enigmaticblue's little corner of ficdom

A Mile in His Shoes

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 18:31:21 GMT

And this is the last of my holiday ficathon stories. I have a couple of other fics ready to post once Christmas is over, so you all shouldn't be without fic for too long.

A Mile in His Shoes
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Hart Hanson & Co. do.
Summary: It’s the age-old question: do you get someone a birthday present that they want, or something that they need?
A/N: Written for my 2009 holiday ficathon for spikereader, who wanted Booth/Brennan, Booth’s birthday, and shoes. I hope this works.

Brennan had found that the problem with being a scientist in a relationship was that she was used to learning things by trial and error. That didn’t work very well with Booth, even though he was generally patient with her. Still, Brennan didn’t like making errors where Booth was concerned, since it often meant that Booth got hurt before things got straightened out.

The problem was that Booth didn’t have as much money as she did, and Brennan had discovered that gift giving was one of those areas about which Booth could get very touchy. If she bought a present that he considered too expensive, he would still feel the need to match her gift. Since Brennan seldom thought about the price of gifts, she didn’t understand Booth’s desire to make everything equal.

This year, she was leaning towards shoes. Booth definitely needed a new pair of shoes, but Brennan had no idea whether that was an appropriate birthday gift or not.

“Angela? When you buy a birthday gift for someone, should it be something they want or something they need?”

Angela raised an eyebrow. “That would depend on whether you’re that person’s grandmother.”

Brennan frowned. “What does being someone’s grandmother have to do with it?”

Angela laughed. “Never mind, sweetie. If we’re talking about Booth, definitely go with something he wants.”

“So, not shoes, then.”

Angela stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“He needs a new pair of shoes,” Brennan protested. “He told me so himself.”

“Don’t buy Booth shoes, whatever you do.”

“Socks?” Brennan suggested.

Angela appeared to consider the idea. “I guess. I think you should find something a little more personal, though.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Angela gave Brennan a look that could easily be interpreted as being exasperated. “Put yourself in his shoes. Pun intended.”

By now, Brennan was aware that was a metaphor, and she didn’t ask Angela to explain. She tried to think of all the things that Booth liked, or that she knew Booth liked—socks, and brown sugar, and hockey, and football. He liked sports in general, come to think of it, and he loved his son.

The last bit gave Brennan the idea she needed, and when she handed Booth his birthday card, it was with a jittery feeling that she’d rarely experienced. She had no idea why she was so nervous, but she was. She wanted Booth to like his gift, and that was why she chose to give it to him at her place, while they were alone, after she’d made a very nice meal for the two of them.

Even if he didn’t like the gift, Brennan thought he might appreciate the gesture.

Booth opened the envelope slowly, smiling when he read the front of the card. Brennan had debated between something sentimental and something humorous and had decided that Booth would prefer something humorous.

The quick flash of his grin told Brennan that she had been correct in that assumption, and then his eyes widened and his expression softened as he saw what was inside. “You got me season tickets to the Capitals?”

“I know you like hockey,” Brennan hastened to explain, “and they are the closest professional hockey team. And I thought you might like to take Parker—or if he’s not available, you could take someone else. Like me.”

She added the last hesitantly, feeling her stomach twist again, unable to believe how nervous she was.

Booth just shook his head and smiled. “This is great, Bones. Just—really great.”

Brennan wanted to do something else; she felt as though this—the meal and present and card—weren’t enough. Their relationship had been slowly changing, but sometimes she felt as though things were changing too slowly.

So, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Booth’s lips, grateful that she hadn’t used a lot of onion or garlic in their meal.

Booth returned her kiss skillfully, and Brennan had the brief thought that if their relationship eventually ended up in bed, he would probably be very good there, as well.

Pulling back, she couldn’t find anything to say other than, “Happy birthday, Booth.”

But judging from the smile on his face, that was enough.

Dog Days of August

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 01:46:02 GMT

Dog Days of August
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Hart Hanson & Co. do.
Summary: Jack Hodgins was really more of a bug guy than a cat or dog person, and maybe that was the problem.
A/N: Written for my 2009 holiday ficathon for framefolly, who wanted Brennan, Hodgins, someone’s birthday, and a pet situation.

Jack Hodgins was really more of a bug guy than a cat or a dog person, and maybe that was part of the problem. His birthday gifts had always run along the lines of expensive perfume, or jewelry, or intensely romantic gestures requiring thought and planning—and sometimes a lot of money. So, maybe he was a little jealous that Wendell had been the one to suggest they all chip in to rescue a dog from the pound for Angela’s birthday.

Hearing Angela squeal in pure joy when Wendell brought the fluffy, white dog into the lab—with Cam’s blessing, of course—caused a moment’s jealousy. He should have thought of a dog; Angela had been pining after animals of one sort or another for months now.

“I should have thought of that.”

It was strange to hear Dr. Brennan echo his thoughts next to him. “Huh?”

“Angela’s birthday gift.” Brennan had a glass of red wine in hand, and she was watching Angela fawn over the dog with a strange expression on her face.

“Join the club,” Hodgins replied. At her confused expression, he added, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Perhaps it’s because Angela and Mr. Bray were in a relationship?” she suggested.

Hodgins didn’t bother to hide his wince. “I’m not sure it’s past tense.”

“Oh.” Brennan seemed uncharacteristically hesitant; Hodgins suspected that was Booth’s doing. She was a little more tactful than she had been in the past—not much, but a little, which was saying a lot where Brennan was concerned.

“It’s okay, Dr. Brennan.”

They kept their eyes focused on Angela, who was now fielding conflicting advice from Booth and Cam as to how best to housetrain the dog, as well as the occasional name suggestion.

“Maybe I should call him Wendell,” Angela suggested with a sly grin.

Wendell blushed and shook his head. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Maybe you should tell Angela that you want to be with her,” Brennan suggested in a low voice.

Hodgins shook his head. “I’m not what she wants or needs right now.”

Brennan fixed him with a sharp, incisive stare; Hodgins didn’t think he’d ever had that look directed at him, although he’d seen it plenty of times when there was a dead body on the forensics platform.

“Sometimes we don’t always know what we need—or want.”

Hodgins watched as Brennan joined the others, suggesting Casper as a name, since the dog was white. He wished that her words hadn’t engendered so much hope in him; waiting on Angela was a lot like waiting through the dog days of August. Maybe the heat would eventually pass, but you were miserable in the meantime.

Taking a swallow of the vodka he’d cooked up himself, Hodgins steeled himself and wandered over to join the group. He grinned as Booth clapped him on the shoulder, and Cam smiled her welcome; Angela and Wendell were still hesitant around him, but he knew that would pass eventually.

And eventually, he’d be all right again.

Demons From the Past

Tue, 22 Dec 2009 15:37:47 GMT

Demons from the Past
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Joss & Co. do. Too bad, so sad.
Summary: Wesley takes a job after he’s exiled from Angel Investigations, and it brings up memories from the past. Can be considered a prequel to Cast Me Not Away, but it stands on its own.
A/N: Written for my 2009 holiday ficathon for spiralleds, who requested Wesley, Epiphany, and salt water.

Wesley sprinkled salt into the basin and held out a hand over the water, reciting the ritual blessing that would render the water holy. He had always procured the holy water he needed from a church in the past, but Wesley saw no reason to do that now. Of course, he tended to avoid human contact as much as possible these days, preferring to avoid opening himself up to any more pain than necessary.

The presence of people bred pain, as he well knew.

Besides, the creation of holy water required little from him, other than a few minutes’ concentration and a few words spoken over it.

Wesley carefully poured the water from the basin into several bottles, preparing himself for the exorcism. This time, he would not be surprised by the demon’s ability to exploit weaknesses, and Wesley knew that it was truly the demon he needed to be concerned about. The teenager in question had been a good kid, a straight-A student and star volleyball player before she’d been possessed by the Ethros.

He supposed he should be grateful that his name was getting out, and that he was getting work—jobs that he was good at, and that suited his areas of expertise. But this job, along with nearly every other one he took, only served to remind Wesley of what he’d lost.

With the holy water and a large cross on his person, Wesley drove to his clients’ house. The parents greeted him at the door with desperation mixed with hope.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Frank Abra said, shaking Wesley’s hand.

Wesley tried to remember what it was to smile. “I only hope I can help. I haven’t done many exorcisms.”

“Anything you can do,” his wife, Mira, said. “Andrea simply hasn’t been the same recently.”

“As I said, I’ll do my best.” Wesley didn’t want to spend anymore time with them than he had to; he preferred his solitude these days. “Where is Andrea?”

“In her room,” Frank replied, beginning to lead Wesley down the hallway of the small ranch to a door that had a lock installed on the outside. “We did as you suggested and locked her in.”

Wesley nodded. “Thank you. I think it might be better if I take it from here.”

Frank hesitated visibly, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “I suppose, if you think it’s best.”

“I do.” Wesley managed a sympathetic expression—at least, he hoped it wasn’t a grimace. “Your daughter—or rather the demon—is going to say some things that will be unpleasant at best. There’s no need for you to hear them.”

Frank finally nodded, his face pale and strained as he handed Wesley the key. “Should we wait somewhere else?”

“Only if you think you’ll be more comfortable.” Wesley patted him on the shoulder. “I promise, I’ll do everything I can to save Andrea.”

Of course, Wesley thought as he slipped inside the room, he was well aware that his best might not be good enough. Still, these people were relying on him, and he had taken part in an exorcism before, even if Angel had been the one to finish it.

Resolutely, Wesley repressed those memories and took in the room. Soccer gear was piled in one corner, and there were posters of various sports stars on the wall. The line of binding powder around the bed was shaky, but complete.

Andrea opened her eyes as he stepped up to the line of powder on the floor. “So, ready for another failure?” she sneered, her voice deeper and harsher than that of a teenage girl.

Wesley ignored her; he’d dealt with an Ethros demon before, and although last time it had managed to get through his defenses, he wouldn’t allow it to happen again.

“You’ve been cast out, thrown away,” the demon continued as Wesley prepared the Ethros box. “You couldn’t save the boy, and you couldn’t save yourself. You’ll die, and you’ll fail again.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Wesley said mildly. “But I plan on taking you with me. Omnis spiritus in munde. In nomine dei.” He began the exorcism ritual without warning, chanting the Latin with precise diction.

Wesley held up the cross with one hand, holding out his other hand. He’d memorized the ritual before coming here, not wanting to risk losing his place. Over the years, he found that everything went much more smoothly if he could respond by reflex.

“This should be fun,” Andrea said in a deep voice. “You’ll cast me out, and I’ll enter you. Do you know what I could do with you? How much damage I could do? And you know you won’t be able to fight me off. You don’t have the strength. Gunn fought off Billy’s influence, but you couldn’t. You would have killed Fred.”

“In odorem suavitatis. Tu autem effugare, diabole. Appropinquabit enim judicium dei.” Wesley didn’t allow the accusations to put him off of his stride; he couldn’t. Angel wasn’t there for backup this time. If Wesley failed, the child would likely die, the demon would inhabit him or another warm body, and even more people would be hurt.

As though sensing his thoughts, the demon said, “You’ll always fail. You were the one who lost Connor. You betrayed your best friend—and for what? You ruined everything, and now you have nothing.”

Wesley threw holy water on the girl, hearing the sizzle as it hit her face. “Omnis spiritus in munde. In nomine dei.”

“What makes you think this time will be any different than the last?” the demon howled. “You’re nothing! You’ll always be nothing!”

Wesley smiled thinly and finally allowed himself to reply to the demon. “The difference is that I know exactly what I’m capable of.”

Raising the cross, he began shouting the last words of the ritual. “Abrenuntias satanae? Et omnibus operibus eus? Omnibus pompis eus? Exorcie te. Omnis spiritus immunde. Adaperiae!”

Wesley felt a fierce sense of accomplishment as the demon howled, and Andrea’s form began to glow. The demon flew out of the girl, and she gave a final convulsion before he felt it impact the Ethros box. Wesley slammed the lid down and locked it, moving quickly to check Andrea’s pulse.

“Daddy?” she called in a weak voice.

“No, but I’ll get him,” Wesley promised. “Just rest now.”

He moved quickly to the door, unsurprised to see Frank and Mira just outside, wringing their hands in the hallway. “She’s fine,” he quickly assured them. “She’s resting now.”

Mira rushed past him, clearly needing to reassure herself. “Andrea? Sweetie?”

“Hey, Mom.” Andrea sounded sleepy, but otherwise none the worse for wear, and Mira began to cry softly as she stroked her daughter’s hair.

“We can’t thank you enough,” Frank said as he walked Wesley to the front door. Wesley was anxious to get out of there, wanting to give the Abras time with their daughter.

“It was my pleasure,” Wesley replied, surprised to find that it was true. He’d proven something to himself here; what the demon had said might be accurate, but Wesley was well aware of his weaknesses and failures these days. He had very little false confidence.

“Let me write you a check.”

Wesley waved him off. “No, really, that’s quite all right. I’m just grateful that you have your daughter back.” He looked around at the Christmas decorations that were still up, almost two weeks after the holiday. “You can celebrate as a family now without worrying about what she might do.”

“We’ll be able to go to the Epiphany service as a family,” Frank agreed. “Thanks to you.”

Wesley nodded and took his leave, weary to his bones, but in a good way. It had been a good night’s work, and although he probably would regret not taking payment later, he’d received compensation of another sort.

Tonight, at least, Wesley proven that his past failures would not prevent him from being successful in the present, and he really could succeed on his own. For now, that would be enough.

The Woods Are Lovely, Dark and Deep

Fri, 18 Dec 2009 16:19:02 GMT

The Woods Are Lovely, Dark and Deep
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Joss & Co. do. Too bad, so sad.
Summary: A walk in the woods brings an unexpected result.
A/N: Written for my 2009 holiday ficathon for effulgent_girl, who wanted post-S7 Spike, Buffy, Christmas or New Years, and a walk in the woods, but no angst.

Buffy moved through the woods, the crunch of snow beneath her feet, and the faint sound of wind through the trees above, the only sounds breaking the silence. She remembered that Willow had told her that Giles’ place in Bath was a retreat, a place where the world did not seem to penetrate, and she was grateful for it.

Right now, she needed peace after six months on the front lines, training Slayers and going after various demons and other evil things that sought to kill as many of the brand new Slayers as possible. For six months, Buffy had been denying her grief by over-committing, trying to forget all of the losses she’d faced. Now, she had no choice but to grieve and remember, and it was something of a relief.

She tucked her hands deeper into her pockets and took a deep breath of crisp, cool air. Giles had said that this much snow was unusual for this part of England, but to Buffy, the idea of a white Christmas felt right in a way that few other things did these days.

Through the silence of the winter wonderland came the sound of footsteps that echoed behind her. Buffy frowned, wondering for a moment whether she had to worry about an attack out here, even though there were Watchers and Slayers both on guard.

Then again, Buffy figured she would have to be concerned about an attack for the rest of her life; that was the price she paid for being the oldest living Slayer on record. Everyone wanted a piece of her.

She considered for a moment, but there was no other way to confront whoever was behind her other than actually turning to do so. They would know if she tried to look behind her in any other way; she didn’t have a mirror, and even if she did, a compact would be out of place here the way it wouldn’t be on the streets of a major city.

Deciding that there was no other option, Buffy whirled to face her follower, and froze when she saw a familiar form with bleached-blond hair and a black duster.

For a moment, Buffy was certain that she was imagining things, then Spike moved towards her, gesturing at her footprints in the snow. “Giles told me I could find you out here,” Spike called. His voice was the same as it had been in those last moments under Sunnydale, nonchalant and seemingly unconcerned that he had been burning up the last time Buffy had seen him.

“Spike?”

“I wanted to see you as soon as possible, but I couldn’t come until now.” Spike took a few steps towards her. “Merry Christmas, Buffy.”

She moved towards him slowly, still uncertain as to whether or not he was an apparition. “Is it really you?”

“Apparently, the amulet was fishy after all,” Spike said, continuing to move closer. “I was trapped at Angel’s law firm until fairly recently.”

“I don’t believe it,” Buffy said, more to herself than him, but then Spike was there, within a hairsbreadth, and his hands were on her shoulders, gripping tightly.

With that contact, it was as if a spell was broken, and Buffy crushed him to her, pulling Spike into a tight embrace. “Oh, God, Spike. I thought you were dead.”

“Technically speaking, I’m pretty sure I was.” His voice was muffled by her hair, and she could feel each individual fingertip digging into her back.

“I meant it.” Buffy pulled back to look into Spike’s eyes. “I meant it.”

He frowned. “Meant what, love?”

“I meant what I said. I love you.” Buffy pressed her hands to his face, looking into familiar blue eyes under dark eyebrows, sharp cheekbones under her thumbs.

“I believe you.” Spike pressed a kiss to her mouth, her forehead, both of her eyelids, sweet and desperate. “I love you, too.”

Buffy clutched at him, unwilling to ask any questions just yet. That would all come later; right now, she just wanted to enjoy the feeling of Spike’s arms around her and forget the last six months spent without him.

“Stay with me.”

“Always.”

It was a promise Buffy knew he couldn’t keep, but she loved him for making it anyway.

Playing Dress Up

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 14:38:05 GMT

Playing Dress Up
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Joss & Co. do. Too bad, so sad.
Summary: Drusilla can talk Spike into anything, even going out for Halloween. Set pre-series sometime.
A/N: Written for my 2009 holiday ficathon for vamprayne, who wanted Spike/Dru, Halloween, and Dru insisting on going out.

Spike was well aware that he was completely whipped, but he dared anyone to refuse Drusilla anything. While she (probably) wouldn’t murder him, there were an infinite number of ways that she could make his life miserable.

And if that weren’t reason enough to bow to her every whim, Spike hated to see her unhappy, even when the results were as ridiculous as this.

“I get that you want to go out, Dru, but why are we dressing up? We could go out as vampires.”

“But that isn’t any fun, my prince.” Drusilla danced around him, holding out the skirts of her ball gown. She had insisted on dressing up as Cinderella, which naturally meant that he was dressed as Prince Charming, foppish cravat and all.

Spike had to admit that she made a beautiful Cinderella, even though her dark beauty and long red nails were a strange juxtaposition to the silvery blue gown.

She hummed happily to herself as she waltzed up to him to adjust his collar and cravat and smooth his lapels. “Just think, my love. All the little ghosts and goblins will be about tonight. Such sweet treats for us!”

Spike perked up a bit at that reminder. Dru did love children, and as long as he made certain that she didn’t turn any of them—a real possibility where she was concerned—they could feast on warm, sweet, fear-scented blood all night.

“Aren’t you a clever girl,” he said admiringly, giving her a smacking kiss.

Spike waltzed Drusilla out into the night, feeling much better about the idea of celebrating Halloween. He thought he could see the point now.

A Day at the Park

Wed, 16 Dec 2009 15:06:43 GMT

A Day at the Park
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Joss & Co. do. Too bad, so sad.
Summary: Spike and Buffy enjoy a day out with the kids.
A/N: Written for my 2009 holiday ficathon for xc_runner50, who wanted Shanshu Spike, Buffy, and their kids at the water park for the 4th of July.

“Spike!”

Buffy’s sharp warning had Spike turning just in time to catch a small boy around the waist as he ran straight for the pool. “Okay, Nicky. Water wings first.”

“Hurry, Daddy!”

“Hang on.” Spike stripped off Nick’s t-shirt and began slathering every inch of pale skin with sunscreen. He glanced over to see that Buffy was doing the same for Samantha.

“All right, son, arms out.” Giggling, Nick did as he was told, and Spike tugged the flotation devices up and over thin arms. “There you are.”

Nick began to hurry off, and Spike called after him, “Walk!”

The boy slowed his steps to a fast walk, and Spike shook his head in amusement. “Will you come with me, Dad?” Samantha asked as soon as Buffy had finished covering her with sunscreen.

“He needs sunscreen, too,” Buffy replied. “Go on. We’ll join you in a minute.”

Samantha was off like a shot, calling for Nick, warning him not to go too deep, and Spike kept a sharp eye on her as Buffy began to slather sunscreen on his bare back.

“Hey, look. It’s a freckle.” He felt Buffy smile against his shoulder as she pressed her lips against the spot.

“Who knew?” Spike turned his head to look at her, grinning. “I still say we should have hired a babysitter and gone somewhere else this weekend.”

“Oh, come on, Spike. Tonight will be fireworks. It’s all about the experience.”

“It’s about the exhaustion,” Spike replied. “It’s also about the lack of sex.”

Buffy smirked. “You were the one who said you wanted kids.”

“Bloody rugrats.” He couldn’t keep the smile from his lips as he said it, however.

Buffy laughed. “Tell you what. I’ll call Xander tomorrow and get him to take the kids for a night.”

“Thank God.” Spike pressed a hard kiss to her lips. “I love our kids, but I really want an evening where we don’t have a third person crawling into bed with us.”

“So do I, honey.” She gave him a nudge towards the pool. “Go on. I’ll join you in a second.”

“Love you,” Spike said, grateful that he could say the words now and know that she would believe them. Even after all the years that had passed, all the years where they’d been happy, he sometimes had to stop and pinch himself.

Buffy’s face lit up, the way it always did now when he said those magic words. “Love you, too.”

These days, she always said it back.

Remember

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 14:57:28 GMT

Remember
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Joss & Co. do. Too bad, so sad.
Summary: Remember, remember, the 5th of November. Set during Ats S5, and assumes Spike is solid at this point.
A/N: Written for my 2009 holiday ficathon for garnigal, who wanted Wes and Spike, Guy Fawkes Day, fires burning.

“We have a report of a ritual to raise a demon occurring at a warehouse.” Angel passed the file to Wesley across the conference table. “And I have a meeting with the envoy from Archduke Sebassis that I can’t miss.”

Wesley raised an eyebrow. “What about Gunn?”

“He has a court appearance.”

Wesley sighed and wondered when they had become so distracted by meaningless bureaucracy and meetings.

The door swung open and Spike swaggered through. “Look, it’s Percy and Peaches.”

“Take Spike with you,” Angel suggested.

“You can’t be serious.”

“It’s either that, or I stake him.”

Wesley thought about it for a moment.

“You need backup, Wes.” Angel waved them both out the door. “Go, take care of the demon thing.”

“You can’t just order me about,” Spike protested. “I might have better things to do!”

“Other than saving the entire city from destruction by a demon?” Wesley inquired.

Spike scowled. “Fine.”

Wesley wasn’t entirely happy with this plan either; he would much prefer Angel or Gunn’s company—or Fred’s, for that matter, even though things had been awkward between them since Halloween.

Spike sulked all the way to the warehouse where the demon raising was supposed to take place. Wesley had refused to let him drive on the grounds that Spike had totaled the last car he’d borrowed. When he pulled up in front of the building, Wesley was certain for a moment that Spike was going to refuse to get out of the car.

“Let’s get this done.” Spike climbed out of the car gracefully, scowl firmly in place, reaching for the ax he’d brought along.

Wesley checked his pistols and twitched his coat into place.

“You ever miss real weather?” Spike asked suddenly, out of the blue.

“Real weather?”

“Rain, fog, gray skies, all of that,” Spike replied. “Used to be, we’d light a bonfire and keep warm that way, have fireworks, burn a guy.”

It took Wesley a moment to remember that today was Guy Fawkes’ Day, and he wondered if he’d been in America too long. “We might yet have a fire if we don’t take care of this.”

Spike snorted. “Lead the way, Percy.”

Wesley sighed but decided that arguing with Spike was a waste of his time.

Five minutes later, Wesley wished fervently that they’d brought more backup, and he was incredibly grateful for Spike’s presence. As annoying as the vampire might be, Wesley knew that Spike was the only person standing between him and death.

The cult attempting to summon the demon was, unfortunately, comprised of adults who were all too willing to kill in order to achieve their goals; Wesley much preferred frightened adolescents too stupid to know better.

