A/N: MASSIVE UPDATE! But, I'm going to warn you- you're either going to love this, or hate this with the passion and fury of a thousands burning suns. I can't imagine there being a middle ground with the way I wholly transmogrified the canon of these two shows. So, proceed with caution. lol. I will say that I am awed at my own magnificence on this one- seriously, I deserve a cookie. And, for those of you who are all like "Um... what happened to Angel and Spike?"... yeah, yeah, I'm getting to that...
PS: This was edited pretty hastily, as it literally took me ALL DAMN DAY (not in any way kidding), and THEN SOME to fit everything in. I'll give this a re-read and, as I'm sure a re-edit as needed in the morning. I just can't wait to post this!
It was like a lucid dream. Events that he had already lived through, that had occurred in the distant past, and things that were yet to come, all unfolding in real time like he was watching it projected in 3D. Dean found himself standing in the middle of unfamiliar life, but despite the foreignness, it felt honest… it felt right.
The strangest thing was that here in this alternative universe, or whatever the hell this was, the Winchesters were not hunters—they were scholars. The Winchester blood line had for quite some time been initiated into something called the Order of the Letters. It was a secret society tasked with recording the knowledge of the ancients—of lore, mythology, demonology, and all manner of darkness that humanity assumed to be make believe. But, the Men of Letters did not take this knowledge and use it to stop the darkness from spreading. In fact, they barely shared this information with anyone, save a few elite hunters, those who had been gradually incorporated into the Order for such events that intervention was necessary—such as the Slayer.
The Acts of Azazel, as they would later be deemed, was one instance in which the Order found it necessary to intervene, especially when it was uncovered that it directly affected the youngest son of John Winchester. Targeted by the demon who was bent on creating a half-demon legion that would unleash Lucifer from his cage, Sam would have been cursed by the blood of Azazel. But, the knowledge and foresight the Order possessed cut Azazel down before he could harm Sam. It was not Dean Winchester that killed Old Yellow Eyes with a bullet from the Colt, but rather a hunter who had proven his salt to the Order, earning a place as one of their few established hunters—Bobby Singer.
Sam was never cursed, never being stabbed by Jake in Azazel's game of survival of the fittest. Dean never forfeited his own soul to resurrect his brother. And, since Mary Winchester never died, the boys were never in the car accident on their hunt for Azazel which forced John's hand, selling his soul to save his oldest son's life. Which is why when the dream skipped several years into the future, and Henry Winchester jumped from the year 1958 to 2013 to escape Abaddon, his son was alive.
"John, this is the key to all the knowledge we have ever accumulated. Should it fall into the wrong hands, should it be lost… the Order will perish," Henry declared pressing the key into the hand of his adult son, who he had tucked into bed as a child just hours before, "You must keep it hidden from those who seek to destroy us."
Called upon again, Bobby sank a bullet from the Colt into the heart of Abaddon, and John was able to recreate the spell that had brought Henry into the future, returning him to the past, and ensuring John was brought up in the Order. The powerful realization hit Dean that in his current timeline, that was still going to happen—Henry was going to arrive in 2013 and John Winchester would not be there to send him back. He was going to remain there, because in Dean's timeline the Order of Letters ceased to exist. All those years… his father believed that Henry had simply bailed on them.
Dressed in a sharp, new suit, Dean walked through a set of double doors into a room with mahogany trim and blue velvet drapes. Men in robes lined the room, and he walked towards his grandfather who sat in a high backed chair at the end of the room. Standing directly behind Henry by an altar of candles, was his father.
"Dean Winchester," Henry spoke as Dean kneeled before him, "Within your veins runs the blood of a legacy. One in a long line of ancestors who were charged with the duty of ensuring the survival of the wisdom of the ancients. Now, this knowledge has been passed unto you," Henry held up a pin impressed with an Aquarian Star, "By accepting this pin, you accept that charge, and promise to uphold the responsibility of keeping this wisdom alive to pass to the next generation. Do you swear to do everything within your ability fulfill this duty?"
