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Everyone had left her. Xander and Dawn were still at the hospital with Willow. Anya had headed back to Xander’s for sleep, food, and a shower. The Winchesters were out taking pictures of churches. For the first time in days, Buffy was utterly alone.
“I’m done!” shouted Andrew through the door as the toilet flushed.
“I didn’t hear the sink.”
“I just peed.”
“I don’t care what you did in there. Wash your hands!”
She heard the faucet run for a few seconds before Andrew opened the bathroom door. “It’s nice in there. I like the little towels. I bet the tub is great for bubble baths.”
“Shut up.” She grabbed his collar and took him back to the basement. He smelled ripe, not a surprise on day three of fear sweats. Was he still wearing the clothes he’d pissed himself in? Someone was going to have to babysit him while he showered, and it wasn’t going to be her.
“Do you have smooth peanut butter?” he asked as she locked him in manacles. “I like it better than chunky, and I was thinking maybe I should get a reward since I’ve been so helpful.”
She tugged on his chains once and said, “You killed someone, Andrew. You’ve been serving some sort of evil creature that’s out for me and mine.”
“But I’m good now. I’m helping.”
“One bit of information doesn’t make you a good person. You have to choose the right thing over and over even if it costs you, even if it hurts. Good guys aren’t good guys for peanut butter rewards. There aren’t rewards. Besides, you’re only helping us because you’re scared shitless Willow will skin you or Dean will maim you.”
Trudging up the stairs, fighting the full weight of her weariness, she heard Andrew say, “I’m sorry about Willow.”
“Shut up.”
She did need to make him something to eat but was content to let him stew for another hour. After all, she hadn’t had breakfast, either; she’d been too upset. She was still too upset. Morning had almost slipped away yet the mere idea of food made her stomach lurch.
After shaking the couch cushions and blankets just in case any stray glass had been missed, she flopped down with the remote. VH1 was airing a rerun of Behind the Music: Aerosmith, the only band in Dean’s collection she didn’t entirely hate. However, they debated whether or not “Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” counted as an Aerosmith song.
The credits were rolling by the time someone’s knocking startled her awake. Wiping the drool from her face, Buffy looked down at her outfit – green striped pajama pants and one of Dean’s band shirts. Don’t be Wood. Don’t be Wood. Although, in her current state, her stalker boss couldn’t argue with her calling in sick.
Peeking out the curtains and through the anti-demon symbols the Winchesters had painted on every window, she was relieved to see it was just a couple teenage girls, most likely selling band candy, something she always avoided. Reluctantly leaving the couch, she shuffled to the front door. “I’m sorry, but whatever you–” but the girls cut her off by pushing their way inside.
“Nice. Very cozy like,” said a Cockney girl in pigtails and a fuzzy pink coat. She wore sparkly star barrettes and hot pink lipgloss, as if she were daring time to drag her into adulthood.
“A bit small,” said another Brit in a twinset, nose in the air. Her thick eyebrows and severe, center-parted hair perfectly complemented the thin, angry line of her lips. “I don’t see how this will work for all of us.”
A brown-skinned girl in a Winnie the Pooh shirt, smaller than Dawn had been in years, sneaked inside and curled up on the couch. Rather than look around as the others were, she buried her face in her bear.
All of the girls had suitcases.
“So where’s the Slayer?” asked an American with long brown hair, pale skin and a smug twist to her mouth. Buffy didn’t like her. She had the same cocky body language as Faith.
“Excuse me?” said Buffy. “What the hell do you think you’re doing in my house?”
“Sorry to drop in like this, but we need your help.” She didn’t even need to turn around to know that gentle, smooth voice, welcoming as hot chocolate in winter.
“Giles!” she shouted, launching herself at him for a much-needed hug. He was warm, solid, and smelled like old books and home. He was in her living room.
He was home.
“My dear, you are crushing me. It’s nice to see you too; however, I wish it were under more auspicious circumstances. I see your taste in music has improved,” he said, pointing at Dean’s Led Zeppelin tee.
“Oh, it’s not – I mean – it’s been awhile since we’ve talked hasn’t it?” Where would she even start with Dean. Surprise, I have a new boyfriend, a time-traveling monster hunter from another dimension. And did she want to explain any of it in front of the clearly freaked out girls in her living room?
