Steam condensed in dripping streaks against the cold biting the opposite side of the car windows. Ruby, in her Willow suit, coiled her leg around Sam's much longer one. Pressing her forehead into the crook of her neck, panting as she grazed her fingertips over the skin of Sam's exposed chest, she grinned salaciously as she pondered the state of things.

Hell's greatest disciples had all failed. Alastair, Azazel, nor Lilith would be remembered for the glorious event that loomed just hours away. Years of meticulous planning and manipulation were about to come to fruition. She, Ruby, lowly hell minion, held all the power in the fucking universe, and it would be her name rolling off Lucifer's lips in gratitude and appreciation for guiding Hell's Chosen Son. Of all the god-forsaken demons to escape the bowels of hell, it would be a little witch who sold her soul that freed their King.

"Tell me you love me," she purred, venom thickening her voice.

"I love you," Sam whispered urgently, with the conviction that he actually meant it, and under the strength of Willow's spell, he actually believed he did. It tormented him that she even had to ask. Propping himself up on an elbow, shifting her so their eyes could meet, "Mistress, you know I'd do anything you asked of me, right?"

"I know, lover," she pushed away the strands of damp hair pasted to his glistening brow, reveling in a sickening amount of pleasure she felt watching the relief wash over his face, "and, you will—you're the torch bearer of the revolution, Sammy," she smiled, knocking Sam's jaw gently with her knuckles Humphrey Bogart style, "You and me, we're going to end the reign of man," her eyes averted to the twinkling amulet, the only thing Sam wore, as it dangled from his neck. She took it between her thumb and forefinger, turning it so the opal caught fire in the fading light," this little beauty— once you use it to paint the church with that bitch's blood— is going to let the King assume his true form. Not even Michael wearing an adamantine vessel could stop Lucifer while he's wearing this. He's going lead us into a new era, and you and I will serve as his most trusted attendants," she pulled him down, trailing her nails across his back, her voice husky, "and, every night will be like this."

"I live to serve," he growled into her skin as he nipped her neck, leaving a trail of red marks, breaking the skin with his teeth, and lapping up the delicious elixir that imbued him with such awesome power, "Give me orders, mistress. What is your pleasure?"

"Down boy, later," she grinned at the hunger in his eyes, "Right now, we have a brave new world to unveil."

The words too late would not stop racing through Dean's mind. Too late to stop his brother. Too late the save Buffy. Too late to stop the Apocalypse. On the exterior he was doing a bang up job of managing his fear, projecting a steely resolve of determination and fortitude. But, inside, he was manic—heart operating on overdrive, only capable of anticipating all the possible worst case scenarios, a terrified tremor in his hands only stifled by his firm grip on the steering wheel. Forced to drive, Castiel could not waste any angel mojo blinking them to Ilchester—he still suffering the effects of the Blood Sigil that had allowed them to escape Zach, he needed to reserve what he could for the looming Battle Royale.

The Impala's speedometer hovered around one hundred and thirty, the twin headlights slicing through the darkness in long white beams, nearly bursting it's seams with the passenger load—four humans, two vampires, an angel, and a ghost. It sounded like a terrible joke, or something. How they had managed to fit eight people into Baby, he did not know, but he did not have time to worry about car capacity or speeding tickets.

Locked inside her own head, Buffy was helpless save for the screaming, which she did just to piss off Lilith.

Please, little girl, Lilith's vile voice echoed in response to Buffy's unrelenting noise, Screams to me are like the smell of Chocolate Chip cookies to you—they take me right back home. The sooner you stop backseat driving, the easier this is going to be.

So much for that plan.

But, Buffy was never going to stop fighting, at least, not while her own blood remained inside her veins, but the time for that was waning. The Fates had given her a slight reprieve, taking her into their realm and promising her five minutes. Five minutes. That was all the time she had to stop this Apocalypse. It was up to her to get the amulet from Sam, and incinerate the demon that had nestled inside her skin, in five minutes. Maybe less. She didn't know what she was looking for—there was surely going to be some kind of trigger, some sign that the Fates would give her that this was the moment.

With a flick of Buffy's traitorous wrist, the doors to burst open, splintering around their hinges, hanging at strange angles. Passing through the slumping passage, Lilith glided them into the inner sanctum of a small chapel. Before her, a large white marble dais sat, sealed with the moldering bones of a sainted someones. Though Lilith was in control, her slayer instincts were still functioning—a rippling chill across her skin alerted her to the presence behind her.

There was absolutely no time to react. In a split second she was only registering the crunch of her bones breaking as Sam slammed her back into the marble sarcophagus. If she survived this, slayer fortitude or not, she would be lucky if she ever walked again.

"And, it is written that the first demon shall be the last," Sam spoke as he advanced.

Lilith could not move her arms, and Buffy realized she was pinned.

"Well done, Ruby," Lilith smiled, eyeing the red headed witch standing just to back and left of Sam, "Taming the Chosen Son—who would have ever guessed you had it in you."

