Several days passed largely without incident. Giles had handed out protective amulets to everyone who might come in contact with Dean. Tomes were read and re-read in the search for any tiny detail that might have been overlooked. Xander and Willow visited whenever they had time, both to help with the research and to keep spirits high. Xander especially seemed to have a developing friendship with Dean, who was able to throw off his depression for a while as they knocked back a few beers.

Atherton had called from England the day before last, confirming the delivery of Dean's blood sample, but they had only just begun analyzing it and had no answers at the moment. Dean's unnatural hunger seemed to have subsided—for the moment at least—and his dreams remained undisturbed by unwelcome visitors, though things between he and Sam and Buffy were tense with words that remained unspoken. His eyes would follow her though, whenever he thought she wasn't looking, but whenever she turned to him as if to speak, Dean immediately lowered his head into a book and returned to sulking.

Sam, for his part, saw the way Buffy kept stealing glances at his brother. Something was going on between the two them, but the very fact that Dean seemed to bury his nose even deeper in a book every time she walked past assured Sam that nothing had happened yet. It also meant that whatever Dean felt for her, it was more than simple attraction. Not that he faulted his brother; the Slayer was a powerful, beautiful, amazing person. Hell, if he couldn't sense that his brother was head-over-heels for her, Sam would have tried to pursue her for himself. But if there were a soul mate out there for everyone, Buffy would be it for Dean. Her strength, her attitude, her experiences…they both had so much in common. They were so damn willing to sacrifice everything for their families. Then again wasn't that what he was doing in pursuing Lilith? In drinking demon blood? Maybe he wasn't sacrificing his life, like Dean did when he made the deal to bring him back, but Sam could feel some of his humanity trickle away with every gulp of the tainted crimson fluid.

Sam sighed. It had to be done. He'd resigned himself to his fate months ago. Some things were just too evil to be allowed continued existence, and he was the only one in a position to stop her. Any other hunter, even one as good as him and Dean, would be kibble in the few seconds it took Lilith to say "Do you want to play a game?" He chafed at the familial bonds that kept him here, tethered to Dean's fate. The chains of family were beginning to rub him raw. He loved his brother, even more strongly now that Sam had him back from Hell, but he just wanted this ended. He wanted to avenge his brother, his family, himself. He wanted to retire before he was old and grey. He just…wanted.

He glanced down at his phone, sitting almost accusingly on the table in front of him. It had buzzed just moments ago, alerting him to a text message from Ruby. I'm here, baby. Sam hadn't replied yet, but the craving was strong within him. His powers were still weakened from...before, and though the darkness of her blood was a living thing inside of him that Sam could feel it growing with every drop, his path was already decided.

He picked up the phone.

The cool air swirled inside, caressing Dean's cheek with some unexplainable promise from the dusking world, and drawing his attention to the front door. Dean watched Sam leave, closing the door quietly behind him as if hoping no one would notice. He grunted. He'd known the peace between them was too good to last. It looked like Sammy was up to his old routine again, but this time he couldn't even wait for his brother to go to sleep first before running off with his demon whore. Well, whatever. His kid brother was an adult. He was entitled to make his own decisions, even if they were freaking terrible ones. It wasn't like Dean was the pinnacle of good decision making these days, either.

"Dean?" called Buffy from the bottom of the stairs. She'd heard the door open and close, and had come down to investigate. Dean was sitting on the sofa, fuming. Buffy was again assaulted, as she was every time she looked at him, by his masculine beauty. He was too perfect to be human; he'd been re-formed into an ideal physical specimen, and she was far from immune. It didn't hurt that within that polished marble chest beat a heart as big as any she'd known, that sacrificed everything over and over again, and always would.

Dean breathed out, not quite a sigh, and turned to look at the Slayer standing on the steps. He'd known she was there even before she spoke, his nostrils flaring with the scent of spice that was uniquely her own. He would know Buffy anywhere, could find her in the middle of Times Square on New Year's Eve. Could trace her shape in the darkness of his mind and feel her touch in the empty caverns of his heart.

Buffy noticed his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, as if he was trying to prevent himself from reaching out to her. She'd been giving him his space, and to be honest she was still pissed that he'd walked away from her before. She couldn't fathom how he could deny the connection between them, how he could doubt, how he could deny it. But she couldn't ignore his obvious distress. Something had upset him deeply, if she were any judge.

"All right, spill," she demanded, her hands on her hips.

"What's to say?" Dean shrugged.

"Younger siblings can be such a pain, right?" Buffy practically leapt from the staircase and bounded over to sit astride…err, beside Dean.

"Dude," agreed the elder Winchester.

"I remember when Dawn was going through her rebellious phase just when I needed to protect her the most…it's so frustrating when we can't safeguard them from themselves."

