"Willow could you please hand me the anise seeds?" asked Giles, holding out his hand while his body remained fixed over the clay talisman. She and Buffy sat opposite him around the kitchen table, sorting the herbs and other materials into piles. The older man had returned with the redhead in tow just after Xander had come to pick up Dean. They'd spent the last thirty minutes discussing the minutia of the talisman.

According to the leather-bound book of amulets and wards, it was designed to cleanse the psyche and ward off bad dreams and negative influences. Willow had brought anise cuttings and seeds, as well as valerian and bay leaves. The book had called for hyssop as well, but Willow had told the scholar that the herb might be too strong of a banishing agent, and she donated the valerian as a substitute, hoping to promote purification and protection.

Giles had obtained shavings of obsidian and hematite to ward off negativity, and clay which could be baked in a conventional oven to harden in only a few hours. Once the herbs and mineral shavings were placed on the clay, they would fold the clay over the contents and carve the ward symbol into it. The sigil was specific to mare-witches, and Giles had suspected that it was a perversion of Enochian.

"Here you go Giles," replied the witch happily, setting a handful of seeds into the librarian's outstretched hand.

"Good. Thank you." He didn't look up as he took them and settled the anise into the pattern in the center of the clay. "What do you think, Willow?"

"It's pretty," interjected Buffy.

"Yes well, it's not designed to be pretty, Buffy; it is designed to be functional. Until we can find some means to reverse Dean's condition, these amulets are the only protection we have from whatever powers he may now possess."

Buffy pouted and put on a contrite face, but she was thinking about her dreams. Did she really want them to stop?

Yes! screamed one half of her brain. The other shouted back Hell no! Hot, sweaty, orgasm-inducing dreams about gorgeous guys? Yes, please! But on the other hand, those two gorgeous guys? Totally sleeping together. And brothers. And always around. But…really kind of amazing, actually. Buffy's brain was going in circles. Finally common sense stepped in and informed her baser thoughts that regardless of everything, the amulet would prevent Dean's pheromones from working on her and her friends. She would mourn the loss of the dreams though.

"It's okay, Buff," comforted Willow. Buffy's head jerked up before she realized that Wills was just talking about her earlier comment. "It actually is a lovely pattern, with the red and black shards encircling the flowers. And yes, Giles, that's the proper form of the ward. We just have to engrave the sigil into the clay and let it harden. What did you say it was supposed to represent again?"

"I'm relatively sure after a conversation with Mr. Singer that it's a form or derivation of ancient Enochian, supposedly the language of angels; it calls for protection from servants of Nahemah. From what I gather, she is supposed to be the progenitor of the mara, their goddess-creator as it were." Giles picked up the pencil lying beside the bags of herbs and stone shavings and lightly carved the pattern into the malleable clay. Once he finished, he examined the sigil carefully for any mistakes or broken lines. Satisfied, he deepened the gouges, and then set the amulet down on a sheet of wax paper.

"One down!" cheered Buffy. When both Giles and Willow shot her an irritated look, she grumbled. "No one gets my humor!" she exclaimed, tossing her hands up in the air feigning exasperation.

"Buffy, I believe Willow and I have things quite in order here. Why don't you see how the young Mr. Winchester is doing? He's been sleeping most of the day; frankly, I'm fairly concerned." Giles' polite British manner didn't disguise the fact that he was asking her to leave them to their work. And really, now that all of the ingredients were sorted, there wasn't much she could help with anyway.

Well, that was okay. She was concerned about Sam, after all. If Dean was drawing the energy he needed to live from him, as she suspected, then Buffy completely understood why he'd not emerged from the guest room. Dean was one of the most alive people she'd ever met; she couldn't fathom what was necessary to sustain that vitality.

As Buffy wandered down the hall toward the room Sam had appropriated, her thoughts were full of Dean. The interruption this morning had left things awkward and unresolved between them. They'd hardly spoken the rest of the day. Dean had kept his nose in a book she was reasonably sure he wasn't actually reading, while she'd done her level best to work off some excess energy. She'd done dishes, cleaned, and vacuumed…all the normal household stuff she usually put off until the last possible moment. She'd even gone down to the basement to practice with weapons until Xander had finally come to pick him up.

None of it had set her mind at ease. It had been days now, and they were no closer to finding any way to reverse what had been done to the hunter. The ward medallions were the first real progress they'd had, and they could only prevent the effects he had on others—they wouldn't save him from the terrible hunger he must be feeling. So while everyone wearing the talismans would be able to resist his subconscious call, Dean would go mad from starvation. Buffy knew Giles had put his hope in Atherton, his colleague at the British Watcher's Council; she just hoped that faith was justified. She didn't want to have to watch Dean die. Almost against her will, she was strangely fond of him.

A muffled ringing coming from the guest room stole her attention. Sam's phone.

On the other side of the door, Sam made a noise of discontent that was half growl and half whine at having been awakened. It took him a second or two to realize his cell was ringing, but the moment he did, he was wide awake and scrambling for it. Very few people had his number, and a call from any of them was usually urgent. He glanced briefly at the caller ID before accepting the call, his relief making the tense set of his shoulders relax ever so slightly.

