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By the next day, the doctors were looking at Buffy, who seemed unreasonably spry for someone who should have been scheduling spinal surgery, with great suspicion. Fortunately, Giles managed to convince them to discharge rather than study her. Despite her fear of hospitals, it was more difficult task for him to negotiate Buffy away from her boyfriend’s bedside. She was quiet in the car, her mind back in intensive care with the Winchesters.
“The girls will be happy to see you,” Giles said, hoping to distract her.
“I bet,” she said with the same level of excitement most people reserve for describing mailboxes.
“It’s not as bad as that. They look up to you.”
“They’re waiting for me to die, Giles. They’re probably telling each other stories about how each one of them knew I’d been hurt because they just felt a light calling to them.”
“You know as well as anyone that’s not how–” He paused, chagrined. “You were joking.”
“It’s a thing not-dead people do.”
“Speaking of not-dead, I wish you had told me the Winchesters had died before.”
“Like I said, it’s personal.”
“Buffy, I respect your privacy and theirs; but if one of those personal matters effects our current situation, it needs to become a public matter. For instance, I am concerned about this business of angels.”
“Why? For once, something went our way! If it hadn’t been for Castiel…” She pulled her coat tighter, as if it could shield her from the idea of losing the man she loved.
“I am pleased that Dean will live, but we cannot act as if these so-called ‘angels’ are, in fact, our guardians. We know nothing about them, their motives.”
“Dean’s always told me they’re terrible. Like, they just don’t get humans and our little ant problems, so they can be cruel. Except for Cas. Dean said he’s odd, but helpful.”
“That brings us to my second concern: why are angels interested in Dean Winchester? He and Sam presented themselves as foot soldiers in the war against evil. I doubt angels concern themselves with foot soldiers.”
“They were being modest.”
“How so?”
“They’re the best hunters in their world. Maybe it’s like a video game? You level up, get an angel.”
“Perhaps,” he sounded doubtful. “Whatever their origins, something carved unknown symbols into Dean’s ribs. That tells me he is marked for some purpose beyond hunter and handyman. “At this point, all we know for certain is that angels have now made their presence known on the Hellmouth because the survival of Dean Winchester is important to Heaven. And that worries me.”
As soon as Buffy opened her front door, Molly ambushed her with a hug. “I’m so ‘appy you’re back!”
“Thanks,” Buffy winced. “But still super broken!”
“God, so sorry!” The girl’s hands fluttered around her face as she bounced on the balls of her feet.
“You should have taken some of us with you,” said Dani as she took the bag of medications from Giles.
“So more people could be in the hospital? Or morgue? I think I’m already at my guilt limit for the week.” Buffy eased herself onto the couch with Cloé and her omnipresent Winnie-the-Pooh. The other girls gathered around, peppering her with questions.
“What did you find?”
“Are Dean and Sam okay?”
“How many of them were there?”
“Is it coming for us?”
“Did Dean get knocked out saving you?”
“Girls, please!” shouted Giles above the din. “Give her some space. Now, as for what attacked Buffy and the Winchesters, going off of her description, it sounds like a Turok-Han, a powerful monster that until yesterday I was convinced was just a story vampires shared to scare each other. I am leaving this evening to pick up more Potentials, and hopefully I can scrounge up some information on these creatures in the meantime.”
“British to American translation: No one is leaving the house after dark,” Buffy added.
“But you know how to kill them, right?” Naomi asked.
“I’m not killing anything until I’ve healed. The doctor said it will take about six weeks, which means I should be fine in a week. I’m a Christmas miracle.”
“What about Sam and Dean? When will they be better?”
Buffy tried to keep her eye roll inside. “Well, since they aren’t Slayers, it’s going to take them a little longer. Sam’s girlfriend is going to take them home tomorrow. “
“Girlfriend?” A couple groans rose from the group.
“Dear God! Take a cold shower, or get a Tiger Beat!” Tired of the conversation, Buffy slowly rose and headed for the stairs. “Keep the fan club squealing on low, okay? I need to rest. Grace, Dani, follow me.”
