Cold Oaks, South Dakota
Hell. Faith had looked into it a time or two, in a frighteningly literal sense, and fire and brimstone seemed to be a common factor. But this dark place, this dead place, seemed like a good contender for the big H. She was more of a city girl, but it wasn't like she was unfamiliar with waking up in a pitch black forest, thanks to time spent slaying in bizarre locations. So she knew it wasn't the finger-like tree branches silhouetted by moonlight, or the distant outline of lifeless looking buildings waiting over the ridge, that sent a tingle down her spine. No, it was in the air, a sense of warning, a sense of foreboding: this place was haunted.
"And no Scooby gang in sight."
The sound of her own voice surprised her, and she'd taken enough blows to the head to know that easy, cool-cat tone was due to her disorienting crash landing. She was anything but calm on the inside.
It felt like a dream, seeing the shocked look on Buffy's face, taking the leap into the portal, opening her eyes to a sky of stars above her and dirt in her hair. Maybe it was. Maybe she was halfway through a patrol and took a good hit to the head. Maybe a big bad was to blame. But Faith doubted it.
This was on her. Whatever happened next was on her, because she'd made the decision to jump.
And she was here, wherever 'here' was, with purpose: kill some random guy named Sam Winchester.
Easy.
She swallowed hard and pushed herself up off the ground, brushing the gray mud off her black denim jeans. Out of instinct, she drew her leg up, finding the knife secured in her boot. It wasn't her usual choice, but the black blade and handle was nearly invisible in the shadows.
She held her arm out, tip forward, letting the knife lead, and quietly crossed through the woods, closing in on the buildings ahead. The closer she got, the more certain she was that there was no one living anywhere nearby. What she'd thought was the edge of a town appeared to be the whole town. A faded white chapel stood out in the pale light at the far end before two lines of store fronts with rickety balconies and rough wooden porches, a gravel and mud road running between them.
Cobbler. General store. Saloon. Faith glimpsed a few crooked signs here and there before she heard a murmur of voices and spotted a faint yellow light behind one of the windows. She circled back behind the closest row of buildings and huffed, despite herself. She'd landed in a ghost town. An honest-to-God ghost town.
She shook her head. It would have been funny if not for the eerie chill in the air and the tightening in her gut that told her this wasn't some tourist attraction. She could almost hear Dawn excitedly insisting on a camp-out, because she'd love this place. Thinking of the young Watcher soured her stomach. If things went to plan, she wouldn't be seeing D or any of the others again.
A good thing. She was sure. But it didn't feel that way at the moment.
"AVA!"
The shout was muffled but not distant, and Faith slid into the darkest shadow of the building, waiting. No one rounded the corner, so she eased back out. Whatever was going on, it was happening on the other side of the building.
"This is cheating, you know."
Faith froze, her fingers slick against the handle of her knife as she barely checked the urge to throw it in the voice's direction. He was close, maybe twenty feet off into the woods, standing with one shoulder propped against a tree. If she didn't trust her senses, if she didn't trust her eyes when they met his, she would have sworn he was just an ordinary guy, middle-aged, complete with a few laugh lines and an easy smile, probably blue collar with a wife and kids back home. But Faith kept her knife ready, her body tense.
Something was wrong with this picture. Her nose wrinkled when she caught a whiff of sulfur in the air.
"That's being prepared, pops," she noted, twisting her knife's blade slightly.
It was a show, as she was sure the creature was aware, because she was certain the weapon would do little good against this guy…Whatever sort of demon he was.
He chuckled softly and took a step forward. The moonlight hit hit him across the eyes. They were a murky yellow and fixed on her. His smile shifted into something harder, something significantly less amused.
"See, I was just settling down to watch my show after a long day of running errands, when in comes an unexpected guest without so much as a phone call of warning. I just hate it when people pop in unannounced." He paused, as if considering his words carefully. "You're not one of mine. I'd know if you were one of mine. Care to explain why you're crashing my casting call, beautiful?"
Faith raised a brow. "Didn't realize it was a private party."
The demon was quiet a long moment, watching her carefully. His eyes widened slightly, as if he'd just noticed something interesting.
"Oh, my, my," he said, quietly. There seemed to be a touch of bitterness bleeding through his amusement. "I didn't even realize you were one of his…" He cocked his head to the side. "Figures. The runt has a breakdown and disappears, leaving the faithful to do all the work, but he still can't keep his hand out of my cookie jar, can he? He would pop back up, right when things are getting interesting again, with offspring in tow … Gotta say though," he gave her another long, sweeping glance, "I'm impressed with his work." His voice hardened in anger. "After I made all the sacrifices, of course, he'd try to swoop in and pretend he put in the labor to free his old lady. Never did have a bit of respect for the hierarchy downstairs."