But since they were human, Wesley’s guns worked just fine, even though he hated to be put in the position of shooting them to save himself.

Wesley shot one of the cultists as he came up behind Spike with a stake; Spike returned the favor a moment later by running a woman through who was poised to shoot Wesley with a crossbow while he reloaded.

In the chaos, the candles lighting up the altar were overturned, and Spike grabbed Wesley’s arm. “We have to get out of here!”

Wesley looked around, and saw the flames that were beginning to lick at the walls. “Bugger.”

“You said it.” Spike pulled on his arm again to get him moving, and with one last glance at the scattered bodies, Wesley followed him out.

Once on the street, Wesley paused to take in the fire, and the damage caused, and he sighed, wishing there had been another way.

Spike stood next to him, hands in the pockets of his duster, watching as the flames began to eat at the roof of the warehouse. “Remember, remember the 5th of November.”

Wesley smiled a little grimly. “You did wish for a bonfire.”

“Bonfires aren’t any good without a guy.” Spike shot him a sly look. “I’d make him look like Angel.”

“Of course you would.” Wesley tried to make his tone repressive, but he couldn’t help the smile that formed. “Come on,” he said. “I owe you a drink for saving my life.”

“Several times over,” Spike pointed out relentlessly. “You were lucky to have me here.”

“Yes, I was,” Wesley admitted, and a real smile formed as he saw Spike’s surprised expression.

Perhaps he should try being nice to Spike more often, Wesley thought. It seemed to shut him up more effectively than anything else.

Carol of the Bells

Fri, 11 Dec 2009 20:48:05 GMT

Carol of the Bells
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Kripke & Co. do. Too bad, so sad.
Spoilers: Through 5.10, "Abandon All Hope".
Summary: “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.”
A/N: Written for my 2009 holiday ficathon for cindergal, who wanted Dean/Cas, Christmas, and the line from the summary.

“I don’t understand.” Castiel sat on the edge of the couch, leaning forward, as though getting closer to the TV would somehow make It’s a Wonderful Life more comprehensible.

Dean sighed. “You never understand.” He turned his attention back to George, who had just rammed his car into a tree. Dean had never quite been able to figure out whether he loved or hated this movie, but his other option was yet more futile research, and Dean wasn’t interested.

“But it’s not true,” Castiel protested, clearly affronted the children’s rhyme. “Ringing a bell does not give an angel wings.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m aware of that, Cas.”

“But why would they say that?” He sounded so bewildered that Dean had to choke back a laugh.

“It’s a movie.” Dean sighed and muted the set, realizing that Cas wasn’t going to let this go. “Look, it’s about a guy who gave up everything for his family, and who thinks the world would be better off without him.”

“You feel sympathy for this character?”

Dean shrugged. “He’s the great American hero, right? Doing good even though he’s stuck in a life he doesn’t want.”

“But you are not.”

“Stopping the apocalypse? Not something I signed up for,” Dean muttered, wanting to change the subject. “Anyway, Clarence is just there to get his wings by convincing George to live. He’s a plot device.”

“Angels should not be used as plot devices.” Castiel wore the same expression he usually did, but Dean could read him as grumpy by now.

Dean snorted. “You really think they’d do you guys justice? Besides, Hollywood gets everything wrong. Don’t feel special.”

Cas fell silent, and Dean turned the volume back up, focusing on the movie for all of ten seconds before turning off the television completely. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

It was the sort of “yes” that Dean didn’t believe for a minute. “Come on, Cas. You aren’t upset about the movie, are you?”

“It’s not that,” Castiel said slowly, turning slightly so that he was profiled against Bobby’s faded wallpaper. “I—I don’t think I’m truly an angel anymore, Dean, and this makes it appear as though a single bell ringing…”

Dean heard the disgust and self-loathing in Cas’ tone, saw how his knuckles went white where his fists clenched on his knees. Dean’s borrowed green t-shirt hung loose across his shoulders, and Dean’s amulet rested against his breastbone.

Although he’d thought about asking Cas to give the amulet back, Dean knew that for Cas to give it up meant that he had lost hope, and Dean wasn’t about to risk that.

Losing Ellen and Jo a few weeks back, and Cas’ sudden inability to exorcise demons, or travel more than a few feet at a time, had taken the heart out of all of them. Dean wasn’t going to ask Cas to give up his last shred of hope, not when the Colt’s failure to kill Lucifer had made all of them begin to question whether they could even win this.

“It’s just a movie,” Dean soothed. “Just a silly rhyme for a movie.”

Castiel shook his head, looking so lost it made Dean’s heart ache. “I will be of no use to you as a human.”

Dean was reminded of the Castiel of the future, who had lost everything, and who still followed a Dean he no longer believed in.

He never wanted to be that man; Dean never wanted to fall that far.

“You’re not human, not yet,” Dean said quietly, scooting closer to Castiel on the couch. “And no matter what, we’ve got your back, Cas.”

Castiel’s hands unclenched, and he rubbed his palms on the legs of his jeans, still not looking Dean in the eye. He was too quiet, and Dean had no idea how to comfort him.

“Hey.” Dean gripped Cas’ shoulder hard. “You’re the best damn angel around, as far as I’m concerned. It’s your dick brothers who should be ashamed.”

That got one of Cas’ almost-smiles, and Dean grinned. “Hey, I know something better than bell ringing. You might not get your wings back, but it’ll be something.”

“What’s that?” Castiel’s wide, blue eyes were innocently curious, and Dean leaned in to do what he’d been wanting to for a long time now. His lips pressed against Cas’ in a brief, almost chaste kiss.

When he pulled back, though, Cas followed him hungrily, one strong hand gripping the back of Dean’s neck, a desperation in his movements that was not at all angelic.

Dean’s hands framed Cas’ face, and he thought that he’d start up a whole damn bell choir if he thought it would help Cas, keep him from making that long fall from grace.

But since it wasn’t possible, maybe Dean would just make sure he was waiting for Cas when he fell.

Festival of Lights

Wed, 09 Dec 2009 18:49:38 GMT

Given that Hanukkah begins at sundown on Friday, it seemed appropriate to post this ficlet.

Festival of Lights
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Joss & Co. own these characters, which is too bad, because I’m much nicer.
Summary: Willow and Oz spend Hanukkah together.
A/N: Written for my 2009 holiday ficathon for jesterlady, who wanted Willow, Oz, Hanukkah, and Oz not knowing quite what to do. Set during S4; just pretend that Oz was still around.

Oz stood nervously on the doorstep of the Rosenbergs’ house. Willow’s parents weren’t going to be home, but he still felt uncertain. The previous year, he had been around for Christmas, but Hanukkah had passed without mention. He felt a little guilty about that now, knowing that even with Willow’s embrace of Wicca, she hadn’t given up her Jewish identity.

“Hey, Oz!” She greeted him enthusiastically. “I thought you had band practice tonight.”

“I asked if we could switch nights.” Oz held out the small package quickly. “I wanted to give this to you.”

Willow took it with an intrigued frown. “Okay. What’s this for?”

“Happy Hanukkah?”

She smiled, seeming a little surprised, but she waved him inside. “Come on in.” Willow hadn’t opened it yet. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”

“I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for her to open it.

Willow opened the package, her face breaking out into a grin when she saw the small book of spells. “Oz! This is perfect. I’ve been wanting this book.”

“Giles told me,” Oz admitted, stepping closer. “So, what else do you do for Hanukkah?”

Willow shrugged. “When I was younger, my parents would be here, and we’d light the menorah and say the blessing. Once, Mom even made potato latkes.”

Oz didn’t reply; he rarely knew what to say in response to Willow’s mention of her parents. He knew they didn’t approve of him; he wasn’t Jewish, and he was more interested in his music than his studies. Willow didn’t seem to care, however, and that was all that mattered to him.

“What do you want to do this year?” he finally asked.

Willow grinned wickedly. “I can think of a few things. My parents are at my aunt’s house, so we don’t have to worry about them coming home.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Willow paused. “Hang on a second. We could at least light the menorah.”

The menorah already sat in the front window, the candles ready to be lit. Oz suspected that it was just a part of the decorations, sort of like his parents’ Christmas tree. Its presence had more to do with tradition than any religious sentiment.

Oz watched in thoughtful silence as Willow lit the candles one by one. The glow reflected against the window, superimposed on both of their faces, and he felt a deep peace.

“It’s beautiful,” he said quietly, once she’d finished.

She smiled. “This was always my favorite part of Hanukkah—lighting the candles.”

“I’m glad you shared it with me.” Oz put his hands on Willow’s shoulders and turned her gently to face him. The kiss they shared was sweet, but it quickly turned more heated.

“I love you.”

Oz smiled. “I love you, too.”

Rhubarb Pie

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 19:19:50 GMT

Rhubarb Pie
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss & Co., which is too bad, because I would be a lot nicer.
Summary: Dawn tries her hand at domesticity.
A/N: Written for my 2009 holiday ficathon for syderia, who wanted Dawn, Spike, Boxing Day, and rhubarb. Set during S6.

Dawn put the finishing touches on her pie crust and stuck the pie in the oven with a satisfied smile. Home Economics hadn’t been a total waste in the previous semester; she had at least managed to learn how to make a decent pie crust.

Not that anyone was around to enjoy it. Willow was still hiding in her room, and Buffy had disappeared again; she was doing that a lot lately.

Dawn looked around the messy kitchen with a sigh and began to clean up. She might have left the dishes in the sink, but Buffy had been alternately snappish and withdrawn, and Dawn was trying not to irritate her too much.

Buffy had been in heaven; she didn’t need a kid sister to remind her that being alive wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

The quiet creak of the back door had Dawn whirling to face the intruder, but she immediately relaxed when she saw Spike. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He looked awkward in their kitchen in a way he never had the previous summer. “Buffy around?”

Dawn shook her head. “No. I don’t know where she is.”

Spike sniffed the air. “You baking something?”

“Yeah. Rhubarb pie.” Dawn sat down at the kitchen table, somehow gratified when Spike joined her. He hadn’t been around much lately, not since he’d taken Dawn to the emergency room for her broken arm, and she’d missed him.

“Rhubarb, huh?”

Dawn shrugged. “My teacher made it in Home Ec, and I really liked it. And now that my cast is finally off, I can make a pie.”

“Is it any good?” he asked, a challenging gleam in his eyes.

She smiled and tilted her chin up. “Stick around and find out.”

Spike shrugged. “Don’t mind if I do. Just—” He was oddly hesitant. “Don’t tell your sister.”

“Why?” Dawn asked. “You were here all the time last summer.”

Spike shook his head. “It’s different now, Bit. It’s better if she doesn’t know I was here.”

“So, what?” Dawn challenged, suddenly angry. “You’re just gonna take off if Buffy comes home? You took care of me all summer. What’s the big deal now?”

Spike sighed. “Please, Dawn. Don’t make a big deal of this.”

Dawn always knew Spike meant business when he used her name; he never did that unless he was upset about something.

In this case, Dawn suspected that something was her sister.

“Okay. So, if I’m not supposed to tell Buffy you were here, what did you want?”

Spike patted the pockets of his duster, almost like he was looking for his pack of cigarettes, but he instead he pulled out a clumsily wrapped package. “Here.”

Dawn smiled, amused. “You’re a day late,” she pointed out.

“It’s Boxing Day, innit?” Spike asked defensively. “It’s a Boxing Day present.”

Dawn hesitated before she unwrapped the gift, shaking her head when she realized it was a CD. “The Ramones’ Greatest Hits, huh?”

“You need to get your musical education sometime,” Spike replied with a smirk. “Looks like I’m the only one who’s going to attend to it.”

Dawn looked down at the CD, feeling a warmth spread through her as she realized that Spike had remembered her, and he’d remembered the debates on music and bands they’d had over the summer. In spite of his absence over the last couple of months, he hadn’t totally forgotten that she existed.

It was something that Dawn often wondered about.

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure, Bit,” Spike said with the soft smile Dawn suspected that he saved only for her.

“Do you want to stay?” she blurted out. “For pie?”

“Sure.”

He might have said more; Dawn thought he would have stayed, if the front door hadn’t opened and Buffy’s voice hadn’t echoed through the house. “Dawn?”

By the time Dawn turned to look at Spike, to beg him to stay anyway, he was gone, the back door closing softly behind him.

Dawn didn’t bother trying to explain her bad attitude to Buffy; she didn’t think that Buffy even noticed anyway.

And later, when she ate her rhubarb pie by herself, and listened to the Ramones, Dawn thought of Spike’s soft smile and wished that Buffy’s return had fixed everything, instead of the other way around.

Be Mine

Wed, 02 Dec 2009 20:14:14 GMT

Be Mine
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Hart Hanson & Co. do.
Summary: Valentine’s Day at the Royal Diner.
A/N: Written for xphilehb for my 2009 holiday ficathon.

Booth shifted nervously, trying to ignore the red and pink decorations surrounding him. He fingered the sealed envelope in front of him and gave serious thought to shelving this idea for the moment.

He could leave the card in Bones’ office for her to find later; that way, he wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable, uncomfortable questions about Valentine’s Day. Chances were, Bones didn’t understand the holiday anyway, and she’d give him that look, the one that said she found him incomprehensible and below her intelligence.

“What’s that?”

Booth sighed. Too late. “It’s, uh, a card.”

“For whom?” Brennan slid into the booth across from him, eyeing the pink envelope with what Booth hoped was interest and not distaste. With Bones, it was sometimes hard to tell.

“You, actually.” Booth pushed the card across the table towards Brennan.

Brennan’s expression suggested she expected it to attack her. “Why?” She glanced around at the garish decorations. “Does this have something to do with Valentine’s Day?”

“Maybe,” Booth hedged. “If you want it to?”

With narrowed eyes, Brennan opened the card, glancing quickly at the outside, then flipping it open. She closed it and read the outside more slowly. Booth knew what she was reading; he’d written the message.

Brennan ran her finger over his printed words. “Do you really mean it?”

“Yeah.”

It was different this time; there was no chance he could add an “atta girl” to this. The words were written down in black and white.

Brennan glanced up at him. “Be mine, huh?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day.” Bones was still looking at him as though she had no idea what he meant, or like he was crazy. “You know, we could just pretend I was joking if it makes you feel better.”

Brennan chuckled quietly. “Booth—”

“I just thought that you might like a card, or something. If—”

“Booth.” Brennan had that tone she used when she really wanted him to shut up. “I am.”

Booth blinked. “Huh?”

“Yours.” She smiled. “You didn’t have to wait until Valentine’s Day to ask me.”

“Oh.” Booth hadn’t planned on what to do after Brennan agreed, mostly because he hadn’t thought she would. “Great. Do you want to have dinner with me?”

“Like last night?” Brennan asked with a sly smile.

Booth grinned as he realized Bones was aware that they’d been surreptitiously dating for months now. “Yeah, like last night, only better.”

Brennan returned his grin. “I can think of a few ways to do that.”

Booth stood up and leaned across the table to touch his lips to hers.

Secrets of a Broken Heart

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 16:06:53 GMT

Secrets of a Broken Heart
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Joss and Mutant Enemy do. Too bad, as I’m much nicer.
Summary: Set shortly after the S3 episode, “Band Candy.” There are things Joyce has never told anyone.
A/N: Written for my 2009 holiday ficathon for szandara, who asked for Joyce and someone else, Festivus, and telling someone something you’ve never told anyone else.

Joyce Summers stood on the ladder, changing the last burnt out bulb in the string of twinkle lights, and fighting to maintain her balance. She’d kicked off her heels hours ago, shortly after she’d flipped the “Open” sign to “Closed” while she finished paperwork, filed invoices, and freshened the Christmas decorations.

“Holiday decorations,” she reminded herself.

The tap on the front door startled her, and Joyce nearly lost her balance on the ladder, swearing as she grabbed for the wall to steady herself.

When she turned, Joyce was surprised to see Giles looking through the door, appearing both concerned and sheepish.

Joyce sighed, not really wanting to let him in, and yet knowing that she had no choice. They had both been avoiding each other for the past six weeks, but it appeared that time was over.

Turning the lock on the door, Joyce allowed Giles to enter. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No harm, no foul,” Joyce replied lightly, trying to hide her discomfort. “How are you, Rupert?”

“Well. And you?”

“Fine.”

They stared at one another for a moment before both of them began to laugh nervously. “I really am sorry,” Giles repeated. “I wanted to come—before, but…”

“I wish I could tell you to forget about it,” Joyce replied. “But I imagine you’re finding that as difficult as I am.”

Giles flushed, and Joyce suddenly wished that the night with the band candy had never happened, that they’d had the opportunity to get to know one another without the interference of cursed chocolate that caused them to revert to their teenage selves.

He was attractive, intelligent, and he loved her daughter; she might have done worse.

Giles raised his arm, revealing a bottle of wine that she hadn’t yet noticed. “I, uh, brought this. For you.” He appeared adorably flustered. “I believe that we should be able to work together, given that we both want what’s best for Buffy.”

“Of course.” Joyce noted Giles had brought a very good bottle of red, and she motioned towards the back room. “I have glasses in the back.”

He nodded and followed her back, and Joyce tried to ignore just how aware she was of Giles’ body, particularly now that she knew just what lay beneath the layers of tweed.

Giles produced a corkscrew from a pocket and opened the bottle; Joyce found two plastic cups and allowed him to pour.

“To Festivus,” she said, raising her glass.

Giles’ eyebrows went up. “I beg your pardon?”

“Not a Seinfeld fan, then?”

“Ah, I may have caught a few episodes here and there,” Giles admitted. “Is that what it’s from?”

Joyce shrugged. “If you watched it last week.”

He seemed to relax marginally. “And what does one do for Festivus?”

“I believe it starts with the airing of grievances.” Joyce lifted her cup to her lips, watching Giles carefully. “If you’d like to go first?”

“I think I’ll pass,” Giles replied gracefully, taking a sip. “Perhaps we should try something else?”

Joyce gave him a challenging smile. “We don’t know each other very well. Maybe you should tell me something you’ve never told anyone else.”

Giles studied her for a moment. “Something I’ve never told anyone?”

Joyce simply lifted an eyebrow and took another sip.

“I had planned to ask Jenny to marry me.” The admission was hoarse and sounded as though it had been ripped from him. Joyce could suddenly see the burden of it. “I was going to wait, until we were easier with one another, but I had planned to ask.”

He met her eyes fully, and she could see his sorrow. “I still miss her.”

“Hank was having an affair.” Joyce had never admitted that aloud, not even to herself. “I found receipts and—” She paused, thinking about the condom she’d found in Hank’s wallet, long after they’d stopped having sex with each other. “Other things,” she finished.

Giles nodded knowingly, compassion in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

Their eyes met, and most of the discomfort dissipated between them. Once again, Joyce thought it too bad that things had happened the way they had, but she thought they might have the beginnings of a friendship.

And maybe that was better.

Converging Resolutions

Sat, 28 Nov 2009 16:15:20 GMT

The next ficlet in my holiday ficathon.

Converging Resolutions
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters; Kripke & Co. do. Too bad, so sad.
Characters: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: Set somewhere in S5, and completely Jossed at this point.
Warnings: Will rot your teeth.
Summary: Dean attempts to explain New Years resolutions to Castiel.
A/N: Written for thomasina75 for my annual holiday ficathon.

Dean tucked his hands behind his head, watching the crappy television with half-closed eyes. Even with the apocalypse going on, they were still dropping the ball in Times Square; some things didn’t change.

He heard the familiar faint sound that told him Castiel had arrived. “You didn’t call first.”

“I called Sam.”

Castiel began to wander aimlessly around the room, inspecting the faded paintings that hung on the puke-green walls. “He said you were in a bad mood tonight.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Is there any reason for that?”

“It’s the apocalypse, Cas. What other reason do I need?”

“Sam said he went to a bar to avoid you, and he advised me to do the same.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

Oddly enough, Castiel wasn’t irritating him as much as Sam had been, maybe because Cas wasn’t yapping about finding the Colt and Lucifer and how they didn’t have any leads on how to do either.

“What are you watching?” Castiel peered at the television, his head cocked in that way it did when he was confused about something.

“Watching the ball drop,” Dean replied. “And will you sit down, Cas? You’re making me dizzy.”

Castiel visibly hesitated, looking from one bed to the other. Dean sighed and moved over. “Come on,” he said grudgingly. “Just sit if you’re going to stay.”

Dean went back to watching TV, trying to ignore Castiel’s closeness—so close that Dean could feel Cas’ body heat. “I don’t understand this.”

“Don’t understand what?” Dean muttered, not up to another round of explaining strange human habits.

“The celebration. They are celebrating, correct?”

Dean glanced up at Castiel’s face, his blue eyes focusing on the TV with his usual intensity. “Yeah, they’re celebrating. It’s a human thing.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s the start of a new year,” Dean replied, shrugging as best he could while lying down. “People make resolutions, try to start over, do better, that sort of thing.”

Castiel frowned, clearly puzzled. “What sort of resolutions?”

“You know, to lose ten pounds, stop drinking, or start exercising. People promise to turn over a new leaf, be a better person.” Dean decided that he needed to sit up for this. Castiel didn’t seem inclined to let the subject drop, or to let his response stand.

Castiel looked Dean up and down slowly. “You don’t look like you need to lose weight, Dean.”

Dean felt heat rise to his face when Cas turned his intense stare to him. “Yeah, I don’t make resolutions. It’s kind of stupid anyway, since I probably won’t live out the year.”

“Don’t say that,” Castiel said fiercely. “Perhaps you should make that your resolution—to survive.”

Dean snorted. “Now that’s a sure way to get dead in a hurry. I told you, people make resolutions, but they never keep them. It’s pointless.”

Seeing Castiel open his mouth to argue, Dean interrupted. “What about you? What would you do?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted slowly. “There is nothing I wish to change.”

“Nothing, huh?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Cas,” he coaxed. “You’re practically living as a human now. There has to be something you want.”

Castiel’s eyes darkened, but his expression was inscrutable—and Dean was getting pretty damn good at reading him. “I will tell you, but you have to promise me something.”

“What?” Dean asked suspiciously, unwilling to make promises he wouldn’t be able to keep.

“You have to make a resolution to be happy.”

Castiel said it so intently, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, and Dean felt his stomach twist with longing. Dean pushed himself up off the bed, turning his back to Castiel, his shoulders tense.

“Winchesters don’t get happily ever afters, Cas,” Dean replied in a low voice. “We both know this is going to end bloody, probably sad. Even if I do survive, the chances are…” He trailed off, remembering his own dead eyes after Lucifer snapped his future self’s neck while wearing Sam like that white suit.

“Then perhaps you should focus on being happy right now,” Castiel said softly into his ear, suddenly right behind Dean, in his personal space yet again.

Dean choked out a laugh. “Give me a beer and a cheeseburger, and I’m happy. I’m easy.” He cleared his throat, desperately wanting to change the subject. “What about you? What do you want?”

“I would like not to die a virgin.”

Dean whirled to face Castiel, trying to figure out if the angel was fucking with him, but Cas looked dead serious—which wasn’t unusual. Dean grinned, remembering Chastity, and Castiel’s befuddled panic. “Yeah? I think we can make that happen. Tonight, if you want. Just don’t tell Sam, because he’ll bitch at me for corrupting you.”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t want to have sex with a stranger. I want it to be with someone I care about.”

Dean frowned. “I don’t—”

Even as he protested his ignorance, Castiel closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Dean’s. For a moment, Dean stood unmoving, Cas’ lips warm and dry against his. Then, as though a switch got flipped, Dean sighed and began tracing Castiel’s lips with his tongue.

Castiel’s hands went to Dean’s hips, holding on tightly; Dean framed Cas’ face with his hands.

And for one perfect moment, Dean didn’t think about the apocalypse at all

When they finally broke apart, Dean pulled back to search Cas’ face. “What was that?”

Castiel smiled. “A first step towards accomplishing my resolution.”

