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The rain pattered on the roof as the cool morning breeze drifted in through the open window. Buffy was curled around Dean. Though her endless energy made her a heater, she shivered against the air.
With his free arm, Dean drew the blankets up over her shoulders. He picked up a lock of her hair and stroked it between his fingers.
She sighed contentedly, and, still asleep, squeezed her arm tighter around his chest.
What was the correct response when someone confessed they’ve died before? Did he compare how long it took to crawl from his grave? How long it was before his ears and eyes stopped feeling overstimulated? The grief and relief in a sibling’s face when they realized they could hug her again? Did they discuss which was worse: the hell of Hell or the hell of being yanked from Heaven? (Or why her heaven was nothingness?)
Dean didn’t know, so he’d kissed her, held her, listened, and occasionally responded.
Buffy was a natural leader complete with the facade of being in control, but her secret was she was in constant turmoil. It wasn’t just finding work and looking out for her sister. She’d told him those secrets almost from the get-go. Remembering how to do more than exist, how to care, that’s what tore her up. College, movie marathons, water balloon fights with Dawn were all steps in recapturing how to live.
Having considered suicide by angel just a few weeks before, Dean was acquainted with such despair. The second step was less familiar.
Her role in this violent world, however, was different from Dean’s. He’d always shared his work with his father, then Sam. He had Bobby and countless hunters both in his network and unknown. Everyone played by their own rules, but they were volunteers in the same army.
Buffy had a sister, friends, but no one was by her side. They thought they were. They considered themselves supportive, a good team, but they were wrapped up in their own acts of heroism, in patting themselves on the back for bringing her back from the dead. Damn it, why couldn’t she just be grateful to be back in the fight? None of them knew what it was to be her, a conscripted general dragging Death in chains.
These were her midnight confessions. Knowing what she thought she knew about Dean, Alastair and death broke a dam in her, and she clung to Dean so the rough current of her unbottled emotions wouldn’t drown her. When words no longer worked for her, she used her body to explain more. Each cry of pleasure an exercise in release. A coupling searching for something alive.
Buffy rolled over, pulling all the blankets to her side of the bed. Careful to not disturb her, Dean removed his numb arm from beneath her. They’d been up late talking, and he’d woken her twice with his nightmares. (Both times she woke him, talked him down out of his panic, and helped him get back to sleep without any questions.) She needed the rest. After throwing on his pajama pants and a t-shirt, he headed downstairs for coffee.
Dawn sat on the couch eating cereal and watching cartoons. Coffee in hand, Dean joined her. “Ready for school to start?” he asked.
“No, I haven’t even been able to stake a stupid vampire yet.”
“Bupkis on Thursday?”
“Buckets of bupkis. It got stuck like the other one, and I completely froze. I could have totally taken its head right then. When it got out, it almost bit me. When I did finally stake it, I missed the heart. Buffy had to dust it,” she said.
“I’d expected my last weekend of freedom to be beaches, barbecues, and sisterly hijinks. Instead it’s weirdly un-California summer rain, demon hunting, and lots of me-time.” She clanged her spoon in her bowl. “I don’t know why I hoped for anything different.”
He set his mug down and shifted to give her his full attention. “This whole Slayer thing doesn’t really think about the families, does it?”
“Nope.”
“But you understand we have to kill this thing, right?”
She pointed at the morning paper on the coffee table. “Yeah, and the sooner the better. Killed someone else last night.”
Dean picked up the paper. A small article in the corner of the front page said a seventy-year-old organist had been “struck by lightning through the chest” this time outside of a church. Dean tossed the paper back on the table and rubbed his eyes.
“I’m glad you’re here, though,” said Dawn, rearranging her pile of blankets. “At least I don’t have to worry about her fighting this gross eye-sucker alone. Plus, she’s been less stressed since you came back to Sunnydale. Less ‘Grr, Dawn! Do what I say because I’m in charge!’ and more ‘Dawnie, let’s watch a movie together. Don’t eat my popcorn.’ She’s a happier person with you, Dean.”
Picking his mug up again, he regarded her skeptically. “If your sister’s happier, it ain’t me.”
“It’s totally you. You’re probably the best boyfriend Buffy’s ever had.”
Dean congratulated himself on not spitting out his coffee. Boyfriend? No, no.
Dawn smiled at him with the same bright but sad smile her sister always wore.