Dean nodded grumpily.

"So what's the what?" she asked, waiting patiently for his answer. She curled her legs under her and turned so that she was facing him.

He glared at her. Dean Winchester did not do chick-flick moments, and he knew the warning signs. But he felt so at ease around her that he almost let his guard drop. If Dad was still alive, Dean was sure he'd have gotten a serious lecture about that kind of negligence. Dad wasn't around though, and neither was Sam. His little brother was slipping away again, their newfound closeness only an illusion. Dean was feeling more alone than he had in a long time, so why not reach out to someone who seemed to give a shit about him?

"Before we came here…well, for a while now, ever since I became a hellhound's chew-toy, Sam's been sneaking around with a demon, doing who knows what."

"Ah, the complicated girlfriend," Buffy acknowledged.

Dean gave her a questioning look but continued on. "He thinks I don't know when he leaves or where he's going, but I do. And just now…it's like he doesn't even care that I know anymore. He just left in broad daylight without a word to me. She's trouble, Buffy. I can feel it in my gut."

"This probably won't make you feel any better, but Sam knows. He's dealing with his own problems, and I'm sure he doesn't want to burden you with them, especially now with what you're going through. He feels helpless. Just…try to be there for him, because he'll need you when he figures it out." The ringing on the phone interrupted whatever else she had been about to say, and Dean didn't know if he was relieved or not for the conversation to be over. "I'll get it!" she called, jumping up from the sofa and picking up the receiver. "Hello?" she answered. "Giles! It's for you!"

Dean's acute hearing could pick up the response from the other end of the line. "Stay on the line please, Ms. Summers, this call concerns your houseguest."

"Hello? This is Rupert Giles."

"Ah, Rupert, it's William. I've had a chance to do a thorough investigation of the blood sample you sent me. It's really quite remarkable. The white blood cells were initially perfect in their operation; they destroyed everything from common bacteria to HIV. Unfortunately, after approximately a week, they've deteriorated considerably with no known cause. The obviously require a different kind of sustenance than mammalian cells, which makes sense considering how succubi feed. But now we have a biological link to their dietary needs!"

Dean could figure out what that meant easily enough. He would need to feed again, and probably soon if they couldn't get his condition reversed. He sighed unhappily and Buffy raised a finger to his lips to shush him. He rolled his eyes but complied.

"Very interesting findings, William, but have you made any progress in finding a cure?"

"Unfortunately, no. Nothing we've tried in the realm of science or magic has been successful in transforming the blood cells back to human. We've been unable to find a way to keep the cells alive with conventional means as well. I'm afraid to say we're all stumped here."

"So there's nothing you can do for him?" inquired Buffy.

"We will keep trying, certainly, but I'm not sure there is anything that can be done for him. I am sorry."

Well, that wasn't what Dean wanted to hear, not at fucking all. Frustration coming to a boiling point, he angrily stormed off to the guest bedroom and slammed the door behind him. The room he was originally barricaded in…maybe they should have left him there to rot. No cure. No hope. Maybe he could still get Buffy to put him out of his misery.

He heard a knock on the door, and with just a whiff of her spicy scent on the air, he knew it was Buffy. She'd been getting dangerously close to him, and he'd allowed it. How could he have been so stupid? He'd allowed himself to be seduced by her tough but caring nature, and forgotten that he was a monster. Dean had hoped that maybe after he'd been cured, after he and Sam stopped Lilith…but realistically he'd always known deep down that there would always be something keeping him on the job. After all of that, there would always be a new after. And now he had a gut instinct that he'd never be normal, never be human again.

"You might as well come in," he said gruffly, and the Slayer opened the door and stood silently, watching him. Dean could feel her gaze with the same force as he felt the presence of the amulet around her neck. She said nothing, simply watching him until he broke the silence. "Look, as soon as Sam gets his ass back here, we'll get out of your hair. You don't need our shit in your life. Hell, you've been through more than enough already."

"Dean, don't be an idiot."

"I'm not an idiot," he growled, eyes flashing. "Look, I know I can't ask you or Sam to…." Dean shook his head, unable to give voice to what he feared might be a necessity. "I'm going to get myself as far away from human civilization as I can. If I get hungry again…" he stopped, taking a deep breath. "When I get hungry again…I could end up killing somebody, Buffy. I can't allow that to happen. My whole life has been about saving people."

"You're safest here," she said firmly. She walked into the room and took a seat next to him on the bed, placing a hand on his thigh. "We've all got protection from your lure, and we're still the best hope you've got to beat this. Unless you have another idea, something that we might have missed?"

