A/N: One to go- I can't believe it is almost done.
For my anonymous reviewers, I wish you had accounts so I could properly thank you for the reviews I have received. While I have received several wonderful and wholly appreciated reviews in the past few days, it seems the most positive and encouraging ones are coming from guests. So, thanks to everyone for reviewing, but special thanks to those of you who gave me such wonderful compliments on my writing skill. That meant a lot to me. And, because no good deed goes punished, prepare yourselves for the most wicked chapter I have written thus far.
It was decided by all that The Bunker was the greatest creation mankind had ever conceived. It was fortified, protected against every kind of evil one could imagine, and stock piled with enough weapons and provisions that you could ride out virtually any world ending event. And, that was exactly what Giles expected Buffy to do.
One would generally expect any person who had been killed recently and resurrected by a demon would be exhausted, or at least if not tired, definitely peckish. Not the case, unfortunately. As the others dispersed to find something to eat or to rest, Buffy slipped off into the inner bowels of The Bunker looking for a place to be alone for a while. Upon discovering the library, it was the closest she had felt in a long while to coming home.
Having shared little more than a long glance at each other- Dean's eyes filled with relief and gratefulness that Buffy had not been lost- neither had spoken in the wake of the incident St. Mary's. When he found her alone in the library he was thankful not to have an audience. At first he lingered, leaning on the frame of the open doorway, just watching her move through the stacks, trailing her fingers along the leather spines as she perused the books. Her shirt was still stained with a dry pool of blood, and Dean recalled how just a few hours ago that same shirt had been discarded on the floor of a hotel room without a second thought. The memory brought a smile to his lips. Their eyes connected through the negative space between the books and the shelves.
"Don't let me interrupt," he said when she moved towards where he stood in the door.
"Nothing to interrupt," she assured, stopping a few feet short, unsure of how much space to close between them, "I'm just a little restless."
"Me too…" he agreed, shifting as she neared him, and he felt the need to keep the conversation going, "This place is pretty incredible."
Small talk. That meant this was officially awkward for him.
"It's a shame the Men of Letters died out in this timeline," Buffy nodded, "Support like that would have certainly made my job a lot easier. Not to mention the fact they would have kept the Watcher's Counsel in check…" then she added, "…the bastards."
"Yeah…" he agreed, scratching the back of his head nervously.
"Something bothering you?"
"No… I'm fine," he half smiled, "I just…"
Hopeful and expectant, Buffy took a tentative step closer to Dean, hoping he would take the invitation to close the gap. Despite the look of cool reservation he carried on his face, the look in his captivating green eyes could not fool Buffy.
"It's…" he tried unsuccessfully again, finally caving, "God damnit…"
Pulling her into his arms, their lips connected effortlessly, and Dean held her against him like Death himself could not rip her from his arms. Breaking the kiss, he pressed his cheek to her forehead breathing in the fading scent of cherry vanilla on her hair, consuming her with his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his back, burying her face against his collarbone. They stayed that way for a long moment, not speaking, just savoring the presence of the person enclosed in their arms.
Finally breaking the silence, Dean admitted, "I couldn't sleep until I knew you were alright. Part of me was paranoid that Crowley wouldn't just bring you back without a catch."
"I'm just flat out scared to go to sleep," she squeezed him tighter, and he could hear the genuine fear in her voice—an atypical emotion for Buffy, and it made his chest tighten, "Zachariah's not going to just give up, and I feel like I'm going to spend every moment up until we lock down hell looking over my shoulder."
"No, Darlin', that's my job," he smiled when he heard the contented sigh Buffy exhaled when he used the newly familiar pet name, and he tipped her face up to meet his eyes, brushing the backs of his fingers along her jawline, then through her long hair, and down to rest at the small of her back, "You're right. You've got a giant target painted on your back, but that's why I'm here. Apparently, I've got one reason for being on this god-forsaken rock, and that's to watch your back until you complete the trails," it wasn't particularly eloquent, but it was the closest thing Dean Winchester got to romantic, "Besides," he added as the tips of his fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt, slowly sliding up the soft skin of her back, flashing that trademark devilish grin when he felt her entire body shudder against him, "watching you from behind is one of the few pleasure I have in this world."
"Um…did…" her eyes dropped as she felt the weight of her breasts shift, "Dean Winchester! Did you just unsnap my bra?"
"What?!" he snorted, giving her and incredulous look, "What kind of guy do you take me for? Obviously, this place is haunted!" and, in one swift, deft move he threw her over his shoulder, "Don't worry, they keep the rock salt in the bedroom."