He quickly changed the subject, “Loony Tunes, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s always the same though. ‘Oh look, outwitted by Roadrunner again.’ Wile E. Coyote is kind of pathetic.”
“Really? I always thought he was tragic.”
“Tragic? He can’t even catch one measly bird.”
“Yeah, and if he can’t catch Roadrunner, he’s gonna starve to death. He’s a coyote. He was built to survive in the desert, but he’s stopped trusting his instincts. He thinks contraptions and explosives and whatever else ACME is shillin’ will get him the life he wants. He’d be better off being himself, going with his gut. Rejecting what he is, ugly as his actions may be, is gonna be his downfall, and that’s tragic.”
Dawn watched Wile E. Coyote realize the truth about the ground and crash to the canyon floor. “What about Elmer Fudd?”
Bare feet padded down the stairs. Buffy in her happy cloud pajamas wobbled on the bottom step. Seeing Dean on the couch, her face quickly melted from tired concern to a warm smile. “Coffee and cartoons?”
“Perfect Sunday morning, if you ask me,” said Dean. “Want some?”
She nodded sleepily, and he led her by the hand into the kitchen. “Let’s see, half creamer, rest sugar, with a drop a the good stuff on top for color?”
“You know me, babe.”
He searched her face as she enjoyed her coffee. She did look relaxed. Happy. Like she’d cried out everything that was weighing her down.
“So, your sister tells me I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”
Buffy put down her coffee and met his eye. “I didn’t think ‘friend with benefits’ needed to be part of her vocabulary yet…or ever. It will just be easier for her to cry when you leave.”
Dean stared out the window for a while. After last night’s intimate confessions, leaving felt completely different. “No offense,” he said eventually, “but you must have some shit taste in men.”
“In my wild youth, perhaps,” she said, “but I like to think it’s getting better.” She lookeds away quickly, a flush rushing to her cheeks.
“Were you planning on picking up Sam immediately? Because some bacon and eggs magically appeared in my fridge and I was thinking about making breakfast.”
“Magic breakfast sounds awesome,” he said with a smile.
Friends with benefits. Dean mulled over the phrase as he drove to the library to pick up Sam. He’d never considered himself a man with many friends, but he did have “arrangements” with women all over the country. There was a kindergarten teacher in Albany who was into all sorts of crazy kink. He’d ended a haunting for a woman outside of Detroit; as a thank you she always baked him pie in her lingerie whenever he swung through. A divorcee in the suburbs of Atlanta was so relieved to find out her ex was literally a monster, she wanted nothing more than to suck Dean’s dick any night he was in town. Before things went Apocalyptic, putting him and Sam on the hunter shit list, there were even a few women he’d join on hunts before joining them in bed. He was never sure which part prompted the call, but he never argued about good, uncomplicated sex.
What he had with Buffy wasn’t uncomplicated. It was supposed to be, but something had changed. With his other arrangements, he was in and out of town in a day or two. He never stuck around to talk; he often didn’t even stay until morning. There was no “getting to know each other.” Hell, the kindergarten teacher still thought he was FBI. It went from a phone call to dirty talk to meeting up to fucking within hours. There certainly weren’t midnight confessions and homemade meals (except pie).
Not only did he spend a good deal of time with Buffy out of necessity in this strange new world, he enjoyed spending time with her beyond that. Whether they were alone or not, she was interesting. She was…special.
While last night may have been an emotional release for her, he was on high alert. She wanted more than sex. She’d said friendship, but this was quickly spiralling from the shallows to deep relationship waters.
She wanted him to stay.
Sam sat near a bank of windows, books piled high around him. “You know,” he said as Dean spun a chair around and sat on it backwards, “Sunnydale’s tiny public library has a bizarre amount of books on demons, the occult, spells, and anything else that would get your hunter senses tingling.”
“Got plenty tingling already. Hear about the new body?”
“Yep. A person can learn all sorts of things just by getting up before ten.”
“I’ve been up!” Dean griped while scanning the stack of books by his brother. “Buffy made breakfast.”
Sam looked up from his book. His attempt to hold in a smile resulted in a tight grin.
“What?”
“It’s nothing. It’s just…you two are cute.”
“Shut up.”
“You do realize she’s your girlfriend, right? You can spout as much ‘It’s just sex’ bullshit as you want, but you, Dean Winchester, committed hound dog, have a girlfriend. Honestly, I’m glad I was wrong about the two of you hooking up, because it’s so nice to see you happy.”
