alone is gonna save her. You mark my words."

Sam actually smiled a little and rolled his eyes. "Okay then. I guess if anybody's got the inside track on what the 'Great Spirit of Mullet Rock' is thinking – it would be you. So, you think you can hook her up with some ID?" he asked hopefully.

"I've got it covered," Dean assured him. "No problem at all. It'll be my masterpiece."

XXXXXXXXXX

Soon, the three were joined in the waiting room by Willow, Xander and Allie. Giles had stayed behind so that he could call Kellie's family and be there when the rest of the girls got in. Dean had informed him that they were probably dealing with a Shapeshifter and since the Slayers didn't routinely carry silver weapons, Giles had ordered them all to come in from patrol immediately.

After several hours with no further word, Sam announced that he was stepping outside for some fresh air. Dean joined him since Buffy had her friends to keep her company. His brother didn't need to be alone and he was more than relieved to get a break from the always pleasant sounds and smells that made up a hospital ER. These places always made him twitchy.

"So, do you think the same thing got Kellie?" Sam asked solemnly after they'd both sat on the curb in silence for a few minutes.

"Probably," Dean nodded. "The poor kid didn't have any defensive wounds that I could see. It was like somebody just snuck right up behind her. She might've been young, but she was still a Slayer. Nothing would've gotten the drop on her like that if she didn't think she was safe. Buffy's the perfect disguise for this son of a bitch," he observed bitterly.

"Poor Buffy," Sam sighed. "I can just imagine how she must feel right now. I guess I was a little rough on her. She's had an awful night already."

"It's okay Sam," his brother assured him. "It's been a long night for all of us. Besides, we both know it's easy to get fooled by some of these bastards." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I'm pretty sure I saw it in Faith's skin earlier this evening," he confided in a voice heavy with regret. "I shoulda known Sammy. She wasn't acting right. I just… I didn't think. I'm sorry."

Sam shook his head. "Don't start that crap, man. This wasn't your fault. You can't just go around sticking people with a silver knife every time they act a little weird. They'd lock you up, Dean. Besides, we're both paranoid enough as it is."

"Yeah, I guess," he replied, although he didn't sound entirely convinced.

"I just wonder how we're supposed to hunt this thing down," Sam remarked. "With everything that goes on around here, it's pretty damn tough to find one specific monster. All the clues sorta blend together after a while."

"I'm not worried about that," Dean stated with certainty. "It'll come to us."

"You're probably right."

"I know I'm right. That bastard didn't do this on its own. It's taking its orders from the queen bitch herself. The whore left Buffy a personal message," he added through gritted teeth.

"Seriously? What kind of message?" Sam asked cautiously, obviously dreading the answer.

He nearly exploded when his brother explained about the note written in Kellie's blood. "She's dead," he promised. "I'm gankin' that bitch personally."

"You'll have to get in line," Dean said. "If she ever gets the nerve to show her skanky-ass face that is. Seriously, what's up with that? Aside from her army of freaks, tonight was the first time she's made a move since the dragon thing and that was over a month ago."

"True," Sam agreed thoughtfully. "It doesn't seem like she's been making much of an effort to get to her 'new and improved vessel'. I realize Willow's got some powerful spells on the Council buildings and all those girls carry extra charms now, but still, it's almost like she's not even trying. What is up with that?"

"You got me. But you know it's nothin' good. That type only gets quiet when they're planning something big."

XXXXXXXXXX

After what seemed like days, the doctor finally came to tell the group that 'Rhonda' had made it through surgery. Unfortunately, however, he said that no one would be able to speak with her for at least another eight hours. The surgeon was planning to keep her heavily sedated to give her body a better chance at healing. Much to Buffy's dismay, he used the term 'drug-induced coma' to explain the process. It was bad enough that something had stolen her identity and done this to Faith, but the fact that it'd also managed to put her into a coma of sorts caused her to literally see red. It didn't seem possible, but her bloodlust for the Shifter and the puppet-master it called a mother had just managed to triple. If Eve thought she was going to scare Buffy away, she had greatly underestimated her, because the events of the night had only increased her determination. As far as she was concerned, Eve's actions had only ensured that her defeat would be swifter and even more brutal.

The fact that Faith had made it through surgery convinced Buffy that she would pull through. That was how things worked. If a Slayer survived the initial trauma of an injury, she would bounce back and her body would manage to heal itself. She didn't know if it was a Slayer bond or just experience, but she felt a deep conviction that Faith had once again beaten death.

