"Son of a bitch!"
There was a trail of blood dappling the parking lot and the steps all the way up to the apartment. Immediately, his mind went worst case scenario, and he feared what he was about to find inside. In some strange way he could not explain, it made him feel better that it was Bobby rather than Buffy he found bleeding from the face. She was home and she was safe- part of him was relieved beyond belief, and the rest of him was pissed beyond measure. But, right now, Bobby's busted up face took precedent over berating Buffy. He had to settle for a fuming glare in Buffy's direction, and a whisper of "You're not off that easy, Darlin'" in passing.
Maryland—that's all Bobby could remember. At least, that's all he could remember after Willow smashed his face against the steering wheel and Sam dragged him, bloody and reeling out of her car. But, for all he did not know, one thing was clear—Willow had been possessed.
Fitting six into the Impala was not impossible, but it certainly was not ideal. Normally, Dean looked forward to a nice long drive—a winding river of asphalt laid out before him, focusing his attention and clearing his thoughts. But, this trip was more like a terrible family vacation. Coupled with the fact they had nothing once they got to Maryland, and Castiel was pulling a conveniently timed, yet not entirely unexpected no show, it was an understatement to say Dean was edgy. More than anything, he was still angry at Buffy's disappearing act. It was at about the two hour mark, as they were skirting Pittsburgh, that the grumblings of hunger and requests for bathroom breaks became unbearable.
Dean's eyes focused sternly into the rear-view mirror to those in the back seat, "You do not break for snacks on your way to stop the Apocalypse!"
Averting his gaze towards Bobby for back up, his pleading glance was lost even to Bobby.
"We don't even know where we're going yet, Dean," Bobby reminded, "Or, for that matter, how long we have until Lilith makes her move. Hell, for all I know, this might be my last meal on this rock. I wouldn't mind a steak and whiskey."
"Un-freakin-believable," Dean rolled his eyes, gripping the steering wheel tensely and pulling into the parking lot of a BigGerson's.
They spilled out of the car heading towards the doors, compelled by either hunger or a need to expel their bladder. Bobby turned before following the rest of the group, giving Dean a skeptical look.
"I never thought I'd see the day when Dean Winchester would turn down a bacon cheeseburger and a slice of pie," Bobby smirked, which he immediately regretted as it pained his freshly cracked nose, "Keep trying Cas—I'll bring you a slice to go."
Holding his breath, he knew Bobby was right. They had crammed into the Impala and headed towards Maryland without a game plan. If Lilith was making an appearance soon, Castiel would not leave them in the dark, or, at least he thought better of Cas. Maybe that was a mistake, especially considering the revelations of the last few days. Dean leaned on to the hood of the Impala, hoping that wherever that bitch Ruby had taken Willow and his little brother, they were both alright.
Slipping out the driver's side door, lacking the enthusiasm of the others, Buffy lingered behind. As she crossed in front of the car on her way to join the crowd, Dean reached out and snagged her forearm, holding her back. She turned sharply, meeting his severe expression. Bracing for the expected verbal thrashing he was about to unload, she readied her responses for the anticipated argument. But, when he opened his mouth and nothing came out, Buffy let her guard drop.
Instead, he released her arm, and dipped his hand into the inside of his jacket. The falling sun glinted off the metal surface of a flask as he withdrew it from his pocket. Drawing a long sip, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and offered it to Buffy. Willingly, she accepted it without a hint of gratitude. He could not help but crack a smile when he heard the ack that followed her swig, but neither said anything to the other. For the moment, there in the cold and the burgeoning darkness- choosing to ignore the exquisitely awkward conversation both was finding every excuse to avoid having—nothing was shared but flask of whiskey between them.
"Has anyone ever told you-" Dean finally spoke when the flask was nearly empty, "what a juvenile, little brat you are?"
"With flattery like that, it's no wonder why I loved you," she quipped with a sneering, sideways glance, offering him the remnants of the flask.
"What's there to wonder? What part of ruggedly handsome, professional bad ass doesn't speak for itself?" he retorted before he finished the flask, and slipped it back inside his jacket.
Rolling her eyes, she stepped forward to stand between his legs, bent and resting on the bumper, "Whatever—we both know it's the freckles," she smiled innocently, and bopped his nose.
Their eyes met for a moment, and Bobby's remarks in the car ran through his mind. It very well could be his last night, and whether or not the Moirae were going to bring him back, there was only one thing for which he hungered. In the next second, his hands were on her waist, spinning them both around to hoist her onto the hood. She pressed into his chest, and wrapped a leg around him to draw him closer. It was just about the time they both came up for air that they remembered they were very much in public. Buffy's eye caught the gawking, disapproving stare of very elderly couple stopped on the sidewalk.
"Sorry," Buffy apologized, trying to keep a straight face, "he just got out of prison."
"Yeah, haven't seen a woman in years," he winked salaciously at the silver haired lady, "Just can't control myself."
Buffy had to bite her lip when the woman huffed indignantly, and drug her husband away towards the door of the establishment.
"Deviant…" she muttered.