Extending his hand, Henry placed the pin into his open palm, touching the Aquarian Star with his fingers.
"I, Dean Winchester," he began, reciting the words like it had been burned into his brain, "accept this duty, and promise to do whatever is deemed necessary to ensure its keeping."
The room dissolved and reformed as a library, empty save the Winchester brothers, who sat reading at a large table in the center which was covered in scattered books. Sam passed by Dean on his way back to the shelf, his eyes catching on the pages of Dean's book—another volume on Slayer history. Sensing eyes over his shoulder, Dean turned towards Sam.
"You have got to stop doing this to yourself," Sam chastised, trying to take the book away, "When are you going to realize that what we do here is important."
"Maybe your content to be some dusty old librarian, but I don't fit in here. I'm just the great disappointment," Dean slammed the book shut in frustration, "I just don't understand the point of having all this knowledge if you're not going to do something with it?"
"It's not our job to shed blood, Dean—"
"Does Dad program this stuff into your head," Dean rolled his eyes, "or, Pops?"
"I don't need to be programmed to know they're right. We don't hunt! We provide information where and when it's necessary. Without us, hunters would be out there fighting blind. How many times has the Order prevented the unthinkable? Look at me- I'd be hell spawn right now if it wasn't for the work we do here."
"And, who really stopped that, Sam? It wasn't a Man of Letters who put a bullet in Azazel—it was a hunter." Dean dropped the book on the table.
When Sam opened his mouth to retort, Dean just raised his hand in protest, "I'm tired of this conversation, Sammy."
As Dean turned his back on his brother and left the library, John stepped in to the room, picking up the discarded book and flipping through the pages.
"He's right—he's not cut out for this," John sighed, "But, I hardly think of him as a disappointment."
"Maybe you should tell him that…" Sam sunk into a chair next to his father, "He's not going to be happy until you let him go to England."
"I know, Sam," John agreed, "I know."
The Slayer predated the Order as far back as the days when mankind was still confined to the borders of Africa. As quickly as Lucifer had twisted the soul of Lilith to make the first demon, the prehistoric shaman had seized upon that darkness to create the first Slayer to combat the evils that Lucifer unleashed. Merging together centuries ago, the Slayer, had come under the jurisdiction of the Order of the Letters. Called the Slayer Initiative, the Men of Letters had formed a special council that would guide and train called Slayers. In England, this Council had undertaken the task of training called Slayers, hoping that to blend the fury of the Slayer with wisdom of the Men of Letters, and create a truly awesome opponent to fight the forces of darkness.
As easily as Sam had taken to the scholarship of the Order, Dean had taken to Watcher training. There he learned lore alongside combat styles and attack strategies, and by the end of his academic training, he was the head of his class. To put his training to practice, he was sent to shadow the Watcher of the most accomplished Slayer in history—Rupert Giles.
"Dean Winchester," Giles announced as Buffy entered The Magic Box, "meet Buffy Summers."
"Another intern?" Buffy scoffed, "I hope he lasts longer than that Wesley guy."
"Oh, don't worry about me, Darlin'—" Dean flashed that infamous cocky grin, "I'm just here to see whether or not you live up to hype."
Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped up to look him in the eyes. Despite the near foot height difference, he still found her a little imposing.
"It's all true—ask any Big Bad. Just the mention of my name bleaches the blood of the wicked," she smirked, raising an eyebrow, "If you really wanted to see me in action-" she said brushing past him, continuing flippantly"-you should have been here for the last Apocalypse."
"What Apocalypse?" He snickered, turning his head to follow her, as well as check her out from behind.
Throwing a passing glance over her shoulder as she continued to the gym, she smiled and winked, "Exactly."
"Don't worry," Giles added, "It's when she doesn't tease you that you know she doesn't like you."