Both in their twenties, Grace and Dani were the oldest Potentials. Naturally, the younger girls looked up to them in a way they did not look up to her. They were wizened peers; she was the dark future they may become. Buffy preferred Grace, who seemed unphased by either bloodshed or cramped quarters, but the group seemed to have elected Dani, eager and bratty, to be their voice. At least she never had to listen to either of them drooling over the Winchesters.
Buffy led them to her bedroom, where she hoped she’d be able to stay awake for the few minutes needed to get a feel for the mood of the group.
Dani stood with arms crossed in the middle of the room while Buffy searched her closet for her heatpad. Grace moved around the room with her hands tucked under her elbows examining things the way one does in a museum. “You have a lovely home, Buffy.”
“Thank you.” She hadn’t settled on the idea of it being her home and not her mother’s. If Tara hadn’t died in the spot Dani was slouching in, Buffy never would have left her teenage bedroom. The brown floral wallpaper, the wicker furniture – it all belonged to someone else from the past.
“Do you live in a house where you’re from?” Buffy wanted to kick herself as soon as the words were out.
Grace raised her eyebrows. “You know, Cloé asked me if I had ever seen a car before coming to America.”
“I didn’t mean–”
“Dormitory. Very exotic. Before that, an apartment in Nairobi, a city with many cars, with my parents and sisters.” No wonder she wasn’t bothered by the close quarters.
“Can we move on from Better Homes & Gardens to figuring out what the hell we’re going to do about these übervamps?” asked Dani.
“We are not doing anything at the moment. All of our fighters are on painkillers and bed rest,” Buffy said, shaking her bottle of pills.
“But I’ve been training since I was a teenager! Give me a crossbow and I could–”
“No, dammit! You wouldn’t last five seconds!”
Dani clenched her jaw. “You have no idea what I can do.”
“No, but I know what I can do. I know what Sam and Dean can do. I know we’re all more powerful and better trained than you.” Buffy softened her tone, hoping to diminish the uneven competition Dani was itching for. “Look, it’s not that I don’t think you have skills or can’t help, but this… I’m not insulting you by saying the Turok-Han would kill you; it’s just fact. We’ll wait, heal, and rethink the problem.”
Buffy sighed. “Now, the girls elected you class president. What do they want to do?”
“Go home,” said Dani bitterly.
Grace stepped between them. “The girls are all very frightened and homesick.”
“Look, I’d love to send everyone home, really I would, but you both know what will happen.”
They fell silent for a moment, remembering the chaos, the screaming, the blood.
“It is hardest, I think, for the uninitiated,” said Grace. “Those that came willingly are no longer feeling adventurous, and those that came against their will–”
“What do you mean ‘against their will?’”
Grace paused and scrunched her face. “How did you respond when someone told you about vampires? I laughed in my Watcher’s face and avoided him for months. A few of the girls did not want to come with Giles, so he apparently cast a spell on their families. They cannot even call home because no one there knows who they are.”
Buffy’s stomach flipped. She shouldn’t have been surprised Giles had to use less than savory means to keep the girls safe, but the reality of knowing was wartier than the distant theory. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“Now you do. They’re scared and miserable, which makes them useless in this fight,” Dani complained.
This time, Grace nodded. “Most of them have never traveled this far from home.”
“So they’re homesick. I get that.” And she did. Buffy was not much of a traveler. Disneyland when she was a kid, and her move from LA to Sunnydale, was the extent of it.. That and her trip to San Francisco with Dean. Dean, who had spent his entire life wandering from temporary home to temporary home. What made him feel at home when he was homeless? “I have an idea.”
“And plenty left for me!” said Xander, quickly unwrapping two mini Snickers and shoving them in his mouth.
Willow examined the dozen treat-filled gift bags. “We have more stuff. I think we should keep making bags. Who knows how many girls will be here by Christmas.”
“My calculations say too many,” Xander said around his mouthful.
Buffy, laying on a heat pad on her bed, held out a hand. “Lemme help with the chocolate overstock, Xander.” He gave her a Twix. “Thanks for doing this, guys.”
She’d called them both and asked in a half-drugged voice if they could pick up movies and treats for a proper slumber party. Buffy had expected them to arrive with a couple romantic comedies and pizza, but they went above and beyond with putting together goodie bags for the girls to open on Christmas.