Dean entranced himself spinning a pen on the table.
Sam snapped his fingers. “Hello? Earth to Dean! Where’s the not-so-witty retort?”
“Last night, Buffy, uh…”
“Oh God! Did she make some big emotional confession right after you had sex?”
“It was before, and it’s not the confession you’re thinking of, thank God. The confession isn’t what matters, though. She’s figured some stuff out, Sammy.” He filled his brother in on what Buffy thought she knew.
“So, you let her believe that story, and she still fucked you? She wasn’t creeped out by you being dead?”
“Yeah, her big confession was she’s into dead guys. No! It’s not like I’m still dead. Still breathing. Heart’s still beating. Still getting it up.”
“Thank you for the visual.”
“How does this affect our plans?” Dean didn’t look at him, as if he was worried about the answer.
“Not sure.”
“She wants us to stay. Make sure we’re safe.” Dean rubbed his eyes. “Let’s talk about something easy. Got anything on the Mylanta?”
“Olanta, and yes. In many cultures, it was worshiped and people would offer themselves as sacrifices.”
“That’s nuts. ‘Ooh, big slithers! Let’s give it our eyes!’”
“The Olanta lays its eggs in water. To ensure whatever body of water it’s using stays put while they gestate, the demon also brings the rain. In the 1927 case in Cleveland, it rained for three months. The city flooded. St. Petersburg 1852, three months of rain and flooding that killed thousands. Same in Cairo 1777. There are other incidents of exactly three months of rain leading to severe flooding too. The Mississippi also flooded in 1927 and 1993. The North Sea flooded Germany in 1634. China’s Yellow River in 1938 and 1887. Obviously, flooding like this brings a lot of bodies, and bird normally get to the eyes first. However, there are even more reports of moderate flooding coupled with a bizarrely high rate of lightning-related deaths.”
“But those floods aren’t all seventy-five years apart, Sam.”
“It’s laying eggs, Dean. We can’t just kill this thing, we need to find its nest.”
“Last victim died over there,” said Sam, pointing at the small stucco church by the graveyard.
“Well, the slithery bitch ain’t here now. Let’s get going,” said Dean, stalking toward the trees that sat between the church and the school. He’d been here weeks prior fighting with Buffy before they decided fucking would be much more fun. He knew the demon hadn’t been around that night – it hadn’t rained, but it still gave him the heebee-jeebees.
“Remember, we need to do recon first,” said Buffy when they reached the treeline. “Get it to lead us to the nest. We can’t go at it half-cocked and yippee-ki-whatever.”
They’d found nothing on what killed an Olanta, so they loaded for bear. In addition to a couple machetes, an axe, and a crossbow – and despite Buffy’s objections – both of the Winchesters sported a sawed-off.
“We’ll fan out, but no more than ten feet apart. The ‘I told you so’s will not end if either of you loses an eye.”
“You taking point on this, Girly?”
“I’m the Slayer. I’m always the point.”
Even though it was around noon, the overcast sky plus the trees made for a dark forest. It wasn’t a large forest by any means, but it was dense and hilly enough to be difficult. The branches scratched and sprayed them. The ground was slick with matted leaves, and Buffy mentally complimented herself on her choice of biker boots. (“You own practical shoes?” Dean had teased.) With the axe handle bumping against her leg and one hand occupied with the crossbow, staying upright required more concentration than she wanted.
At the bottom of the slope, Buffy turned to follow the muddy gully while Dean climbed up the next hill. “Where are you going?” she hissed.
“Not staying down here exposed.”
“If it needs water, it will be low. All of this rain probably created a pond or a creek.”
“That’s all fine and dandy, but I’d rather not do my spying from its backyard.” Dean continued up the hill with Sam in his wake. He stopped halfway up and sent Sam to the top.
Buffy signaled for them all to move left, and for once, they listened to orders.
Dean was right about being in its backyard, but Buffy wanted her energy directed at finding the Olanta instead of standing up. The boys could slip and slide in their safety zone. As she walked, the soft mud sucked at her boots. Rain running down the hills began to form a creek that hadn’t existed in California’s usual blazing Augusts. The chatter of birds and squirrels disappeared. The only sounds were the snapping of twigs under their feet and rushing water. A musky smell stung Buffy’s nose. Something moved in the brush to her right.