Dean chuckled. “Seems like you accomplishing your resolution might actually go a ways towards me doing the same.”

With a grin, Dean tugged Castiel’s tie off of his neck. “Hang on.”

“What are you doing, Dean?” Castiel asked as Dean looped Cas’ tie around the outside doorknob.

Dean shut the door firmly and locked it behind him. “Letting Sam know not to disturb us while we make sure you reach your goals.”

It just so happened that Dean would steal a moment of happiness in making sure Cas got what he wanted, too.

Tie Me Up

Thu, 26 Nov 2009 02:53:53 GMT

The first of my holiday ficathon stories that will be posted between now and Christmas. Since this one is set over Thanksgiving, I thought I'd post it now.

Tie Me Up
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Characters are owned by Joss, not me. Too bad, so sad.
Summary: Making Thanksgiving dinner with kids underfoot is never easy.
A/N: Written for my 2009 holiday ficathon, as requested by spikes_heart, who wanted Thanksgiving, future!fic, established relationship, a rope, a chair, and gravy. Set in the CMNA-verse, somewhere between Cast Me Not Away and A Love As Strong As Death.

“Spike, have you seen Meg?” Buffy blew her hair out of her face and turned to her husband, who was intently mashing the potatoes.

“No, she’s watching the twins,” Spike replied absently. “Do you think these are smooth enough? Nika said—”

Buffy peered over his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s fine, Spike. Can you help me baste the turkey?”

He leered at her. “Any time.”

“Spike…”

Spike grinned unrepentantly. “Yeah, sure.”

He pulled the rack out as she basted the turkey with the juices. “Okay.” Buffy took a deep breath. “I think that takes care of it for now. Nika, Wes, and Enid should be here shortly with the rest of the sides. Dawn already called to say they were on their way, too.”

“Relax, luv,” Spike said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “It’s going to be great. We’ve done this before, remember?”

Buffy did as he suggested, taking a deep breath and trying to release some of the anxiety. She had no idea why she was so worried—unless it had something to do with the last five gatherings where something had always gone wrong. Between emergency calls for work, a broken arm (Davey), the stomach flu (all three kids), and a charred turkey, Buffy had just about given up on the idea of a peaceful, family dinner.

That was one of the reasons she was a little concerned about how quiet the kids had been.

“You know, we’d probably better go check on Meg and the twins,” Buffy said slowly. “I haven’t heard anything from them.”

Spike shrugged. “You want me to stir the gravy?”

“Please.” Buffy leaned in for a kiss. “Maybe, if you’re good, I’ll let you reenact our first Thanksgiving,” she teased.

He mock-scowled. “What? I’ll let you tie me up?”

She grinned wickedly. “Among other things.”

Spike smirked. “Kinky.”

“You love it.”

He didn’t argue with her, and Buffy went on her way, humming contentedly to herself, making plans for later in the evening, after Meg was in bed. She thought she remembered where they’d stashed the handcuffs.

Still lost in thought, Buffy stuck her head into Meg’s room, seeing Davey and Will playing quietly on the floor. “Hey, guys.”

“Hi, Aunt Buffy,” they chorused in unison.

Anyone else might have seen a picture of complete innocence, but Buffy knew better. If the twins were looking that innocent, it was because they didn’t want their most recent escapade discovered. “Where’s Meg?”

Davey shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. Something in the casual way he replied told her that Davey knew exactly where her daughter was. “Will?”

Will, who wasn’t nearly as good at hiding his misdeeds, flushed. “I don’t know.”

“Boys…” Buffy used her best Slayer voice, and they both ducked their heads. “Where’s Meg?”

Davey turned bright red. “She might be in the closet.”

“Which closet?”

“Your closet,” Will mumbled.

Buffy didn’t wait around to ask what Meg might be doing in their closet. She dashed off for the bedroom she shared with Spike and pulled open the door to the walk-in closet. Meg looked up at her, dried tears on her cheeks. The boys had apparently discovered where she and Spike kept the rope they stored for emergencies, and Meg was trussed up a bit like the turkey that was currently in the oven.

“Oh, sweetie,” Buffy murmured, pulling Meg into a hug and quickly untying her daughter. “What happened?”

“We were playing Houdini,” Meg replied between sniffles.

Buffy turned to see Davey and Will standing behind her, wearing matching guilty expressions. “Why didn’t you untie her?”

“We couldn’t get the knots undone!” Will protested.

“And you couldn’t have gotten me or Spike?” Buffy asked, incredulous.

Davey dug the toe of his sneaker into the carpet. “We didn’t want to get in trouble.”

Buffy sighed. Loudly. “And you didn’t get the scissors?”

“We aren’t allowed to use them without an adult,” Will said to his shoes.

If Buffy hadn’t been well-versed in child-logic, she might have suspected Will of being a smartass. As it was, she suspected that’s exactly what happened. “Meg? Are you okay?”

Meg nodded, clearly trying to pull herself together. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Buffy fixed Will and Davey with a stern expression. “Just wait until your parents get here.”

The twins’ eyes went wide, and Buffy rose, ushering them out of the bedroom and down the stairs. “You two, sit on the couch,” she ordered. “Opposite ends.”

They sat, looking abashed, and Buffy took Meg into the bathroom to help her wash her face. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetie?” she pressed gently.

Meg nodded. “Yeah. They left the light on for me.”

“You didn’t yell for us?” Buffy asked, trying not to sound as exasperated as she currently felt.

“I didn’t want to sound scared.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Buffy silently gave thanks that the prank hadn’t turned into an emergency. “Well, we’ll let Uncle Wes and Aunt Nika deal with the boys when they get here, but no more playing Houdini.”

Buffy sent Meg off to watch TV—and not in the living room where the twins were currently banished—and went back to the kitchen to fill Spike in.

Her husband wasn’t much help; Spike laughed until he cried, then shook his head. “You have to admit that it’s never boring with those three, luv.”

Buffy couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. “Yeah. I guess it’s not Thanksgiving around here unless someone is getting tied up.”

Spike gave her a hard kiss just as she heard the front door open and Wesley’s voice calling out a greeting. “You can tie me up later,” he promised.

Buffy was looking forward to it.

Ficlet

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 21:11:42 GMT

I wrote a little bitty ficlet in response to last night's episode of Supernatural. There are no real spoilers, though, as long as you've seen the promo.

Jo had turned Dean down for a whole host of reasons. Part of it was because she wanted to keep her self-respect intact, but it was also because they had an audience. There was no way she was going to agree to fuck Dean Winchester in front of her mother, adult or no.

So, when she caught him alone after Sam had gone to bed, and while Castiel was still learning the finer points of doing shots from her mom, Jo approached him from behind, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "You know, Cas was probably right about this being our last night on earth. Maybe we should enjoy it."

Jo had expected Dean to flash her one of his patented lascivious grins, but what she got was an expression of pure panic. "Uh..."

She frowned. "What? You were up for it earlier."

Dean flushed, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "I figured you'd say no. I mean, your mom was right there."

"Yeah..." Jo made a point of looking around the room. "She's not here now, though."

Dean cleared his throat. "See, I, uh--there's someone-- It's like this--"

While Dean stammered, Jo did the math. Dean was definitely doing the "there's someone else I'm sleeping with" dance, and there weren't all that many people in Bobby's house. She knew it wasn't Sam or Bobby or her mom--and Dean was definitely not sleeping with her. Which left exactly one person.

"How long have you been sleeping with Cas?" Jo asked, and decided that the shocked expression on Dean's face was even better than sex.

For Such A Time As This- Chapter 15

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 20:38:03 GMT

And the final chapter. I hope you enjoyed the ride.

Previous parts can be found here.

Chapter 15

Sam picked himself up off the floor slowly, blinking the spots out of his eyes. The flash of light had momentarily blinded him, even though he’d closed his eyes. Looking around blearily, Sam saw that the battle still raged on; bodies littered the floor. The remaining demons were fighting with grim determination, as though to get revenge for Lucifer.

For a moment, Dean stood, staring at the symbols painted on the floor and the charred remains of the relics, and then he whirled. Sam watched, open-mouthed, as Dean scooped up Zachariah’s sword, still lying next to his lifeless vessel.

Dean threw himself into the battle, running one of the demons through with the sword from behind, ignoring the one flanking him on his left. Sam cried out a warning, but Dean didn’t appear to hear Sam as he whirled and ran that one through.

Dean seemed to see only the target he’d chosen until he killed it and moved onto the next, and his single-minded intensity freaked Sam out. Dean fought with Zachariah’s sword as though he’d been born to do so—and maybe he had.

Sam swallowed hard; Dean had always been meant to fight on the side of angels, whereas he was the boy with the demon blood.

He scrambled to retrieve the knife he’d dropped when Lucifer had sent him flying, then ran to Dean’s side. His brother didn’t even glance at him; Dean was too intent on killing demons, right up until the last one had fallen, or left its meatsuit in a cloud of black smoke.

Silence seemed to fill up the room, and Dean turned his head to look at Sam. “You okay?” When Sam nodded in response, Dean turned on Michael. “You can get him back, right?”

“We have no orders regarding Castiel.” Sam could hear regret in Michael’s voice, and his heart sank.

Dean took a menacing step forward, and Sam had to hand it to him; Dean had balls, trying to intimidate an archangel. “So? Go get him. You got me out, didn’t you?”

“We were ordered to raise you out of hell, Dean,” Michael replied. “This is different.”

“How is it different?” Dean demanded.

Michael’s dark face creased as he frowned. “I think you know how.”

Dean looked away guiltily. “Fine. But can he get out? You can’t tell me that Cas is stuck in hell.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Michael looked beyond Dean to the symbols painted on the floor. “Castiel was always very good with his traps and sigils. This one was built to trap an angel and send him back to hell.”

Sam cleared his throat, hesitating to barge into the conversation, but wanting to point out a key difference. “Isn’t Lucifer a fallen angel?”

“But still an angel, Sam,” Michael replied. “This circumstance has never come up before; I do not know what will happen.”

Dean had never been content with uncertainties, and this was no different. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Michael frowned his disapproval. “It means that an angel who has not fallen cannot normally be held in hell against his will. I do not know what this means.”

“But you could go after him?” The hope in Dean’s voice was terrible to hear, especially considering the fact that angels didn’t seem to do anything unless they had orders.

Unless it was Castiel. He had been different.

“We cannot go without orders.” Michael bowed his head. “Forgive us, Dean.”

And they were gone.

Dean stared at the ground, his empty hand flexing. He still held Zachariah’s sword, and Sam wondered if it was a consolation prize. Judging from Dean’s bowed head and tense shoulders, giving every sign of real grief, it wasn’t going to be good enough.

Sam’s head went up as he heard the sound of sirens, and he grabbed Dean’s arm. “We have to go, Dean.”

Dean didn’t move.

“Dean—” In that moment, Sam knew that everything Lucifer had said was true, but that it was more than just sex, more than just fucking. Dean was blinking rapidly, his eyes moist, and he didn’t cry over just anybody.

“Bobby?” Dean called

“Yeah, son?” Bobby’s voice sounded strangely gentle, and Sam knew that Bobby had believed Lucifer’s final words, too.

“You got room for Sam?”

Bobby glanced at Sam, then said, “Sure. You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I just—” His head went up as the sirens drew nearer. “We need to get out of here.”

“Dean—what Lucifer said about Castiel staying in hell…” Sam began, trying to find the right words.

Dean stalked towards the door, calling out over his shoulder, “Demons lie, Sam. You of all people should know that.”

Sam heard the sound of the Impala’s engine, and Bobby tugged on his arm. “We have to go, Sam.”

“I know.” Sam followed Bobby as they both jogged out of the abandoned church. “I should call Molly,” he said as soon as they were in the car and on their way.

Sam was fairly sure that Bobby rolled his eyes in response, but all he said was, “Then you’d better call her.”

Molly picked up right away. “Sam! How are you?”

Sam swallowed. “In one piece. Some scrapes and bruises, but that’s it.”

“And the others?” Molly pressed. “How are they?”

“Dean and Bobby are fine, but—we lost Cas.”

There was a long pause. “Cas?” Molly’s voice was faint. “But how?”

Sam explained the circumstances as briefly as possible.

“How is Dean?” Molly asked immediately.

“I don’t know. He told me to catch a ride with Bobby.”

She sighed. “Okay. Are you heading back now?”

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” Sam promised. “How is everything there?”

Molly paused. “Fine. There’s been some stuff, but I’ll talk to you about it when you get here.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, really. Drive safely.”

She ended the call immediately, and Sam pulled the phone away from his ear, staring at it as though it would tell him more.

“Everything okay?” Bobby asked after a moment.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know.”

And even though he should feel elated that the apocalypse was over, that they’d managed to trap Lucifer back in hell, Sam couldn’t summon up any happiness.

~~~~~

Molly stood on the front porch of Bobby’s place, watching as Bobby’s old car came up the drive. She’d used her free time over the last couple of days to find a place of her own, having made the decision to stay in Sioux Falls for the time being.

She was certain it was the right decision, but she wasn’t sure how Sam was going to react to her proposal.

Bobby climbed out easily, while Sam unfolded long limbs from the passenger side. Molly could tell that Sam was torn between helping Bobby unload and greeting her. She could just make out Bobby saying, “Go on, you big idjit.”

Sam crossed the distance between the car and the porch in three long strides. Molly knew exactly when he realized she’d been injured. “What the hell happened?”

She sighed. “I was attacked at the hospital. I’m fine, Sam.”

“You don’t look fine.” Sam tilted her chin up with one long finger, taking in the well-defined bruises in the shape of fingers on her throat, and her swollen jaw. “You’re going to fill me in, right?”

“Of course.” Molly pulled his head down for a kiss. “I’ll help you guys unload the car.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll meet you inside and you can tell me what happened.” Sam gave her another kiss, then nudged her toward the house.

Molly had to admit that a drink would make her story easier to tell, and would probably make Sam’s tale easier to take. As soon as he’d given her the news about Castiel, Molly had stocked up on alcohol, if only for Dean’s sake.

True to her word, Molly had made enchiladas, and she told her story while they were eating. “Hell if I know why I got special treatment,” she finished up. “I was going to act like nothing happened, but…” She waved to her throat. “That wasn’t possible. I got a couple of sick days, and the police are looking for someone who doesn’t exist.”

“You didn’t tell them who attacked you?” Bobby asked.

Molly shook her head. “It wasn’t Karen’s fault, but I couldn’t tell the cops she was possessed. It was easier to give a vague description. Even if they pick someone up, I won’t be able to identify them.”

The front door opened, then slammed shut. Dean walked into the kitchen seconds later, his expression impassive. He glanced at Sam and Bobby, then stared at Molly. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I was attacked by a demon and rescued by an angel. You hungry?”

Molly wasn’t surprised when Dean didn’t inquire further, instead following his nose to the dish of enchiladas. “Yeah, I’m hungry.”

“Help yourself.”

“Good drive back?” Bobby asked.

Dean shrugged. “Didn’t run into any trouble.”

Sam opened his mouth, and Molly gave a quick shake of her head. She’d grown up having to read the moods of those around her, and she sensed that Dean was in no mood for a conversation.

Although it was clear Sam wanted to argue, he apparently decided that it wasn’t worth it.

Dean inhaled two servings before announcing, “I’m going to get some sleep.”

Molly turned to Sam. “Now that he’s gone, do you want to tell me what happened?”

~~~~~

Dean knew that it wouldn’t be long before Sam cornered him to talk about what had happened to Castiel. Sam didn’t give up, not easily, and Dean had to admit that Sam had a right to be worried.

Truth was, though, unless the angels got Cas out of hell, he was stuck there—unless he was still angel enough to get himself out. And Dean didn’t have the energy to hold onto that hope.

“Hey.”

Dean looked up from his inspection of the Impala’s tires because he thought they might be getting a little bald, relieved to see Bobby. “Hey. What’s up?”

“You got time for a job?”

Dean had time for anything that might get his mind off of watching Castiel sacrifice himself to get Lucifer into the trap. “Yeah, sure.”

“Friend of mine brought one of his junkers around. I told Molly you might be able to fix it up for her.”

It wasn’t quite the job Dean wanted, but he’d take what he could get, and they owed her. “He gonna tow it here?”

“Already here.”

“Let’s see it.”

The body of the old Wagoneer was dented and had more than a few rust spots, but it was still in better shape than Molly’s Subaru. “Has she seen this yet?”

“She said as long as it ran, she didn’t care what it looked like, but I told her you’d make it pretty.” Bobby smiled. “I like that girl.”

“You just like her cooking,” Dean accused with a smile.

Bobby shrugged. “And you don’t?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The Jeep needed some work under the hood, and as Dean inspected the engine he kept a mental list of the parts he’d need. He had grease streaking his arms—and probably his face—by the time Sam finally attempted to have that talk Dean was dreading.

“I think we might have a chance to get Castiel out,” Sam announced without preamble, standing behind Dean. Dean kept his eyes on the car. “I know—”

“You don’t know shit,” Dean cut him off shortly. “Not even the angels had any idea what that spell was going to do.”

“But we could—”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Dean asked, finally turning to face Sam. “No.”

Sam frowned. “I thought you would want to get him out.”

“I do!” Dean took a deep breath. “But I’m not losing someone else in the process, and I can’t—” He wanted to tell Sam that he couldn’t live on false hope. “Just…drop it, okay?”

“But—”

Dean turned back to the Jeep. “No. Go away, Sam.”

“I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

Dean didn’t respond to that, even though he knew he should probably absolve Sam; it was as much Dean’s fault as anyone else’s.

He kept working, even as the sun started making its descent, and the shadows lengthened. It was going to be too dark to see soon, and then he’d have to go inside and face the others—or Sam. Bobby would leave him alone, and he thought Molly might be smart enough to do so as well.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Speak of the devil.” He cringed as the words came out of his mouth and made a mental note never to use that phrase again.

“Have you been talking to the car?” Molly asked.

Dean shrugged. “Never mind.”

“It’s getting dark.”

“Did Sam send you?” Dean asked, not responding directly to her observation, wanting to get this out of the way immediately.

Molly leaned up against the car next to him. “Yeah. He wanted me to check on you since he thought you might punch him if he tried.”

“He’s probably right,” Dean admitted, slamming the hood shut on the vehicle. “So, now you’ve checked on me. You can tell him I’m fine.”

“We found something in our research. You want to hear it?” Molly put a bottle of single barrel Jack down on the hood, as well as two glasses before she swung herself up.

“Not really.” Dean eyed the bottle of Jack, wondering if a drink was worth sticking around and dodging another conversation about Castiel.

She poured two generous glasses. “Okay.”

Dean sat next to her, taking one of the glasses. “Okay?”

“Sometimes you don’t want to talk about it.” She smiled at him, her dimples making a brief appearance. “Your brother can be a real girl about that sort of thing, can’t he?”

Dean huffed out a soft laugh. “Yeah, he can.” He tossed back the whiskey and allowed Molly to refill his glass. “I didn’t think that Bobby had any of this around.”

“He didn’t,” Molly replied. “Figured I’d have it on hand for when you guys got back, either way it turned out.”

“Yeah.” Dean stared into his glass, the amber turning darker in the fading light. He remembered the expression on Castiel’s face when Dean had pressed a shot of whiskey on him.

Molly cleared her throat. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“There’s a house in town for rent. It’s a duplex, and both sides are empty. Sam said he thought you guys might stick around for a while.”

Dean hadn’t thought about the possibility, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it now. Not only had he not given much thought to what he’d be doing after the apocalypse—wanting to avoid any false hope—but he hadn’t imagined that Castiel wouldn’t be around.

“You and Sam moving in together?” Dean asked, keeping his voice neutral.

She shrugged. “Or you guys take the other side. Whichever. Sam said he’d do whatever you wanted.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Think about it.” Molly jumped down, leaving the bottle but taking her glass with her. “Oh, and Sam did some research. An angel who hasn’t fallen can’t be held in hell for long.”

Although Dean admired Molly’s timing in delivering that piece of news, he couldn’t help but remember that Castiel had seemed certain that falling was inevitable. Would an angel out of heaven’s graces be able to find his way out of hell?

Dusk deepened into darkness, but Dean stayed where he was, drinking steadily and lost in thought.

He was more than a little drunk when a deep, easily-recognizable voice broke into his reverie.

“Dean.”

Dean looked up to see Michael standing in front of him, and he felt a flash of white-hot anger. “You—” He stopped, unable to finish, when Michael stepped aside to reveal a familiar figure in a trench coat. “Cas?”

“Hello, Dean.”

He blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing. “What—”

“I told you that we had received no orders regarding Castiel,” Michael explained patiently. “But we received orders to retrieve him shortly thereafter.” He turned to look at Castiel. “Goodbye, brother.”

Dean rushed forward. “Are you—are you human now? Did—”

“I think I’d like to sit down,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean looked around wildly and realized that the only place nearby would be inside the Jeep, and he quickly opened one of the back doors. “Here. Sit.”

Castiel settled into the backseat with a sigh. “No, I have not fallen, Dean, merely received new orders.”

Dean swallowed, wondering if he was going to lose Cas just when he’d gotten him back. “What sort of new orders?” he asked, keeping his tone nonchalant.

“Well, it seems that I’m supposed to perch on your shoulder.”

Castiel delivered the line with a completely blank expression as Dean tried to process that. “Wait, you’re—you’re my guardian angel now?”

With a shrug, Castiel replied, “I had my pick of assignments because I remained faithful, even with the threat of falling.”

Relief flooded Dean as he realized that Castiel would be sticking around, but it almost immediately turned into anger. “Don’t you dare do something like that again,” he snarled. “Sacrificing yourself—”

“Is exactly what you would have done in my place.” Castiel met his glare without batting an eyelash.

Dean frowned. “Okay, yeah, but still. Just—stick around, okay?” Dean wished he could tell Castiel that he’d missed him, that what Dean felt bordered dangerously on love, how the pain of losing Cas had been only slightly less than the pain of losing Sam.

Dean didn’t say any of that, however. What he did was lean in towards Cas, whose lips met his at the halfway point. He reached up, threading his fingers through Castiel’s hair, his other hand gripping the back of Cas’ neck. Castiel’s hands kneaded his shoulders and ranged down his upper arms.

A little voice in the back of Dean’s head told him that he should probably let the others know that Castiel was back; they had been upset that he had been trapped in hell, too. But Dean couldn’t tear himself away from Castiel, and he figured the others could wait.

The sound of a throat clearing behind him told Dean that the others apparently couldn’t wait.

“Uh, Dean?”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, then turned to face Sam. “Yeah?” He made sure that his voice carried just the right amount of annoyance.

Sam looked incredibly uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot. “I just wanted to check on you, to make sure you were okay, but you are. So…”

“We’ll be inside in a minute, Sam.” Dean turned back to Castiel. “Just…give us a minute.”

“Sure! No problem.”