“Not since before Willow returned. I regret I’ve been busy with a slight apocalypse.”
“The First? The Potentials?” She looked at the four girls, all teens or early twenties.
“Why yes, how did you–”
“Let me get dressed like someone who doesn’t spend their day watching daytime television and we can play catch up.”
While Giles unloaded the car, the quartet of Potentials watched Buffy – the vampire Slayer – as she disappeared up the stairs.
“That’s the Slayer? I thought she’d be taller, bigger.”
“She seems nice.”
“She seems like a lazy slob.”
“She can’t be. She’s the longest-lived Slayer in history.”
“She must be good then.”
“The Council says she’s wild and unpredictable.”
“Probably a party girl.”
“She looks knackered.”
“God, she’s a mess.”
“She’s our only hope.”
Dean and Sam were heading back to the Impala after scoping out their nineteenth church. Nineteen empty churches with zero sign of captivity, and their only eye-witness was blind.
Everyone had spent most of the night before at the hospital with Willow, while Dean and Sam shuttled back and forth to keep an eye on the kid in the basement. By the time Dean brought Buffy home for breakfast, (which she had no interest in), she was nearly catatonic.
The question What next? made his blood run cold. The memory of Dawn shaking on the floor, the dead Bringer at Xander’s feet, floated over Dean like a specter. After a week brimming with panic over finding Buffy dead or worse, and then finding out something was taunting them in the dark, trying to pick them off one by one, Dean couldn’t sit still. So he’d grabbed his brother and done the only thing he could think of: searched for the church where Spike was being held captive.
Except that after an entire day of searching, he couldn’t fucking find it. Picking up a piece of broken wood from the parking lot, he beat it against a dumpster until the wood shattered.
Sam pulled the tweezers from his pocket knife and patiently began to remove splinters from his brother’s hands. “Calm down, Dean. We’ll find Spike.”
“I don’t give a shit about saving Spike! I wanna get this fucker that’s after Buffy and her friends.”
“That’s what we all want. Willow is my friend too, remember? She’s smart and sweet, and she shouldn’t be laying in a goddamn hospital room wondering if she’s ever going to see again. But hurting yourself isn’t going to help us!” Sam yanked out the last splinter and sighed. “Look, we’ll figure it out, just like always. Just…stay with me, okay?”
Dean leaned against the Impala, too weary to move. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Buffy, Sammy. Not now. For the first time in this godawful life, I-I…” The words were buried beneath decades of trained apathy, and no amount of prodding could pull them up.
“I know,” Sam said, pulling his brother in for a quick, hard hug. “She’s a survivor, man. Among the three of us, she’s died the least.”
Dean snorted in acknowledgment of their sad, weird reality.
“C’mon, we have two more places to check out. Then we can head back to Buffy’s. How about I babysit the hostage? Then you can take your girlfriend back to our place for a while. Relax a little.”
“Thanks, Sammy.”
The next two churches didn’t have windows like Willow had described – dark, old rose windows. But the day wasn’t a total failure. At least they had pictures to show Willow when she could see again. It didn’t feel like enough for Dean, but he needed to be strong for Buffy.
“You think the demon-proofing will help?” asked Sam as they pulled onto Buffy’s street.
“Hope so. She wasn’t exactly happy about it.”
“Like magic symbols on the windows are the weirdest thing to happen at the Summers house.”
A rental car sat in the driveway, and Dean tried to remember who all Buffy had called in the last two days. “You know that car?”
“No.”
The boys shared a look and unholstered their guns. Weapons at their sides, they slowly opened the front door. The house, crowded with four young women he’d never seen before and a familiar-looking grey-haired man sitting knee-to-knee with Buffy, fell silent.
Relief washed over his girlfriend’s face as she bounded straight to him and whispered, “I’m sorry, I should have called,” then turned and addressed the room. “Everyone, this is Dean and Sam Winchester.”
“Blimey, I feel safer now,” said an English girl in pigtails and a riot of color.
“Dean, Sam, these are a few Potentials and –”
“Rupert Giles,” said the man, smiling and extending his hand.
Dean froze. Rupert Giles. Buffy’s Watcher. For all intents and purposes, Buffy’s father. For the first time in his life, Dean was both incredibly aware of his hands – Did they just dangle at his sides all day? What on earth should he do with them? – and incapable of moving them.