Her concern now lay with how the other girl would handle the emotional aspects of this experience. The nature of her wounds made it obvious that this act was calculated to be not only deadly, but to also send yet another very cruel message. She just hoped that this didn't drive a wedge between the two of them. Although they had both seemingly moved on from their past, Buffy suspected that Faith's psychic scars were still hiding just beneath the surface. She could only hope that she would see this for what it was - a blatant attempt at psychological warfare.

Since it would be a while until they could visit with Faith, Buffy reluctantly decided that it was best to go home and try to get a couple hours of sleep. Eve had just made it abundantly clear that she wanted to weaken the Slayers. If Buffy allowed herself to become too sleep deprived she would only be playing right into that plan and she wasn't making that mistake. All of their lives might very well depend on her staying on-mission and at the top of her game. So, she would get at least two hours of sleep if she had to slam her head against a wall to do it. Dear old Mommy wasn't going to see one ounce of weakness from her. She didn't know it yet, but she'd just created her own worst nightmare.

Dean seemed relieved by the prospect of escaping the hospital for a while. The entire environment appeared to place him on edge, something that Buffy could definitely relate to. However, he was obviously reluctant to leave his brother behind and Buffy was a little surprised when he asked her if she'd mind if Sam came home with them. As far as she was concerned, it was Dean's home too and his brother was always more than welcome. Sam refused, however, claiming he just wanted to go back to his motel room and pass out. Meaning he was actually planning on sleeping in the waiting room. Sam, she was learning, was every bit as stubborn as his older brother. Once it became clear that he wasn't going to respond to Dean's reasoning, orders, or threats, the two of them caught a ride home from Willow. Dean left the Impala behind for Sam since Buffy's car was still parked in front of their apartment.

Both were anxious to get home and get out of their blood-stained clothing and into the shower. When they arrived, however, Buffy felt like she needed to let out some aggression first. She was wound so tightly that she literally thought she might explode into a million tiny pieces if she didn't get some of it out. She told Dean to go ahead while she went a few rounds with the punching bag that hung in the extra bedroom she'd turned into a shoe closet/weapons cache. It was obvious he was worried about her, but he went ahead and left her alone to take out her rage on the large, sand filled, leather bag.

The more Buffy punched and kicked, the more enraged she became. Usually this sort of activity helped her to focus her aggression and clear her mind. However, at the moment, it only seemed to be bringing more and more pain to the surface - pain that she didn't seem to be able to beat down, no matter how hard she pounded. The resulting frustration made her feel helpless and that only served to make her more furious. She hated feeling helpless and, at the moment, it was the very last thing she could afford to feel. Pain and mourning would have to wait. She had too many people depending on her. Right now, she just needed to lose herself. She had to distract her mind from the disturbing thoughts and images that kept playing inside of her head.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean wanted a shower, but he needed a drink first. The truth was, he'd like nothing more than to self-medicate himself into oblivion. The only thing that kept him from doing just that was the fact that Buffy's night had been at least ten times more horrible in his estimation. The least he could do was stay reasonably sober. However, he felt like her walls would thank him if he took the edge off with one good, stiff drink. Besides, he wasn't looking forward to patching drywall and painting again so soon.

So, he sat down at the kitchen table and poured himself a decent sized glass from the bottle of Johnnie Walker Red he'd been sipping on for the past few weeks. It wasn't quite as smooth as the Blue Label stuff that Rufus had been fond of, but it was still some damn good scotch and it wasn't as insanely expensive. He'd bought it because he didn't feel right about bringing cheap, rotgut whiskey home, although he doubted that Buffy would even know the difference. The idea of it just seemed obscene to him for some reason. Plus, he tended to drink for enjoyment rather than numbness these days. So taste was actually a consideration.

He'd made it about two thirds of the way through the glass when Buffy appeared in the kitchen. She was sweaty from her workout and had a feral look in her eyes that he'd never seen before. Without saying a word, she lifted him up by his shirt collar and slammed him into the wall. He was wondering what the hell he'd done to piss her off so badly when she pulled him into a bruising kiss. This was new.