Dean grinned, and went back to kissing Castiel.

~~~~~

Castiel was pleasantly surprised by the reactions he got from the others when he stepped inside. Sam clapped him on the shoulder, Bobby smiled—which was more than Castiel was expecting—and Molly hugged him long and hard.

In all honesty, Castiel hadn’t been expecting much of a reaction at all.

“So, I hear you two kissed and made up,” Molly whispered into his ear as the others were celebrating the end of the apocalypse.

From what Castiel understood, no one had done much celebrating until he got back; losing one of their own had apparently taken the joy right out of winning.

“Yes,” Castiel replied, unable to find anything else to say. “Why?”

Molly pressed something into his palm. “Because you’ll need this. My suggestion is to find a hotel, and don’t let Dean drive. He’s too intoxicated.”

Castiel frowned. “What do we do at a hotel?”

Molly gave him a look that said Castiel was being stupid. “Start kissing, see what happens.”

“What about you?”

Molly glanced at Sam, her expression cautious. Castiel already knew exactly what she was frightened of, that she had not yet consummated her relationship with Sam. “One of these days we’ll get there.”

“And us?”

“Go for it.” Molly touched his upper arm. “Seriously, Castiel. If you get the chance, you should seize the day. Show Dean a good time. He’s been miserable without you.”

“And you and Sam?” Castiel pressed.

“We’ll deal, and we’ll do okay.” Molly squeezed his bicep. “Go, Cas. Enjoy. You’ve got free rein, right?”

“Yes.” Castiel leaned forward and kissed her forehead in benediction. “Thank you.”

Molly snorted. “You kidding me? I’m doing this for me. This way, we don’t have to worry about you two waking us up.”

Castiel understood that she was joking, but he let it go, grabbing Dean’s arm as he talked animatedly with Sam and Bobby. “Let’s go.”

Dean didn’t argue. “Yeah, sure.” He glanced at Sam. “You gonna be okay?”

Sam nodded. “Go on, man.”

Castiel pulled Dean outside, then transported the both of them to the nearest hotel.

“What the hell?” Dean demanded.

“Molly gave us money,” Castiel explained. “She said she didn’t want to be woken in the middle of the night.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Castiel decided that it wasn’t worth it to argue. “That’s what she said.”

Dean laughed, long and loud, but refused to explain the joke. “Ask me again later. Let’s check in.”

Hours later, Dean laid next to Castiel on their king-size bed, Castiel’s head resting on his shoulder. Dean was absently running his hand through Castiel’s hair, and Castiel felt too good to move.

“How long were you down there?”

Castiel let out a breath, stroking absent-minded symbols on Dean’s bare chest. “Long enough.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that.”

Castiel ran a hand down Dean’s side to his hip and back again. “I’m sorry.”

Dean sighed. “You did the right thing.”

Castiel pulled Dean closer. “Now what?”

He sensed Dean’s smile, rather than saw it; he was too tired to raise his head. “The usual, Cas. We save people and hunt things. It’s as simple as that.”

Castiel smiled against Dean’s chest and knew that for Dean it was. It was just that simple, and whatever happened, he would be there for as long as Dean wanted him.

For Such A Time As This- Chapter 14

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 21:15:42 GMT

Why yes, I am evil.

Previous parts can be found here.

Chapter 14

Bobby never thought he’d say it, but he was getting a little tired of the angels that kept showing up. It was getting too hard to keep track of who was on what side, and he really didn’t like the way Dean kept disappearing into thin air.

As far as he was concerned, however, there were two sides: theirs and everybody else.

“Now it’s time to get rid of the rest of the riffraff.” Zachariah smiled thinly. “The archangels weren’t hard enough on you, Castiel.”

“On the contrary, we were called off by a higher authority than you, Zachariah.”

Bobby wished he were relieved to see more angels, rather than pissed off to have another interruption. With all that was going on, Lucifer was going to have plenty of warning that they were there.

The girl who spoke was young, no more than fifteen, but there was an unmistakable power in her voice. With her pale skin and black hair, she didn’t look much like an angel.

“Jophiel.” Zachariah clearly knew the other angel, as well as the man who stood next to her. “Tzadqiel.”

“Join us, Zachariah, and you may yet receive forgiveness,” Tzadqiel intoned.

Bobby took a few steps back, not wanting to get caught in the middle of an angel smack down. Across the room from him, Castiel grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him back out of the crossfire.

“I don’t think so,” Zachariah replied. “I haven’t finished yet. Eventually, Dean will have to kill Lucifer, you know.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

Bobby turned, surprised to Dean appear again so suddenly, this time with company. The tall, dark man who stood protectively behind Dean unsheathed a sword in response to Dean’s words.

“New plan, Zach,” Dean replied. “Lucifer goes back to hell, and you get spanked by the big guy upstairs.”

A sword appeared in Zachariah’s hand. “I don’t think so.”

“Shit,” Bobby said, summing up the situation as he saw it in one word.

The third angel was suddenly in front of Dean, his sword crashing against Zachariah’s, and Bobby noticed for the first time that the other angels, the ones who seemed to be on their side, were dressed more like hunters than lawyers.

Bobby wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do—or what was even possible under the circumstances. Only an angel could kill another angel, and they didn’t have any angel-repellant.

“Dean!” Bobby spotted Castiel holing out a knife to Dean, standing over the bucket of red paint. While he wasn’t exactly surprised, Bobby still felt a jolt of alarm as Dean sliced his arm open, letting blood flow.

Bobby raced across the room to Dean’s side, pulling off his flannel shirt and ripping off the sleeve. As soon as Castiel announced, “That’s enough,” Bobby wrapped Dean’s arm tightly to stop the bleeding.

Dean grabbed Ruby’s knife and pressed it into Bobby’s hand. “I won’t need it.”

“Dean…”

“Watch out for Sammy.” Dean glanced over his shoulder. “We got more company.”

Bobby turned and saw half a dozen people coming through the door, and every single one of them had black eyes.

~~~~~

This wasn’t the first time Molly had been called in for questioning by the police; one of her boyfriends hadn’t been the most law-abiding citizen in the world, and while she hadn’t been involved in any of his criminal activities, she’d had to talk fast to convince the cops of that.

It didn’t help that the detective, Russo, had already done some checking on her.

“You’ve moved around a lot,” he accused.

Molly didn’t want to get into her entire life history right now. “It just worked out that way. It’s been hard to find a place where I want to settle down.”

“You haven’t been in Sioux Falls very long.”

“I moved to be closer to friends.” Molly wondered how long this interview was going to continue. If it went on for much longer, she was going to be late for work, but didn’t dare mention that for fear that the detective would take it as confirmation of her guilt.

Detective Russo certainly didn’t appear convinced by any of her answers. “Let’s go over this one more time.”

Molly rubbed her eyes. “I told you, my boyfriend and I found the girl in the same condition we brought her to the hospital in.”

“Why didn’t you stick around?” Detective Russo asked.

Molly sighed. “You already asked that question.”

“So I’m asking again. Humor me.”

“Because Sam had to leave for a trip, and I needed to get changed for work.”

“You didn’t think we would need to talk to you?”

“We told the doctors everything we knew,” Molly protested. “What kind of questions were we supposed to answer?”

“How about where you found Miss Bardot?”

“I told you, we were on a walk, and she was lying in the bushes, bleeding and unconscious.” It wasn’t precisely a lie; she and Sam hadn’t been around when she got injured.

“But you can’t remember where you found her.”

Molly heard the patent disbelief in the detective’s voice, and she wondered how she was going to get out of this unscathed. She was proud of her spotless record, especially given where she’d been and what had been done to her. The last thing she wanted was to be arrested for something she hadn’t done.

“We were too worried about getting her to the hospital to mark the spot.”

“And how did you get her to the hospital?” Detective Russo asked for the first time. He’d asked why she hadn’t called 911, but not how they had transported the other girl.

“We called Bobby. Bobby Singer,” Molly amended, realizing that the detective probably didn’t know who “Bobby” was.”

“You know Bobby?”

Apparently, Molly had been wrong about that; the detective seemed to immediately recognize Bobby’s name. “Yeah, he’s a friend of mine.”

The detective leaned back in his chair; he’d taken over one of the empty rooms in the hospital. “All right. I think that’s all for now.”

Molly wished she’d known an hour ago that Bobby Singer’s name was enough to get the detective off her back. “Thanks.”

“You’ll let me know when Sam Winchester gets back into town?”

Molly gave him what she hoped was not a patently insincere smile. “Of course.”

She would call the detective, of course, but not before giving Sam a heads up; she figured it was his turn to deal with the cops, anyway.

Glancing at her watch, Molly walked just a little faster on her way to the staff room; she was already late for her shift, and she did not want to be put on report. The last thing she needed was to lose another job.

She was just on her way to her duty station when she heard a voice calling from an empty hospital room. “Hello? Hello! Can someone help me?”

Thinking that a patient was in the room and had fallen or otherwise been harmed, Molly entered the room. “Hello? Can I help you?”

There was no response but the slamming of the door behind her, and Molly whirled to see her supervisor. She didn’t need any special talent to recognize that Karen was possessed, since her eyes were black.

“What do you want?” she asked, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“Your head on a platter.” Karen’s normally pleasant voice was cold and harsh, her mouth set in a sneer. “You never should have gotten involved.”

“I’m a stubborn bitch.” Molly shrugged, suppressing her fear as best she could even though she had no idea how to get herself out of this mess. The only people she might have been able to count on were hundreds of miles away, and she didn’t have special demon-killing weapons or powers.

Molly tried to dodge the demon and get out the door, but found herself on the receiving end of a full-body tackle.

She went down hard, and her jaw grazed the bedrail on the hospital bed. Molly bit her lip as she fell and tasted blood. The blow dazed her long enough to allow the thing riding Karen to grab her around the throat, choking her.

The room began to gray out around the edges, and Molly scrabbled at the hands on her neck to no effect; she hadn’t forgotten how strong demons were, but the sheer power still managed to surprise her.

Molly tried kicking, but Karen’s knees dug into her thighs, cutting off circulation, and Molly felt herself begin to slip into unconsciousness. Please, God, she prayed silently. Please.

And then the hands were suddenly gone from around her throat, and she gasped, sucking in a deep breath. Looking around wildly, she saw the woman—no, angel—holding Karen by the front of her scrubs with one hand, with the other pressed to Karen’s forehead. Light flashed from Karen’s eyes, too bright for Molly to look at straight on.

When she had recovered from the flash, light spots still dancing in her vision, she found the angel kneeling next to her. Anyone else would have seen a tall, blond woman with clear, pale skin and blue eyes. Molly saw something else altogether.

“Are you well?”

“I just had a demon choking the life out of me,” Molly managed to croak. “So, not so much.”

The angel tilted Molly’s head with a gentle finger on her chin. “My apologies, but I cannot heal you.”

“Great.” Molly looked at Karen, now lying unconscious on the floor. “What about her?”

“She will not remember anything.”

Molly tried to get to her feet, and the angel put a hand under her arm to help her up—okay, not so much help her up as lift her. “So, do you have a name?”

“Sabrael. I have watched over you for a long time now.”

Well, that was news.

“Yeah? Great job on that.” Molly couldn’t quite keep the bitterness from her voice; the words that Brother Andrews had used had opened up old wounds that hadn’t yet scabbed over again.

Sabrael reached out to lift her chin again, a gentle hand cupping her cheek. “Dear child, do you not know how many times we saved your life?”

“Then why—”

“Because to stop the evil that others commit would be to remove free will.”

Molly got that—in her head, she understood that actions had consequences, and to remove a person’s ability to act, or the consequences of their actions would be to remove free will.

“He was possessed.”

“But he was not always.”

“Before I could see—”

“Yes.”

Molly closed her eyes, remembering how bad things were before she could see, knowing that her parents had put her in that situation. “It’s not fair.”

“No.”

Molly opened her eyes and saw both the face of the woman and the angel’s true form. “Do you know anything about Sam?”

Sabrael’s expression turned grim, and Molly realized how fucking scary it was when an angel was scared and worried. “There is a fight. I must go.”

“Go, then. Take care of him.”

A brief touch on her cheek, like her grandmother’s kiss, and Sabrael was gone—leaving Molly to explain a bruised jaw, handprints on her throat, and an unconscious supervisor. And wouldn’t that be fun.

~~~~~

Castiel grasped his sword and kept careful watch over Dean as he painted the augmented Devil’s Trap on the floor. They had at least managed to clear enough space for that, and Michael and the others were keeping the fight clear of Dean’s handiwork.

Bobby had passed the knife over to Sam and had poured a salt circle around them. It wouldn’t keep out the other angels, but it would protect them from the demons.

A shudder ran through him, and Castiel turned, knowing instinctively that another angel had been killed; Michael was just pulling his sword from Zachariah’s neck, and the vessel collapsed onto the floor.

Zachariah’s death caused an outcry to go up from his compatriots, even as Jophiel smote another demon. “Join us!” Michael called. “And you may yet be forgiven!”

There were three angels who had been with Zachariah, and Castiel watched as they appeared to consider Michael’s offer. Two disappeared, and Castiel felt a pang of disappointment; he had lost too many of his brethren already.

The third had already been fighting the onslaught of demons, and he continued doing so; Castiel recognized Baruch as he whirled to avoid a demon’s knife and thrust his sword into the demon’s body.

More angels were showing up; Sabrael had joined them, standing on the other side of the circle, sword out and ready to defend the Winchesters. Castiel glanced over his shoulder and saw that Dean was putting the finishing touches on the trap.

“Sammy!” Dean called, his voice hoarse with tension.

“Got it!” Sam handed the knife back to Bobby and grabbed the lockbox holding the relics. They had already unlocked it, and now Sam took each religious artifact out and carefully handed them to Dean, who placed them at the appropriate places on the outline of the circle.

The trap was ready, but Lucifer was nowhere to be seen, and now Castiel wondered if he would show up, if he hadn’t been scared off by the battle and the presence of Michael.

“Cas?” The question in Dean’s voice was clear, and Castiel had no answer.

“I don’t know where he is.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Castiel felt the lull in the battle, the pause before everything went to hell. A dozen more demons came pouring into the room, and from his vantage point, Castiel could see that the other angels were being herded away from the door and the trap.

Although he longed to throw himself into the fray, his place was next to Dean, because if this didn’t work—if even one of the demons managed to get through their defenses—

And then Lucifer walked through the door.

Castiel remembered when Lucifer had been the brightest and the best among the host of heaven, and he still retained some of that glory. Lucifer swaggered into the room, as though there was no battle, walking towards Dean with purpose.

“Hello, Dean,” Lucifer said, once he’d reached them. “You know, it was really nice of you to bring those artifacts with you. I’ve been looking for them.”

Dean backed up, standing in the middle of the circle. “Come and get them, then.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Castiel readied himself to spring to Dean’s rescue, but Lucifer held up a hand. “I think not, Castiel. This conversation is between myself and Dean.”

Castiel found himself unable to move; there would be no help from the other angels. They were too intent on preventing the demons from overrunning the place. Sabrael had joined the battle by now because the others had needed her too badly. Both Bobby and Sam were out of their depth and seemed to have no idea of what to do.

Lucifer smiled. His teeth were perfect, white against tanned skin, blue eyes brighter than Castiel’s own, dark blond hair expertly mussed. His vessel was beautiful, and Lucifer’s charisma shone through clearly. Castiel wondered what, exactly, Lucifer would offer Dean.

“So, what do you want?” Dean asked impatiently.

“Why don’t you step outside the circle?” Lucifer suggested. “I don’t want to shout.”

“I’m fine here, thanks.” Dean’s voice was cold and steady, with that touch of insolence that Castiel had always found so aggravating.

Lucifer smiled thinly. “You know, you’ve been duped, Dean. God doesn’t have your back; he doesn’t care about you at all. You’re a tool to him.”

Dean shrugged. “What else is new? Sing me another tune, Lucy.”

The Devil’s eyes narrowed. “What is it you want, Dean? For Sam to be safe and happy, to live out your life in peace? I can give you that.”

“After you end the world.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, I’m fairly certain that it isn’t me you’d like to fuck.” Lucifer’s gaze flicked to Castiel, and he grinned. “And it seems my brother here feels the same way. You know what will happen to him, don’t you? He’ll fall, and it will be your fault. In the world I would create, you’d be free to fuck each other into oblivion. Isn’t that what you want?”

Castiel was chilled to the bone, seeing the horror flicker across Dean’s face. Dean didn’t want him to fall, and he’d thought that by keeping their relationship a secret from the rest of the host, Castiel would be able to avoid it.

It was a foolish hope, Castiel knew, but he loved Dean for trying.

“What I want is for you to get the hell off the planet. You can take all your offers and shove ‘em where the sun shines, asshole.”

If Castiel hadn’t been watching the Winchesters for more than a year now, he would have missed how Sam and Dean’s eyes met, the unspoken message that passed between them. Therefore, he wasn’t surprised when Sam flung himself at Lucifer, the demon-killing knife in his hand.

The momentary distraction was all Castiel needed to break free of Lucifer’s hold. Out of the corner of his eye, as though in slow motion, he watched as Lucifer flung Sam across the room, where he hit the wall with a harsh thud. Bobby moved forward, hand outstretched, and then he went flying, too.

Dean was outside of the circle, moving towards Lucifer, his fury clear at the damage that had been done to Sam and the secret Lucifer had spilled. Castiel saw the sword Lucifer pulled out, and he rushed toward Lucifer to prevent Dean from being run through.

Lucifer’s distraction gave Castiel the opportunity he’d wanted, and he hit Lucifer hard, knocking the Lucifer off-balance and allowing the momentum to carry both of them inside the trap.

Castiel could feel the bonds snap closed, and he felt a moment’s elation as he realized that this was going to work.

“Cas!”

Dean was calling to him, even as Lucifer struggled against the metaphysical walls that held both of them in place. The Devil’s Trap had, ironically enough, been built to hold an angel—and that meant it would hold Castiel, too.

“Perform the ritual, Dean!” Castiel cried. “We have little time.”

“No! I’m not leaving you there.”

“Dean, do it!” Castiel willed Dean to understand, to see the unspoken apology and forgiveness in his eyes, to know that there was no other way.

Michael’s deep voice echoed through the church. “It is the only way! Would you doom the entire world?”

Castiel saw Dean glance reflexively at Sam, and he knew that it wasn’t the world that mattered.

“Your boyfriend is going to spend an eternity with me!” Lucifer cried out. “Do you want that, Dean?”

Castiel met Dean’s eyes once again and nodded, giving permission. “Now, Dean.”

Dean’s face hardened into a mask of determination and anguish, and as Dean finished the ritual, Castiel felt the pain rip through him.

For Such A Time As This- Chapter 13

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 13:56:03 GMT

Things are heating up.

Previous parts can be found here.

Chapter 13

Castiel stalked around the demon in an ever-smaller circle, knife ready in his hand. Dean knew that angels and demons were enemies, and maybe it wasn’t such a big deal for Castiel to torture a demon, but Dean didn’t like seeing it.

Dean thought of Cas as too good for this sort of thing; Dean wasn’t.

Still, he was grateful that he didn’t have to reveal that aspect of himself to Bobby, and he had to admit that Castiel was intimidating as hell.

“You will tell us where Lucifer is going next.” It was a statement, not a question, and Castiel made another slow circle.

“Fuck you,” she spat.

Castiel shook his head. “Do you think you can hold out against an angel of the Lord?”

“I’m not scared of you.” The slight tremble in her voice indicated otherwise.

Castiel smiled, and it was by far the coldest expression Dean had ever seen. “You will be, and you will tell me where Lucifer plans to go next.”

“If I do that, Lucifer will kill me,” she whined.

Castiel circled, and Dean could see the hard smile on his face. “No, Lucifer will torture you deep in the Pit, but I will wipe you from existence. You will be nothing.”

Dean saw the demon flinch, blinking its black eyes. “I can’t, I can’t,” the demon whined.

Castiel’s knife hand flicked out, so quickly that Dean very nearly missed it; he might have except for the bright red stain beginning to stain the sleeve of the demon’s yellow shirt. “You will.”

The demon sneered. “Fuck off.”

The knife flicked out again, and blood stained the other sleeve. “Tell us.”

“Kill me.”

Castiel’s lips drew into a wide, cold smile. “No, I don’t think so.” He raised his left hand, and the demon let out a cry of pain so terrible that Dean shivered, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Tell me,” Castiel repeated.

“No!” Another scream of pain.

“Tell me!”

“No!”

“TELL ME!” Castiel’s roar had a hint of his real voice behind it, and Dean clapped his hands over his ears, and saw Bobby do the same out of the corner of his eye.

“Indiana!” the demon screeched. “Gary, Indiana! An abandoned church!”

“When?” Castiel demanded.

“Soon, soon! That’s all I know!” From the pain behind the howl, Dean suspected that the demon was actually telling the truth.

Castiel nodded, as though in satisfaction, and pressed a hand to the demon’s forehead.

“What the hell was that?” Bobby spoke for both of them, as Castiel caught the girl as she collapsed like a puppet with the strings cut.

Castiel’s knees started to buckle, and Dean darted forward to help him. “It wouldn’t be wise to allow the demon to inform Lucifer of our intentions,” Castiel replied, willingly handing the girl to Dean.

“Sammy!” Dean shouted. “Bring the first aid kit!”

He laid her down on the floor, then turned to Castiel; Bobby was helping him to sit, and Castiel put his head between his legs. “Forcing it to talk was more difficult than I thought it would be,” Castiel admitted quietly.

“Had you ever done that before?” Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. “No. There were other angels who were always quicker to volunteer than I was.”

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean began.

Castiel cut him off with a quick shake of his head. “Don’t. I told you once that I would spare you if I could, and this time, I could.”

Sam jogged into the room with the first aid kit in hand, Molly on his heels. “What have we got here?” Molly asked. “Never mind. I think I can figure it out.”

She began to check the girl over, giving Sam directions in a low voice. Dean took the opportunity to help Castiel stand.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Castiel handed the knife back to Dean. “I’ll be fine. I just need a moment.”

“Sure.” Dean glanced up at Bobby. “What’s up?”

“I’m going to drive Sam, Molly, and the girl to the hospital,” Bobby replied. “Molly thinks she might have a head injury. You two okay to get back to my place by yourselves?”

“Meet you at the house?” Dean asked. “We’ll need to head to Gary immediately.”

Bobby nodded. “We’ll be there as soon as we drop the girl off.”

Dean waited until the others were gone to put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “You gonna be okay to go with us?”

Castiel nodded. “By the time we arrive in Gary, I will have recovered.” Castiel gave him a look that could only be called sly. “But perhaps you could kiss it and make it better?”

Dean laughed—and complied.

~~~~~

“What happened here?”

The flurry of activity in the ER was completely expected, and Molly made certain that her face showed none of the guilt she felt.

Because while the girl was no longer possessed—and that was definitely an improvement—she was badly injured.

“I’m not sure,” Molly replied, addressing her response to one of the doctors she recognized. “My boyfriend and I were taking a walk, and we just found her like this.” She shifted into nurse mode, hoping to get the focus off of her and Sam—Bobby was waiting for them out in the car—and onto the victim.

“I think she might have a head injury,” Molly said. “We had a first aid kit in the car, and we stopped the bleeding on her arms. It’s possible that this was some sort of knife attack, since those lacerations look like they might be defensive wounds.”

“We’ll check her out,” the doctor promised as they wheeled the girl away.

Sam grabbed her arm. “Let’s go.”

“They’re going to call the police,” she warned him. “We might need to stick around.”

“There’s no time.”

She allowed him to lead her out, trying not to think about the ramifications of leaving the girl at the hospital without sticking around. They were going to look guilty—but then, no one had asked them to stay.

Molly climbed into the backseat of Bobby’s waiting car, sitting silently through the ride back to the salvage yard. Scenes from the past couple of hours kept flashing through her mind—the summoning ritual, the demon’s appearance, waiting with Sam until Dean and Castiel had finished the interrogation.

And now Sam and the others would be driving, trying to beat Lucifer to his next stop and send him back to hell. Molly knew that she was expected to remain behind, but it felt wrong not to at least offer to go. She could at least provide medical assistance if things got dicey.

If there was time to offer medical assistance.

“Pack your stuff up, Sam,” Bobby ordered once they pulled into the yard. “We’ll leave as soon as we get everything together.”

After a moment, Molly hurried to catch up with Sam. “Need any help?”

“Keep me company?”

“Sure.” She watched as Sam began to gather his clothes from various places around Bobby’s house, including the bedroom she’d been using. Molly waited for the relative privacy to ask, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“What?”

His surprise was obvious, and Molly could feel herself flushing. “I just—I know you think I should stay behind, but if I can help…”

“It’s too risky.” Sam’s response was immediate and strong. “Sorry, Molly, but we can’t protect you. If something goes wrong—”

“Is this how it’s always going to be?” she blurted out, immediately regretting the question. “No, sorry. Don’t answer that.”

