A/N: (In which KleioVerity makes excuses for her extremely unacceptable delay in updating) My humble apologies, o' patient ones. Let me share with you the story of the last month an a half. I lost my teaching position at the end of May due to budget cuts, and the last month and a half has been a mad scramble of applications and interviews and lots and lots of driving. Long story short, I was really distracted, and now that I have secured a job for the fall, I decided I was long over due on updating. To whatever readers I still have left, enjoy. =)
The crunch of ceramic plates under foot filled Bobby's ears, and he pushed himself up from the floor. He was getting too god damned old for this kind of shit. Grabbing topside edge of the flipped table where the four of them had just shared their meal, using it for leverage as he climbed to his feet, his body ached where fresh bruises would be ripening by tomorrow, and his joints popped back into the original position from which they had been knocked. On the opposite side of the table, under the remnants of a busted chair, he saw the hunched form of Xander's unconscious body, and a man dressed all in black checking his pulse. Not too far away, leaning his back against the half wall of the server's station, legs sprawled out in front of him, Spike also was slowly coming around.
"He's got a pulse," the man in black stated, but Bobby was not sure to whom his comment directed.
"Suppose I can't say the same for you, can I?" Bobby addressed Angel, putting the pieces together in his clearing head, "Just how many vampire ex-boyfriends does the slayer have?"
"Three," grumbled Spike from across the way, "Unless you count Dracula, which I don't—that was just lust and mind control," he huffed, brushing drywall and wood splinter detritus off his trench, "The pretentious twat…"
"Dawn!?" Xander screamed, bolting upright, searching frantically for a sign of his wife, "Where's Dawn?"
"Relax, Xander!" Angel took Xander by the shoulders, "She's in my car, unconscious."
"What part about that sentence is supposed to make me relax?"
"Someone please tell me what the hell just happened?" Bobby grumbled, rubbing the wet, sticky warm spot where he felt blood coagulating on the back of his head.
"Lilith took The Key for a joyride," Angel replied, filling in the holes as he helped an ungrateful Xander to his feet, "but, she ditched her across the street at a motel, where she jumped ship for Buffy."
"You let Lilith possess Buffy?" Xander pushed him in the chest.
"What do you mean let?" Bobby inquired.
"What do you mean motel?" Spike seemed to be the only one who registered that part of the conversation, "Bleedin' hell! Where's Winchester?"
"You were following us? What part of Buffy wants to skin you like Warren don't you understand?" Xander rolled his eyes, redirecting his anger at the other party he knew would have been privy to this knowledge, "Overpowered you, huh?"
"Yes, yes, I helped Angel get away. I told him to trail behind—which, considerin' the proper bollxin' of our current situation, I think deserves a thank you. I promise, the Slayer can beat it out of me at length, with gusto," Spike waved a dismissive hand at Xander, "But, she can't do that if she's dead. As long she's manifestin' a demon, that possibility gets ever more likely, so we need to find her and the Pretty Boy."
"Winchester was not at the motel," Angel interjected, to Spike's surprise, "And, he didn't leave with Lilith."
Bobby examined the blood he had rubbed off the back of his head, "Where in the hell's Dean, then?"
Pecan pie, fresh out of the oven- the scent was overpowering. As his head rose to greet the remarkable smell wafting about in the air, the opulent, unfamiliar surroundings brought his mind crashing back to reality.
Willow, possessed by his least favorite hell bitch.
Sam, under the spell of aforementioned hell bitch.
Buffy, possessed by the original hell bitch.
All three were now missing in action, as well as himself, he presumed, since no one had seen him and Buffy slink off on their sexcapade.
"What happened to The Slayer?" a gruff, monotone voice asked from off to his left.
"Don't worry—my head's perfectly fine. And, I certainly don't have any broken ribs…" Dean complained, trailing his fingers gingerly over his rib cage, assessing the damage.
"Dually noted," Cas assured in his emotionless, sarcastic way, pressing his hand against Dean's chest, a halo of restorative light repairing the damage inflicted by Lilith, "but, it is imperative we know the location of the Slayer."
"You tell me, Cas," Dean snapped, jerking away from his hand before the healing process was complete, "Why don't you guys ever employ that Angel mojo in some useful application?"