They'd most definitely done wild and athletic, but this time, there was a rough edge that hadn't been present before. Buffy's demeanor was demanding and almost desperate. It was intoxicating and Dean soon found himself being swept along in the rawness of it all. For a while, he was able to put the harsh realities of the night behind him.

They remained half-dressed, only taking the time to remove what was absolutely necessary. He was lying on the hard tile of the kitchen floor with his eyes closed, completely lost in the moment when he felt Buffy reach her release. When she stopped moving on top of him, he opened his eyes, intent on rolling her beneath him and finding his own, but what he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.

Her shoulders were slumped forward and she had her face buried in her hands as she cried silently. He immediately pulled her off of him and scooted backward so that he was sitting with his back resting against the wall and Buffy was draped across his lap. When he wrapped her in his arms, she completely lost her composer and began sobbing against his chest. Dean felt his own eyes burning as he held her against him. The things she'd seen and been through in the last few hours just tore him up inside. He'd give anything to take it all away.

"I can't fall apart," she finally said, completely out of breath from the sobbing. "I have too many people counting on me. I have to be strong."

"You are strong," he assured her. "This crap has to come out one way or the other. You'll be tough when it counts. You always are."

Buffy's tears had tapered off now, mostly because she was completely physically and emotionally drained.

"How do you do it?" she asked. "How do you keep from losing it?"

Dean huffed out a short laugh. "With a manageable drinking problem and really fucked up dreams. Plus it never hurts to beat some ass whenever I get the chance."

"I guess we're both screwed up then," Buffy stated solemnly.

"You're notscrewed up," he told her firmly. "With everything that went down tonight, you'd be screwed up if you didn't freak out a little. But you make a crappy dominatrix," he added teasingly.

"What?"

"Baby, you're not supposed to cry. It ruins the entire 'mistress of pain' vibe. It's just not convincing. Don't get me wrong. You've got the potential, but you need to work on your delivery… A bullwhip and a latex thong wouldn't hurt either."

Buffy gasped in shock and delivered stinging slap to his bicep. "I can't believe you!"

Dean chuckled and rubbed his arm. "Good job. I totally bought into that. No mercy, that's how it's done."

"You're awful," she scolded, giggling a little despite herself. He was so horribly inappropriate sometimes.

"That's right," he nodded. "I've been bad. I should be punished."

"You should," she agreed. "In fact, I should totally kick your ass for that. You're not supposed to make me laugh right now. It's not right."

Dean smoothed her hair back and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. "Too bad," he replied in a much more serious tone, "because I can't stand to see you so miserable. You don't deserve it. Nothing that happened out there tonight was your fault. You have to believe that. You've done everything you can to make sure those girls are ready and sometimes horrible shit just happens. There's no way you could've seen this coming."

Buffy leaned back so that she could look Dean in the eyes. "Thank you," she said. "You were really there for me tonight and I appreciate it more than you know. Especially what you did for Kellie," she added quietly. "I froze. I didn't know what to do."

Dean averted his eyes, clearly uncomfortable with the moment. "You knew her better than I did," he said dismissively. "It was a lot easier for me."

"You always do that," she observed sadly. "You don't know how to accept gratitude."

He didn't reply. Maybe she was right. But then again, he never said he wasn't screwed up.

Buffy sat silently for a few minutes, just resting in Dean's arms. In spite of the feelings of anger and grief that she knew were just waiting to resurface, right now her mind was blissfully blank. Exhaustion had won out. Her eyes were starting to get heavy and the thought of being clean and in a soft bed seemed very appealing. "I guess we should get that shower and try to get some rest," she remarked finally.

"Sounds good," Dean agreed, "because my ass is freezing. I think this friggin floor is made of ice. So, you better look the other way when we get up. Consider this fair warning. Because a man's junk wasn't meant to get this cold. I don't think you could handle the disappointment."

Buffy rolled her eyes and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before rising and reaching down to pull him up with her. She couldn't help but find it cute that he always managed to find some way to make a joke following anything that could be considered 'chick flicky'. It was usually something kind of gross, but still oddly comforting.

XXXXXXXXXX

"How do you feel?" Sam asked softly as he pulled up a seat beside Faith's bed.

"Ya know," she replied with a lop-sided grin. "I'm pretty sure I'm in some wicked-ass pain right about now, but I just can't seem to care."

"That would be the magic of morphine," Sam informed her as he returned the smile.