She raised her crossbow.
Dean whistled low and signaled to Sam.
Suddenly, a giant, serpent lunged at her from the bushes. The boom of a shotgun, and Buffy was splattered with its burning blood. The Olanta roared, and Buffy fired a bolt into its mouth. It writhed and flung its body against her, knocking her into the mud. It reared back, damaged tail high and aimed for her heart. She yanked the axe from its bracket and swung before it could stab her. Blood from the severed appendage poured over her as the demon collapsed, twitching.
The blood ate holes in her shirt and burned her skin. Buffy shouted, peeling off her shirt and packing mud onto the places that stung.
“Buffy!” Dean and Sam were by her side. The entire fight had lasted only a few seconds.
“Ignore me!” She pointed down the creek. “Follow the water. Get the eggs!”
Dean sprinted around the bend where the water disappeared into a cave opening just large enough for a man, or a man-sized snake. Inside, he could hear rushing water. He yanked off his boots and took out his machete. Securing a pocket flashlight to his belt loop, he squeezed inside.
The freezing water running over his toes shocked him. Crouched against the cave’s low ceiling, he followed the water to a bubbling whirlpool. At the bottom of the pool sat three faintly glowing orbs. He reached in, bracing himself with his other arm as the rushing water tried to suck him down, but they were too far away to reach with his hands or his machete. “Sam! Get down here and bring your gun!”
“Fucking shit!” Sam cried as his bare feet hit the water. “That’s freezing!”
Dean, who’d been lying in the water and hoping his manhood would recover, shined the flashlight on his brother and laughed. “Looks like you ate the wrong cake, Alice. Get your ass over here and hold this.”
Grabbing the shotgun, he pointed it at the water. “Close your eyes!”
The boom of the gun in the small cave was like getting hit in the head with a bar stool. Dean’s ears rang, and even though he’d closed his eyes to avoid the muzzle flash, he saw stars.
Sam punched him in the shoulder. “You missed, dumbass.”
Between the density and the swirl of the water, shooting them was going to be impossible. Dean handed his brother the gun and sat on the whirlpool’s edge. His feet were already numb from the cold, and his balls weren’t too far behind.
“Are you planning to go in there blind?”
“The eggs are glowing. I’ll be fine.” Dean smiled in the darkness to reassure himself his words were true. “Just keep the flashlight pointed at the hole so I can get back.”
Before his baby brother could protest, he slid into the dark. The freezing water pushed him around, forcing him to shield his head with his arms. He tumbled in the dark until he was able to brace himself with his legs, a bright light near his feet. Sam. Turning his head, he saw the eggs within arms’ reach. He picked up a rock, and smashed one egg which burped a thick mucus on his hands. By the time he smashed the other two, his lungs were begging for air. He flipped over in the dark, but the force of the water pushed him down. Flailing, he caught hold of Sam’s arm reaching for him, but the goo made him too slippery. Dean felt a hand on his collar and another on his belt as his brother pulled him up for air.
“Everything about that was unpleasant,” Dean groaned into the cave floor.
Faintly, he heard Buffy calling, “Dean? Sam? Dean!”
He and Sam squeezed out of the cave. “The lube makes it easier, Sammy. Smooth glide in and out.” He patted his gooey hand on his brother’s shoulder.
Stripped down to her bra and covered in mud, Buffy stood in the creek. “Did you find them? The eggs?”
“Destroyed ‘em. They covered me in some sort of snake snot, so that’s awesome.” Dean grabbed some leaves and tried to wipe the goo from his arms.
“At least it didn’t burn.”
“That’s why the mud bath?” asked Sam, tapping on his phone.
“Yeah, the blood was like some sort of acid. What are you doing?”
“Taking notes.”
“Notes?”
“Yeah, I’ve been taking notes on the monsters since we got here. This is the first non-vampire we’ve dealt with. I’d like to have some better references than the days of research this took. Is the body still back there? I want to get some pictures.”
Buffy gestured for him to pass.
“Are all the demons you fight like that?” asked Dean.
Buffy shrugged. “Not always so scaly.”
“Girly, I wasn’t far away from you, and you had it killed before I could get down there.” Abandoning the idea of getting clean, he wrapped his arms around her, thankful she was okay.