Sam froze in his preparations. “What did you mean by that?”

“Forget I said anything.”

“No.” Sam faced her. “I need to know.”

“I just—is this always how it is when you leave someone behind?”

Sam stared at the floor. “We’ve never left anyone behind.”

“Oh.”

“Are you okay with this?” Sam asked.

Molly could hear the fear in Sam’s voice, and she smiled, knowing that he wanted to come back to her. “Yeah, Sam. Go save the world.”

She could cry after he was gone.

~~~~~

Sam framed Molly’s face with both hands as he leaned in for another kiss. “Be careful,” she whispered. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

She pulled back to look him in the eye. “Okay.” Molly turned to Dean. “Take care of him?”

“Always.”

Sam grinned as Molly pulled Dean into a hug without waiting to ask for permission. “When you guys get back, I’m making my abuela’s enchiladas.”

“Awesome.” Dean grinned at her. “Keep your head down, Molly.”

“Absolutely.”

Sam covered his laughter with a cough when Molly kissed Bobby on the cheek. The older man blushed and muttered something about needing to get on the road. Molly didn’t bother to hide her laughter, and she turned to Castiel.

Molly didn’t try to hug the angel, but their eyes met, and Castiel nodded, as though she’d said something only he could hear. “Vaya con Dios,” Molly said.

“Peace be upon you,” Castiel replied.

Sam climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala a few minutes later, after one more brief, desperate kiss. Bobby had already left in his vehicle, and Castiel was sitting in the backseat.

Sam slumped back, wishing desperately that he wasn’t leaving Molly behind, and knowing that it was for the best.

“You okay?” Dean sounded concerned, rather than impatient, which told Sam just how worried he was.

Sam didn’t bother looking at Dean. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You guys are pretty serious, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, Sam.”

“I don’t know, Dean!” Sam took a deep breath to calm himself. “I guess, if I make it through this alive, we’ll see.”

“You’ll make it.” Dean’s dark tone left no doubt.

Sam sighed, knowing exactly how far Dean would go to make sure he did. “Yeah.”

“You guys doing okay?” Dean asked.

Sam didn’t know how to respond to that. They were okay, but he couldn’t exactly tell Dean that he and Molly had shared a bed without having sex. Nor could he explain how it had felt to hear her offer to come along, or the desperation in her voice. And even if he had been inclined to talk to Dean about it, he wasn’t going to discuss his relationship with Molly with Castiel’s silent presence in the backseat. “Yeah, it’s just different.”

“Wait until you get back,” Dean advised. “You guys can figure it out.”

Sam wasn’t so sure; he didn’t know how many times he could leave and still trust that she was waiting for him. He certainly couldn’t explain how important it had become that she was waiting. “How are we doing this, Cas?”

“We create the trap and incorporate the religious artifacts.”

“Yeah, that’s not vague,” Sam muttered.

“Easy,” Dean murmured.

Castiel’s reply, when he finally made one, was stiff and definitely pissy. “It is difficult to describe in words.”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean assured him. “Look, get some rest, okay? We’ve got a drive, and we need you in shape for this.” Dean gave Sam his best older-brother-knows-best look. “Same goes for you, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t want to obey—out of principle, if nothing else—but Dean was right. It was over nine hours to Gary, long enough for both of them to catch some sleep before arriving.

Assuming they arrived in time, assuming that they didn’t have to go back to Bobby’s and ask Molly to summon another demon, then say their goodbyes all over again.

Assuming this wasn’t a trap.

“What is it, Sam?” Dean always knew when he faked sleep.

“You really think this is going to work?”

“How the hell should I know?”

Sam opened his eyes to look at his brother; Dean was staring resolutely at the road, one hand on the steering wheel, looking almost relaxed. If it wasn’t for the tic in his jaw and the lines of tension around his eyes, Sam would have thought they were driving to what was just another job.

He had to wonder if they would ever have “just another job” again.

“Dean—”

“Castiel hasn’t steered us wrong yet.”

The way Dean said the angel’s name caused Sam to go on the alert. There was something there, something more than just Dean’s ubiquitous sense of responsibility. Sam was dying to ask him about it, but he knew better than to push when Dean was on edge.

“No, he hasn’t,” was all Sam said in response, closing his eyes again and leaning his head against the window.

~~~~~

“I’m afraid it has to be your blood, Dean.”

Dean was ready for Sam and Bobby’s outburst. At Castiel’s request, they had stopped by a hardware store for paint and brushes, but apparently the paint wasn’t enough to ensure that Lucifer would be trapped.

“Why me?” Dean asked because he knew that Sam would demand an answer to that very question, but he was ready to do whatever it took.

Castiel shrugged. “It’s prophecy.”

“That’s crap, and you know it.” Dean recognized the voice immediately as belonging to Zachariah. They all turned to see Zachariah standing in the old church, two other men in suits standing behind him.

“You’re not needed here,” Castiel said coldly. “Tzadqiel came to see us. He’s aware of your plan.”

“Too bad you won’t be able to carry it out.” Zachariah responded. “We wanted Lucifer dead, not back in hell.”

“We don’t always get what we want,” Dean shot back. “Now, if you’ll get out of here, we can get down to business.”

“You’re right about one thing, Castiel,” Zachariah said, ignoring Dean. “You’ll need Dean’s blood. Unfortunately, you’re going to have a hard time getting it.”

Dean blinked, and found himself—elsewhere. Wherever he was, though, it was fucking hot. Way too fucking hot.

He stripped his outer shirt off and stared up at the faded blue sky. Dean had expected Zachariah to be there as well, posturing and threatening, but Dean was alone.

“Dean Winchester.”

Dean whirled, facing the man who had appeared behind him. The man’s skin was so dark that it seemed to absorb the light. He was tall and well-muscled, and there was a sense of other about him so strong that Dean knew immediately that he faced an angel.

“I am Michael.”

Make that an archangel.

“Where the hell am I? And what the fuck just happened?” he demanded.

Michael appeared to consider his question for a moment. “I believe you know this place as Death Valley, and I’m afraid we did not arrive in time to prevent him from sending you here. I followed immediately when we realized what Zachariah had planned. We are on the same side, Dean.”

“Great,” Dean said, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “So, can you get me back to where I was? We were in the middle of something.”

Michael smiled, white teeth flashing against his dark skin. “Of course.”

“Hey, uh, why does it have to be my blood?” Dean thought that maybe Michael would know even if Cas didn’t.

“Because you are the righteous man who spilled blood in hell,” Michael replied, his voice oddly gentle. “And you must spill blood again.”

Dean understood that kind of symmetry. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Michael nodded, then said, “We will hold off the denizens of hell, Dean, and prevent Zachariah and his ilk from interfering with your task. But you must get Lucifer into the trap.”

Dean had already suspected that this was going to be difficult, but something in Michael’s voice told him it was going to be near impossible.

Certain Dark Things- Part IV

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 12:42:34 GMT

On we go.

Part IV: Resolution

Buffy had heard the old saying that you didn’t know what was missing until it was gone; she thought that sometimes you didn’t know what had been missing until it reappeared, though.

She’d known that Spike was different when she dragged him out of the Initiative, but had chalked it up to a long ordeal. Then, when nothing had changed, Buffy had thought that perhaps it was her imagination. Two years had passed since the last time she’d seen him, and Buffy figured that her memory was fuzzy.

Lying in her bed, thinking back to the night before, Buffy finally figured out what had been absent. Spike had always had a certain reckless joy about him; he’d thrown himself into whatever fight was before him without thought to the consequences.

Until last night, that fire had been extinguished. He’d seemed to be simply existing, except for those few moments when they’d fucked against the wall of the crypt.

Buffy grew warm at the thought, and though it might be wrong, she wanted Spike again.

It couldn’t happen, she thought silently. Everything was different now. She was different. Buffy was no longer the desperate, hopeless girl she had been; Spike wasn’t some white knight come to save her.

She was the Slayer; he was a vampire caught up in a really messed up government experiment. That was it.

Buffy sighed. She only wished it were that simple.

Rolling out of bed, Buffy got ready for the day, knowing that she owed her Watcher a visit. He would want to know about the previous night’s events, particularly the fact that Spike’s chip didn’t work against anything other than humans.

As far as Buffy was concerned, that was good news.

“And you’re certain he wasn’t lying?” Giles asked when she told him what had happened.

Buffy raised her eyebrows. “Of course I’m sure, Giles. I saw it work.”

He frowned. “When was this?”

She felt heat rise to her face. “A few days ago.”

“He attacked someone?”

“No,” Buffy said slowly. “I attacked him, and he struck back out of reflex.”

“Did he do something?”

“No.”

From the expression on Giles’ face, he had a pretty good idea of what had happened, but Buffy wasn’t about to describe the circumstances in detail. “Very well,” he finally said. “Where is Spike staying currently?”

“A crypt in the Restview Cemetery,” Buffy responded. “Why?”

Giles leaned back in his chair. “I heard your warning loud and clear, Buffy. I have no intention of doing Spike harm—unless, of course, he deserves it.”

Buffy looked away; she’d given too much away just then. She shouldn’t have been concerned at all.

“I can understand that you would feel some connection, Buffy, given what happened.”

Buffy rose and walked over to the window, looking out at the peaceful courtyard. “I don’t want to be connected to him, Giles. It’s not like I want to care.”

“But you do.”

“I do,” she admitted.

Giles sighed, the sound harsh in the silence that hung between them. “Be careful, Buffy. He may appear harmless now, but he is still a vampire.”

Buffy turned to face him. “He saved my life last night, and he didn’t have to. Even thinking that he was going to be in pain, he saved me.”

That was what Buffy kept coming back to; she didn’t mind if they kept saving each other, just as long as they didn’t destroy one another while they were at it.

~~~~~

Spike wished he could be surprised at Giles’ arrival, but he wasn’t. Spike had expected a visit from the Watcher at some point, telling him to get out of town and leave his Slayer be.

“How did you find me?” Spike asked, wanting to postpone the inevitable.

“Buffy told me you were at Restview. There aren’t many crypts suitable for a vampire around here.” Giles glanced around the interior of the crypt, distaste clear in his expression.

Spike sat on the sarcophagus, his feet hanging down, drinking from a flask he’d stolen. “Yeah. They don’t make crypts like they used to,” he said with a sardonic smile.

Giles faced him fully. “Buffy told me that the chip doesn’t work against demons.”

“Looks that way.”

“She also said that you saved her life.”

“I suppose I did.”

“Perhaps you might find a new purpose for your life,” Giles suggested. “You could be of great service to Buffy.”

Spike blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You can protect her in the way others cannot.”

“What’s in it for me?”

Giles raised his eyebrows. “I suppose the satisfaction of saving lives isn’t sufficient.”

Spike snorted. “I’m still a vampire, Watcher. You’re going to need more than pretty words to convince me to kill my own kind and protect the Slayer.”

“Then let me put it this way,” Giles said. “You can help the Slayer, or you can be at the mercy of every vampire and demon in Sunnydale when they find out you’re working for us.”

“I won’t be working for you.”

“They won’t know that.”

Spike looked into Giles’ eyes and knew he was dead serious. Oddly enough, it was easier to say yes when he knew he was being blackmailed.

“Yeah, alright, but I want something from you.”

“Very well.”

“A carton of smokes every two weeks, and enough blood to live on.” Spike shrugged at Giles’ expression. “I can steal it, but it’s risky, and I hate getting shot.”

A smile tugged the corner of Giles’ mouth. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Spike nodded. “Fair enough. Tell Buffy she can meet me here if she wants a partner on patrol.”

“I’ll do that.”

Giles left, and Spike finished his drink, considering the strange turn his life had taken. He would much rather be hunting down sweet young things, but he at least had some purpose now. It was a fucked up purpose, but it was what he had.

And he’d be able to take his rage out on something.

~~~~~

“So, Buffy, need some company tonight?” Xander asked from his lounging position on Giles’ couch. “I brought popcorn.”

“Thanks for the offer, Xander, but I’ve got company,” Buffy replied.

“Who?” Willow asked, reaching a hand into the bag of popcorn Xander held.

Buffy sighed, knowing that this wasn’t going to go over well. “Spike.”

“What? Why the hell would you go with Spike?” Xander demanded.

“Because I asked him to,” Giles said calmly from the kitchen as he finished making a pot of tea. “He’s a capable fighter, he can’t harm Buffy, and he’s unlikely to be hurt. And if he is hurt, he will heal quickly”

Willow looked from Buffy to Giles to Xander. “He’s right, Xander. Spike is way more indestructible than we are.”

“He’s evil!” Xander protested.

“Maybe, but he’s a good fighter, and he saved my life the other night,” Buffy responded. “If he’s willing to help, I’m going to take him up on the offer.” She rose from the chair. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Giles.”

Buffy left before Xander could offer any other arguments. He had a point; Buffy knew that the chip hadn’t changed Spike in any fundamental way. Spike was still a vampire, and would likely feed on a human just as soon as not.

But she was finding it hard to focus on Spike being evil. Buffy would much rather focus on how Spike seemed to know the best way to get her off.

“Thought you might be by,” Spike said from the roof of the crypt as Buffy reached for the door. He leapt down nimbly. “We patrolling any particular place?”

“Just the usual rounds.” Buffy looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “Any reason you were on the roof?”

Spike shrugged. “I’d rather not be inside if I can help it.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

His tone of voice made it clear that he had no intention of discussing his time in the Initiative.

“Just checking.”

“Thanks for caring.” His dry tone got her back up, but Buffy didn’t respond. Technically, she shouldn’t have cared; the fact that she did—just a little—made her squirm a bit.

Patrol was uneventful, not too surprising since a lot of the demons and vampires had been killed in the final battle inside the Initiative. Buffy finished her usual rounds only a couple of hours after they’d started, and she was loath to leave Spike at his crypt and head back home.

Spike raised an eyebrow as she dawdled. “Want to come in for a drink?”

It was a bad idea; it was a really bad idea, but Buffy couldn’t say no.

“Okay.”

Spike led the way inside the crypt, shutting the door before pressing his lips to hers. Out of necessity, he was gentler than he’d been in the past, but Buffy clutched him tightly, pulling him closer.

She could feel his fingers thread through her hair, and he gently pulled her head back to leave her neck exposed. His kisses there were tender, careful. “I have a bed downstairs,” he murmured against her skin.

Buffy knew that she should leave. She should keep her relationship with Spike strictly business—they could do friendly business, but that was it.

“Yes,” she said instead.

“Hang on.” Spike released her, and Buffy was dismayed at the whimper coming out of her throat. He opened a trap door behind the sarcophagus and disappeared into the darkness. Buffy peered over the edge and saw a soft glow start up. “Come on down.”

She hesitated only a moment before she dropped down, seeing Spike in the dim candlelight. There was a mattress on the floor in one corner, covered with a thick comforter. She couldn’t tell what color it was in the flickering light, but they had fucked in worse places.

“What are we doing, Spike?” she asked.

He shrugged. “We’re finding comfort. There’s precious little of it in this world, Summers.”

The explanation was enough; Buffy surged forward, pushing Spike backwards, both of them stumbling over their feet as they fought with lips and tongues. Buffy pushed him onto his back on the mattress and straddled him, their position an unconscious mirror of one of their first nights together.

They undressed each other quickly and without care for ripping seams or tangled limbs. Buffy saw familiar, pale flesh, decorated with new scars. There was a large patch of scar tissue on Spike’s chest where it appeared he’d been burned, and she mapped the area with her fingertips, giving him a questioning look.

“Don’t heal as fast when I’m not drinking human blood,” Spike explained, his face going blank.

“When did you get burned?”

She couldn’t read him, and his tone was expressionless as he replied, “Inside the Initiative. I was lucky.”

“Lucky?” The patch was larger than her two hands, and although she knew Spike would eventually heal completely, it made her sick to see it and the other scars she could just make out in the dim light.

“They put a lot of research into the chip in my head,” Spike said, his laughter devoid of humor. “They wanted to know how quick I’d heal, but they still needed test subjects to find out how quick vampires burn.”

Buffy had no words to reply to that, so she pressed her lips to the scar tissue, nipping around the borders, causing Spike to twist beneath her as she used her tongue to good effect.

She moved lower, kissing and licking her way south until Spike stopped her with a harsh, “No! Not like that, not this time.”

Buffy knew what he meant, and she allowed him to pull her up until they were joined—kissing wildly, Spike’s arms holding her tightly.

They kept up the rhythm they’d learned by heart so long ago, and it was just as easy now as it had been then.

Spike made sure she got off first before his own release, and they collapsed on the shoddy mattress, Buffy half-draped across him. She could smell sex and sweat, old earth and stone, and Spike.

“I should go,” she said without moving.

“Stay.”

“Mom will be worried.”

“She won’t be waiting up for you.”

“No, but—”

“I’ll wake you before dawn. Sleep.”

She wanted to stay; Buffy was sated and wrung out. In the darkness, here and now, she could pretend that this relationship had a chance at working out.

And sometimes, she needed to pretend. “Okay. Don’t let me sleep too late.”

“I promise.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll wait until daylight for a nap.” He pulled her closer and Buffy was too tired to resist—and it felt too good to be in his arms. “Go on, luv.”

The endearment fell off his tongue easily, and Buffy moved closer, feeling Spike drag the comforter up over the both of them.

“I’m glad you’re staying in Sunnydale,” she whispered against his chest, and Buffy felt him tighten his grip on her.

“Yeah. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

And really, Buffy thought as she drifted off to sleep, that kind of promise was better than a declaration of love.

~~~~~

Spike made certain that the comforter was securely tucked around Buffy’s shoulders. The candlelight intensified the golden color of her hair and the tan of her skin.

What he was feeling couldn’t be love; Spike thought he’d had enough pain to last a lifetime, and a vampire loving the Slayer was a masochist’s game.

But he thought he’d stay with her, given the opportunity. Spike knew he’d protect her, with his life if necessary.

He owed her that much, and her touch was a balm to him; her company a blessing.

And maybe, given what he knew of love, this was better.

Brushing Buffy’s hair back from her face, Spike laid down next to her and closed his eyes, letting the sound of her heartbeat lull him to sleep.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

in which there is no I or you
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is your hand
so intimate that when you fall asleep it is my eyes that close.

~Pablo Neruda, Sonnet 17

Certain Dark Things- Part III

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 12:39:52 GMT

On we go.

Part III: Rebuilding

“I come bearing ice cream,” Willow announced at the front door.

Buffy accepted the plastic sack and peered inside, seeing several tubs of Ben & Jerry’s. “Where’s Tara tonight?”

Willow shrugged. “She had to work, and with Riley leaving, I thought you could use the company.” She entered the house, looking around in an exaggerated fashion. “Unless you already have company.”

Buffy headed to the kitchen for spoons. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Buff. You and Spike?”

She stiffened. “There’s nothing going on between me and Spike.”

Willow plopped down at the kitchen table and gave Buffy her resolve face. “Okay,” she said slowly. “But you went back inside the Initiative for him, and he’s here in Sunnydale, and Riley leaves. And you and Giles aren’t speaking.”

“We’re speaking,” Buffy said carefully, sitting down across from Willow and pulling out a pint of Cherry Garcia. “We spoke yesterday.”

“I was there,” Willow replied dryly. “I would have thought it was January with the chill in the air.”

Buffy remained silent, poking at the soft ice cream.

“Is it true that you…” Willow trailed off.

“That was a long time ago,” Buffy said softly, knowing that she wasn’t exactly answering the question.

“In L.A.?”

“Yeah. It was a screwed up summer. I was screwed up.”

“And Spike?”

“He was part of that.”

Willow focused on her own ice cream. “You had to have liked him a little bit, to go back for him. You could have been killed.”

Buffy had no idea how to explain her feelings for Spike, or what he was to her. It wasn’t love; she didn’t have a name for it.

“He saved my life,” she finally managed. “I don’t know if I would have come back to Sunnydale if it hadn’t been for him.”

“You never talk about that summer,” Willow observed.

Buffy swallowed. “Why would I? After what happened when I got back, I didn’t think anyone would want to hear about it. And Spike was—is—a vampire. With Angel, and everything…”

“Is it true that he can’t hurt anyone now?” Willow asked.

Buffy thought about his cry of pain when she’d jumped him in the cemetery, and he’d tried to fight back. “It’s true.”

“Is Spike why you’re mad at Giles?”

Buffy sighed. “He shouldn’t have interfered by asking Riley to come over.”

“He’s your Watcher. It’s kind of his job.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Maybe, but that was a lot of awkwardness I wanted to avoid.”

“What are you going to do about Spike?”

Buffy had been asking herself the same question; she still didn’t know, so she remained silent and instead changed the subject. “Are we still on to go to the Bronze tomorrow?”

Willow’s expression indicated that she knew exactly what Buffy was doing, but she went along with it.

That was one of the reasons Willow was her best friend.

~~~~~

Spike had spent over a hundred years enjoying every moment—or nearly every moment—of his undead existence. He had fought and fucked and hunted. Every night had been a party, full of new experiences and old alike.

And now, time stretched before him in an endless stream; meeting the sunlight was beginning to look better and better.

Coming to the Bronze had been a bad idea, he realized, as he slipped through the doors. The smell of young flesh, the blood pumping quick and hot, was nearly overwhelming. Spike had self-control, and it had been a long time since he’d had human blood, but the temptation was still nearly overwhelming. Not being able to give into temptation made it worse, and tension crept across his shoulders as he stepped up to the bar.

“Jack, neat,” Spike ordered, passing the bartender a bill. He took his drink and his change and found a seat at the end of the bar, his eyes drawn to the dance floor.

Although he knew he was torturing himself, Spike watched the dancers, picking out the one he’d have fed from a year ago. Throwing back the drink, he approached the young woman; she was in her early twenties, and definitely not blond.

She greeted him with a smile and a shimmy of her hips; her tight, short skirt showed off long, tanned legs, and her blouse displayed her cleavage to good effect.

Spike must have been off his game, because it took a few minutes for him to realize that she was a vampire, and a young one at that. For a moment, he was tempted to continue the charade, to let her take him out to the alley, where they would either fuck, or she would try to feed, but he knew it was a bad idea when he couldn’t fight.

The crowd parted, and he caught sight of the Slayer staring at him, her eyes narrowed with an emotion he might have thought was jealousy, if that was even a possibility. Buffy started across the dance floor towards him and his companion, and he grasped the young vampire by the wrist.

“Let’s get some air,” he whispered.

Spike led her out through the back door, the same one he’d watched Buffy disappear through all those years ago, when he still wanted to kill her.

“So, what do you want to do?” the vampire asked, once they were outside. She trailed her hand up his chest, over his t-shirt. “Do you have a place we can go?”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Spike replied. “I think you have an appointment with the Slayer.”

“What?”

Buffy didn’t pause to make one of her trademark quips; dust drifted in the slight breeze coming through the alley. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Where the hell else am I going to go?” was Spike’s rejoinder. “I just wanted a drink.”

“I’m here with my friends,” Buffy hissed. “If you—”

“They won’t have to know if you don’t tell them,” Spike snarled. “If you don’t follow me around. You keep doing that, they’re going to know that something is up, Slayer.”

“I wasn’t following you!” she protested. “I was going after the vampire.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Turning on his heel, he began to walk away. The truth was that he couldn’t quit her, but that didn’t mean he had to offer himself up for punishment.

“Spike, wait!”

He paused, waiting until she’d caught up to him. “What?”

“Just—this is hard for me, too.”

Spike turned to face her, meeting her eyes, remembering the girl she’d been in Los Angeles—weary and half-broken. She hadn’t been the Slayer then, or she’d been denying that part of herself.

That was clearly no longer the case.

“Yeah, I get that.”