It wasn't often that Faith was lost for words, but she felt like she'd missed half the conversation. "I'm sorry, did we date or something?" she blurted. "Because I usually remember the demons I bang."
He was silent a beat.
"Seriously?" He let out a loud laugh, clapping his hands together in front of him. "This is rich," he muttered to himself, then refocused on Faith. "You know, I'd heard the stories, rumors from the thin place, but I didn't believe them…It would be sad if it weren't so funny. Guess I don't really have to worry about you making a play for the throne then, do I?" He sobered. "Well, it's been lovely, but I have a hell of a game unfolding, and I need to watch my players. Stay away from my kiddos, and I won't have to ruin your pretty meatsuit."
Faith shot him a tight, pissy grin. "Meatsuit? What the fu-?" But the demon was gone already, replaced with a stretch of shadows. "Why doesn't this shit ever happen to Buffy?"
A single scream pierced the night. Faith didn't know what it said about her life, but the cry didn't alarm her as much as it should have, and she slipped back into her stealth mode, crouching low against wooden steps. The demon, whoever or whatever Mr. Sass was, had found her easily enough, but he hadn't tried to kill her. Not exactly an endearing sign, considering what he had said, but she wasn't sure yet if he was the only baddie in town.
She could hear footsteps, muffled voices. At least three, maybe more. And then there was that constant feeling of uneasiness. She was sure her instinct had been right; this place was frickin' haunted. She just wasn't sure if the yellow-eyed guy was the only thing pinging her monster radar.
Her eyes widened as she watched the shadows in front of her move. No…not shadows. She saw the darkness lift away, a black cloud of smoke trailing through the air and into a building far ahead of her. She had a feeling that was exactly where the owner of the scream was holed-up.
"Just another trip into Wonderland," she muttered and moved forward, crossing the short distance quietly.
A faint light flickered from the crack in the door, and she eased up the back porch's steps, keeping low to the ground. When she found the back door, she tried the rusted knob. It was open. She stepped in cautiously, but she didn't hear anyone inside. Up a narrow hall, she could see the opening to a lit room.
She saw the spray of red on the walls and splattering the side window before she really looked down at the bodies. One of them had done the screaming. Probably the woman, the one currently propped on the floor, her head twisted at an odd angle, lifeless eyes wide in surprise. Maybe she'd found the other one. He was in even worse shape, his body ripped open, shredded to the point that she couldn't sort skin from cloth. They were both young, probably early twenties. Everything was fresh, wet. Faith could taste the blood in the air, and it made her grimace.
She backed out of the room carefully, her boot scuffing against something on the floor, and she bent down see what the little line of white was made of: salt. For protection, probably, if she remembered correctly. She was pretty sure Giles had went on and on about its properties before, but Faith had more use for weapons than laying circles.
It looked like their seasoning choices hadn't done them much good.
She turned her head sharply when she realized there were voices coming from out front. The main door had been left ajar, giving her enough room to prop against the wall and peek out the crack without giving away her location.
"You don't have to do this."
His voice was low, barely audible thanks to the distance, but the words themselves almost startled her into stepping out the door. Instead, she held her place, eyes wide as she realized she recognized the speaker, even in the poor lighting. Awake and standing, Sam Winchester was a huge guy, tall, thin but broad shouldered enough to be carrying his own share of muscles. Something about that floppy brown hair and those pleading eyes still gave the same impression she'd had of him in her dream, that he was just a kid. Young. Innocent.
Looks could be deceiving. Faith knew as much. Hell, she'd lived as much. She wondered if people who looked at her ever thought, There goes a killer. There goes a cold-blooded murder.
"Sam, he's not letting us go. Only one. If we don't play along, he'll kill us both…"
Faith shook off the thought, forcing her focus on the other young man outside, the one who was speaking. He couldn't have been any older than Sam, a lost look on his face when she caught his profile. His features were dark in the frail light, but his clothes were easy to identify, camo army fatigues. She raised a brow, confused by what the guy had said. Had these two killed the couple behind her or had this mysterious "he" done it. When they mentioned killing the "demon," she rolled her eyes.
Not so mysterious, she reminded herself, since she'd already met the creature in charge. She'd put money on this being what the yellow-eyed demon had been talking about when he mentioned his "kiddos." The demon was forcing these guys into their own personal Battle Royale. But for what?
"Shits and giggles," she muttered under her breath. Besides, she didn't really need answers. She wasn't here for research; she was here on a mission.
"How do I know you won't turn on me?" army boy asked.
"I won't."
Sam followed the statement with a deliberately slow reach to his side, to pull out a knife. He bent down, sitting it down in the mud. "Don't do this," he said. "Don't play into what it wants."