"Why don't we take this some place a little less public?" Dean nodded over her shoulder, and Buffy turned to see a pay by hour kind of place with a blinking out VACANCY sign.
"Dean Winchester, we are not going to do it in a sleazy motel!" she whispered angrily.
"Darlin', it's either that sleazy motel, or I rip your clothes off right here."
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and swallowed her pride. She really hoped the Moirae knew what the hell they were doing.
"What about them?" she motioned towards the restaurant to remind Dean about the others.
"Well… maybe your sister."
Buffy smacked his shoulder as he laughed.
"We won't be gone long."
"This is getting more romantic by the second," she responded flatly.
"If I kiss you again, will you please shut up?"
"Unlikely…" was all she could get out before his lips were covering her mouth again, and he was yanking her off the hood.
Watching them was like willingly letting poison seep through your veins. This is the way it had to be—he had to let her go, and with her the only real joy he had felt since Druscilla. At least, he would have the memories of being her Champion, unlike that poncy tosser, Angel. Yeah, it was going to hurt, but that was the price you paid for happiness, all things being equal and what not. He tried to remind himself that he was not losing the slayer- he was just trading her for the sunshine on his skin again. If the Fates had gotten their way he knew that by now he would be nothing but dust and legend, and he was grateful for that.
But, then again, those memories reminded him of when it had been his hands on her waist, his lips on her skin. Forcing his eyes away from the window, he focused on the bigger picture—Buffy got true love, and he got a second chance at a life not meant to be lived—something neither could have if they were together. Spike watched as the Pretty Boy led his Slayer away by the hand. Times like these, he regretted ever fighting for his soul. Without it, this would have been so much easier.
The waitress returned with their drinks, and Spike took his whiskey on the rocks, swirling it just enough to make it swish, but not to make it splash. The others gave their desired orders as she worked her way around the table making her way to him. Food was not a necessity for him. Unlike his companions, it did not provide him with nourishment. He could taste the flavor or feel the heat of spice, but food for him served a different purpose—comfort. It was an act of habit. Soon though, after he had helped stop the Apocalypse, Crowley restored his humanity, he would once again be relying on food to fuel his body. The thought struck him strangely, and he wondered if he would still crave blood.
"Excuse my friend, ma'am," he heard Xander say, and his head jerked up, "He has peroxide in his ears."
"What?"
"She asked what you wanted, Spike," Dawn replied.
"I, uh…" his eyes returned to skimming the menu, nothing striking his fancy.
"I can come back," she smiled, but only to hide her agitation at having other tables with needy, wanting people with very little patience for her having to do her job for others as well.
The image of Dean leading Buffy away looped through his mind, making it impossible to do something as simple as order a plate of food. What did he want? He wanted things to go back to the way they were. He wanted Sunnydale, and his crypt, and a good fight to get his blood burning. More than anything, he still wanted Buffy. But, that was impossible, which is why he needed comfort.
"Chicken wings," he finally answered, and handed her the menu.
The food came, the food disappeared, and more drinks were delivered and downed. But, Buffy and Dean never joined them. As promised, Bobby ordered a slice of pie for Dean. The waitress returned with a plastic, pie slice shaped container, and the check. Doubting that Dean would be nice enough to make another pit stop down the road, Dawn ambled off to the bathroom while the remaining three divided the check.
The brightly tiled bathroom had three stalls, but one was out of order and the other two were occupied. Leaning against the wall next to the hand dryer, Dawn bounced a little, waiting for her turn. After a minute or so, the last stall door opened, and Dawn quickly slid in behind the exiting woman. As they passed each other, she thought the long white dress the woman was wearing was a little much for dinner at BigGerson's.
Outside the stall, she heard the other woman exit her stall. The water ran in the sinks, and the dryers kicked on. Then the door banged shut, and when Dawn stepped back out the bathroom was empty. Taking her time in the mirror, Dawn pulled out her pony tail to smooth out some of bumps that had formed. The lights blinked intermittently, and Dawn's weird shit-o-meter started registering. When you were Dawn Summers, sister to the Slayer, and former incarnation of The Key, blinking lights were never just blinking lights. The urge to flee rose in her chest, and her lungs felt restricted. Stepping towards the door, her path was blocked by the woman wearing the long white dress.
"Aren't you lovely," she stated, tilting her head and pursing her lips, "You'll make such a pretty little wrapper."
In the middle of a tangled mess of sheets and clothing, propped against the headboard, Dean trailed his fingertips down the length of her exposed back. Laying there, pressed against his chest and gathered in his arms, Buffy wanted to take everything in. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to pretend they were still in that better world. She wanted to lock this memory in a heart shaped box and keep it tucked away for another day. Yes, they were little less than perfect strangers, thrust together through forces beyond their control. Tomorrow she might wake up and finally let go, accepting that whatever happened between them over there had no foundation in this timeline. But, here and now, seduced by the scent of gun powder and aftershave, melting at the press of his lips against the crown of her head… right now, as long as he was willing, she was going to allow herself to love Dean Winchester.
"We should head back," she mumbled into his chest.