Sam, having already remembered to reholster his gun, reached across him to shake Giles’ patient hand. “Hi! Buffy didn’t tell us you were coming.”
Dean hated small talk, thought of himself as a straight shooter. Get to the point even if it was ugly. Today, he was thankful for his brother’s gift with words and people.
“So sorry. I neglected to give notice. A bit busy,” he said, gesturing at the girls.
“I’m Sam. I don’t mean to be rude getting straight to business, but we’re in kind of a crisis. Did you bring any reference materials with you?”
While Sam and Giles discussed books, Buffy led Dean out to the front porch. She wrapped her arms around his waist; he kept his eyes on the door. “Baby, your eyes are like saucers. It’s just Giles. He’s here to help! Why the gun?”
Dean quickly shoved his handgun back into his coat. “Th-that-that’s your dad.”
“No, my dad is a cheating nobody who committed me. Giles is my Watcher.” She said it cheerfully, as if the second part could fully erase the first, but Dean knew from experience that wasn’t the case.
“But he, um–”
She pulled his face towards hers. “He’s not here to haze you. He’s here with answers and a tiny little untrained army.” She was beaming now, Giles and answers clearly overpowering any worries she had about the Potentials.
“What else did you ask Santa for?”
“Several uninterrupted hours with you in bed,” she said. She moved in to kiss him, but he pulled back, fixated on the door. “This complete freak out is adorable. Dean Winchester, killer of demons and monsters, Hell’s most wanted, is scared of a bookish Englishman. Babe, Giles is going to like you because I like you. You don’t need to worry.”
He grabbed his fear by the throat and shoved it down. Focus, Dean! Focus! “Council got ahold of him then?”
In an instant, her smile disappeared. “No, um, Giles is here alone. Well, as alone as you can be with four girls. The Watcher’s Council sort of…exploded.”
“Sort of? Things don’t sort of explode.”
“It super exploded. Dean, someone bombed the place. Everyone died. The books, papers, journals, everything burned up. There are a few Watchers scattered around the world with their Potentials, but they’re being killed off too. We’re at war.”
He was still processing bombed when Giles and Sam joined them on the porch. “Buffy, the girls understandably have a lot of questions about the Slayer. Seeing as I’ve been running around the world for the last forty-eight hours, I was hoping you could answer them while these gentlemen and I grab some lunch.”
“You’re leaving me alone with them?! But they’re rude and annoying! If the PTA-looking one hmm’s at me one more time, I’m chucking her in the basement.”
“They are young, frightened, and far from home. While Annabelle and Dani have been in training for some time, they still do not grasp what they’re up against. Furthermore, Molly and Cloé had no idea vampires were real. Besides, you are the most qualified person to tell them what being the Slayer is like.”
“For you, Giles. I’m doing this for you,” she said as she returned to the house.
Rupert Giles was tall and slim, with tired grey-blue eyes and a mouth that clearly split its time between bemused grins and taut concern. He was currently doing the former as he looked at Dean. “Would you mind terribly driving? I’m afraid I am rather tired from my globetrotting.”
“Let’s go,” said Dean heading toward his beloved Impala.
“What a beautiful car,” said Giles, sliding into the backseat. “After lunch, could I get a peek at the engine?”
“Sure thing.”
“So Giles, what whirlwind have you been caught in?” Sam asked.
“The days have sort of blurred together. Let’s see, I broke into my former employer’s to steal their records and resources, picked up one Potential in London and other in Manchester, flew to Wuhan for a third only it was too late, then returned to the States to gather girls from Connecticut and Oklahoma before landing in Los Angeles this morning. I think that’s what happened. There was also a good deal of debate about boy bands versus girl groups. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for this brief respite.”
“When you say you were too late, you mean the girl was dead?” asked Dean.
“Unfortunately, yes. Buffy’s theory was spot on.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“What theory?” asked Sam.
“You know those freaky dreams Buffy’s been having for months? She thought it was the Bringers killing Potentials. Wipe out all the Potentials–”
“Then the Slayer. Then there’s no one fighting evil,” said Sam, filling in the details. “Shit.”
“So what all has Buffy told you, Giles?”
“In the brief moment we had without the girls, she told me about your rather busy week. Good Lord. Ghosts and Bringers and Willow’s been blinded. The girls will question whether they are any safer here.”