Faith blinked at him, the sincerity in his voice forcing her to think about the statement. Don't play into what it wants. She wasn't a stranger to regret or to second-guessing herself, not when she'd made so many wrong moves in the past. Not when she'd jumped on too many bandwagons, ready to rumble, first for the Watchers, then for the Mayor. For someone who liked to play the part of the rebel, she knew she'd been a follower too many times.
The soldier clenched the iron bar in his hand a moment longer before bending to sit it on the ground. As soon as it hit the dirt, Faith saw the shift in his body language, but Sam didn't. He looked shocked when the soldier popped back up and threw out a fist. The punch sent Sam through the air and into a wooden corral fence. He landed hard on his back, and Faith took an instinctive step forward.
So, the army private's not so human. At least not a normal human, Faith guessed. Which meant Sam might not be either. Hell, maybe no one was in this world. Maybe apes ruled over people too. She wasn't sure what the rule book looked like, only that the first slayer had told her the leap would take her to another place. She'd talked to Angel and his crew enough about dimensional travel (because that seemed to be a common past time for people in friggin' LA) to realize it wouldn't be entirely odd if a talking T-Rex appeared out of the chapel right now.
So she held back, grimacing when the soldier caught up with Sam, ready to finish the job, but the kid wasn't going down easy.
"Good move, Sammy boy," she whispered.
She was impressed, despite herself, at Sam's fighting skills. He didn't seem to have the superhuman strength the private had, but he'd obviously been trained. Another detail she filed away for later. The soldier caught his arm as he swung, and even Faith could hear the hard pop as it dislocated from his shoulder.
He couldn't keep this up. A few more punches to the kidney, and the decision would be made for her. Faith knew she could just stand there and let it happen, that she could get what she needed, finish this, without ever having to lift a finger.
"If I wasn't so goddamned bad at following instructions," she said.
It was loud enough for them to hear, but Sam was the only one to look in her direction. She had a split second to realize speaking aloud was the wrong decision before the soldier overtook Sam, the two of them falling to the ground together in a painful-looking tumble. Faith reached them before another set of blows could be exchanged, kicking the soldier off of Sam.
He hit the ground a few feet away at a roll, barely lifting his head when he came to a stop. Faith could see a patch across one side of his chest: TALLEY. He stared up at her, wide-eyed.
"Where did you come from?" he asked.
"Stay down, Talley," she warned, since answering the question didn't seem particularly important while breaking up a fight to the death. At the stunned expressions on both their faces, Faith sighed, deciding the role she needed to play. "Now, do either of you want to tell me what the hell is going on here?"
She caught herself directing the question to Sam, who was still sprawled out on the ground, blood smeared across half his face and caked with dirt. He opened and closed his mouth, as if he planned to answer but wasn't sure how. With a wince, he managed to push himself up onto his elbow.
"We were brought here," he said. His voice was steady, but Faith could hear the pain in it.
"How badly are you hurt?" she asked, reaching down for him. He hesitated a moment, eyes flicking to the black blade still in her hand, before he took her up on the offer, grasping her free wrist tightly as he slowly pulled himself up to a stand.
"Sam!"
They heard the distant shout at the same time, both turning to look down the old dirt road.
Sam let out a huff of relief, a small smile on his tired face. "That's my brother," he said.
Faith raised a brow. The way he said "my brother," he could have just as easily said "the cavalry." The guy had a family, a family who was apparently looking for him…Her brow knitted in thought as she considered asking him what had happened, why the demon had taken him…why her inner-slayer-spirit had determined killing him would help save the world.
"Hope he knows how to get out of Old West Land," she said, instead. "This is not my idea of a vacation."
She heard the movement behind them, the shuffle of feet on the dirt, and turned in time to throw a hand up, catching Talley's arm as he shoved out with the knife. The blade stopped inches from Sam's back, and before Talley could manage to use that super-strength of his, Faith brought her knee up to his side, landing a blow.
He grunted out, his attention refocusing on Faith. She saw the swipe of his fist right before it slammed into the side of her face. The blow was dizzying, even for her, but he seemed shocked when she stayed on her feet, only stumbling back. Talley was quicker to react than she expected, and while her vision was still spinning, he lunged out with the knife. She dodged it, but not quickly enough. A white hot pain lit up her side, where the blade had sliced through her jacket and grazed her.
Talley reared back, aiming for her neck this time, and Faith saw it, out of the corner of her eye, the rusty edge of a metal bar slicing through the air behind him, Sam grimacing as he swung the weapon. It hit Talley squarely across the skull, and the man's eyes rolled back in his head as he fell forward into Faith. She twisted away from his blade, but his body hit her at full force, and she found herself knocked breathless and on her back, the man splayed out over top her.