Dean bowed his head, the warmth of her skin on his body flooding his enhanced senses. He wracked his brain until he remembered his conversation with Cas. "Maybe. Remember how I told you about how I got out of Hell?"

"Angels?"

He nodded. "One angel, specifically. Castiel. He visited me here…man, was that seriously a week ago? Anyway, he was being all cryptic and angely, but he basically said that I wasn't supposed to be this…what I am. That they need me for something, so who knows, maybe they can fix this somehow. I don't know. Cas hasn't been back, but he's probably busy with the whole preventing Lucifer from breaking out of Hell thing."

"Well, it's a possibility. Do you have any way of reaching him?"

He looked at her in askance. "You know, I love the way I can talk to you about this stuff, and you just accept it no questions asked. I guess…" he grimaced, "I could pray."

Buffy smiled, feeling the same way about the hunter. It was hard to share anything more than superficial with someone who hadn't been through the same kinds of things she had, who didn't know about the monsters that went bump in the night. Or the things that went bump in the afternoon, for that matter; not all demons were restricted to darkness. "I guess it's something you could try."

"Man, I feel so stupid doing this," Dean complained. "Hey Cas, if you can hear me I could kind of use your help right now, so get your feathery ass down here. Please, man…I got no other option here."

Unsurprisingly, there was no rush of wings, no unseen breeze that disturbed the air. Castiel hadn't answered him. Yeah, well, whatever, it's not like Dean had been banking on it or anything. His head dropped almost against his will into his hands. He started when he felt arms around him. It was still so uncommon a feeling that it caught him off guard and made him respond in kind. Maybe that was why the hunger flared up so rapidly in his belly. Buffy's scent was intoxicating, her nearness irresistible.

Buffy's amulet warmed against her throat just before Dean turned suddenly phosphorescent amber eyes to her. Eyes, Buffy thought, filled with so much pain, and so much need. She didn't feel the press of his allure, but she wasn't immune to the emotion in that gaze. Nor to the surge of arousal she felt when his black spiraling horns began to poke through his perfect marble-like flesh in response to her caress. Maybe she was a little bit twisted, but she'd always gotten at least a little bit turned on when Angel or Spike had gone game face in the bedroom. She'd told herself to wait, and she had, but they still didn't have a handle on his situation. She didn't know if what she was about to do was completely safe, but she found that she no longer cared. She needed him, and he needed her.

"Dean," she breathed, not to stop him but to encourage his touch. The room filled with the smells of spring, warm sun and growing things.

He shook her off with the last of his will. "No," he protested, pushing her away. He couldn't do this to her. Hell, he didn't want to have to feed off of anyone, but he didn't know if his new instincts would allow that.

"You won't hurt me," Buffy argued. "Slayer strength, remember? Let me help you."

She sounded so sure, but Dean wasn't convinced. He held himself back from going to her with all the will he could muster, breathing heavily from the strain and desire, both. But then she touched him again, just the lightest of caresses against the material covering his eager cock, but so intimately and with such caring and longing that he lost the shredded remnants of his control. She wanted him, and the hunger twisting his gut allowed Dean no more room for refusal. He gave himself over to the beast within.

With no warning, Dean grasped the Slayer around the waist and tossed her onto the middle of the bed, following her down to sit astride her legs. He grinned wickedly at her as he removed his worn, grey, too-tight t-shirt, revealing a large expanse of luminously pale skin complete with pecs and abs chiseled from marble.

"Too many clothes," he growled, and began extricating Buffy's lean frame from her black knit sweater. She helped as best she could while at the same time nipping gently at his exposed skin. "You're so fucking hot," he said, taking the opportunity to stare at her creamy breasts, even encased as they were in a satiny black bra. She squirmed against him, already impossibly turned on and desperate for a little friction. Her hands found the fastening of his jeans and yanked the button open with one easy motion.

"You should probably take these off," she murmured, caressing the fabric outlining his throbbing cock.

"God, I think you're trying to kill me," he responded, but did as she bid, rolling off of her to yank his pants and boxers down. Buffy seized the opportunity to put him on his back, leaning down to kiss him with a whisper-soft brush of her lips. Her jeans rubbed against Dean's cock as she rocked against him, the roughness of the material only increasing his arousal. He deepened their kiss, capturing her mouth with his own and driving his tongue deep inside. Her hand fisted in his short hair as she met his tongue with equal vigor.

Dean worked at the fastening of Buffy's pants, gaining access with an easy twist and tug of the zipper. His fingers sought her wetness and she moaned into his mouth. Her black satin panties were soaked through with her desire. Purely male satisfaction filled him, knowing he was able to do that to her. The darker part of him wondered what else he could do to her. Could he make her beg? Make her crawl? Buffy reached down and grabbed his dick and that dark voice inside him went silent. Dean could think only of fucking his Slayer.