"You really are a deviant," she laughed, playfully kicking her legs against his chest.
"Yeah, but I'm your deviant," he reminded her, and smacked her firmly on the ass, "Now, stop squirming."
Sunlight and shadows danced across her exposed back through the grated window near the ceiling, and Dean traced the moving outlines of the windblown leaves over her skin, eliciting soft, happy noises as she slept. Whether it was true or not, in his own mind he believed the reason she slept soundly was because she knew that he would do everything in his power to ensure her keeping. There were not many things in this world Dean Winchester would live for, and even less that he would die for, but in this particular case, both applied. Even if that really meant living only so that he could die in protecting her.
The precedents set in his life thus far had taught him you did not spend a lot of time thinking about the future. To Dean, the future he looked forward to was tomorrow, because a new sun rising meant he survived the night. At this point, that's all he really ask for—one more day. The only people he had ever been responsible for were his little brother and himself. Now, he had the responsibility of safeguarding the most important person in existence, and thanks to Zachariah, that meant keeping her safe during a potential celebrity death match between the Universe's biggest rivals. No pressure, or anything.
They needed to get moving soon, and even though it killed him to do it, he had to wake Buffy.
"C'mon, Darlin'" he whispered into her ear, and she rolled to face him, prompting him to run his fingers along the length of her flank, "We gotta hit the road soon."
The words felt like they would damage her eardrums. No, not yet. Not this soon. She wasn't ready to lose him this quickly. Not after last night.
Bitterly, she opened her eyes. She wanted to memorize that look on his face—the one he only ever had when he was gazing at her- trying to record this very second for a future moment of weakness when she would need it to get through the day.
The words would not come out, despite knowing she had to say them. She had to lie here in his arms and intentionally break his heart, and right after he had practically vowed to see her through the storm, no less.
"I can't, Dean," she pushed herself onto an elbow, "I promised."
"What are you talking about?" he raised an eyebrow.
"I can't go with you."
"Of course you can. You have to come with Sam and me," Dean felt like he was missing something, "We let Lucifer out, so we have to put him back in the cage. I need you with me on this one—I can't do it alone, and I can't keep you out of harm's way if you're not beside me."
"I promised Giles, Dean," she said firmly, fearing her resolve would waiver at any minute, "I have one job left to do, and I'm willing to do anything to ensure I get that job done," Dean's empty look-like this was the ultimate betrayal—clenched her heart and knotted her stomach, "If that means sitting out an Apocalypse to ensure it's the last, then that's what I have to do."
"You can't be serious," Dean's voice was darkening.
"I'm entirely serious," she said a bit too defensively, "Keeping me safe doesn't mean keeping me on a leash, Dean."
As the words left her mouth it felt like she had punched him in the gut, like when they had tussled in the mausoleum on the day they had first met.
"If you think I'm just going to leave you here, then you're more of a dumb blonde than I thought," Dean replied harshly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
"Well," she shot up, pulling the sheets up to cover her body and peering at him through narrowed eyes, "if you think I'm going to let you treat me like a total Bella, you're in for a rude fucking awakening."
Now it was spiraling, and they could not take back the words, or backtrack over the lines they had crossed.
"Just my luck," he scoffed as he pulled on his jeans one leg at a time, "Leave it to the fucking Fates to tether me to a stubborn feminist, and make it my job to keep her safe."
She rolled her eyes as Dean pulled his shirt over his head, "Could be worse- at least the Fates didn't select an arrogant prick as your champion."
Buffy watched from the bed as Dean squeezed his hands into fists, and then calmly flexed them back out.
"We're supposed to be a team," he pleaded.
"Yeah, we are," she agreed, and tried not to regret the words that came out of her mouth next, "But, it's not our job anymore to fix your brother's screw up."
She tried, but failed.
Wrenching his jacket off the back of a chair so hard it knocked it over, Dean made his way to the door only replying, "Sweet dreams, Darlin'."
Rage flaring, ignoring absolutely everyone, Dean made his way to Sam who was talking with a recently arrived Castiel.
"Get your coat, Sammy," he grabbed his little brother by the arm dragging him away from Cas.
"Dude, what the hell is your problem?" Sam asked, taken aback.
"What's my problem?" Dean pointed at Cas, "I got a half-assed Angel dicking around with my destiny," and, then to his brother, "A little brother who just unleashed the fucking Apocalypse, and mostly," he pointed back in the direction he had come, "I got a pain in the ass Slayer refusing to do her god damned job."