Faith blinked up at the night sky. The stars were moving quickly, or maybe that was just her head wound. For a few long seconds, she forgot where she was and why. That moment of blissful ignorance was over all too soon when she realized Sam was at her side, on his knees, struggling to lift Talley off her with his one good arm. She didn't need the help, could have thrown him ten feet in the other direction if she needed to, but she froze instead when she realized that soldier boy wasn't moving.
Faith was suddenly sharply aware of the placement of her hands, one of them in the dirt, the other pinned between his body and hers. The handle of her knife against her ribs hurt, sure, but she was certain the bladed end would have hurt much more.
"No…" She swallowed down the word, but it came out again, like a hiccup. "No…no…"
This time, she did help push, carefully rolling Talley over onto his back. Her boots raked through the mud as she pulled them up, practically curling in on herself as she stared down at the body beside her.
The dead man's eyes were open slightly, mouth slack. He was young. He looked so human. Which, he had to have been to die so easily. The blade was still inside him, at an angle, and she could map its course between the rips, slicing too close to the heart. There wasn't much blood, all of it trapped inside. But he was gone. She didn't have to touch him to know he was gone.
There were footsteps set at a dead run. They slowed as they reached them. Faith heard Sam scramble up. Heard the thud as his body slammed against another man's in a tight hug. They were talking, slightly frantic. She was sure what they were saying was important, but it all sounded like a low buzzing in her ears. Her eyes stayed glued on the name tag: TALLEY. And the spot above his heart, where, between one blink and another, she saw the blunt end of a wooden stake instead of a knife handle.
Was it supposed to get easier, taking lives? Wasn't it supposed to be a simple thing, for a murderer like her?
She didn't know why it came as a surprise that there was a corpse laying beside her. She'd come here to kill a man, after all.
Turning a corner at a full run, it had felt like he was treading water. Seconds seemed to stretch impossibly long. Dean could see his brother, could see a brunette at Sam's side. Could see the man standing up behind them, a knife in hand:
Dean imagined it so clearly, the way the man would lunge forward, slide the knife into his brother's back. The way Sam's knees would give out before the shocked look ever left his face. Dean could see himself sliding into his brother, catching him as he fell, holding on to him in those last seconds.
It was every nightmare he'd ever had.
And he woke from it.
The moment he spotted the movement behind Sam, the woman at his side whipped around, catching the other man's arm before he could deliver the blow. Dean sucked in a breath so fast it rattled his ribs. He barely registered the rest of the scuffle, his focus on Sam. When the others fell to the ground, Dean hated himself for thanking God that his brother wasn't down there with them.
When Dean did come to a stop, it was to grab his brother. Sam leaned into the hug, careful of one arm. Dean pulled back, long enough to grab his brother by the other shoulder, rake his eyes over him. There was blood and pain on his face, two things Dean never liked to see, but he heard Sam ferociously insisting he was fine.
"Fine my ass," Dean hissed, and hugged him again.
He could feel Bobby's hand resting on his back, the older man finally catching up to the pair, and realized he needed to turn his attention back to the others.
Dean's focus came back to him a rush when he looked down to see the girl who'd saved Sam. And the man who'd tried to kill him. The guy looked young, his wide, dead eyes staring up at the sky.
"The demon brought us here," Sam said, quietly. "It wanted us to kill each other off."
Dean swallowed hard, wanting to forget what he'd imagined seeing. The knife in the back, his brother falling onto his knees. He didn't want to be in this place.
"We need to move," Bobby barked, obviously in the same mindset. "How bad you hurt?"
"I can walk," Sam answered. "Help her."
Dean shot his brother a look. He'd seen the way she'd hit their attacker. "She like you?"
Sam grimaced. "Yeah. I think."
"No." The word was barely a whisper. It was the woman on the ground. Dean realized she wasn't listening to him, and he couldn't blame her. Her eyes were glued to the dead man. "No," she breathed again, shaking her head.
"Hey." Dean squatted down. "Look, hey, can you hear me?"
She blinked at him with big brown doe eyes. They quickly hardened, a stormy darkness in them hiding whatever had been swimming beneath a moment earlier. She straightened, pushing herself up off the ground. Dean followed her lead and reached out, hoping to give her a hand out of the mud. She dodged him with a quick step back.
"Faith," she said. She took a deep, shaky breath, and stood a bit taller."From the shouting, I'll have to assume your boy there is Sam."
"Good to meet you, Faith," Sam said.
Dean blinked at her, surprised at her sudden alertness. "Well, Faith, I'm Dean and that's Bobby. What do say we get the hell out of here?"
"All about a free ride," Faith answered. She grimaced in a way that seemed like it might have been a smile.
Dean nodded. Grinning in the face of doom was something he could appreciate. The sooner they were out of Cold Oaks, the better.