She stroked him with slow, steady motions, her hand slick from her own saliva. Dean threw his head back in a silent scream at how good she felt. His fingers toyed with her clit, gently circling her little nub. Buffy sped up the motion of her hips, needing more contact. "Come on, Dean," she encouraged. She was so close, but the hunter was keeping her orgasm just out of reach, as if he could sense her impending climax. Perhaps he could. "Not yet," he replied firmly.

Dean removed his hand from her sopping pussy to push down her pants. Buffy took the hint and paused briefly in her ministrations to remove them, as well as her ruined panties. Damn, she'd really liked that set. While she was doing that, Dean released the fastening of her bra with one practiced motion and slid it from her shoulders. Both completely naked, both completely aroused, they regarded each other silently. Dean was a specimen of male perfection, his body muscled, his cock hard. His eyes glowed with an amber light that flared when they met her gaze. She traced the tip of one small, sharp black horn, making Dean's dick twitch.

Buffy smirked, slowly lowering herself down, impaling herself on his cock. She almost came right then and there. He was large inside of her; she felt so incredibly full of Dean she wanted to burst. "Move," he ordered, voice broken with need. She was only too eager to comply, sheathing herself over and over, viciously chasing her orgasm. She was so strong, her body leanly muscled but still belying the power that resided within her. Power Dean could feel clenching around his dick every time he entered her. He wondered how a mortal man could ever have been able to keep up with her.

Dean moved his hands to her slim waist, softly directing the motion of her hips. "You feel incredible," he told her. "I'm close."

"I'm on the pill," she replied. Her inner muscles clenched around him and he almost lost it right then and there. "Goddamn," the hunter exclaimed. Buffy smirked in response. She caressed each tight nipple, smiling even bigger when Dean bit his lip, reveling in her power to turn him on. Her hands slid down her body, one grasping his wrist and the other seeking the wet folds around her clit.

She rode him hard, ignoring the pace his hands were trying to set, fingering herself furiously as she got closer and closer to a mind-blowing orgasm. Buffy couldn't remember the last time she'd felt it coming on this strongly. Too long. Way, way, way too long.

Dean's speeding heartbeat synced with Buffy's, rocketing them both toward some unknown precipice. When they came, seconds later, they came together. Buffy's climax dwarfed any other that had come before it, her energy flowing into the man lying beneath her, building and building until she thought she might go mad from the pleasure. Finally, finally, she collapsed bonelessly into her lover's arms. She had never been so exhausted, so sated. Buffy never wanted to move from her position, curled gently against Dean's body.

"Fuck. Amazing. Buffy, you're so fucking amazing," he whispered. Her only reply was a soft murmur as she adjusted her position.

His body vibrated with energy, and it wasn't just the afterglow of really great sex. He'd fed. On Buffy. He hadn't meant to, damn it. He hadn't wanted to! She was too good for him to use her that way. Dean looked down at Buffy's prone, naked body curled trustingly against him, disgusted by his actions, with how their first time actually went down. He'd wanted Buffy, of course. He had from the first time he'd seen her, mindless with need. But now…it was more than that, way more. He was being to think that maybe…maybe he loved her. Shit. He had to get out of there. He needed some air. Needed…something.

The hunter carefully extricated himself from the Slayer's delicate limbs and dressed as quietly as he could manage. He fled the house and wandered into the darkness that had fallen, aimless, focusing only on placing one foot in front of the other. The fog had rolled in at some point, Dean noted. It curled almost playfully around his ankles as he moved without intention. And look at how well that worked out for him last time. His feet had taken him right into her clutches. What had he been thinking? Now he was alone in an unfamiliar city and Dean knew that she was just waiting to get him out in the open again, to come right to her. Something in him was a part of her, and couldn't help but gravitate toward her given the opportunity.

Something perked his senses and Dean looked up from his feet, suddenly alert. His eyes scanned the night but saw nothing but the thick fog at first. Eddies formed in the mist, something disturbing the stillness of the night, and suddenly Mara stood before him, with only a few feet separating them, looking like a wet dream and his spent cock perked right back up again despite himself.

"Hello, you naughty boy. I finally caught up with you, Tiger. You'll come with me now," she said, so sure of herself, her tone harboring no room for dissent. The succubus closed the gap between them and though Dean wanted to move, he found he was anchored in place. She reached out and touched his cheek and where her skin made contact with his, it burned. It set him aflame. Dean hadn't felt like this since those desperate days before his transformation, needing without end, unable to assuage the desires she instilled in him. She poured her power into her creation, force-feeding him her tainted power, making him stronger. Making him hungrier. Making him hers.

She led him away into the night.