"Or, we could have an encore?" he raised his eyebrows, and clicked his tongue at her when she lifted her head to flash him an eye roll.
A knock on the door sent a fearful jolt through both their bodies. Ripping off the sheets to wrap around her body, Buffy leapt out of bed, grabbing her strewn garments on the way to the bathroom.
"Seriously?" Dean shouted, agitated at having been left completely naked, and expected to answer the door.
"Your pants are over there… somewhere…" Buffy pointed in a general direction, wrestling with her bra, "But, your boxers are on the lamp."
Another knock pounded on the door, this one louder and more forceful than the last.
"Coming!" Dean yelled, trying his best not to trip on his pants as he pulled them up on the way to the door.
Yanking her shirt over her head as the door opened, Buffy heard "Dawn?" immediately followed by a crash of splintering wood. Dean was pulling himself from the destroyed fragments of the table as she came busting out of the bathroom. Standing in the door was her sister, but the look in Dawn's eyes was vacant and pointed. It was if she was staring through Buffy, but reading her thoughts at the same time. Coming towards Buffy, Dawn's head twitched, and instantly her eyes were acutely focused. In the split second just before the windows exploded, Buffy knew this was not Dawn. Glass shrapnel radiated out, spraying Buffy and Dean with a shower of sharp, jagged blades. Dropping to the ground, Buffy instinctively covered her head with her arms. When the clatter of jangling glass ended, Buffy lifted her head to see Dawn's hijacker running her hands over her arms and chest.
"It's warm in here," it blinked Dawn's eyes to reveal milky, whites lenses, and hugged her chest, "I need to test drive more inter-dimensional beings."
"Don't they have Cosmo in Hell?" Buffy retorted as she scrambled in the mess of scattered glass to rise to her knees, "You never wear a Slayer's sister after Labor Day."
"Not so fast, Big Sis," The demon extended her hand, and Buffy slammed face first into the glass, arms and legs pinned down, "You either, Lancelot-"
Dean was sneaking up from behind with one of the severed table legs. Another flick of her wrist sent him flying through the serrated window frame, the bare skin of his back scraping against the concrete outside. Dawn yanked Buffy from the ground by her hair, forcing her face to meet Dawn's.
"It's a genuine pleasure to meet you, Slayer," she smiled, and threw her against the wall above the bed, "Bit of an underwhelming, disappointment without you're amulet though."
"Lilith, I presume?" Buffy groaned, clutching her ribs.
"You're a little past your expiration date, aren't you Slayer? Buffy Summers, history's greatest Slayer," she taunted, "you're about to die for a very noble cause."
"I'm going to give you three seconds to get the hell out to my sister," Buffy warned, stumbling to her feet from the bed.
"Gladly," Lilith agreed, "she was just a beacon, anyway. All that Key energy burning like a bat signal for us evil doers," she slammed Buffy against the wall again, pinning her so she could not move, "I just needed to find her, so that I could find you."
Blood dripping from his back, Dean leaned on the door frame for support. He watched helplessly as a black plume of smoke finished billowing out of Dawn and poured into Buffy. Collapsing to her knees, gasping for breath, Dean was relieved Dawn was still alive, but Buffy was coming towards him, all milky white eyes and laughing.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas," he began reciting the exorcism rites, and Lilith smashed his face into the door frame.
"Oh, she does not like it when I do that," Lilith-Buffy pouted, and then gasped as if she had just had an epiphany, "Awww, that's sweet. It's because she thinks she loves you."
Slumped against the door, Lilith punched him in the diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him. But, he managed to sweep her feet out from underneath her, unexpectedly knocking her to the floor.
"Omnis incursion infernalis adversarii," Dean continued, barely above a gruff whisper, unable to manage much else until he could gather a solid breath, "Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica."
"That is… enough of that," she cried, voice breaking and writhing in pain, she kicked him square in the throat.
Flung upwards into the air, Dean's ripped open back slammed against the ceiling. Hanging there, choking, unable to recite the exorcism rites, he could only watch as Lilith rose to her feet.
"Don't worry, handsome," Lilith winked, "It will all be over soon. And, you'll see her before you know it. I hear you two have a honeymoon spot in a cherry little corner of heaven." she smiled sweetly, as if she found the idea very romantic, "Oh, and Buffy sends her love. She says she'll see you on the other side," she added, blowing Dean a kiss, "But, before you two love birds can spend eternity together, I have to go kill your brother."
Exiting the partially demolished motel room, Lilith released Dean. Plummeting to the floor, he felt his rib cage snap in a few places, and his jaw fracture as it bounced against the floor. Despite the blood and the pain and the oxygen deprivation, Dean struggled to his feet to, ready to take chase. But, the feeling of a hand on his shoulder drew his attention away from Lilith, and as he passed through the doorway, he found himself in a magnificent room with gold trimmed panels and renaissance paintings. Jerking his head from left to right, discombobulated from the fighting and the apparent teleportation, Dean collapsed onto the gilded table in the middle of the room. Standing to his right, he could just make out a figure wearing a dark suit. Suddenly, the table became a large, soft white bed, and Dean was losing consciousness.