"Dean, you must let the Moirae handle Lucifer and Michael," Castiel responded, "You're only responsibility now is making sure Buffy completes the trials."
"So, I'm supposed to leave the world in the hands of the three incompetent chicks who couldn't even stop this mess from happening in the first place?" Dean yelled, "Sorry, Cas, that ain't how I operate."
"Dean!" Buffy's voice rang out from across the room.
"Did you at least bring my car here this time?" Dean barked, ignoring Buffy as she marched towards them.
"Yes, but-"
Already walking away, Dean interrupted from over his shoulder, "You and Bobby got 'til the count of ten to be in the Impala."
"DEAN!" she practically screamed, her pace quickening.
But, he was gone by the time the resonance of her voice stopped vibrating in the corridors of The Bunker. Sam looked back at Buffy, and then to the empty space previously occupied by his idiot brother. Her steps fell a few feet short of them as she slowed to a dead stop.
"I'm sorry, Buffy," Sam offered weakly.
"Just get him back to me, Sam," she closed her eyes to hide the tears.
"I will," Sam promised, and turned on his heels to find Bobby before an epically pissed Dean abandoned them in rural Kansas.
"You did the right thing," Castiel assured, "Dean will see reason eventually."
"If anything happens to him because I wasn't there—," she growled fiercely, starring at the doorway through which she had just lost the love of her life, then cast her dark gaze onto Castiel, "-the war I'm going to start is going to make Lucifer look like a fucking girl scout."
They had been driving for over an hour, but neither Bobby nor Sam had yet to say anything to Dean. Opportunities had risen to speak, but inevitably, one would catch the eye of the other in the rearview mirror, and let the moment pass. When Dean pulled into a pre-pay only gas station needing to fill the nearly empty tank, Bobby cast a knowing look to Sam, and offered to pay the attendant.
As the pump clicked away, Sam came around the back of the car where Dean restied against the bumper, arms crossed and still fuming.
"Even before you start," Dean raised a finger to silence his brother.
"What do you want me to say, Dean? Both of us know you should be with her right now."
"It's not our job anymore to fix your brother's screw up," he repeated her words mockingly, "Can you believe that bullshit she said that to me?"
"She's right," Sam admitted, and Dean flashed him that "You've got to be fucking kidding me, Sammy" look, "You've been protecting the wrong chosen one your entire life. You were put here to protect the person whose destiny it was to seal the gates to Hell shut forever, and instead you kept safe the one person whose destiny it was to unleash Hell on Earth."
"That was NOT your destiny, Sammy!" Dean snapped, "I wish you could have seen what I saw. You were supposed to be a Man of Letters, a scholar and a teacher, and everything you ever wanted. You were the one who figured out the trials. That was supposed to be your life!"
"But it's not!" Sam retorted in kind, "And, at some point, Dean, you have got to accept that you can't fix that! I'm not your priority anymore."
"No, you're my little brother, man," Dean sighed as the gas tank jolted to a stop indicating the price of the pre-pay had been reached, but Dean ignored it, "and, the Fates' aren't going to change that."
"Fine," Sam relented, "If you want to make a big show about free will and make the biggest mistake of your life, I'm not going to stop you. But, you have to promise me something in return."
"Oh yeah? What's that?" Dean asked condescendingly.
"If it comes down to it, you let me go."
"Hell no," Dean answered, diverting his attention to the finished pump and away from his illogical brother.
"Then I'm not going with you either," Sam countered.
"What the hell!?" Dean shouted pounding the trunk with his fist, "Did everyone take crazy pills this morning?"
"For once in your life, listen to me like an adult and not your little brother!" Sam wanted to explode, "There's a really good chance this is going to go South on us, and if I go down, you go back to Buffy. You do what you're supposed to do. You keep her safe. You help her finish the trials. You live out whatever kind good life you can with that girl, because you got something handed to you most of us never will—a soul mate. And, I swear to whatever god is listening, if you throw that away because of me, I will never let you live it down."
Dean's eyes averted over Sam's shoulder as Bobby made his way back to the car.
"Get in the car, Sammy."
"Not until you promise."
"Sam—"
"Promise!"
"Alright!" Dean surrendered, "I promise."
Letting out an exasperated breath, Sam pulled open the door for Bobby while Dean slid into the driver's seat.
"Got a call from Rufus," Bobby announced as he settled into the back seat, "He's holed up not far from here. Some town called River Pass in Colorado—says the town's thick with black eyes."
Fighting his own guilt conjured by Sam's accusations and the desire to turn the car around, he shifted the car into drive and willed himself to keep going.
"Sounds like fun."