“They’re plenty safe,” said Dean, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “Buffy ain’t gonna let anything happen to them, and Sam and I’re here too. We got this.”
Giles smiled at him warmly. “She refrained from telling me anything about the two of you. I believe her words were ‘That story is beyond Sunnydale-levels of weird.’”
Abandoning the idea of Gordo Taco, Dean hung a right, heading toward Sam’s favorite sandwich shop. “In that case, lunch calls for beer.”
Buffy, feeling more awake and confident in her work clothes, surveyed the girls on her couch. She could do this. It was just like helping teenagers with their problems at work only four times as hard and certainly more deadly.
“When are we starting training?” Annabelle lobbed the question like a teacher giving a pop quiz. “What is your daily regimen?”
“Is Buffy Summers your real name or your secret identity?”
Buffy took a deep breath. “Buffy’s my real name, and I–”
But the girls were just warming up with questions, blasting them out like a fire hose.
“What’s it like having superpowers?”
“If vampires are real, does that mean other monsters like werewolves and mummies are real too?”
“Who graffitied your ‘ouse?”
Buffy shook her head. “It’s not graffi–”
“How many vampires have you killed?” asked Dani with a smug smile. “Have you fought more than one blood-sucker at a time? Have you ever been bitten? Did it hurt?”
“How many ancient languages can you read? I can read six, but I anticipate mastering Egyptian hieroglyphics very soon.”
“Did you feel different when you became the Slayer?”
“How much can you lift?”
“Do you ever get scared?” Cloé asked, tugging at her bear’s ears.
“Yeah,” Buffy said, making eye contact with the girl to make sure she heard.
“Are you, like, invincible?”
“What’s your favorite weapon?” Dani asked in a tone that indicated there could be a wrong answer. “Stakes are simple and reliable, but I like a crossbow myself.”
“Since you ‘ave all of this energy and stuff, can you eat whateve’ you want? Living on chocolate ice cream an’ trifle don’t sound so bad.” Molly rubbed her stomach. “You got anyfing to eat?”
“Will we be safe here?” Annabelle asked, a tremor in her voice betraying her veneer of confidence. “Have you encountered the Harbingers of Death yet? I saw them murder my Watcher.”
“You’re safe,” Buffy promised.
Barley & Rye was nearly empty so late in the afternoon. The Winchesters grabbed a booth at the back and stuck to discussing work and life on the Hellmouth until food and beer were in hand before giving a brief explanation of how they arrived in Sunnydale.
Post revelation, Giles stared at his glass as if it had a more rational explanation for what he’d just heard. Then, he started to giggle; a hands-over-the-mouth, tears-streaming-from-the-eyes giggle.
“You are telling me at an angel, a creature no one in the entire history of the Council has heard of being any more legitimate than flying reindeer, moved you both here from the future and a different dimension. A human dimension, similar to this one no less.” He took a long draught from his stout, and putting his glasses back on, looked at them both with great interest. “Buffy, a relatively rational young woman, believes your codswallop; so I will go along. Please explain to me both how you came to this alternate dimension conclusion, and why.”
“We’re all in agreement other dimensions exist, correct?” started Sam. “Heaven and Hell are real places a soul can visit, and according to ex-demon Anya, there are hundreds, if not thousands of Hell-like, Hell-ruled, or hellish dimensions.”
“But nothing that can sustain a human body. Nothing with cars, beer, and damn good rock music,” Giles said, tipping his drink toward Dean.
“No way this is the same place we’re from,” said Dean before digging into his philly.
“A lot of things are the same, but there’s a good number of differences both small and large. There’s minutia like entertainment and the odd historical fact that’s different; but what is the weirdest is how people are and aren’t the same between the two worlds. For example, in both worlds, John Wayne is a movie star famous for playing cowboys. Meanwhile, we’re nowhere to be found. You’ve heard of The Vampire Chronicles featuring the vampire Lestat?”
Giles rolled his eyes and waved at the waitress for another beer.
“They’re written by Howard O’Brien, but back home, she uses the pseudonym Anne Rice. It’s the exact same person though.”
“Thank God the romanticization of vampires is consistent.”
“At least they don’t sparkle,” Dean muttered.
Sam continued, “Horror-fiction aside, we’re probably looking at a dimension that’s not entirely separate, if one person can lead a relatively similar life in both places.”