"For the record, I'm psyched it's your ass we get to drain," Ruby sneered, "It's about time the Underworld had a change in management."

"It's never going to be you, Ruby," Lilith snickered condescendingly, "Father might give you a nice pat on the head, but he'll remember whose blood sacrifice truly unlocked the cage."

"Sooner rather than later, Sam," Ruby commanded.

"As you wish, Mistress," Sam replied emptily.

"Ugh," Lilith gagged, "That's a new level of creepy, even for you Ruby," Lilith got out before her throat seized up and white light emanated from her eyes and mouth, taking away the breath that was useless to a demon, but vitally necessary to keeping Buffy alive.

Images of the night Willow had flayed Warren flashed in Buffy's mind, and she imagined experiencing a similar fate. The pain was excruciating, even for Lilith. Eventually all she could process was searing white light, and she was fighting just to focus enough to curse the Fates for failing her, for promising things they could not deliver. Instead, she tried to remember heaven, and the soothing surrender of lifting her slayer burden.

I can't even imagine what heaven would look like to me now, she recalled admitting to Castiel days ago, though it felt like centuries since this ordeal had begun. Now she knew, she had seen what her life should have been, what purpose she was meant to serve, and the people who had been lost that were meant to have lived in that glorious world free of evil. That was supposed to be her gift—not death, not destruction, not this.

In the span a second she conceived of her heaven, hoping whoever was in charge of these things was listening intently and taking notes, because she did not have long. A black Impala, an army of Hell's finest in dire need of vanquishing, and one hand holding her axe, the other squeezing the hand of a freckle faced boy with hazel eyes and the smuggest grin the world had ever seen—one boy in all the world, bespoke for her by hand of Fate and tethered to her soul. Despite all the normalcy for which she had pined, it was the fight that brought her comfort in the end, so long as that it was their fight.

"Sam!"

"Buffy!"

Two different and distinctly accented voices echoes down the hall in tandem, and they were the most consoling sound her ears had ever heard. The Fates had come through after all, and this was her sign. Her moment. Two voices, together—her Paladin the Fates had called him, and through some impossible miracle she dared not even question, the man who carried a title more significant than that of father, her Watcher.

Suddenly was right there, intently focused and conscious of everything around her. They had delivered Giles.

The shift was immediate, and she was not the only one affected as the white light dissipated from her vision. As Buffy regained her faculties, once again in control of her own body, despite the shrieking protests of Lilith resounding in her head, she could she a shift in Sam as well. The force pinning her to the dais dispersed as Sam's attention was redirected towards his brother's voice.

"Dean?"

"Do it, Sam! NOW!" Ruby commands were muffled in both their ears.

It was already too late. Lightning fast, Buffy broke the chain loose from Sam's neck, crushing the amulet in her palm, pressing the gem against her skin, feeling the delicious surge of invincibility that coursed through her veins once again, ready to fight the entire room if necessary. Locking her eyes on her boys down the hall, holding back tears of joy as she watched the smile of pride light Giles' face for her quick thinking, she focused on the prodigal demon raging inside her and what she would look with hellfire makeup.

Shaking his head, recovering from his momentary lapse in concentration, Sam realized that he had betrayed Ruby's commands. He had broken his promise, and now the amulet was gone. Panicked, he reached for Ruby's knife sheathed in his boot. There just had to be blood, and it was done.

Buffy could feel the smoke starting to rise in her throat, Lilith was scrambling to escape before she was incinerated, and Buffy clenched her jaw even though Lilith made it feel like her teeth would shatter. The blood curdling cry of the burning demon almost paralyzed her, and her mind blanked. She squeezed the amulet for a few more droplets of endurance, repeating they're alive, they're both alive. She had made peace with her altered fate moments ago, but now she would not leave a world where they both lived.

Wishful thinking.

She could feel the blade stick between the slat of her ribs, and the release of pressure as the puncture deflated her lung. As quickly as it had pierced her skin, crackling with demon energy, the blade ejected leaving a gaping hole in her torso. Trembling, she forbid herself to break like Sam had done. Her hand jumped to the wound, doing nothing to dam the flood of oozing blood, and she watched as Sam tossed the blood coated knife acrossed the floor, leaving a smeared streak of their blood, Lilith's and Buffy's, in an unbroken stripe across the marble floor.

It was done. Lilith burned away as their motley of blood mared the floor, but it was done. Gasping for air she could not inhale, Buffy collapsed to the floor, choking from oxygen deprivation and the suffocating blood filling her lungs.

Voices approached, blending together in a cacophony of indeterminate owners and heavy footfalls. Strangely, the last thought that crossed Buffy's mind was not Dean, or Giles, or even the acceptance of abject failure on her part. It was pity—pity for Willow, and the disparaging sorrow she would experience when she realized it was her magic in the end that had undone the world.