Spike walked away, because it was the only option left open to him.

~~~~~

Buffy couldn’t help but feel torn. She wanted Spike, and not just for the sex; he had been a good companion once upon a time, to the girl she’d been then. He’d listened and been silent and taken her out, and he’d known what she needed.

But he was a vampire, and he didn’t have a soul, and the chip could stop working someday, and she would have to let him go again. There was no point in getting attached.

Of course, she was already attached, bound to him by a sense of duty, knowing that she owed him. Buffy could sense that he was clinging to his life, such as it was, by his fingernails.

She’d seen the same despair in the mirror before.

Seeing him in the Bronze had been a rude awakening. Xander had spotted him first, and had asked what Spike was doing there, and for one shameful moment, Buffy had thought that Spike had come for her. He was going to let it be known what they’d done in a moment of weakness in the cemetery, and her friends would hate her.

Instead, he’d just been there, like anyone else was there—for a drink or a dance or a chance for a little human contact. And he’d led the female vampire out into the alley for her, so that she could perform her duty. Something about that hurt just a little.

Buffy hadn’t seen Spike for a few days, not since that night at the Bronze. She thought he might be avoiding her, but she hadn’t tried seeking him out.

So, she was more than a little surprised to see him sitting in the kitchen with her mom, drinking cocoa.

“Oh, Buffy, there you are. Spike and I have been having a nice chat.”

Her mother was in no danger from Spike, but Buffy still had to bite her tongue to keep from demanding to know his business at her house.

For his part, Spike appeared to be very interested in the melted marshmallows floating in his hot cocoa, and he refused to look up at Buffy.

“Hey,” Buffy finally managed. “It’s been awhile.”

“Been busy.”

Buffy decided she didn’t want to know what could have kept him so busy. “I, uh, I’m going upstairs. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom.”

She fled, knowing full well that’s exactly what she was doing. Joyce could ferret out her feelings better than anyone else, and if Buffy stuck around for too long, Joyce would figure out that there was more between her and Spike than a sense of duty.

It turned out that she hadn’t fled fast enough.

“I think you should talk to Spike,” Joyce said the next evening while they ate dinner together.

Buffy froze, trying not to allow her alarm to show on her face. “About what?”

“He’s lonely, Buffy.” Joyce’s tone was reproving. “He’s had a hard time lately, and he could use a friend.”

Buffy blinked. “He told you?”

“He told me enough, and he told me in confidence.”

Buffy knew her mother well enough to know that she wouldn’t get more information than that. “It’s not that simple, Mom,” she finally said. “He’s still a vampire.”

“He’s not hurting anyone.” Joyce’s expression was definitely motherly. “I thought I told you not to judge someone based on what they look like, but on their actions.”

Buffy couldn’t believe she was getting this lecture from her mom, now, and in relation to a vampire. “You did,” she said carefully. “But being a vampire isn’t something you can just stop. Come on, Mom. It’s not that simple.”

“Nothing ever is.” And that sounded like a parental proverb if Buffy had ever heard one.

For a moment—and just for a moment—Buffy was tempted to confess the whole thing, to tell her mother that she and Spike had been together, and he’d been the one to drive her back to Sunnydale. In a way it would be easier, whether her mother gave her blessing or turned on Spike.

Instead, she said, “I’ll do what I can.”

~~~~~

Spike knew that he had no business following Buffy around. He’d done it before, of course, but that was when he’d have been able to gain the upper hand during a fight. Now, he’d be lucky to get off with a beating.

That didn’t mean he could stop himself, however. Buffy fascinated him, and drew him to her like a moth to flame. He wanted her, and yet he hated that he wanted her.

Her friends were nowhere to be seen tonight; she was patrolling alone, and he admired her quick and graceful movements. Spike had noticed that she was hunting in earnest these days, chasing down vampires like a lioness chased a gazelle. He saw a fierce joy in her movements that he hadn’t noticed when Angelus was around, and Spike wondered at the source.

Spike suspected that she was coming into her full power.

Right now, however, Buffy had found herself in the midst of a knot of vampires; Spike recognized a couple. They were old, tough, and were moving into the power vacuum left by the departing Initiative.

Spike watched as they surrounded the Slayer with taunts and sneers; given what he knew, he’d put good money on Buffy. Even five against one wasn’t even odds when Buffy was the Slayer.

To his dismay, one of the vampires managed to disarm Buffy in the ensuing fight, and her stake went flying. The vampires closed ranks, and Spike realized that he could either stand by and allow her to be killed, or he could risk his head exploding.

His feet were moving before Spike realized a decision had been made.

Spike hit the biggest vampire with a flying tackle around the waist and waited for the migraine. It took a moment for him to figure out that the pain wasn’t coming, and another to recognize what that meant. But when he did, Spike threw himself into the fight with abandon, venting all of his pent-up rage on the vampires in front of him.

Not until they were all dust on the ground did Spike think about the fact that he’d killed his own kind to save the Slayer.

“I thought you said you couldn’t hurt anything.” Buffy stared at him, suspicion warring with gratitude in her eyes.

Spike shook his head. “Didn’t think I could. I can’t hurt humans. I’ll bet those Initiative wankers didn’t mind if the chip let me hurt demons.”

Buffy pushed her hair out of her face and retrieved her stake. “So, you just happened to be passing through the area?”

“If you like.” Spike wasn’t about to admit to anything he didn’t have to.

She regarded him with narrowed eyes, and he found it impossible to read her expression. “Do you want to join me? I still have a couple of cemeteries I should patrol.”

The thought of another round of violence before sunrise brightened Spike’s mood considerably. “Yeah, sure. I could do that.”

He fell into step beside her and kept his eyes forward when she said, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Spike found that he had a spring in his step that had been missing for quite some time.

Certain Dark Things- Part II

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 12:37:03 GMT

On we go.

Part II: Reconnection

The tension that filled the room was now creeping across her shoulders and up her neck, making her head ache. Giles had asked Spike the same few questions in a myriad of ways.

“How long were you held?”

“I don’t know.” Spike’s voice was carefully controlled, “but I think I rolled into town sometime in October.”

Buffy thought that was the third time Spike had given the same response; if Giles was hoping to trip Spike up, he wasn’t having any success.

“And what did they do to you?”

“I already told you.” Spike’s anger was like a living thing, and Buffy knew that it was only a matter of time before he snapped.

In fact, she had no doubt that Spike would have already ripped Giles’ throat out some time ago if he’d been capable of it. That was the only real proof she needed that the thing the Initiative had put in his head was working.

“Giles,” Buffy began, ready to tell her Watcher to back off, but she was interrupted by a perfunctory knock on the front door, followed closely by Riley’s entrance.

She shot Giles a betrayed look, but his face remained impassive. “He can corroborate Spike’s story,” he murmured.

Riley and Spike were staring at each other, and Spike had risen to his feet, hands flexing and the muscle in his jaw ticking. “What is Hostile 17 doing here?” Riley demanded.

“Hostile 17?” Buffy asked, a little confused.

Riley took a menacing step towards Spike. “He should still be in the Initiative.”

“Well, he’s not,” Buffy snapped irritably, stepping in between Spike and Riley, trusting that she would be able to stymie an attack if necessary. “Giles wanted you to corroborate his story.”

“So, you don’t trust me?” Spike growled behind her.

Buffy threw him a look over her shoulder. “I didn’t ask him to be here.” She turned back to her boyfriend. “Well? What did you guys do to him?”

“We put a behavior modification chip that send an electric charge any time he harms someone—or attempts to harm someone.” Riley’s hand drifted to his chest, and Buffy knew he was thinking of his own chip. Any hope that Riley might have an ounce of empathy for Spike died in the next moment, though. “But he’s a vampire, Buffy. Aren’t you going stake him?”

“No.” Buffy crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not.”

“What is it with you and vampires?” Riley demanded.

“Buffy—” Giles attempted to interrupt, but she ignored him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Buffy felt herself flush.

Riley took another step towards her. “You seem pretty cozy with vampires.”

“Two vampires,” Buffy corrected him angrily.

“Oh, so you slept with him, too?” Riley asked, his voice rising.

“As a matter of fact…” Spike drawled from behind her, and Buffy whirled to glare at him. There was a gleam in Spike’s eyes that told Buffy he was enjoying this confrontation all too much.

“Get out of here, Spike,” she said through gritted teeth.

His lips curved up in a cruel smirk. “My pleasure.”

Giles and Riley began protesting at the same time, and Buffy cut them off with a loud, “I’m the Slayer, and if I say hands off of Spike, then it’s hands off.”

All eyes followed Spike as he slipped out the door, and Buffy turned to face Riley and Giles again. “Look, Spike saved my life a couple of years ago when I was in L.A. Anything else that happened is no one’s business.” She headed for the door. “And I’m late for patrol.”

“I’ll come with you,” Riley called.

“Don’t bother,” Buffy said coldly. “I’ll call you later.”

Buffy wanted to be alone; she wanted to hunt vampires, to lose herself in the night.

No matter what else happened, she still had her sacred duty.

~~~~~

Spike’s first objective, after leaving the Watcher’s flat with a sigh of relief, was to find out what had happened to his car. He wasn’t surprised to discover that the DeSoto wasn’t where he’d left it, and a quick trip to the police station gave him the answers he needed—although not the ones he wanted.

Turned out the DeSoto had been towed months ago and sold at a police auction when it wasn’t claimed.

Leaning against the wall outside the police station, Spike wished for a cigarette and considered his options. If he’d been able to find his car, he probably would have hightailed it out of town, shaken the dust off his feet and tried to forget the last year.

Without the car, Spike’s options had narrowed. He could steal a vehicle, but the idea held little appeal. He wanted his car, and he wanted his coat.

Spike had lost everything, and he had no idea what to do next.

Running a hand through his long hair, Spike grimaced. First off, he needed to find out if the demon barber was still in the same place and get a haircut, then he wanted clothing he hadn’t worn for a year straight.

And he really wanted a smoke.

He pulled out the wallet he’d swiped from the Watcher with a smirk and searched its contents, coming up with a couple of credit cards and two twenties. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Several hours later, Spike stood outside the Summers’ house, sucking on a fag and wondering what it was about the Slayer that kept him coming around. She was shagging one of the sodding Initiative soldiers for fuck’s sake, he thought, taking another furious puff.

It was clear that she’d put the girl she’d been in Los Angeles behind her, not that he was surprised by that. Buffy had gone back to her life, and he’d gone back to his, such as it was, and they had both moved on.

But Spike found he couldn’t just forget. He held no hope of getting the chip out of his head, but he knew that at least around Buffy he had a chance of surviving. Anywhere else, and the other vamps and demons would be on him like a pack of wolves on fresh meat.

Tossing his cigarette butt aside, Spike headed toward the nearest cemetery. There was bound to be an empty mausoleum or crypt he could sleep in once the sun rose. After that, he’d consider his options.

He took a deep breath of the warm night air and glanced down at his dark jeans and long sleeved gray t-shirt; it wasn’t his usual wear, but he’d reinvented himself before. This time would be no different.

~~~~~

Buffy wished she could be surprised when Riley showed up at her house the next day. She hadn’t called him the night before, but it had been late when she’d arrived home, and Buffy didn’t want another argument.

She’d been too defensive on the subject of Spike, but it was a period of her life that she had blocked out, tried to pretend hadn’t happened. No one talked about the summer she’d spent in Los Angeles; no one mentioned that she’d disappeared for three months or asked what she’d done while she’d been gone.

It had been easier to forget, even though Spike’s appearance had immediately brought those memories to the surface.

She had been a different person then; that’s what Buffy had told herself, anyway. That was the only thing she could tell herself to explain why she had spent a month with Spike, or why she had missed him.

Not that she could tell Riley any of that.

“Can I come in?” he asked, managing to look sheepish and defiant all at once.

Buffy nodded and stood aside. “Sure. Mom’s at work.”

“Did you see him again last night?”

Buffy thought what Riley really wanted to know was whether she’d looked for him, whether she wanted to see him again, but she responded to the question he’d asked. “No, I didn’t. For all I know, Spike left town.” Buffy didn’t think he had, but Riley didn’t need to know that.

Riley shoved his hands in his pockets, and Buffy crossed her arms in front of her, mirroring his defensive stance. The awkward silence built, but she kept her mouth shut.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.

“Okay.”

“I just—” Buffy wondered what Riley would say, what he could possibly say to bridge the distance that had sprung up between them. Although if Buffy was honest with herself, the distance had been building since he’d slept with Faith during their body-switch. “It’s weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“You’re the Slayer, and you’ve…”

He trailed off, but Buffy could complete the sentence for herself. “Slept with two vampires?” Embarrassment and disgust flashed across his face, and she continued, “I haven’t asked you about every single woman you slept with. I think I deserve the same courtesy.”

“You do, absolutely.”

The tone of voice Riley used told Buffy that he didn’t believe his own words. “Yeah, but?”

“They’re vampires, Buffy. If you stake Spike, it’s all over with. You can be rid of him.”

“He’s defenseless.”

“He’s a vampire,” Riley said, as though that was the only thing that mattered.

Buffy forced a neutral expression. “He saved my life.”

Riley looked away, and Buffy had to wonder if this was the end. She understood that it was easier for him to see things in black and white. There were humans and HSTs, and nothing in between. She couldn’t see it that way, though.

She still remembered what it had been like to believe that everything could be seen in black and white, with no shades of gray.

“He’s still evil.”

“Maybe,” Buffy acknowledged. “He was evil when he saved my life, Riley.”

Riley paused for a moment. “The army offered to take me back,” he said. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Buffy knew where this was going. “Are you going?”

“Do I have a reason to stay?”

“Riley—”

“I love you, Buffy. Do you feel the same way?”

Buffy gaped at him. She wasn’t sure, that was the thing. She loved him—or she could—but only if he gave her the time.

Or maybe if she’d been able to be the woman she’d been with Spike.

“Can’t you give me time, Riley?”

“Buffy—”

“This isn’t easy for me.”

“I know.”

Buffy waited, wondering if she would be enough for him, just what she was, just what she could give him.

“Do you love me?”

Buffy rubbed her eyes. “I could,” she finally said. “If you gave me time.”

Riley sighed. “I can’t. I can’t stay not knowing how you feel.”

“I don’t even know how I feel!” Buffy protested.

“But you should know if you love me,” Riley responded.

Buffy wanted to; she wanted to be able to respond, but she couldn’t, not right now. “I wish I did.”

“I’m leaving town.” Riley swallowed; she could hear it. “They need me.”

“Okay.”

It shouldn’t have been that easy. Saying goodbye to the guy she’d been seeing for six months should have been difficult at best, but Buffy found it all too easy.

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“What else am I going to say?” she asked. “You’ve already made your decision.”

Riley couldn’t meet her eyes, and Buffy wished that it could have turned out differently. Maybe it would have if Spike hadn’t turned up, but that was a moot point now.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

And that was that.

~~~~~

Smoking was the one constant; Spike had been smoking cigarettes since the ‘50’s, even if he was missing the lighter he’d had for most of that time.

The sky was bright with stars, and he counted them silently, naming the constellations that he remembered from his youth.

Spike had missed this. He’d missed the night and the hunt, and he’d take one, even if he couldn’t have the other. Lying on the grass outside the crypt he’d stayed in that day, Spike blew out a cloud of smoke that briefly masked the stars.

“Hey.”

He recognized Buffy’s voice right off the bat. “H’lo.”

“You okay?”

“Doing all right.”

“You look better.”

Spike tried not to respond to that comment, even though it meant a lot that she had noticed. “Thanks.”

“You got a haircut.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“And new clothes.”

Spike didn’t bother to respond to that.

“I didn’t know Riley was going to be there.”

“I figured that out.” Spike didn’t feel like sparing Buffy’s feelings.

“Spike, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“You were the one who wanted me to talk to your Watcher.”

“Spike…”

He clambered wearily to his feet. “What do you want, Buffy?”

“I don’t want anything.” She stared at him exasperated. “I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”

“Now you know.”

“Are you staying here?”

“Where else am I gonna go?” Spike asked bitterly. “My car’s gone, I can’t fight, I can’t hunt. I’ve got nothing left, Summers, so yeah. I’m staying.”

He could see the pity in her eyes, and he hated it. Spike wanted to tell her to take her pity and leave him alone, but the words wouldn’t come. As pathetic as it might make him, he craved her company.

Buffy took a step closer, and her eyes were soft in the moonlight. “The Initiative is gone; Riley left, too. You’re probably safer in Sunnydale than you’d be anywhere else.”

Spike gave a half-hearted shrug and stubbed out his cigarette against the stone, then shoved his hands in his pockets. “Great. Then I guess I’m staying.”

He couldn’t prevent the bitterness from creeping into his voice, and he wasn’t looking at Buffy, which was why her shoving him up against the wall of the crypt came as a surprise. Spike tried to shove her back, more out of instinct than anything else, but he was forced to stop as the chip fired.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Buffy muttered at his involuntary cry of pain, pulling back. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No.” Spike couldn’t believe the word was coming out of his mouth, “Please.”

It felt so good to be touched; the Slayer’s hands were squeezing his shoulders, running down his arms. Her lips pressed into his again, and Spike nipped at her lower lip, this time feeling no twinge from the chip.

For a moment, Spike could believe that it was two years ago, before his life had gone to utter shit, before he’d been turned inside out while men in white coats watched.

Before he’d lost everything.

Buffy’s hands fumbled at his fly, and Spike shoved his hands up her skirt, pulling down her underwear and letting them drop to the ground. He picked her up, feeling Buffy’s legs wrap around his waist. He turned them both around to brace her back against the cold stone, burying his face in her hair, breathing in her scent, driving deeply into her.

She came apart around him, and he held her tightly, taking deep, unnecessary breaths as he came.

Buffy leaned her forehead against his and whispered, “This never happened.”

Spike closed his eyes. “I know."

Certain Dark Things- Part I

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 12:34:22 GMT

Written for seasonal_spuffy, and crossposted there. A sequel (finally) to Unsuffer Me.

Certain Dark Things
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters.
Summary: The sequel to Unsuffer Me. Spike returns to Sunnydale, only to find the Initiative waiting for him.
A/N: In this ‘verse, the events of “Lover’s Walk” never happened.

Part I: Recognition

Buffy nearly missed him in the melee. She was concentrating on her friends, who were bolting for the exit, and Riley, who looked as though he might topple over without her assistance. Her eyes scanned the room again, searching for threats that could come from behind, and passed right over him the first time. Other than his eyes, he was unrecognizable.

A second sweep, and Buffy’s eyes met his; she felt the shock of recognition in her bones and froze just long enough to have Giles turning to check on her. “Buffy?”

In an instant, Buffy made her decision, nudging Riley in Giles’ direction and turning back to the battle. “Get out of here!”

“Buffy!” Giles protested, and Xander and Willow turned to stare. “We need to leave!”

She shook her head. “Get Riley and the others out of here, Giles. There’s something I have to do.”

Buffy couldn’t explain, so she didn’t try. Instead, she worked her way through the fracas, avoiding the knots of fighters with the skill born of a hundred fights and made her way over to Spike.

She still had a hard time picking him out among the throng, he looked so different than when she’d last seen him. His hair was longer and curly now, his face bearded, his clothing hanging off of his thin frame. Spike had been lean before, but he appeared to be on his way to emaciated, his duster, which might have added bulk, nowhere to be seen.

Buffy wasn’t sure if he’d recognized her; after their eyes had met, Spike had gone back to concentrating on the battle, avoiding rather than engaging the foes surrounding him. His appearance, combined with how he seemed to duck the battle instead of fighting his heart out, told Buffy that quite a bit had changed in the last two years.

As she approached him, Spike whirled to face her, his face a mask of grim determination, and for a moment, Buffy wasn’t sure that he recognized her. “Spike?”

“Slayer.” His voice was toneless, and hoarse with disuse; it sent a chill down Buffy’s spine.

“We need to get out of here.”

He stared at her for a moment, his expression unchanging, and Buffy grabbed his arm to make her point. “Let’s go.”

Spike finally nodded, some hint of emotion entering his eyes as she led him through the fray. She noted that he continued to dodge blows and flying objects without attempting to fight back, and Buffy followed his example.

She didn’t have time to fight; Buffy needed to get both of them out of the Initiative before they were trapped; she didn’t think it would be too long before the rest of the army arrived with reinforcements.

Linking her hand with his, Buffy waited until they had reached the relative safety of the elevator shaft before speaking. “Can you make it up on your own?”

Spike regarded her silently for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, think so.”

“We’re below a frat house. Don’t stay down here any longer than you have to in order to let us get away. It’s still light out, but there should be places to hide in the house.”

Spike’s face remained stony. “All right.”

“Do you remember where I live?” When he nodded, she continued. “Go to my house. I’ll leave my window unlocked and the light in my bedroom on.”

Spike gave a short, jerky nod. “I’ll see you later then.”

Buffy nodded, searching for any sign of the Spike she’d known in Los Angeles two years ago. Most of the time, she forgot they’d even been together—but there were moments in the dead of the night when she remembered lying next to him in her narrow bed. Spike had been the best part of that summer in L.A., and her biggest secret.

The vampire who stood before her now, however, was ragged and obviously weary, bearing little resemblance to the one she’d known.

He said nothing, and Buffy had no choice but to strap herself into the harness that still hung down. Buffy gave a sharp tug on the rope and began to ascend slowly, Spike’s still, pale face growing smaller and smaller below.

~~~~~

Spike hadn’t been certain that he was actually seeing the Slayer until she touched him and he smelled her distinctive scent. For a moment, just a moment, Spike thought he was dreaming—but since his dreams usually ended with Buffy naked, spread out on silk sheets, he knew it was real.

Trusting her was another matter altogether; Spike had no idea what her connection with the Initiative was, although it appeared as though the Initiative might be crumbling.

Without money, or the ability to defend himself, Spike didn’t have another choice. He didn’t even know where his car was.

Buffy’s room was easy enough to pick out. She’d left the light on and the window open as she’d promised, and the branches of the tree in the front yard hung over the roof just outside her window. Spike found the leap to the roof more difficult than it would have been a year ago. He hadn’t had a good meal in months now, and he was weak.

Spike half-fell through the window, bracing himself on the floor with one hand and taking a moment to gather his strength.

Rising slowly, Spike glanced around the room, feeling like an interloper. Decorated in light colors and pastels, with posters on the walls and clothing scattered on the floor, Spike knew he had no place there.

He suspected that he had no place in Buffy’s life, and yet he would have to beg for mercy; it went against every instinct he had.

The door opened, and Spike whirled. Buffy slipped inside and softly shut the door behind her. “I stopped for blood,” she said, and he saw the tub of red liquid in her hand. “Thought you might be hungry.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Spike didn’t have the control to prevent the demon from coming to the fore. He drank quickly, draining the tub in a minute or two.

Buffy perched on the edge of her bed. “I guess you were hungry.”

“Been a while.”

“How long has it been, Spike?”

The Slayer’s expression was compassionate, and Spike looked away, unable to meet her eyes. “Long enough.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “You want to tell me why you weren’t fighting back there?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, and the sight was so familiar that a smile tugged at his lips. “Come on, Spike. I might be blond, but I’m not stupid.”

“But you’re not a natural blond.” She gave him a dirty look, and his smile grew.

“Spike!”

He shrugged. “You brought it up.”

“There was a battle raging all around us, Spike, and you weren’t fighting. That’s not like you.”

Spike stared at the floor, oddly unwilling to tell Buffy he’d been defanged. “No. S’pose it isn’t.” Buffy remained silent, and he paused a moment before continuing. “They did something to me, put something in my head. I can’t hurt anyone, Buffy.”

She stared at him. “They what?”

“They put something in my head,” Spike repeated. “If I even think about hurting someone, it’s like my head is exploding.”

Spike had expected the look he got from her, a mixture of pity and relief. “Oh.”

Suddenly angry, Spike spat out, “You might be okay with it, but I’m fangless. I can’t even protect myself.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Spike.”

“No, you’re not.”

Buffy looked at the wall just beyond his left shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. “Okay, I’m not, but can you blame me? I don’t want to kill you.”