"Ruby? Where are you?"

"Well, howdy to you too, Sam," came the irritated voice from the other end. "I'm doing great thanks, just stuck out in the middle of Bumfuck, Idaho following up on a lead for you, but I'm so relieved to hear you care. Makes my heart sing with joy."

Sam sighed. "Hi, Ruby," he said patiently. For all she was a demon, she was still a woman. He forgot that sometimes, but never for long.

"Hi, Sammy," she greeted again, this time with warmth in her voice. As warm as Ruby ever got, anyway. "I know you're hurting, but I need to finish checking this out, it could be important. I'll get to Cleveland as soon as I can, just a couple more days. Don't worry baby, I'm going to take good care of you. Hang in there, okay?"

Sam mumbled something that was akin to disgruntled agreement and hung up on her. A rogue thought passed through him. Dean would never make him wait for something he needed. Sam lay immobile as he considered the implications. Even when they'd been young, his older brother had always provided for them. Dean was the one who'd brought him to the hospital when he'd fallen in the playground and broken his arm. Dean was the one who poured cereal and made sandwiches and ordered take out, sometimes even going hungry to make sure his little brother had enough to eat. He'd looked after Sam, saw immediately to his needs…and here the younger Winchester was, running off behind Dean's back to do something that would sicken his older brother if he ever found out. That did sicken Sam.

His self-disgust didn't change the fact that he craved what Ruby gave him. Dean would understand that now, surely. Even now the need was a crawling, gnawing thing in his gut. Sam often worried where the path he was on would take him; he didn't think it was anywhere good. But the tradeoff would be worth it. Finding Lilith, killing her…the bitch had condemned his brother to forty years of unspeakable torture while he had to sit and watch it happen. He'd had to watch powerlessly while Dean was ripped to pieces by her Hellhounds. She had to pay for Dean's pain, for Sam's despair…for so many, many things. And he had to be strong enough to do it. He could be, with Ruby's help. He would be.

And after that? Well, he'd been willing to sacrifice himself before.

A light knock alerted him to the presence of another person. Sam looked up to see the petite blonde leaning against the door frame. "Girlfriend?" she asked innocently.

Sam sighed deeply. "It's complicated." Business associate? Dealer? Lover? Confidante? All of those things, he supposed. She helped take the edge off, kept him from spiraling into self-destruction, made him strong. He was pretty sure there was no way to explain Ruby to Buffy, so he didn't try.

But the Slayer saw something in Sam's eyes, and simply nodded. With everything he was going through, he could probably use a rock. She could do steady and supportive, but he needed to smile first. "I did complicated once," she shared as she walked to the bed to take a seat beside the young hunter. Her past relationships were certainly that, she admitted to herself, thinking of Angel and everything that had been and come between them. And she thought of Spike. Last she'd heard they were both off fighting the good fight in Los Angeles. She remembered Riley and his issues of inadequacy. Buffy shook her head and grinned ruefully. "Okay well…maybe more than once."

"Yeah? How'd that work out?"

Buffy's grin widened into a true smile. "Complicated."

Sam chuckled with her. "Yeah well, our whole lives have been complicated."

"Not really. You find the bad thing, you kill the bad thing. That's about as simple as things get, when you think about it."

Sam sighed. "It's not that, the job. It's…have you ever had the feeling that whatever you choose, whatever you do, things are going to end in a predetermined way?" The thing in Sam's belly stirred, and he ruthlessly squashed it, once more forcing it into the abyss within him in the hope it would go away for good this time. Too bad he was never that lucky.

"Sure. Slayer here. Mystical calling and yadda, yadda, yadda." Buffy rolled her eyes. "But Sam, one thing I've learned about prophecies and destinies is they never work out quite the way you thought they would. Hey, I was destined to die at sixteen!"

"And?" prodded Sam, looking at the very alive, very vibrant young woman.

She shrugged cheerfully. "I died. Drowned, actually, but only for a minute. Xander made with the CPR and brought me back. I could give you a bunch of other examples, but my point is nothing is set in stone. I haven't known you long, Winchester, but I can tell you're a good guy. And I've seen how much you care for your brother." She pretended not to see the flush that colored Sam's cheeks, and pressed on. "Strangely enough, things usually have a way of working themselves out."

Sam looked up at her and did his level best to attempt a convincing smile. He wanted to be reassured. But facts were facts. Dean was still changed and something within Sam still craved everything that Ruby could give him. And no matter how much both of those things terrified him, neither was likely to change any time soon. But Buffy was trying so hard, so all he said was, "I'm sure you're right."

-

Buffy closed to door behind her, leaving Sam to get some more sleep. She'd have Willow or Giles bring some food for him later; she didn't want to see the hopelessness in his eyes again tonight. She sighed and flopped down on the couch and let her lids droop. It had been a while since she'd had a solid night's sleep, between the research and the dreams.

The sound of the door closing startled her awake. It was after 9 o'clock. Damn, she really hadn't meant to sleep that long. She figured either Giles or Willow would have woken her up when they'd finished the amulets.