"Such as finding your girlfriend?" Cas implied flatly.
"Woah, Slick, she is not my girlfriend!" Dean countered.
"Then what title does one normally give to the woman in which you engage in frequent copulation?"
"Pardon me," a mellow British accented voice interrupted from the other side of the gilded room, "but, do you mind terribly if we did not talk about my Slayer and with whom she copulates?"
Scanning the room for the disembodied voice, Dean spotted a salt and pepper haired man wiping a smudge from his glasses, sitting on a bench against the wall. Dean's continuously wandering eye also pinpointed the source of the delectable smell—a table stacked with stands and stands of various pies, all steaming, releasing their aromatic pheromones into the air for his delight. Dean squeezed his fists in disappointment, and refocusing his attention where it really needed to be.
"Giles? What are you doing here?"
"You know who I am?"
"I recognize you from my trip to Bizarro World," he admitted, "but, last I knew, you were worm food."
"Zachariah has us trapped in a place parallel to the known dimensions of Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, and Earth. In this place, even the dead exist."
"Yes, astounding, isn't it?" Zachariah emerged from a portal none of them had managed to notice, "This has been quite the extensive side project—a realm where I can manifest the spirit of any being- living, dead, or demonized," he brushed the lapel of his expensive looking suit as if he should be capable of nothing less, "Can't start a coup with the bottom feeders without a neutral meeting ground. God knows, I couldn't let their kind upstairs. What would the neighbors think?"
As he moved about them, he wandered over to the table of pie, extracting a slice, and deposited onto a clear plate, "Mmm. Delicious," Zachariah hummed, words muffled by his mouth full of food, "Your mom sure knew what she was doing, Dean."
"Listen, Douchenozzle, whatever your game plan is, you might as well forget it. I'm not going to help you."
"Even if it would save Buffy?" Zachariah pasued, hovering a bite of pie on his fork just in front of his face.
"Don't start that shit! Dangling Buffy on a stick like a carrot is not going to get my feathers ruffled, Fuck Bag."
"See, Dean, that's where I am going to call shenanigans," Zach abandoned his plate on a nearby table, gliding over towards him, wringing his hands, "because, if the thought of Buffy wasn't having some residual effect on you, your pupils would not do that dilate thing they do whenever I mention her name."
"Enough is enough, Zachariah," Cas attempted to pull his attention away from antagonizing Dean, "This is a dangerous game that you can't win."
"I hold all the cards, Castiel. The demons played right into my hands, Sam Winchester is on his way to eviscerate Lilith in her Buffy suit, all that is left is for Dean to play his part."
"You mean the part where I become Michael's meat puppet, and kill my brother?"
"Yeah," Zach smiled that thin lipped, smarmy little grin, "that's exactly the part I am talking about."
"Not happening," Dean shrugged his shoulders and stiffened his resolve, "so why don't you wrap up one of those pies to go, and drop me off at the nearest plane of existence."
"What part of 'Deal of a Lifetime' aren't you comprehending here?" Zach frowned, "Don't you realize the rewards we will shower upon you if you just say yes?"
"Not interested."
"Let me show you something…"
Waving his hand, the room dissolved, Giles and Cas disappearing with it. When the room manifested again, Dean was seated comfortably on an oversized couch, one hand holding a condensating beer, the other resting on Buffy's hip as she laid curled up against him. As she laid sleeping, her own hand rested across his lap. On the third finger from her thumb, he noticed the a band of precious metal that looked very similar to the one he wore on his beer hand.
"This is supposed to entice me?" he lifted an eyebrow, "What part of me gives you the impression I want to settle down?" he scoffed, "I'm not exactly the kind of guy bring home to mom."
As the words spilled out of his mouth, he hoped Zach could not pick up on the fact he was lying, and if he did, Zach certainly did not say anything. He just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, with a self-satisfied smirk on his frog like face. Dean did not want him to know that the idea of having a normal, pedestrian life—of having a home with Buffy, his wife, was very appealing to a kid who had to grow up too fast, drifting from one place to another, running for his life from a slew of things that wanted to kill and/or eat him.
"Daddy," the gravelly voice of a sleepy four year old perked his ears, and his attention turned towards a hallway where he saw a dirty blonde haired kid with freckles, dragging a blanket, making his way towards the couch.