“Do you have more examples of this phenomenon?”
The brothers exchanged a quick, nervous glance and decided to plunge in. “We haven’t told anyone about this, not even Buffy. You can’t say anything. They’d freak the fuck out.”
“We met Tara back home,” said Sam.
“You what?”
“It took me a while to figure it out. She looks different in the pictures. Different hair. Different body language. Different name. But we met her, or maybe her evil twin.”
“Evil?”
“The Tara we met, Lenore, was a vampire,” Sam said.
“Dear God.”
“That’s why we haven’t told anyone,” added Dean.
“That’s wise. I will keep your confidence.” Giles idly rubbed his fingers over his fork. “Did you, um–”
“We left her alive,” said Dean. “She was feeding off cattle, not people.”
“Concerned for others even when she’s at her worst. Sounds like Tara.” A brief, pained smile flitted across Giles’ lips.
The waitress returned with another round, and Giles mulled over their story as he finished his turkey club. “‘Back home,’ as you call it, you’re not a school librarian and a handyman, but rather freelance monster hunters?”
“We don’t have designated supergirls where we’re from,” said Dean as he snatched some cold fries from Sam’s plate.
“You are from a world without a Slayer, as far as you know. So what, people rise up and take arms against the monsters?”
“Damn straight.”
“That’s one of the things that’s bothered me since we got here,” said Sam. “Back home, there are hunters, ordinary people like us, who started tracking and killing monsters. Here everyone is under a spell.”
“A spell?” asked Giles, surprised.
Sam sighed. “We’re living on a Hellmouth, but it seems people have to have a certain level of exposure before they notice the supernatural all around them, which sucks for the people who get eaten. We haven’t figured out the source yet, but it means that wiping out the Slayers is a real threat, since next to no one fights back.”
“The monsters aren’t the same anyway,” continued Dean. “Vampires are nearly extinct where we’re from. They don’t do the weird face transformation. They don’t burn up in the sunlight. They don’t poof when you kill them, that’s for sure. The demons are off, too. Ours are spirits that possess people.”
“Spirits that possess people? How do you begin to fight that?” asked Giles.
Dean opened his mouth, but no words came out. Did he want to confess this to Giles an hour after meeting him?
Sam jumped in. “We can either exorcise it, or unfortunately, kill it in the host.” The somber librarian didn’t blink or recoil. “Most of the time, if we exorcise the demon, the host is either already dead, mortally wounded, or batshit crazy. It’s more merciful.”
A silence fell over the table. Giles pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to clean his glasses. “This job is mostly awful. It sounds noble on paper. Save the world. Fight evil. However, the reality is a good many innocents die, and sometimes it’s because they have to.”
Forgoing eye contact and further dark revelations, the men drained their new beers.
Giles cleared his throat and said, “Let’s assume for the moment you aren’t complete maniacs–”
“Thanks?”
“–and everything you’ve said is true. Why would there be two nearly identical dimensions?”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe it’s some sort of experiment. One world is the control, and the other is being tested?”
“Angels are dicks like that,” added Dean.
“Then why would an angel help you? What makes you perfect candidates for experimental world hopping?”
It was Dean’s turn to shrug. He found Giles to be warm and wise, much how Buffy had always described him, but now wasn’t the time to lay all the cards on the table. “I stopped caring about the whys and hows a few months in. Honestly, coming to Sunnydale is one of the best things to ever happen to us.”
After showing the girls where they could find everything to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and explaining pb&j to the Brits, Buffy tried to sneak upstairs to grab some aspirin for her throbbing headache.
She wasn’t even to the bottom of the steps when Cloé nervously asked, “I-Is that shouting coming from downstairs?”
Buffy turned on her heel. “We kinda have a hostage–”
“What do you mean, you ‘have a hostage’?” Dani couldn’t cover the shock on her face.
“I’ll answer that in a second,” Buffy said with a tight grin.
But the girls were already following her. “Mr. Giles said ‘is Watcher training didn’t prepare ‘im for you. Wuz ‘e mean?”
“Does, uh, did the Council pay you?”
Dani snorted. “Didn’t you have a tantrum and quit the Council?”
Saved by the giant bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet, Buffy swallowed three pills before turning to face the crowd that had followed her to the bathroom. “Okay, here’s the thing about the Coun–”
“Does your boyfriend live ‘ere?” Molly asked with a big grin. “Is ‘e a Slayer too?”
