A/N: For every reader who reviewed, favorited, alerted, or added to a community this story, a million thanks and blessings on your house. I loved writing this story. It took a lot longer than I wanted it too, but I am elated with how this turned out. I'm not sure how quickly I'll finish the alternate endings I have in mind, but keep an eye out for "Damned If you Do, Damned if You Don't".

It had been a slow night for patrol. In the few days since Lucifer and Michael had been thrown back into the cage, the Underworld had collapsed into chaos. Those left who had aligned into factions were now slinking off into shadows to ride out the storm, bidding their time until a contender came out on top. But, Buffy knew it would be Crowley that would reign again, and they had their own epic showdown awaiting soon enough.

Cabin fever had been getting the better of her, and it had been months since Castiel had allowed her to leave the safety of The Bunker. She was starting to feel like Rapunzel in the tower, except for the fact that her Prince Charming was not coming back for her. That ship had sailed nearly a year ago, and she had resigned herself to the fact she would be one soul mate short of a dynamic duo. But, that was not anything new for her. All slayers lived lonely lives. Only their shoulders were sturdy enough to carry the burden of those who took risks because they had nothing left to lose, of those who willingly sacrificed themselves so the sun could rise on a better tomorrow.

With the Apocalypse out of the way, she could at least get down to sealing Hell shut permanently. Being on total lockdown had not been a absolutel bummer- it had given her ample time to learn new skills and familiarize herself with the resources of the Men of Letters. She and the Scoobies had become quite studied in Crowley, the Trials, and all manner of the unfriendly things that were to follow.

"It feels like the end of an era," Faith said as she and Buffy walked back down the long stretch of country road, a crossbow slung over her back.

"Faith Lehane," Buffy snorted, "Is that sentimentality I hear coming from your mouth?"

"I mean it, B," she stopped in the middle of the road, turning to face Buffy, "Lucifer's probation has been revoked. It's real now. You're not one of us anymore."

"Faith, I'm still a human being," Buffy rolled her eyes.

"No, Buffy. I meant, you're not a slayer anymore. You're not even The Slayer anymore…" Faith sighed, "You're not even on the same level as the slayers anymore."

"Can we please avoid the hysterics?" Buffy pushed past Faith continuing on her way back to The Bunker, "In the entire time that we've been waiting out the Apocalypse, Willow and Andrew have only figured out part of the first trial. Even the Frodo Baggins took, like, a year and half to destroy the Ring."

"You really have been bored, haven't you?" Faith laughed catching up to her.

"I've read every book in the library," she sighed, "Some of them twice…" and, then Buffy paused, looking to Faith with a weary face, shifting the conversation back to the topic she had pretended she wanted to avoid, "I don't want people putting me up on a pedestal, okay. I'm still Buffy Summers, and I'm still a slayer. And, yeah, maybe I've got a little shinier destiny than most people, but until that plays out, I've still got a day job that needs doing. I got kind of a big head about this Chosen One thing, and I let down some people who were counting on me. So, no more Destiny Girl stuff, deal?"

"Alright, B," Faith conceded, "But, for the record, I always knew there was something about you. You were always the best of us. You always had the right slayer stuff, ya'know? So, I'm not really surprised it's you, out of all of us, the Fates chose to bring it all to an end."

"It was never a competition, Faith," Buffy reassured.

"You're right," Faith replied, "It wasn't even close."

As the pair of them rounded the last curve before The Bunker, she saw it sitting there, and her words of protest evaporated in her throat. Eyes catching the sheen reflecting off the silky, black paint in the early morning light, the Impala was parked in front of the main entrance, and sitting on the trunk was the last person she expected to see.

"Is that him?" Faith asked, voice a mixture of stunned and impressed.

"Yeah… it is."

"Damn, B. That Fates sure know how to pick 'em," she flashed that sultry smile that had most dopes eating out of the palm of her hand, "You kicked that out of your bed?."

"Enough, Faith."

"I'm just saying, if you don't want him anymore—," Buffy shoved her hand in Faith's face to shut her up, pushing her a few steps out of the way.

The sound of her heart pounding in her ears was drowning out the sound of everything else, and all she could focus on was his face and the sound that resulted when she saw it. Should she walk right past him, or should she hear him out? Should she apologize and admit that she should have never promised Giles not to help him? Should she speak first, or did he have some planned out speech she needed to listen too? She had no idea what to do.

Faith ran her hand over Buffy's shoulder, and gave it a soft, supportive squeeze before turning on her heel, winking at Dean, and disappearing inside The Bunker. Mustering all the nerve she had inside, the only word Buffy's mouth could form was the one word she had refused herself to speak since she had last left it echoing around the entry hall.

"Dean."

"Hey Darlin'," Dean answered with a deflated smile.

The name stung to hear, and she dug her nails into her crossed arms to force the pain to go somewhere other than her heart. Her eyes darted around, andshe came to the painful realization that Dean had come alone. She was afraid to ask, because she was sure she already knew the answer. Why else would he come back?

"Where's Sam?"

Dead. Trapped in the Pit. Lost forever.

"Sam's gone," Dean managed, his eyes dropping.

Every fiber of her being wanted to be mad at him, but how could she be mad when he was like this? Embracing him, sliding effortlessly into that perfect fit against his chest, she laid her head on his shoulder and he buried his face in her hair.

"It's my fault," Dean's voice wavered.

"You were only doing what you thought was right," she said comfortingly.

"I was protecting the wrong Chosen One," his voice was empty as he recalled Sam's words from their argument at the gas station, "He knew that. He tried telling me that."

"Neither of us needed protecting, Dean," Buffy interjected bluntly, "We just needed someone to carry us once in a while."

In the low scoop of her neckline—not that Dean was checking out her rack at a time like this, or anything—Dean could see the top of the slayer amulet half hidden.

"Then, why are you still wearing this?" he asked, snaking his fingers under the chain to lift the amulet from underneath her shirt, defeat coloring his words, "You really thought I wouldn't come back, didn't you?"

"Could you blame me?" Buffy threw her hand on her hip, "I haven't heard from you in almost a year."

"Just because I didn't call you doesn't mean I haven't been looking out for you."

"What?"

"Do you honestly think Cas was going to let me get off that easy?"

"And, like a typical guy, you thought by not talking to me, you were protecting me," she huffed condescendingly, "Like one phone call from you, and I'd be so lovesick I'd come running."

"Actually," he began, his voice dripping with indignation, "it was the other way around."

That shut Buffy up, leaving her mouth hanging open with words she wanted to spit back at him.

"…oh."

His eyes fell back down to somewhere near his shoes, and Buffy searched for something to say, succeeding in redirecting the topic by inquiring, "When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't even remember…"

For Dean Winchester, that was saying something.

"I made a pie yesterday," she offered, "I mean, if you think you could handle something to eat."

His head jerked up, and he gave her an incredulous look.

"Since when do you make pies?"

"I've had a lot of time on my hands, so I learned how to do a lot of stuff!" she answered firmly, using her fingers to point out her newly acquired skills, "Sewing, translating Enochian, and yes, baking… because, ya'know…" there was a wide smile fighting to split Dean's lips, " … maybe, I didn't totally give up on you."

Pulling her in tight, Dean planted a hard, fierce kiss on her lips. Buffy Summers—the only other human being more stubborn than him. She was emotional, impulsive, and generally impossible. The kind of woman who would never learn, or take your word for something no matter how many times you told her, because she had to do it for herself even if she failed. But, even so...

"You learned how to make pie for me," Dean reiterated, brushing a few loose strands of hair over her ear, "Damn, Darlin', you really are my soul mate."