Dean felt like he swallowed a rock, "Hey… buddy."
The sound of a crying infant erupted through the house, stirring Buffy, who woke to greet their son.
"Robert Jonathon Winchester," her maternal tone almost gave him goose bumps, "Did you wake your sister?"
The whole scenario was almost laughable in its impossibility. This was the kind of life that both Buffy and he had resigned themselves to missing out on. This, well, hell, it was great and everything, but it was not them. It felt foreign, no matter how nice and warm and squishy it also made him feel.
"Dean, can you take Bobby back to his room so I can get a bottle ready?"
Catching himself staring, mesmerized at the miniature version of himself rubbing his eyes with his balled up fist, Dean shook his head, and scooped up the little guy. Bobby's head fell onto Dean's shoulder, and he buried his face into his father's neck. Dropping him into his sheets, Dean pulled up the comforter, and felt the urge to drop down and kiss the little boy on the head.
"Goodnight, buddy," he whispered.
"Goodnight," Bobby mumbled, "I love you."
"I, uh…" the knot in Dean's throat tightened, "I love you too."
"Yeah, you're right!" Zachariah, who Dean had already forgotten, was hanging in the doorway, "this totally cramps your style. How about this?"
The darkened bedroom dissolved, and suddenly Dean's eyes focused on narrow beam of light stretching across the road, contrasting with the darkening golden hues of the setting sun. Eyes darting to establish his surroundings, Dean gripped the handlebars of a motorcycle, and felt the tight grip of small arms cinched around his leather jacketed waist. He could conclude from the muted purple nail polish they belonged to Buffy.
"Or, let's get really exciting here."
When the world reformed they were on the deck of the Starship Enterprise, Dean standing next to the Captain's chair, wearing Command Gold, Buffy reading the results of some kind of report or another, wearing a tight little blue mini dress.
"Are you getting the idea, Dean?" Zach smiled, "You, Buffy, and your own little slice of eternity," Zach's hands moved to emphasize the surroundings, " Anything your imagination can conjure. It's done the minute you say yes- die together in battle, and return to heaven to live out your most mundane or depraved fantasies."
"Not going to happen, so fuck off," Dean wanted to say, thought he said, hell, couldn't really be sure because his attention was focused on Buffy running her hands across his yellow fabricked chest.
Then, instantly, Zach and him were standing in the gilded room again, the smell of cooling pie once again invading his nose.
"Well, if I can't persuade you like that, then how about this—"Zach stepped over to Giles who was now standing, surprised at their sudden reappearance, seizing him by his perfectly starched collar, "You agree to be Michael's vessel, or I send the soul of your girlfriend's replacement dad into the pit."
"Zachariah!" Cas shouted, "Listen to this madness for a second. You've fallen so far away from the light you can't even recognize the line between good and evil anymore."
Dean's mind was racing, and while his eyes told another story, one of concern and fear for Giles, imagining the look on Buffy's face when she found out her Watcher had been cast into the depths of hell, Dean managed to spit out, "You can take your offer, and shove it up your ethereal ass!"
Zachariah knew a bluff when he heard one though, "Fine, have it your way."
As Zachariah moved his free, opposite hand towards Giles, a flash of blinding light exploded around them, and when Dean's eyes adjusted, he was sitting on the ground in the grassy area outside the motel, fully healed, and Giles was on all fours next to him, rubbing his forehead.
"What the hell was that?" Bobby's voice echoed from around a corner, getting louder as he approached.
A crowd emerged from out of nowhere, consisting of their original party, minus one blonde slayer.
"Dean? Where the hell you been, boy?" Bobby scolded, though his tone was comprised of equal parts anger and relief.
"He was with us," Castiel's voice emerged seemingly from nowhere, and he came out of a shadow with hands dripping with blood, "Zachariah was holding us prisoner, but while Dean had him distracted, Giles and I managed to prepare a blood sigil for his return. He will not be gone long, so we must move."
"Giles?" Angel pushed to the front of the crowd, mouth agape at the sight he refused to believe.
A long cold moment passed between Angel and Giles as the normally composed Watcher managed to stand, staring daggers at the vampire.
"You're dead," Angel murmured.
Giles sneered, "What the bloody hell is he doing here?"