Spike didn’t respond. He felt a boiling rage under the thin sense of relief from being out of an Initiative holding cell. “How did you get mixed up in this?”

“The usual way. I couldn’t help but notice when vampires and demons went missing around campus.” Her fingers worried the fabric of the bedspread; Spike knew she was lying, or at least wasn’t telling the whole truth.

Spike ran his fingers through his beard, scratching at the skin below. “Right.”

“Look, why don’t you stay here tonight?” Buffy suggested. “Mom has work tomorrow, so you can sleep, maybe get cleaned up.”

Spike snorted. “Yeah, I could stand a shower and a shave.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” Buffy promised, then rose, appearing nervous. “Why did you come back to Sunnydale, Spike?”

“What do you think I came back for?” was his rejoinder. “I wanted to see how you were getting on.”

Buffy offered a tentative smile. “I’m good. Really good.”

He had to ask. “Seeing anyone?”

Buffy shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah.”

“Serious?”

“I don’t know.”

That was a lie, too, Spike could tell, and he vaguely remembered the tall, beefy man he’d spotted next to Buffy in the heat of battle. He found that he didn’t want to know; Spike hadn’t expected Buffy to not date again, but it still hurt to know that she was with someone else.

“Yeah, all right.”

“Do you want to sleep?” Buffy asked. “We can probably share the bed. It’s big enough.”

Spike looked out of her window at the velvety, dark sky and thought of all those weeks underground. “Think I’ll sit out on the roof, if that’s all right.”

“Sure. I’ll leave the window open.”

Their eyes met, and Spike remembered other nights spent tangled up together, in silence, or listening to Buffy cry out in ecstasy as she came against him.

“Thanks, Summers.”

It was all he could say, however inadequate.

~~~~~

“Buffy.”

Giles’ grave tone notified Buffy that she was not going to like what he had to say. “What, Giles?”

“Why did you go back into the Initiative?”

Buffy wanted to look anywhere but at Giles, so she studied the titles on the spines of books littered around his living room, the fabric of the chair she sat on, the pattern of the blanket tossed carelessly over the back of the couch. Her Watcher knew her too well to be fooled by her lies, the way she could still fool her mother.

“I just had to go back for something,” she finally replied evasively.

He pulled off his glasses, and dug a handkerchief out of his pocket; it was a familiar sight that might have been comforting if she hadn’t felt like she was hiding something huge, or if shame wasn’t dogging her footsteps.

She had dreamed of Spike the night before, not Riley—of Spike’s hands and lips and cock.

“I know it’s more than that,” Giles said gently.

Her relationship with Giles was such now that Buffy wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him about Spike, their relationship in Los Angeles and how he was holed up in her bedroom for the day—with certain pertinent details omitted, of course.

Buffy sighed, deciding that she had no other choice but to be honest. “It was Spike, Giles. I went back for him.”

Giles didn’t ask her if she was insane, which was probably a positive sign. “I see. And you helped him to escape?”

“Yes.” Buffy decided that now was not the time to tell him Spike was currently asleep in her bedroom.

“Was there a reason you didn’t leave him to rot down there?” Giles asked.

Buffy winced, then decided that she didn’t have another option. “Do you remember the summer I was gone?”

Giles’ gaze remained steady. “Yes, of course.”

“Spike was one of the reasons I came back,” Buffy confessed. “We ran into each other when I was in L.A., and he…helped me.”

“He helped you.” Giles’ tone was carefully neutral.

Buffy rolled her eyes, more of a reflex than a response. “That’s what I said, Giles. He helped me.”

“For free?”

She thought of the sex, and remembered what she’d gained and what she’d lost. “Yes, for free.”

Giles sighed. “Where is he now?”

Buffy hadn’t wanted to answer that question, and she still didn’t. “Does it matter?”

“He’s in your home, then,” Giles stated, sounding tremendously weary. “Buffy, do you know the risks you’re taking by—”

“Do you think I’d risk my mom?” Buffy shot back. “The Initiative held him for a long time, Giles, nearly a year. He said they did something to him, put something in his head so he can’t hurt anyone.” When her Watcher still didn’t appear convinced, Buffy forged ahead. “He kept his promise; Spike stayed away. He’s not going to do anything that will make me stake him.”

“You know this for a fact.”

“I do.” Buffy met Giles’ steady regard without blinking or otherwise showing discomfort, and he finally nodded.

“Very well. I want to see him.”

“I’ll ask.” Buffy wasn’t going to make promises on Spike’s behalf, not when he had refused to pressure her one way or another. “I’ll talk to him.”

Giles raised an eyebrow. “What will you do with him, Buffy?”

“I guess I’ll wait to see what he needs.”

Giles nodded. “I see. And Riley?”

Buffy tried to keep the guilt off of her face, but didn’t think she’d been successful. “Riley doesn’t have to know.”

~~~~~

Spike ran a hand over his now-smooth face, then ran a hand through his hair. It was still too long, but he’d have to live with it until he could find a barber that was willing to serve a vampire. There had been a woman who had taken strictly undead clientele, but he had no idea if she was still around.

A knock came at the door, and Spike straightened slowly. “Spike? You okay?”

“Yeah. Be out in a minute.”

He finished drying his face, then opened the door, and saw Buffy’s eyebrows go up. “Looking good.”

“Thanks.” He jerked his head toward the bathroom behind him. “And thanks for the place to clean up.”

“Sure.”

An awkward pause followed. “I should get out of here, leave you in peace.”

“Giles wants to see you,” she blurted out.

His eyes narrowed. “You told him?”

“He knew I went back. I didn’t have much of a choice. I told him about L.A., too.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Everything?”

“I left a few things out,” she admitted with a coy smile.

Spike took a step closer. “You ever think about it?”

“Sometimes,” Buffy admitted. “It’s like it was another life.”

“Yeah, I guess it was.” Spike stared down the hallway, seeing the pictures on the walls, the homey touches. Buffy’s house was as different as could be from her dingy L.A. apartment, or the white cells of the Initiative.

“Buffy?”

Spike froze as a female voice floated up the stairs. He gave Buffy a panicked look, and she shook her head. “Hey, Mom. I’m up here.”

“Is there someone with you?” Joyce called out.

Buffy met Spike’s eyes and shrugged. “It’s Spike, Mom. It’s okay.”

Spike had forgotten that Buffy’s friends and family would be underfoot; they had always been alone in Los Angeles.

Joyce appeared in the hall, giving both of them a quick look. “Hello, Spike. It’s been a while.”

He tried to summon up a reassuring smile, remembering the ax Joyce had wielded, and knowing that he was defenseless against her these days. “It has been.”

Joyce looked to Buffy, and when Buffy nodded her reassurance, she turned back to Spike. “Would you like some hot cocoa?” she offered. “I remember you liked those little marshmallows. I think I still have some in the cupboard.”

Spike felt her kindness like a blow, and he nodded sharply. “Yeah.” As an afterthought, he added, “Thanks.”

Joyce gave him an uncertain smile, then went back downstairs. Buffy asked, “Will you talk to Giles?”

Spike shrugged. “Why not?”

It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

For Such A Time As This- Chapter 12

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 20:09:53 GMT

On we go.

Previous parts can be found here.

Chapter 12

A hand on his shoulder caused Castiel to force his eyes open, a pair of green eyes just inches from his face. “Hey.”

“Dean.” Castiel felt his lips twitch into a half-hearted smile. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. You’re the one we were worried about.”

Castiel tried to make his smile more sincere. “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

“Yeah, I guess. How did Molly get you to wake up?”

“She prayed.” Castiel had felt the weight of her words as Molly recited the words of the prayers, both ancient and not, and he appreciated what it meant for her to pray.

“I’ll have to try that next time.” Dean’s hand was still on his shoulder, and Castiel felt the warmth radiating through several layers of clothing. As though just realizing that he was still touching Castiel, Dean removed his hand and cleared his throat. “You hungry? Bobby’s making breakfast.”

Castiel hesitated, still unused to the demands that the vessel sometimes placed on him. “I’m not sure.”

“You’d probably better eat, then.”

“You guys aren’t going anywhere,” Molly announced as she entered the room. She pointed an accusatory finger at Castiel. “Remember our deal?”

He nodded. “I remember.”

“Good.” She turned her rather intimidating gaze on Dean. “Shirt off. You’re holding yourself like you bruised some ribs.”

“More like rebruised them,” Dean muttered. “I’m fine, Molly.”

“I’m the medical professional, remember? And I’ve seen you without your shirt on before. So, off.”

Dean flushed. “I don’t—”

“Now.”

He fumbled with the hem of his t-shirt; Castiel couldn’t keep his eyes off the skin that was exposed. Dean glanced up and met Cas’ eyes, and his flush deepened as he looked away.

Molly’s smirk turned wicked. “Come on, Dean. I’m sure that Castiel has seen your chest before, too. It’s a very nice chest, though.”

“Shut up.” Dean pulled the shirt over his head, moving slowly and stiffly.

“Shit, Dean,” Molly sighed. “You couldn’t have had Sam wrap this for you?”

“It’s just a bruise.”

“You’ve probably rebroken them. Idiot.” Castiel noted that she said it fondly, though, and her hands were gentle as she tested the bruise.

“Maybe cracked,” Dean hedged.

“Only cracked, huh? Big, tough man like you can handle some cracked ribs.”

Dean just glared at her, which caused Molly to laugh.

“Okay, I’ll get the bandages and wrap your ribs, then you two can eat and get some sleep.” Molly rose and walked out of the room, and Castiel tried to keep his eyes focused on the floor or the wall, anything other than Dean.

Castiel believed that what he was feeling was what the humans commonly called “desire” or even “lust”, but he had seen how Dean reacted after their brief kiss.

“Here.” Molly came back into the room with two plates balanced on one arm and a roll of bandages in the other. She handed one of the plates with its fork to Castiel and put the other down on the floor. “This shouldn’t take long, Dean.”

Castiel ate and watched as Molly wrapped Dean’s ribs tightly, her expression sympathetic as he winced. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“No big deal.” Dean took the plate she held out to him once she was finished. “Thanks, Molly. For coming on such short notice.”

“Hey, what else are sisters for, right?” Molly smiled at her, then pressed her lips to Dean’s forehead in what looked like a benediction. “Sam and I will help get Cas up the stairs. You don’t need to strain those ribs any further.”

Castiel cleared his throat when she left the room. “Don’t,” Dean interrupted. “I told you, it’s not like that.”

“I know.” Castiel risked a look at Dean. “I just meant—she called herself your sister.”

Dean gave him a sheepish grin. “Yeah, well, when I called the hospital, I said I was her brother.”

“I see.”

“I had to make the hospital think there was a family emergency. I was worried about you.”

More than the words, it was the feeling in Dean’s voice and eyes that caused a warm glow to spread through Castiel, and he thought that perhaps he hadn’t ruined everything after all.

~~~~~

“Okay, I can’t believe you actually got Cas and Dean to share a bed,” Sam announced, unbuttoning his shirt.

Molly shrugged. “Cas was easy, and I just pointed out to Dean that they both needed a bed, and mine was big enough for sharing.”

“So that’s why you’re staying with me?” Sam asked.

“And I missed you.” Molly smiled, but Sam saw the uneasiness flicker across her face.

“Molly, we don’t have to do anything. I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“I know. It’s okay, really.”

Sam reached out for her, then drew his hand back when she flinched. “Molly?”

“I’m sorry.” She sank down on the bed and covered her face with her hands. “I thought I was past this, you know?”

“What happened in New York?”

She shook her head, not looking up. Sam sat down next to her. “When we got ambushed, they forced me to drink demon blood,” he admitted.

Molly pulled her hands away from her face to look at him, shocked. “What?”

“Castiel risked his life to get to us, and then he risked his life to make sure I got the blood out of my system. But the desire for blood, it’s still there; it’s never going away.”

“I know. You’re an addict. Part of the whole package, right?”

“So, we both have issues.”

Molly rose and began to pace. Sam could see the tension in her posture, and although he wanted to offer her comfort, he kept his silence.

“The demon we met up with in New York, he was the leader of the cult my parents were in. You know all those stories you hear about cults? About what happens, especially to kids?”

“Abuse?”

“Yeah. He said some things, brought it all back. I thought…I was supposed to be moving past it, you know? Getting better. I was finally getting my life in order.”

“And here you are?”

“And here I am.” Molly turned to face him. “I know I have to be the one to summon the demon, and that we have to find out where Lucifer is so we can trap him. I know this was something I was meant to do.”

“Molly—”

“I just—can’t be with you in that way right now, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to. This is why every other relationship I’ve ever had didn’t work, because this part… I thought I could, but—”

Sam cut her off. “Okay.”

“What?”

“Okay. Look, I can wait.”

“For how long?” she demanded.

“As long as it takes.” Sam rose and put his hands on her shoulders. “You call the shots, Molly. You decide when. I’m not going to push you, or ask for more than you can give. We’ve already done that.”

She stared at him, tears in her eyes. “Sam, you say that now, but—”

Sam just smiled. “Molly, I don’t know if I’m going to survive this, or if Dean will, or what kind of shape we’ll be in at the end. Maybe this thing between us works, and maybe it doesn’t, but I’m not willing to call it quits now, not without trying.”

Molly put her head on his chest, and Sam wrapped his arms around her. For once, he was the one playing the protector; for once, he had something to offer that had nothing to do with his demon blood or hunting.

Sam hadn’t been able to say that since Stanford.

“Come on. We should both get some sleep.” Sam left his clothes on, not wanting to worry Molly any more than she already was. Molly was still in her scrubs, and she left them on, crawling under the covers next to him.

Sam waited until she’d moved so that they were spooning, and he put an arm around her, trying to make sure that he didn’t touch anything he shouldn’t. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah. I think I might sleep today.”

“Good. Me, too.” And Sam buried his face in Molly’s hair and closed his eyes.

~~~~~

Dean woke slowly, his arm thrown over a hard chest. He knew what he would find as soon as he opened his eyes, so he feigned sleep, wanting to stay just where he was without reality intruding.

“Dean?” When he didn’t reply, Castiel continued, “I know you’re awake.”

Swallowing hard, Dean opened his eyes slowly. “Hey.”

“Hello.”

Castiel’s eyes were clear today, the shadows of fatigue having faded.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked.

“Better. I believe I will be ready today, or possibly tomorrow.”

“We have to be sure Molly is ready.”

“She will be. She told me.”

“Good.” Dean had no idea what to say. He didn’t want to move, more comfortable where he was than any straight guy had a right to be. “Cas—”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t—I don’t want to lose our friendship.”

Castiel sounded tentative, as though he wasn’t quite sure that they were truly friends, and Dean suddenly couldn’t stand the distance between them. Acutely aware of his morning breath, he moved closer, pressing his lips to Castiel’s.

Cas responded almost immediately, and Dean had to be impressed with his learning curve, because he seemed to have figured out a lot since the last time.

Some sense entered Dean’s head, and he pulled back, “You won’t fall for this, will you? I won’t make you fall.”

The sorrow in Castiel’s eyes stole his breath—and not in a good way. “It’s too late, Dean. Falling is the consequence of disobedience. It is only a matter of time now.”

Dean shook his head desperately. “No. I know you didn’t want to. You were just doing what was right. Tzadqiel—”

“Is the angel of mercy,” Castiel supplied gently. “But he knows what all of my brothers and sisters know: when an angel disobeys, it is because someone or something has replaced our Father in our hearts and minds. I cannot come back from that, Dean.”

Dean blinked, the significance of Castiel’s words beginning to sink in. “Wait, what? Me? But—”

“When will you accept that you are worthy, Dean?” Castiel sounded impatient. “God ordered you saved; I believe that his plan will be brought to fruition, but if that takes my falling, it will be worth it.”

“No.” Dean rolled over, stood up. “You can’t fall for me, you son of a bitch. I’m not going to ruin another life. I’m not—”

Castiel had definitely recovered a good bit of his strength, because he was in front of Dean in the space of a heartbeat, pushing Dean back against the wall. It was the green room all over again, but this time Dean recognized the fervor in Castiel’s eyes for what it was. “You did nothing,” Castiel hissed. “I chose. This is what I want. You are what I want.”

It was all too much—and it wasn’t enough. Dean crushed his mouth to Castiel’s, hands kneading Cas’ thin shoulders, feeling stubble scrape across his chin. “You really got to get rid of that damn coat, man,” Dean managed in between kisses.

“If you think I should,” Castiel replied, managing to sound both accommodating and grateful. “I will.”

“Your choice,” Dean acknowledged. He pulled back, searching Castiel’s face for any sign of doubt or regret. “Cas—I never wanted this. I wouldn’t have asked—”

Castiel shook his head. “Yes, you would have, even knowing what would happen to me. To save Sam, you would have asked.”

Dean felt the weight of truth in his words. “Yeah.”

“I don’t mind.”

He sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me feel like an asshole.”

“I know who and what you are; you’re a good man, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, a reluctant smile curving his lips. “Whatever.” He decided to change the subject before things got too far into chick-flick territory.

“Will you run away again?” Castiel blurted out, clearly having no idea how to avoid girly moments.

The real fear of rejection in Castiel’s eyes caused Dean to flush and at least try to answer. He didn’t know how to feel about what was going on between him and Cas, didn’t know what to say or how to respond. All Dean knew was that the thought of losing Castiel hurt more than anything except the thought of losing Sam, and that death was at their heels.

“Carpe diem, Cas,” Dean replied slowly. When Castiel gave him a blank look, Dean added, “No, I’m not going to run. I don’t know what this is between us, but whatever it is, it’s real.”

Castiel put a hand to his cheek, cupping his face. “I’m glad.”

Somehow, in spite of all his confusion, so was Dean.

~~~~~

Bobby watched as Dean and Sam painted the Devil’s Trap on the floor of the abandoned motel lobby, Castiel offering suggestions for how to make it stronger. Molly stood, her back pressed against the wall, arms crossed tightly in front of herself. She looked freaked out, and Bobby didn’t blame her.

Normally, he was against involving civilians in this sort of thing, but they didn’t have much of a choice. No way would a random demon show up if the Winchesters, Castiel, or Bobby summoned them, not knowing that it would be killed.

“I believe it’s ready,” Castiel finally announced, then turned to Molly. “Do you remember the procedure?”

She gave a short, jerky nod. “I remember.”

“Molly, you don’t have to do this,” Sam said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We can find someone else.”

“No, you can’t.” She set her jaw. “I saw the newspaper today. More and more people are dying, and no one knows why. No one can stop it unless we find Lucifer. So, we find God damned Lucifer.”

Bobby nodded his approval and began setting out what Molly would need to summon the demon. Her face was pale as she started the ritual, but her voice and hands were steady as she lit the candles.

“Let’s go.” Bobby grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him up the stairs to one of the empty rooms, while Castiel did the same for Dean. Bobby didn’t miss how Castiel’s hand lingered on Dean’s arm even after they were far enough away to avoid detection.

“What happens if something goes wrong?” Sam demanded, beginning to pace. “What if the demon doesn’t walk into the trap?”

“That’s what the second trap on the ceiling is for,” Bobby reminded him. “Easy, Sam.”

“We both know how quickly things can go wrong,” Sam shot back.

Dean sighed. “Yeah, we do. No one wants Molly to get hurt.”

Silence fell as they waited for Molly to give them the signal. The loud blast of the safety whistle broke the silence; Sam was the first out of the room, his long legs putting him back in the lobby a minute before anyone else.

Bobby brought up the rear, seeing the demon standing in the middle of the Devil’s Trap, seething. Molly leaned back into Sam’s chest as he whispered in her ear, and Castiel strode forward. “Quickly, Dean,” Castiel said. “I’m not certain how long we’ll be left alone.”

“You’re going to die for this, bitch,” the demon said, wearing the body of a pretty woman around Molly’s age. “We’ll slice you up so slowly. You’ll think that time with Brother Andrews was heaven compared to what we’re going to do to you.”

“You won’t touch a hair on her head,” Castiel said authoritatively.

“Oh? Is the little angel gonna stop me?” the demon taunted.

Castiel raised a hand. “Silence.”

The demon went silent, glaring at Castiel ineffectually. Bobby had to admit he was impressed.

“Sam, take Molly outside,” Castiel ordered.

Sam looked over at Dean, a question in his eyes. Dean nodded firmly, but sympathetically. Bobby figured they both knew how hard it was to be out of the action, but he thought it was probably a good idea to get Sam away from any demon that might end up bleeding.

“Yeah.” Sam’s voice was hoarse, and he kept an arm around Molly’s shoulders as he led her outside.

“Give me the knife, Dean.” Castiel held out his hand for the knife that was already in Dean’s hand.

“But Alastair—”

“Was older.”

“Cas—”

“I would not have you go through this again, Dean. Let me.”

Bobby knew he was missing a lot of subtext, but Dean put the knife in Castiel’s hand, his hand lingering just a little too long on Castiel’s.

Bobby’s eyebrows went up, and he shook his head. The Winchesters never did anything by half measures, that was for sure. If things were any less serious, Bobby would have wished for popcorn.

For Such A Time As This- Chapter 11

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 19:27:46 GMT

On we go.

Previous chapters can be found here.

Chapter 11

The security system on the private collection of reliquaries was nothing Dean hadn’t dealt with before. He and Sam circumvented it and retrieved the reliquary without any alarms going off, although Dean could hear dogs begin to bark as he gunned the engine once they were outside the grounds.

“I don’t like this.” Sam sounded grumpy, and when Dean glanced over at his brother, Sam had the scowl to match.

“What’s not to like?”

“That was too easy.”

“So, now you complain about easy?”

“Nothing about this apocalypse has been easy, Dean,” Sam shot back. “I don’t trust it.”

Dean considered Sam’s point for a moment and acknowledged that he might be onto something. “What do you think we should do?”

Sam’s shocked expression told Dean that he probably hadn’t asked for Sam’s input nearly as much he should have in the recent past. “I think we should get as far away from here as we can,” Sam replied.

Dean considered it. “We’re both tired, Sam. I’m not sure how far we can get.”

“That’s what coffee is for,” Sam said.

Dean shrugged. “All right.”

After six hours on the road, Dean had to admit defeat, and he switched off with Sam to catch a nap. As tired as he was, Dean found it impossible to sleep; the brief kiss Castiel had pressed on him replayed over and over again.

In truth, the kiss itself wasn’t bothering him; Dean had fended off passes from guys in the past, usually with a laugh and a grin. Dean had never felt the sort of desire for another man that he felt for Castiel; he’d never felt himself harden at the thought of another guy.

Dean kept his eyes closed, leaning his head against the warm glass in the window, wishing he could sleep and get away from the thoughts circling in his mind. He had no idea how much time had passed when Sam broke the silence. “We’re going to have to stop, Dean.”

“I can drive for a while.”

Dean sat up to see Sam rolling his eyes. “You didn’t get any sleep.”

“I’m fine.”

“We’re both exhausted,” Sam contradicted him. “And you’re not going to stop the apocalypse if you get us killed by falling asleep behind the wheel.”

Dean had to acknowledge Sam’s point. “Fine.”

Sam took the next exit, stopping at a No-Tell Motel that advertised rooms “as low as $39 a night!” Dean sighed upon entering the room; as with most things in life, you got what you paid for.

“At least it’s clean,” Sam offered.

Dean grunted his agreement and collapsed face-first on the bed. “Did you put down salt?”

“Did you?”

“You’re not in bed yet.”

“Neither are you.”

In response, Dean let out a very fake snore. He could hear Sam’s annoyance, but then came the distinctive sounds of Sam rummaging for rock salt, and the swish as he poured it in lines in front of the door and windows.

“We’re all set,” Sam said quietly. “Try to get some sleep, Dean.”

~~~~~

Sam woke with a start, the sixth sense he’d developed over his years of hunting alerting him to a change in the room. For a moment, Sam couldn’t figure out what had changed, but as he scanned the room, he saw that the door was open and a maid stood in the doorway, moving the toe of her shoe through the salt line. A demon stood behind her with a knife to the side of her neck.