“Don’t be stupid,” snapped Dani. “There aren’t any boy Slayers.”
Molly’s mouth fell open in horror. “Wot? You’re havin’ a laugh, right?”
“Do you think it’s appropriate to be distracting yourself with a boyfriend? The fate of the world is on your shoulders,” Annabelle said.
Buffy pursed her lips and glared at the girl. “He’s not any of your–”
Cloé moaned. “Is there only one bathroom?”
“Where shall we be sleeping?” asked Annabelle stepping into the hall. “I didn’t exactly pack well, what with the running for my life and all.”
“I heard you’re friends wif a witch,” Molly said.
“I heard you’re friends with a vampire,” Dani accused.
“Is it true you died, and there’s another Slayer?”
“What was dying like?”
When they returned to the Summers’ house, Sam headed inside to scour the new books for information, and Giles reminded Dean he wanted a peek under the Impala’s hood.
“That is certainly…” He scratched the back of his neck as he searched for words. “It’s very clean in spite of all the oil and grease and–”
“You don’t know anything about engines, do you?”
“Afraid I haven’t a clue.”
Closing the hood, Dean asked, “So what’d you wanna talk about without Sam around?”
“Personal matters.” Quietly, with his hands shoved in his pockets as if the mere topic embarrassed him, Giles asked, “How long have you and Buffy been together?”
“Four months now. Maybe five? I’m not so sentimental with dates.”
“Sparing as much detail as possible, would you call this relationship serious or an innocent dalliance?”
“Feels pretty damn serious,” he said, leaning against his car and wondering where this was headed.
“I’m not sure if that will make what I’m about to say better or worse.” Giles leaned on the Impala beside him, took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. Worry settled into his face aging him. “Have you lost anyone, Dean?”
“Everyone.”
“People close to you?”
“The closest.”
Giles slowly, painfully nodded the familiar me too of hunters-in-passing. “I don’t suppose you’ve lived through an apocalypse, so I wanted to prepare you. People are going to die. The girl in Wuhan was in pieces. I found Annabelle hiding under a trap door covered by her Watcher’s dead body. She’d been there two days.”
“We can protect the girls.”
“I am sure you’ll do your best, but that’s not my concern at the moment. Dean, Buffy is a hero. A champion. If defeating this evil means sacrificing herself, she will do it. Much as she may care for you, you won’t be able to talk her out of it. You need to be prepared for the reality that Buffy may not live through this. I have buried my entire family and many friends, some of whom were murdered. Even so, I wasn’t prepared when I had to bury Buffy. She did tell you about that? Good. She’s one of the most remarkable people I’ve ever known, but she is not immortal.”
“We’ve talked about it.”
“You have?”
“No one leaves this life with a gold watch and a retirement party. We know that.”
“It’s one thing to hold the idea in your head and entirely another to say it out loud.”
Two doors down, a woman was struggling to keep a lighted Merry Christmas sign from falling over. The stakes weren’t in the ground far enough. She propped it up with a piece of wood, but threw it away. It must have ruined the look. Bending, pressing, propping, finally the sign was upright and broadcasting holiday cheer to the neighborhood; but as soon as she went inside, the sign fell flat.
“Thanks for the warning, but I say things when I need to,” said Dean.
Staring at the newly empty linen closet, Buffy realized she was going to have to wash the mound of dirty towels in the basement. Maybe one of the girls could do it; it’s not like she could wait on them until this passed. How long would that be? Girls in her kitchen, eating her food, peppering her with questions like they were on a weekend retreat for Advanced Slaying 401. The Winchesters spent much of their lives on the run. Maybe they had tips. Homelessness 101.
“Buffy?” Her Watcher’s voice pushed all the conversation her mind. “Are the girls settling in?”
“Super cozy. I was thinking of tossing some doilies around, getting a cat or five, and opening a B&B.”
“Dean doesn’t strike me as a cat person.”
“Is that bad?”
“He seems like a decent fellow. I rather like him, not that my opinion matters in this area.” He was half right. As with previous boyfriends, she’d continue to see who her heart lead her to, approved of or not. Still, hearing good things instead of cautionary critiques was a welcome change of pace. “I’m not sold on his angel story.”