Being in the trenches had a satisfying appeal. Being a Watcher entailed much more action than he expected, and much more to do with hunting. Giles reminded him of a British Sam, but with a certain aura of his own fierceness, glad to take up arms with Buffy. And, Buffy… well, Buffy was just god damned distracting.
This life, Buffy thought, was both surreal and harshly unfair. Much of her life up to the arrival of Dean Winchester had been essentially the same as she knew it before—with two important distinctions. Thanks to the resources provided by the Order, Buffy had prior knowledge of Angelus, and that insight prevented her from ever entering a relationship with him. When Spike and Drusilla found a way to turn him, and awake Acathla, she never even hesitated to sink the sword into his heart. Knowing the anguish it had put her through to have done it her own timeline, the placid look she wore as she closed the portal practically turned her stomach. Perhaps the only good result of keeping Angel at a distance was that two lives had been spared as a result of his demise—Jenny Calendar and later, Giles. And now, in this reality, the two of them were happily together, married and running The Magic Box. Meanwhile, Buffy was forming an important partnership of her own.
"I had a thought, Buffy," Giles mentioned casually one day during training, "I'm sure you are aware that the end of Dean's shadowing is drawing near…"
"Oh, really?" Buffy replied between strikes, failing at appearing non-chalant, as if she hadn't been counting down the days with dread, "It hadn't even crossed my mind."
"Yes, which is unfortunate, because I believe Dean's become an integral part of the team."
"I'd call him a vital Scoobie… if you ask me, I mean."
"With that being said, how would you feel if I requested that he stay here in Sunnydale, indefinitely? Or, at least, as long as the Council can spare him?"
"I would have no reason to object, Giles," Buffy replied, shrugging her shoulders, if only to release some form of energy that was not jumping or dancing.
"Now, I couldn't promise they would agree—in fact, my previous experience with them leads me to believe they will not allow it, for some ridiculous reason or another, but if I could convince them it was for the good of the Slayer—"
"Well, why are we wasting time training?" Buffy asked, stepping away from the punching bag, and pushing Giles towards the door, unable to keep up the charade any longer, "Go get working on your lies!"
The rise of primordial god Glorificus gave the Order a reason to keep Dean close to Buffy. Having found a way to slip her prison, Glory had left a trail of bodies in search of The Key. With the threat of Glory eminent, the Order immediately commanded the Monks of Dagon to fashion The Key into a vessel that would allow it to be hidden in plain sight, and hopefully prevent Glory from capturing it. And, as Buffy knew all too well, that vessel (fashioned from Buffy's own flesh), became her sister Dawn. Commanded by the Order, Dean's new job was to protect Dawn. Although, it meant lying to Buffy to carry on the illusion that Dawn was, and always had been, her sister.
Glory was a god. She was more powerful than any Big Bad Buffy had ever battled, and when Glory abducted Dawn, Buffy broke, lapsing into catatonic shock. Dean convinced Willow to let him into Buffy's head thinking he might be able to coax her back to reality. Buffy's brain was a carousel of absurdity, and after looping through some false memories, Dean finally managed to connect with her on their fourth time through The Magic Shop. There watching herself approach the bookshelf, depositing the book she had offered to put back for Giles, she admitted a terrible secret.
"This… this is when I realized I can't beat her," Buffy sighed, and bookshelf Buffy finished her thought, "Glory is going to win."
Turning towards the Buffy standing at his side, Dean replied firmly, "If she wins, it's because you gave up. And all this," Dean drew a circle in the air with his finger, "This living in your head, feeling sorry for yourself, crap—this is giving up."
"You're right," she faced him with tear rimmed eyes, "Just for a second, I quit. I wanted it to be over… I wanted to let her kill my sister… I… I killed my sister."