“Dear God, you’re cold!” She rubbed his arms and back. “It still got in a good shot. Speaking of which, who–?”
“Sam.”
“Well, I’ll thank him differently than I’d thank you.”
Dean, barefoot and soaked, was covered in goo, mud, and leaves. His hands and forearms were scraped, a sleeve of his henley torn. Buffy looked no better. He held her close, enjoying the heat of her body. She reeked of mud, sweat, iron, and sulfur. Knowing how she got that way, he was incredibly turned on.
“Xander took Dawn out. We could go back to my place, hop in the shower, have great sex.”
Buffy pinned Dean down on the bed, her hands gripping his wrists tight as she rolled her hips over him. Every time he pushed against her, trying to free his arms and failing, he smiled.
She leaned over and nipped his ear. “You like it rough? Because I could hold you down all day and not even get tired.”
His eyes were dark and lustful. A growl rose deep in his chest as he consumed her with a bruising, needy kiss.
She quickened her pace taking him – gasping, back arched, eyes shut tight – right to the edge, then slowing down, dragging the moment out as long as they could stand it. He panted and begged, “God, baby, don’t stop!”
There was a knock on her bedroom door. Wide-eyed, they held still wondering who was in the empty house.
“Buffy? I need to talk with you.” It was Xander.
What the fuck? Dean mouthed.
Buffy shrugged and reluctantly climbed off of him. “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” she said. After a quick kiss, she threw on some pajamas and stepped into the hall.
Xander stood by the bathroom door, arms crossed.
“Hey, Xander. I didn’t hear you come back,” she said casually, trying to slow her breathing. “How was the movie?”
“Labor Day weekend, you’d think they’re be something better showing. We decided to skip it and went rollerskating instead. I only humiliated myself a little bit.”
She led her friend back to the kitchen, hoping the distance would keep a denied Dean from angrily bursting in on their conversation to find out what the deal was. From the look on Xander’s face, whatever conversation he had in mind wasn’t going to be good.
Dawn was already channel surfing in the living room.
“You want some hot chocolate, Dawnie?”
Her sister grumbled, “No thanks.”
Xander pointed to the pile of filthy, ruined clothes by the back door. Since no one was home, Buffy and Dean had stripped in the kitchen before he’d chased her upstairs to the shower. “I see you’ve been busy.”
Grabbing herself a glass of water allowed her to not look at him. Much as she loved Xander, he had a history of disapproving of anyone she was with. She braced herself for an accusatory tirade. “We killed the Olanta; it wasn’t exactly tidy. I told you that’s why I needed you to watch Dawn.”
“Then you came back and, what, bonus sex time? Heaven forbid you call and let us know you’re okay.”
Not in the mood to play around when there was a man in her bed begging to be fucked, she demanded, “What’s your problem, Xander? Specifically.”
“Your sister is feeling pretty neglected and alone right now.”
Buffy rolled her eyes, but kept her voice down. “Dawn is always feeling neglected and alone. Remember the whole shoplifting phase? I spent all Thursday evening with her –”
“Patrolling!”
“Which is important! We were together all Thursday. Hell, we’re together most weekdays. Now that the demon’s dead, I have this whole sister day planned for tomorrow. She can pout all she wants, but I can’t be with her all the time.”
“Buff, I’ve barely seen you the past few weeks. Just in passing when you’re heading somewhere with Dean, who you don’t seem to have any problem finding time for.”
Despite knowing the complaint was coming, she felt like she’d been slapped in the face. Somehow, her relationships were always about her friends and how much she failed them. Nevermind she saved their lives all the time. Nevermind she one hundred percent supported them. Any time spent on her and her needs was entirely selfish. “What makes you think you get a say in which friends I spend what time with?”
“Friend? That’s what you’re calling him now?”
“Yes, he’s my friend. Can you handle me having another friend, or are you going to take your ball and go home?”
Xander shuffled his feet and looked at the floor.
She took a deep breath. He was just looking out for her – obnoxiously, but his heart was in the right place.
“Tell you what, I was planning on walking Dawn to school Tuesday, but since you drive by on your way there, you want to ride together? That would be, like, twenty minute of friend time a day.”
“Yeah, that would be good.”
“Xander, don’t forget,” she said and she started to walk back to the bedroom, “when Willow comes back, the Winchesters are leaving. Less than two weeks, and we’ll be back to just us.”