"Hey," she called, a bit groggy. She wiped the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand and sat up tiredly.

"Hey," came the response, the voice whiskey-rough and pitched in a way that made her underwear damp. That probably hadn't been Dean's intent, but everything about him was keyed for sex now, even down to the very timbre of his voice.

Buffy took a calming breath. "Did you have a good night?"

"You know, I really did. Xander said to tell you goodnight by the way, he had to get stuff ready at the shop for tomorrow. Big sale or something."

"I'm glad," she said, stretching her cramped limbs and cracking her back.

Dean stiffened, his breath held as he watched her move. He'd never met a woman as incredible as Buffy, and it wasn't just her body, though god damn. Her strength, both physical and emotional, spoke to something in him, something he hoped wasn't the mara. He didn't feel the hunger that had become his greatest fear, but that didn't mean it wasn't lurking somewhere in the pit of his stomach, waiting for an outlet.

"I have to get some sleep, obviously. But Dean, I really am glad you had a good time. You deserve it." Buffy got up from the couch and walked by the hunter on the way upstairs. He was still standing just inside the hall, motionless as he could make himself.

"Wait," he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. Dean's hand circled her arm and he spun her into his arms. He'd been terrified of the way he'd reacted to her earlier, and that, more than Giles's warning, had been keeping him at arm's length. But now…he wanted to finish what they'd started, to prove to himself that he could be safe, that he could allow himself to have this. He kept a tight leash on his desire, knowing that Buffy would feel the full force of it because of his inhuman nature.

Gently, gentler than he'd ever been with anyone other than Sammy as a baby, Dean enclosed the Slayer in a chaste embrace. "I want to kiss you, Buffy." The words felt like a plea.

She looked up and met his incredible amber eyes. She thought it was entirely unfair for any man to have eyes so inhumanly perfect. Dean was beautiful, there was no denying that. Handsome and noble, and so very strong in the face of everything that had happened to him. Of course she wanted to kiss him. And more besides. "Okay," she breathed, tilting her head up to give him a better angle to her lips.

Dean groaned, unprepared for the breadth of feeling that flooded him. He took her lips with a delicate pressure, but no less possessive for all its tenderness. "Oh god," he whispered, pulling away to rest his head on her shoulder. Faint gold-green luminescence peeked out from beneath his closed lids. He didn't want this, wasn't ready for it. He'd never wanted a girl this way before, not for the person she was. Before, with other girls, with Cassie, it was only about what they'd represented to him or what they could do for him. Maybe it was because Buffy really seemed to care about him. Or hell, maybe he was just imagining that she felt something in return.

Buffy touched his face and he lifted his head toward her. The next kiss began just as light as the first, and almost hesitant. Dean had never let these kinds of feelings fill him in such a way. They scared him, yet at the same time he welcomed—craved—them. To feel wanted, feel loved…it was all he'd ever wanted. He gave himself over to his desire and the black hole of need within him, and deepened their kiss.

Everything he'd felt before seemed magnified now, as if he was allowing himself to feel it on an even deeper level. Yeah, he was still terrified of how much he liked the Slayer, but she was too good to let go. Dean's tongue brushed against Buffy's lips, tasting of berry lip-gloss. She opened her mouth slightly to draw a ragged breath, and the hunter seized the opportunity that presented itself. He entered her mouth and caressed her tongue with his own. He wanted to feel every part of her the same way he was exploring her mouth right now. He wanted her writhing beneath his fingertips as he made her come over and over again.

Dean's body was responding to the way Buffy pressed herself against him, tensing and hardening in all the right places. She smirked into their kiss and reached a hand down to caress him through his jeans. He moaned, breaking away from her lips to nibble his way down her neck. The Slayer stiffened a bit in his arms and dropped her hand when he reached the raised white flesh that scarred her neck. "It's okay," he whispered. He wanted to promise her that he was safe, that he didn't feel the hunger stirring inside of him. True, Dean didn't sense his mara nature; that had been fed well and deeply. But he still hungered, and he didn't know how safe that hunger was. Buffy was strong, but what if he hurt her without meaning to? Regretfully, he pulled away from her, hands resting lightly on her shoulders, unwilling to break contact completely. His hard cock was a reminder of how badly he wanted her.

"You should get some sleep," he told her regretfully.

"You didn't have to stop, Dean. I just…I don't like what those scars remind me of."

He shook his head. "Goodnight, Buffy." He withdrew from her, went over to the couch and began setting up the hide-a-bed.

Hurt, she took a deep breath. "Fine," she said shortly. At the sound of her fading footsteps on the stairs, Dean finally relaxed. His dick was begging for attention, but God damn it, he was so very not in the mood. Part of him was raging against the rest for letting her go, but it was a small part. Dean knew he'd done the right thing. He'd wanted to prove he could handle himself, and he had. Anything more than that was just too dangerous. He didn't think he could take it if the monster in him could rise up and act without warning.

It was already horrifying enough trying to live with the thing he'd become.