"That's what all this is about? Newsflash, Darlin'—Dawn's not dead! But, she will be if you stay in here, wallowing," He tipped her chin up with his knuckle, forcing her to meet his eyes, "Since you were fifteen years old you've been to sole obstacle between us and the end of the god damn world. For one second, you wanted that burden lifted, and who the hell could blame you? That doesn't make you a murderer—it proves you're just as human as the rest of us!" With his thumb, Dean brushed away a tear that had escaped and was trailing down her cheek, "But, you shook it off, Buffy. You decided you had to keep going, because you know you can't afford to think like that. You have a terrible privilege in this world. No one can do what you have to do. You're hell in a pair of stylish, yet affordable boots, Darlin'" he smiled, using one of her own lines against her, "And you're the only woman I know who would stand up to Death, and give him the finger. And that… that's why I love you, Buffy Summers."
Clinging to the thought of his lips pressing against hers, Buffy came back into focus. She had an overdue appointment with a hell bitch. But, while Buffy was beating Glory senseless with Hammer of Olaf, Dawn was still chained to the top of the tower, and Doc believed it was up to him to complete Glory's work. Thanks to Dean, the only blood spilled at sunrise was spray from the Colt bullet that ripped through Doc. The portal never opened, and Buffy never jumped.
Hers was not the only life saved due to an intervention on the part of Dean Winchester. When Warren showed up in the back yard, prepared to place a bullet in Buffy's brain, Dean stepped up putting one into Warren's first, preventing Tara from taking the ricochet in the heart, and Willow from her descent into darkness. In the battle against the First, Dean beheaded the demon that would have otherwise bisected Anya.
Together, Buffy and Dean were an unstoppable evil vanquishing machine. Their union was incredible, and one always seemed to come through in the hitch for the other. Xander began to joke that when the Boogeyman went to bed, he checked his closet for Dean Winchester, and under his bed for Buffy Summers. There was a period where both of them were content and happy—from the outside looking into this bizzaro world, it was easy to imagine being happy with this life… as long as you had someone with whom you could share it. As long as there was someone whose arms you could fall into, and have them carry you through the rough parts until they could place you once again on solid ground. From the perspective of their own respective altered timelines, it was the closest either had ever imagined they could come to normalcy.
That is always just about the time the floor drops out, and they were no exception to the rule. From the moment Castiel appeared to Sam, delivering the terrified teenage prophet named Kevin Tran, clutching a stone tablet to his chest, their lives were placed in the rails careening towards their inevitable purpose.
"His name is Crowley," Castiel explained to a flabbergasted Sam, "and, he proclaims himself the king of hell."
"I thought Lucifer was the king of hell?" Sam questioned as he led Kevin to a chair to take him off his unsteady legs.
"Lucifer is caged, and while he remains imprisoned, Crowley runs hell as he deems fit," Castiel answered, voice laden with hopelessness, "He is desperate to possess the prophet and the Word of God," Castiel nodded towards Kevin and the tablet he held in a death grip, "And, is willing to do whatever is required to achieve his ends."
"But, why would you send him to me? I mean, you're angels! If you can't keep him safe, what I am supposed to do with him?" Sam protested.
"You are the only person this side of heaven knowledgeable enough to help him. Not even angels can read the tablet, and Kevin is newly called. He will have much to learn. Perhaps with your background, you can provide him a framework on which to fit the pieces together," Castiel could still read the skepticism in Sam's eyes, "I know the reputation of the Men of Letters, Sam Winchester. No one in heaven believes there is a safer place for the prophet than under their protection."
Deep in the Order's safest place, which they referred to as The Bunker, Sam and Kevin worked together for weeks decoding the hieroglyphics that concealed the Word of God. Finally, they uncovered that the tablet was the record of a very important spell—one that could seal the gates of hell, trapping every demon inside, forever.
"Three trials, put forth by God," Sam said into the phone to his brother, "Complete them, and you can slam the gates of hell permanently."
Suddenly, the dream warped like a movie screen wipe, like it was jumping straight to the end. Tossing Dean like a discarded paper towel, Crowley slammed him against the stone wall, holding him in place with his outstretched left hand, enclosing his fingers as if he were crushing Dean's windpipe. Her eyes locked with Crowley, Buffy could not see Dean, but she could hear the choking gasps of oxygen deprivation.