“Couldn’t let me be happy, could you?”
“Angels do not just move nobodies across dimensions.”
“Are you basing this on some Dateline exposé, because I’m behind on late night scandal TV. I know there isn’t a volume on typical angel behavior.”
“If it really was an angel, why would it help the Winchesters, who claim to be insignificant, yet never help you?”
“My plucky can-do attitude?”
“I’m not saying either Dean or Sam have sinister intent, but I’m not sure they are sharing the entire story. Anyway, I just wanted to check in before helping Dawn and Sam with research. You would bypass the bookish one and fall for the motorhead.”
She couldn’t help but grin at the fatherly annoyance in his voice. “Did Sam tell you he has your old job?”
“Indeed. Perhaps I can convince him to further follow in my footsteps by becoming a Watcher. We’re going to need to rebuild.”
“Hi-ya, Giles!” said Xander appearing in the hall with a small basket of laundry. “Glad you’re here. Can’t talk. Gotta dress the hostage. Dear God, what is my life? Incoming!” he yelled, opening the bathroom door and tossing the basket inside.
Buffy headed downstairs and found Dean in the kitchen, poking through the fridge while Molly leaned over the counter, staring at him wistfully.
“So will you be comin’ wif us when we go out trainin’?” Molly asked coquettishly. “I’m bloody excited about it. This whole thing’s like a big adventure. I ain’t never left Manchester. Me mates an’ I were talkin’ ‘bout goin’ to Liverpool for a match in the spring, but we ain’t got enough quid to rub together let alone splash out.”
Dean spotted Buffy from the corner of his eye, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Hey Girly. I’m running to the store. Need me to grab anything?”
“The peanut butter and jelly were fully plundered. No survivors.”
“Got it,” Dean said, pulling her in and planting a kiss beneath her ear. “Feeling good enough to eat something then?” he whispered.
“Don’t mind me! Snog away.” Molly, who had asked non-stop questions about the Winchesters, rested her cheek on her laced fingers as if she were watching her favorite scene in her favorite romance.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “At ease and go scamper, soldier.”
“You don’t remember my name, do you?”
“It’s not Pigtails?” Dean gave the girl the warm smile he used when trying to get his way. “Go join the other girls, okay? Buffy and I got stuff we need to talk about.”
Molly tugged on her pigtails, smiled at him, and skipped to the living room.
“You don’t have to be so nice. You and Sam are already their favorite people in the house,” Buffy said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
He shrugged. “She’s a chatterbox, but underneath she’s scared.”
“She should be.”
Dean didn’t look scared. Contrary to his freakout earlier, he looked serene, happy. Lunch with Giles must have gone well. Buffy wanted to seal up this moment so that when the storm hit, she could remember the perfect calm that came before.
Holding her tighter, Dean kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Feeling better?”
She whispered, “Half of my brain knows things just got worse, like, mega worse: the return of badness. The other half of my brain is soaked in happy because Giles is here, and you’re kissing me. Right now, that side is keeping the panic at bay.”
“How about you come with me?” he said, his deep voice rumbling through her. “We can stop at my place, and I can eat you out until you can’t feel your legs. Sound relaxing?”
Fifteen reasons to say no – laundry, meal planning, sleeping arrangements – came to her mind before a yes. Maybe the panic wasn’t so at bay. “Oh God, this is it. This is the moment I turned old.”
“What?”
“Instead of jumping on your fantastic plan, I starting think of all the things I have to take care of.”
“You’re thinking with your Slayer brain.”
“Promise me everything’s going to be okay.”
“I can’t promise anything, but I can tell you I’ll be with you in this. You need me ganking baddies or getting groceries, I’m here for you, Girly.”
Slipping her fingers under his shirts and hooking them into the waistband of his pants, she coyly glanced at him through her lashes. He pinned her between his body and the counter, his erection firming against her. Stretching on her toes, she kissed him, her tongue trailing over his teeth. Want washed over her, making a home between her legs. Want needed time, and unlike everything else making demands on her, it kept her head above water.
A giggle bubbled behind her. “Told you they were cute,” said Molly, elbowing a blushing Cloé in the doorway.
Dawn pushed past them rolling her eyes. “It’s not a show. Besides, they do it all the time. Thank God they were just making out.” Rifling through the cupboards, she asked, “Where did all the food go?”