Faith studied him through half-lidded eyes. He looked tired and he had quite a bit of stubble going on. She'd never seen him like that before. He was always clean shaven. Plus, there was sunlight coming in through the blinds. That couldn't be right. She was completely disoriented.

"How long have I been out?" she asked curiously.

"A while," he replied. "It's two in the afternoon right now."

"No way. You're kiddin' me?"

"Nope, not kidding," he assured her. "You were in surgery for almost four hours and then they kept you knocked out for a long time after that. Altogether, it's been about twelve hours."

"Wow," she remarked in disbelief. "Guess I was pretty messed up." She paused for a minute, trying to get up the courage to broach the next subject.

"Was it really Buffy?" she asked, appearing afraid of the answer.

"No. It wasn't Buffy. We're pretty sure it was a Shapeshifter. Don't know if you've ever ran into one of those before, but they're really nasty. They can read the thoughts of whoever they turn into. So that explains why you believed it was her."

She looked completely stricken for a moment, but quickly covered it up. "Her thoughts then," she remarked in a flat tone. "I figured."

"Faith," Sam began earnestly, "I just talked to Buffy about what you said last night. About how you said she'd done this before. She told me what happened –"

"What did she say?" she asked defensively.

"She didn't say much," he assured her gently. "She didn't really wanna talk about it. She's pretty freaked and really pissed about what that thing did to you. You need to know something about Shifters. They like to mess with people's heads. They twist the truth. You can't take anything they say at face value. Buffy's been really worried about you," he stressed.

Sam believed this, but he wasn't saying it to take Buffy's side. She had Dean for that. He was saying it because he knew that it was important to Faith. She seemed to have a hard time believing that people actually cared. He paused for a moment, considering if he should deliver more bad news while she was still so weak. Everyone had already decided not to mention Kellie just yet, but he felt like what he had to tell her might have a lot to do with what was bothering her.

"It knew your thoughts," he finally added. "It knew how to get at you because it was in your skin too."

Faith looked shocked and sickened by this and Sam couldn't say he blamed her. He truly hated to even bring it up.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Pretty sure. Unless you remember coming on to Dean yesterday and telling him that I wanted to uh… do things with him. Really kinky things too, apparently. Thank God he didn't give me any specifics."

"Huh?"

"That was pretty much my reaction," he replied.

"Wow," she remarked thoughtfully. "Some night, huh?"

Sam shook his head and sighed deeply. "You have no idea. You scared the hell out of me," he scolded lightly.

Faith reached out for the hand he had resting on the bed. She was high as a kite right now. That could be her excuse.

"You're just a sap," she remarked with a smile. "You oughta know I'm too tough to die."

"Looks like," Sam agreed as he squeezed her hand gently.

"You better believe it. And I can still kick your ass too. I can't believe you named me 'Rhonda'. Seriously? Couldn't you come up with somethin' better than that?"

Sam laughed. "Apparently not. But hey," he added, "that Rhonda chick's pretty popular." He lifted his free hand to indicate the flowers, balloons, and stuffed animals that were sitting around the room, all with little cards sticking out of them. "They bring in something else every few minutes. I think the nurses are starting to get cranky. I'm sure they'll be thrilled when all your visitors get here."

"Huh," Faith remarked in shock as she took in the scene. This certainly did seem different from the last time she was in this position.

"Hey Sam," she said hesitantly. "You know that stuff I told you… about the guy I murdered. I need you to understand that I was really messed up back then. I'd do anything to change it. You have to believe me," she implored with tears forming in her eyes.

Sam cut her off before she could say more. "Faith don't. You've been through too much to get into this right now. I believe you. I swear I do. And if you want to talk about this stuff when you get back on your feet, I'm all ears. I promise. And if you don't, then that's fine too… because I already know what I need to know about you," he stressed. "I know you better than you think I do. You risk your life every day to help people and you never complain and you never expect anything in return. That says a lot."

Faith looked away, embarrassed by the way she was behaving and unsure of what to think of Sam's reaction. The drugs definitely weren't helping. That was for sure. She was putting herself way out there and that wasn't something she'd ever been comfortable doing. But then again, this was Sam and he was different. It was just all so confusing. She needed to get her head around everything that had happened to her.

"I should go," Sam remarked in response to Faith's extended silence. "You need your rest."

"Nah, you can stay," she said. "I'll probably pass out on you, but I think they've got cable here."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," she promised him.