"I like to acknowledge talent when I see it," Crowley sneered, his right arm pressed against her, pinning her to the floor where he had knocked her, "So, just let me say, you're quite the worthy foe, Darling."
"Only Dean gets to call me that," she spat the blood in her mouth into his face.
Dean's weary body crashed to the floor, released only so that Crowley could use his hand to retrieve his handkerchief, opening it with a flick of his wrist and delicately wiping his face.
"You're fairytale is just about over, and I'm going to tell you a spoiler-" he leaned towards her ear to whisper, "-it ends bloody," he pulled back to tuck the blood smeared handkerchief into his pocket, "There is no happy ending for the Slayer, love, even if she wins the heart of a White Knight," he circled her, but the thrust of his hand kept her pinned to the floor, "Did you really believe that you and your handler could complete two trials, and actually manage to survive to reach the third? Tsk, tsk, Slayer. I expected more from the legendary Buffy Summers… Didn't the Ripper teach you to know your enemy?"
In the periphery of her sight, she could see that Dean had gained his bearings, and was managing to get to his feet. Apparently, he seemed to have forgotten about Dean. She had to keep Crowley focused on her—keep inciting his rage.
"My god," she moaned, either out of pain, or exhaustion of her patience, "You really like the sound of your own voice don't you? Is hell just being trapped in a room, having to listen to you monologue?"
"You have not even begun to conceive of what I have store for you in hell," he promised.
"That's going to quite an accomplishment," Buffy responded, unfazed by his threat, "considering the commute."
The second he heard the gun shot, Crowley's head lifted towards the sound, and the bullet drilled into his forehead just above the left eyebrow. It wouldn't kill him, but it would disengage the force holding her to the floor.
"…Because, the third trial is-," Buffy pushed up her sleeves revealing an Enochian sigil on each wrist, that would give her the power to "… bring forth the king of hell for judgment in heaven."
Pressing her palm against Crowley's head, she began an Enochain incantation. Crowley attempted to react, only to find he could not move.
"Clever, clever—a Devil's Trap carved into a bullet. Aren't we the head of the class?" he continued despite her recitation, whispering as he met her eyes for the last time, "Guess it's a good thing I don't need my hands to snap Dean's neck."
Upon his words, her stomach dropped. She was almost done—Buffy knew she could not stop. Only just a few more words, but in that split second before Crowley exploded in a burst of pure white light, Buffy heard the devastating crack of Dean's neck vertebrae. Unable to bring herself to turn, she merely just sank to her knees, shaking, and whispered the final spell to end the third trial. Appearing just off to her right side, she could see the tails of Castiel's tan trench coat.
"In passing all three trials put forth by God, Buffy Summers, you have proven yourself a righteous enough soul to seal the Gates of Hell eternally," Castiel bent down on one knee, placed his hand on her head, "A pure and righteous soul is an extremely powerful thing, and as I am sure you've become aware… a spell of this magnitude does not come without a price."
Weakly, she just nodded, accepting this as her fate. Taking one knee, Castiel bent down and placed his hand on her forehead. Wherever Dean had gone, she knew she was about to follow.
Suddenly becoming aware that the other had even been present, Dean and Buffy glanced at each other. At some point, they had unconsciously taken each other's hand, fingers interlaced together. Neither said anything to the other—what was there to say? What was there to even think about other than the obviously painful realization that the only they had ever come back through the veil was to make sure they served their intended purpose. Two bodies, their corpses, laid out in the scene before them, and they knew. Only Dean could help Buffy complete the trials, having accepted this duty to the Order. He promised to do whatever was deemed necessary to ensure its keeping—or in other words, as the Slayer was part of the Order, to ensure Buffy's safe keeping. And, Buffy, the most feared and accomplished Slayer in history, had to sacrifice her soul to rid the world of Evil. Yes, they had to die—but… only at the appropriate time.