“Dean!”

Dean rolled out of bed, the knife from under his pillow in his hand, but demons were already pouring into the room. Sam found himself pinned to the floor by three of them before he could do more than make an abortive move toward the weapons bag. Dean managed to stab one of them heading in his direction, but three more took her place, pinning Dean to the wall.

“Sammy!”

Sam knew that Dean couldn’t see him over the bed that was between the wall and Sam, and he called out, “Dean, I’m okay.”

“Not for long, boy.” The man—demon—that swaggered into the room was clearly in charge, and he had a smirk on his face that said he knew he had control of the situation and he wasn’t about to lose it. “Move his brother so he can see.”

Sam struggled against the hands holding him down, but he found it impossible to throw them off. He could hear scuffling noises as the other demons forced Dean around the bed so that he had a view of Sam being held down.

“Leave him the fuck alone!” Dean yelled. “It’s me you want.”

“Dean, no!” Sam protested.

“You’re both wrong, actually,” the man in charge said. “We want what you were so kind to retrieve for us, but more than that, we want to be sure that Sammy boy here gets back on the right track.”

Sam began to struggle in earnest then, feeling raw terror surge through him. He already suspected what they had planned, but it was confirmed a moment later when the demon brought out a pocket knife. “No!”

“Now, be a good boy, Sammy, and open wide.”

Sam shut his mouth, pressing his lips tightly together, turning his face away. He could feel the rough, thin carpet press into his cheek, could see the bits of fuzz and other detritus that had been deposited under the bed.

Blood dripped, warm and wet, onto his face. The surge of longing, of sheer want, nearly had him turning to lap it up, but Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight. Dean’s voice buzzed in the background, but Sam was focused so hard on not wanting what the demon had to offer that he couldn’t make out what his brother was saying.

A hand pinched his nose hard, and after a few seconds, Sam had no choice but to open his mouth, tasting the metallic tang of new pennies that he remembered so well. He didn’t want to swallow, but his only other choice was to drown in it, and he still couldn’t breathe through his nose.

“Castiel!”

Dean’s shout came through the jumbled emotions in Sam’s head, the hot, heady rush of the power that demon blood offered him, and he thought for a moment that his brother had gone crazy. There was no way that Cas could come all the way from South Dakota, no matter how loudly Dean yelled.

And then Sam felt one of his captors yanked away, and he heard shouts of distress and anger. Sam felt a hand yank him to his feet, and he looked down into Castiel’s eyes. “Get into the bathroom,” Castiel ordered. “Now.”

“Dean—” Sam began his protest.

“You need to get it out of your system. Now.”

Sam couldn’t argue with the logic of that statement, and he stumbled toward the bathroom, shoving his hand as far back into his throat as it would go, triggering his gag reflex. He leaned over the john, listening to the sounds of fighting behind him, retching into the porcelain bowl, feeling nothing short of useless.

When he’d thrown up everything remaining in his stomach, Sam got to his feet wearily. The sounds of fighting had ended a few seconds ago, and he exited the bathroom to see Dean on the floor next to Castiel.

Cas was crumpled on his back, and Dean was running his hands down Castiel’s chest, searching for any sign of life. “Come on, Cas,” he was whispering. “Don’t you dare do this to me. I need you.”

For a moment, Sam felt as though his breath had been stolen away. The desperation in Dean’s voice was so clear, so raw…

Dean looked up. “Sam, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sam assured him. “What happened to Cas?”

“They hit him with some whammy.” Dean put a hand on Castiel’s chest, his eyes on the shallow rise and fall. “I don’t know. He just went down, and I can’t wake him up.”

Sam looked around at the damage that had been done to the motel room, at the bodies either unconscious or dead, including that of the maid, and he started looking for his pants. “We need to get out of here, Dean. We’ll get Cas into the car and take off. He’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

Dean didn’t reply, instead rising slowly to help Sam gather their few things. “We shouldn’t have stopped.”

“We couldn’t have known they’d be able to find us like that, Dean.”

“I should have known. One of us should have kept watch.”

“We laid salt lines,” Sam protested. “The demons got a maid to disturb them. We did everything we could, so could you forget the guilt trip for a minute?”

Dean took a deep, audible breath. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Stay with Castiel. I’ll get our stuff in the car, then we’ll both move him. We probably shouldn’t leave him alone.”

What Sam didn’t say was that he was certain Dean wouldn’t want to leave the angel. And no matter what Dean said, Sam knew that his feelings for Castiel were a lot more than friendly.

~~~~~

“Molly? You have a phone call from your brother.” Karen gave her a concerned, sympathetic look. “He says it’s a family emergency.”

She frowned. Her brother was in Afghanistan as far as she knew, and he wouldn’t be calling her if there was a family emergency; her abuela would.

“Hello?”

“Molly, it’s Dean.”

“What happened?” she asked immediately. Bobby had expected the boys to make it back in sometime that day with both of their religious artifacts intact.

“We were ambushed on our way back to Bobby’s. Sam and I are okay, but Cas won’t wake up.”

Molly blinked. “What was he doing there?”

“He showed up when I called him. Things got—tight. He won’t wake up and it’s been nearly twelve hours.”

Molly heard the panic in Dean’s tone, and she checked the clock; three hours to go until her shift was over. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she promised. “But I don’t get off until 7.”

“Just—get here.”

“I’ll do my best, Dean. I promise.” When she hung up the phone, she saw her supervisor staring at her. “I don’t suppose there’s any way…”

“Go.” Karen smiled. “I know you wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency.”

“Thanks.” Molly didn’t bother changing; she grabbed her things and left, climbing into the old junker that ran just well enough to get her to and from Bobby’s house.

One of these days, she really was going to find her own apartment. It turned out that she kind of liked Sioux Falls. As soon as this stupid apocalypse was over—and assuming that the world didn’t end—Molly figured she’d have time to look.

Maybe she’d even get a new car.

When she arrived back at Bobby’s place, the loaner car’s engine coughing irritably, Molly saw Dean pacing the front porch. “Where is he?” she called.

“Inside. Sam’s with him. Sam said I was making him dizzy.”

Dean looked like hell, dark shadows like bruises under his eyes, his lip swollen from what had apparently been a hard hit. He was holding himself stiffly, too, and Molly made a mental note to check his ribs for breaks later.

“You look like shit,” Molly said bluntly, walking past him into the house. “So, sit down before you fall down.”

Molly heard Dean’s footsteps echoing behind her as she walked into the living room. She saw Sam rise from the chair next to the couch, where Castiel was stretched out, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Molly spared a moment to give Sam a good look, cataloguing his injuries, noting his black eye, but also the easy way he’d risen to his feet.

“You okay?”

Sam nodded. “Check on Cas.”

Molly knelt next to the couch, feeling Dean hovering behind her. Molly’s fingers searched for a pulse, finding it steady, grateful that an angel would have such a basic sign of life. Peeling back his eyelids, she noted that his pupils reacted to light, and were the same size. “He’s going to be fine, Dean.”

“How do you know?” Dean demanded.

“Pulse is steady, pupils are responsive, and he’s breathing without trouble.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Not to mention that he still shows up angelic on my radar. But he was exhausted when we got back, and had no time to recover before saving your asses, so now he’s out cold. Give him time.”

Dean turned and stalked from the room without another word, and Molly frowned, rising to look at Sam. “What was that about?”

“He’s just tired; I wouldn’t take it personally.”

Molly sighed. “I don’t, but I need to look him over. He’s hurt.”

“I know. Just—let me talk to him first? I think Bobby’s making breakfast if you want something to eat.” Sam bent and gave her a half-hearted peck on the lips, then left the room.

She sat back down next to Castiel’s still figure, remembering what it had felt like to have his arm around her. His nearness had been overwhelming at the time, which might have explained why she’d lost it so badly. To have something—someone—so pure and righteous, and good, hold her after seeing Andrews again…

“These Winchesters are nothing but trouble,” Molly whispered. “I’ll bet you’d agree with me there, too.” He didn’t stir, and she hesitated, then pulled out the rosary she’d taken to carrying around with her.

Acting on an impulse she didn’t understand, Molly began reciting the words of the Pater Noster, and then the Ave Maria. She’d always loved the way the Latin fell off her tongue, the way her abuela had first taught her. Molly wondered if Latin was more effective; all the exorcism rituals were still in Latin, after all.

When there was still no reaction, Molly found herself praying the words that her abuela had spoken over her every night, no matter how often that Molly had insisted she didn’t need prayer.

“Loving Father,” she whispered in Spanish, the same language her abuela had used. “Watch over your child and grant him healing.”

~~~~~

Bobby paused, the fork he was using to flip the bacon hanging in midair, when Molly entered the kitchen.

“Dean, Cas is awake. He’s asking for you.”

Dean sat up straight. “What?”

“He’s awake, and he’s asking for you.” Molly sat down at the table. “Go on.”

Dean stared at her a moment longer before nodding once and heading for the living room, pausing only to squeeze Molly’s shoulder in thanks.

“Should I make extra?” Bobby asked.

“Maybe not bacon, but eggs and toast would be fine,” she replied wearily.

Bobby watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam reached tentatively for Molly’s hand. “Are you okay?” Sam asked.

“I’m okay. I’ll probably go to bed here pretty soon.”

“You could both use the sleep,” Bobby said from his position by the stove. “And Sam, if you can get that hard-headed brother of yours to sleep, that would be good.”

Molly smirked. “I’ve already spoken to Castiel about it. I think they’ll both be down for the count all day.”

“What did you do?” Sam asked.

Molly twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “I prayed. I figured I owed him that at least.”

Although Sam lowered his voice, Bobby could still hear him over the sizzle and pop of the bacon fat. “What happened between you two?”

“I ran into someone I used to know, and Castiel saved my life.” Bobby knew sore spots, and he could hear the pain in her voice. “I shouldn’t have frozen the way I did. We might have been able to get out of there a little easier.”

“We got what we needed,” Sam replied soothingly. “We can build the Devil’s Trap now, and stop Lucifer.”

“If the world doesn’t end before that.”

Bobby turned his back to the couple as Sam pulled her into his arms, not wanting to see anything he shouldn’t, and also wanting to give them some privacy. What with Sam striking something up with Molly, and Dean hovering over his angel, Bobby was beginning to feel a lot like a fifth wheel.

He put the bacon on a plate and began cracking eggs to fry in the grease. “Can I help?” Sam asked from behind him.

Bobby glanced behind him. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

Sam flushed slightly. “She went to look Dean over and make sure Castiel is okay. Do you need any help?”

“Watch the eggs,” Bobby said, pulling out the toaster. “We’re going to need to summon a demon, you know, and Molly’s got to be the one to do it.”

“I know.” Sam looked away. “I don’t like it.”

“She’s in this now, whether you like it or not, boy,” Bobby said quietly. “Castiel wouldn’t tell me what happened, not all the details, anyway, but she got shook up bad in New York. You might want to double check, see if she can handle this. If not, I might be able to find someone else.”

Sam nodded, focusing on the eggs in the pan, and Bobby sighed. He would be happy when the apocalypse was over, and not just from the standpoint of saving the world.

He was ready to have his house back.

For Such A Time As This- Chapter 10

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 08:11:11 GMT

Why, yes. It is 3 am where I am. No, I couldn't sleep. I guess that's a good thing, since I forgot to post this before the clock struck midnight.

Previous parts can be found here.

Chapter 10

“So, what’s the first item on our shopping list?”

Sam could hear the anxiety in Dean’s voice, but only because he knew Dean so well. “A shroud, located at the Holy Cross Cemetery in Pfeifer, Kansas.”

“And the shroud is supposed to…?”

“Protect the wearer from spiritual influence, such as possession.” Sam reviewed his notes. “It’s supposedly buried with one of the parishioners, so we’ll have to dig up the grave.”

“Old hat,” Dean commented, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Did Molly say anything about calling once they collected the first target?”

“Yeah, she said she’d call.” Sam twisted in the passenger seat to face Dean. “Is there a reason you didn’t want Cas to go with you?”

Dean’s hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles going white. “No reason.”

“Come on, Dean. I could be sharing a hotel room with Molly tonight.”

Dean shot him a dirty look. “Forgive me for not caring about you getting laid when we’ve got an apocalypse to stop.”

“Like you’ve ever let that prevent you from hooking up,” Sam shot back.

An uneasy silence settled over the car, and Sam cursed silently. There were times when he wished that the last year hadn’t happened at all; the trust they had built had been shattered, and Sam couldn’t help but think that had something to do with why Dean refused to confide in him now.

“How are things going with you two?” Dean’s voice was light, as though just making conversation, and Sam decided to follow his lead.

“Good. We’re taking things slow.”

“Not just a hook-up, then?”

“Molly’s different.” Sam couldn’t have said why she was different; maybe it was because she knew about the hunting. Maybe it was because she’d sat with him through the worst of the detox, and had seen him at his weakest and his worst.

And hell, maybe it was just because Sam wanted something more than a hard fuck; he wanted a girl he could trust.

“Yeah, she is,” Dean agreed. “It’s not every girl who’ll pitch in to stop an apocalypse.”

On an impulse, wanting to tease Dean and knowing that he hadn’t slept with anyone since Anna—and that his friendship with Castiel was the closest thing to a long-term relationship Dean had ever had—Sam asked, “So, what about you and Cas?”

“What do you know about that?”

Dean’s sharp demand had Sam’s eyes widening as he realized he’d hit a nerve. “Did something happen with you two?”

“What? No.”

Sam knew when Dean was lying. “Bullshit,” he shot back, point-blank. “No more lying, Dean. What the hell happened?” When Dean remained silent, Sam added, “Come on. This is important. If we can’t rely on Castiel—”

“Cas is reliable, and it’s none of your business.”

If Dean wouldn’t spill, Sam’s only option was to start guessing. “So…he’s in love with you?”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“He is!”

“I said, shut up!”

“What? Did he make a move on you?”

Dean’s stony silence told Sam everything he needed to know. “Dean. Dude.”

“Now is not the time, Sam.”

Sam snorted. “We’ve got a long drive. Why not talk about it?”

“Because it’s none of your damn business, that’s why.” With an abrupt jerk of the steering wheel, absurdly unlike how Dean normally treated the Impala, he pulled over to the shoulder. “You drive. I’m going to get some sleep.”

More to tease than anything else, Sam said, “You know, if you like him, I won’t judge you.”

Dean just gave him a dirty look and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Sam didn’t budge for a moment, sitting thoughtfully in the passenger seat. He didn’t think that Dean would be nearly so upset if there wasn’t real feeling there on his part; Dean had brushed off passes made by gay guys in the past without any sign of hard feelings.

With that in mind, Sam got out of the car, ignoring Dean’s silent treatment, and wondering how best to set his brother up with Castiel.

He thought that Molly might help.

~~~~~

Castiel sat silently next to Molly on the park bench, watching as her shoulders shook from unshed tears. He had no idea how to deal with this sort of emotion from another person, but thought perhaps it called for some kind of contact.

He cautiously put a hand on her shoulder, and she buried her face in his shirt. The movement hurt, and he could feel the bruises on his face, and his side, but Castiel knew they were not life-threatening.

And he knew that Dean would not allow similar injuries to stop him. “Are you okay?” Castiel asked quietly.

“Just give me a minute.” Her voice was muffled, but Castiel heard her well enough.

He looked around them, uncertain of where exactly they were. His only thought had been to get them out of the church and somewhere safe. Castiel hadn’t had enough power to determine their destination with any specificity. At the moment, however, Castiel thought they were probably in Oregon, since that was their next stop, and it was clear that they were in a city park, but he wasn’t sure which city.

Castiel liked parks. He had needed the peace they usually offered.

Acting on fuzzy memories retained from Jimmy, Castiel kept his arm around Molly, waiting for her to calm down. He released her as soon as she sat up straight, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Castiel replied. “How did you know that demon?”

“He was the leader of the cult my parents were in.” Molly pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead against her scrubs, her voice still hoarse with unshed tears. “He hated me.”

“Was he possessed at the time?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” Castiel had spent a long time observing humans, and he knew that she probably needed time to deal with what had just happened, particularly given her long history with the demon.

Molly sniffed. “Forget it. Let’s get out of here.”

“We can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I still need time to recover my strength.”

“Okay.” Molly clambered to her feet. “Okay.” She looked around. “Where are we?”

“Oregon. I think,” Castiel replied.

“We’ll figure it out, maybe find a place to sit for a while. I have some cash on me.” Molly stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Sorry about what I said earlier.”

“He hurt you.”

“It’s what demons do, right?” Molly’s smile was clearly forced. “No big deal.”

“Molly—”

“What do you want to know, Castiel?” she demanded. “Did he force me to perform sexual favors? Yeah, he did. He was a bastard. But he’s a demon, too, so what else did you expect?”

“I expected nothing,” he responded. “I thought I might help.”

“What does it matter?”

It sounded like what humans would probably call a rhetorical question, but Castiel wasn’t ready to let it go. Even before throwing in his lot with Dean, Castiel had watched humanity with no small amount of sympathy. Certainly, they were capable of great evil, but also of great compassion. Castiel had watched Molly treat Sam with tenderness and respect, even knowing what Sam had done, and he believed that she was present for a reason.

Even if that reason remained unfathomable to everyone but God—assuming He was still around.

“It matters,” he finally said, as certain of that statement as he was that Dean would save them all.

Molly gave him a disbelieving look, then said, “Yeah, everything you’ve ever heard about cults was true of ours, too. It was bad. I don’t really want to go into details.”

“Have you told Sam?”

“No, and I won’t unless I have to.”

“That may happen sooner than you think.”

“Maybe.” Molly sat back down on the bench next to him, her eyes fixed above. Castiel followed her gaze and saw sun-dappled leaves and pieces of blue sky. “It’s beautiful here.”

“Our Father’s creation is beautiful.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“There is no guesswork involved.”

“For you, maybe.” Molly rolled her head to look at him. “You’ve seen Him, so there’s no faith, either.”

“I haven’t seen my Father’s face.”

Molly sat up straight. “Really?”

“It is one of the reason I disobeyed,” he confessed. “I still believe that our Father is somewhere, that His will is to be obeyed. My superiors have put themselves in His place.” Castiel cleared his throat. “Some of them, anyway.”

“And Dean?”

“He believes that he’s doing the right thing.” Castiel didn’t add that he loved Dean for that, or that he believed that Dean was correct.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Molly seemed to read his mind, and for a moment, Castiel thought about denying it. He was certain that Dean would not want it to be common knowledge. “No.”

“You’re a really terrible liar, you know that?”

A smile touched his lips, in spite of the seriousness of their situation. “Yes. I have no practice.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Molly acknowledged. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“We love who we love,” Molly responded. “There’s nothing you can do about that.”

“And do you love Sam?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Because I believe that you might help him remain on the right path,” Castiel continued as though she hadn’t spoken.

“But no pressure, right?”

“You love whom you love.”

“Yeah.” Molly fixed her eyes on the playground equipment several yards away. “I don’t know, Castiel. I guess if we make it out of here alive, then I’ll have to figure out how I feel. Right now, though, I don’t know.”

“And do you want to talk about what happened?”

Molly closed her eyes for a moment. “Do you know why God didn’t answer my prayers?”

Her voice was little more than a whisper, and if Castiel hadn’t been so close, he didn’t think he would have heard her.

“No, but I believe it was a part of His plan.”

“I don’t believe there’s a plan anymore.” Molly opened her eyes to look at him. “I spent too many nights praying without any answers for that.”

“Perhaps you simply didn’t receive the answer you expected,” he suggested.

“Maybe.”

From her voice, Castiel knew that she didn’t believe him for a second.

~~~~~

“Well, that was a little too easy.” Dean wiped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket, knowing that he was probably just smearing dirt around.

Sam appeared equally uneasy. “Yeah, it was.” He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the screen. “I’m going to call her.”

Dean leaned up against one of the gravestones. “You’d probably better.” He couldn’t help but notice that Sam had Molly on his speed dial already, and he realized that he wanted to talk to Cas as much as Sam wanted to talk to Molly. Dean kept replaying the kiss over in his mind, and he wanted to let Castiel know that he hadn’t minded it so much.

“Molly?” The relief in Sam’s voice was obvious. “Are you okay? When we didn’t hear from you—” He stopped. “How bad?”

Dean sat up a little straighter. “What, Sam?”

Sam waved at him to be quiet. “And Cas?” There was another pause, and Dean’s mind went to all the things that might have gone wrong, all the ways Castiel could have been hurt. “Okay, well, call me soon.”

Sam got a sappy grin on his face at whatever Molly said in reply before hanging up. “Relax, Dean. They’re both fine; Cas is just tapped out. Molly said it would be at least a few hours before they could leave.”

“Where are they?” Dean asked.

“She said they were in Portland, and they would head out for La Pine as soon as Cas was ready.”

“But C—they’re both okay? Did they get the crucifix?”

Sam’s raised eyebrow and smirk told Dean that his brother was not at all fooled by his last minute switch. “Cas got beat up some, but he’ll recover. Molly sounded kind of shaken up, but she said she was fine.”

“Good.” Dean rose and picked up his shovel. “We’d better get going. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“Have you decided how we’re going to retrieve this one?”

“What? The reliquary?”

“Yeah. It’s in a private collection.”

Dean shrugged. “We break in and steal it.”

“Maybe we should try to buy it first?” Sam suggested.

Dean snorted. “With what money, Sam? Besides, we’re saving someone from a bloody end with all the demon activity.”

“True. Let’s get going. It’s a long drive to Texas.” Sam picked up the box they’d brought along for the shroud.

Dean followed more slowly, unable to get Castiel, and what might have happened, out of his mind. Castiel wasn’t his old, indestructible self anymore, and the idea of losing him hurt.

“You drive,” Dean called, tossing Sam his keys. “I’ll take over in a while.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam stashed the shroud in the trunk while Dean climbed wearily into the passenger seat.

But when Dean closed his eyes, all he could think about was Castiel’s brief, tentative kiss, and the fact that he wanted a chance to try again.

~~~~~

Bobby preferred easy hunts, but as he locked the lachrymatory in the panic room, he thought that this trip had been entirely too easy. The newspaper headlines were getting more and more depressing, and he suspected that the recent earthquake in Mexico and tsunami in Japan had something to do with Lucifer’s rise.

Not to mention the half a dozen school and church shootings. It seemed like the demons were doing their best to take every sacred space and turn it into a war zone.

The noise from upstairs cause Bobby to grab the shotgun he kept by his side at all times now, chambering a round with one easy movement. When he entered the kitchen, he found Castiel sitting at the table, his head resting on his arms.

“You all right?”

“Just tired.”

“I told you to go to bed.” Molly sounded exasperated from her position by the coffee pot. “You need to sleep, Castiel.”

Castiel raised his head. “I’m fine.”

“Go to bed.”

Bobby watched the exchange with interest, raising an eyebrow when Castiel pushed himself back from the table wearily. “Good night, Molly.”

“’Night.”

“Bobby.”

“Castiel.”

“I take it your errands didn’t go quite so easy as mine,” Bobby said once the angel was gone.

Molly took a sip of coffee. “No, they didn’t, but we got what we needed.” She nodded at a box on the counter. “You probably want to lock that up.”

“You called Sam and Dean yet to let them know you’re back?”

“Yeah, they know. I talked to Sam.”

“And?”

“They’re on their way to Texas, said they got the shroud, no problem.” Molly set her coffee cup down. “I have to get going. I’ve got work.”

“Be careful,” Bobby advised. “Chances are, the demons have your scent now.”

She snorted. “You’re assuming that they didn’t before.”

Bobby watched her leave, then grabbed the box, opening it to see the crucifix and scapular.

Assuming Sam and Dean managed to collect their artifacts, they might have an actual solution to the problem in the next week.

Bobby was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.