“By the way, I talked to Professor Yardy today–”
“Oh no!” Buffy covered her face. The final for the one class she’d managed to retain had been the day she was in the hospital.
“It’s okay!” Willow said. “She was sorry to hear about your accident and said you can take the final after break.”
“Insert a dramatic sigh here, because breathing hurts.” Buffy mentally added study for final to her list of things to do after killing the Turok-Han, rescuing Spike, and keeping the Potentials alive.
At least the weekend was planned. She’d only left the hospital under the agreement she could take care of Dean after his discharge, which left a gaping hole of what to do with the Potentials. Dani had eagerly offered to give them all a primer on weapons basics. Willow was going to teach them a brief history of Slayers. Anya and Andrew (and the comparatively calm presence of Xander) volunteered to introduce them to the world of demons; or as Anya called it, “Why vampires are disgusting, and demons can be pretty great.”
The Summers’ house was Hogwarts.
Dawn came in with a plate full of pizza, which Xander quickly relieved her of. Her hair had been dyed cotton-candy pink. “Buffy! You should come down. We’re having the best time!”
“Anya can change that back, right? You can’t go to school with pink hair.” In an effort to both cheer the girls up and show the newbies that magic wasn’t only for parental brain-wipes, newly blonde Anya was using her new favorite spell to color the Potentials’ hair.
“Sure I can. There’s nothing in the rules about hair color.”
Buffy started to sit up, her angry-mom face in place.
“Compromise!” Willow piped in. “Dawn keeps the hair for the weekend, and I change it back Sunday night. Okay?”
“Fine,” said Buffy, lying back down as the room started to spin. “I’m glad everyone is enjoying themselves.”
“Why don’t you come down?” Dawn lightly pleaded. “I’m sure they’d like you more if they saw you have fun.”
“Because moving hurts. Laughing super hurts, and it’s impossible to watch Clueless without laughing,” Buffy groaned.
“True. We’re all trying to convince Wook it’s a one hundred percent accurate picture of American high school, but I don’t think she’s falling for it.”
Everything had gone pear-shaped this week, but the biggest surprise had been Dawn rising above it. She had kept her head above the water, and guided the new girls to safety – or at least, to the house tour.
Buffy may have been their distant mentor, but she realized that her little sister had become their friend. She smiled proudly at Dawn, despite the pink hair.
“Keep it up, Dawnie, and you’ll be an ambassador one day,” said Xander.
“Thanks!” she said brightly before returning to the party.
“Are you planning to share that pizza?” Willow asked as Xander took a bite of the last piece on the plate.
“Mmm? ‘Orry.”
Buffy’s growling stomach told her she would have to make an appearance downstairs after all.
The chatter in the living room-turned-trainee-bunk had long since subsided. Buffy shivered in her blankets, the gaping absence beside her keeping her awake.
Finally, she slipped out of bed. Dean’s drawer in her dresser was mostly full, she noticed with satisfaction. She rummaged around until she found a pair of his plaid pajama pants and his army green button-down – a favorite since it matched his eyes perfectly – which still smelled faintly of engine grease and leather.
Wrapping herself in cool cotton and the scent of Dean, she pulled her blankets to the bench by the window. The stars of Orion the Hunter shone like beacons in the winter sky. Buffy hoped Dean was able to sleep. The painkillers would help. She groaned then, realizing she was going to have to hide all the alcohol in their apartment lest they mix the two. Boys.
But he was alive and well. That was the important thing. The angels wanted him that way.
She didn’t find the idea of angels as upsetting as Giles did, but she was curious as to what they wanted with Dean. While she thought he was a hero and all-around wonderful, Dean wasn’t religious, pure, or any other thing she’d ever associated with saintly people. She smiled, imagining devout children being taught about Saint Dean, whose miracles included being amazing in bed and remaining on his feet after drinking a an obscene amount of whiskey.
Maybe Dean was chosen for something, but so was she. According to lore, the first Slayer was made by combining the essence of a demon with the soul of a girl. Being chosen by angels sounded cuddly by comparison.
But why wonder when she could ask?
Her voice barely above a whisper, she prayed, “Castiel, this is Buffy Summers again. Thanks for saving Dean. The doctors said he can go home tomorrow. I’m planning on taking care of him all weekend.”
It suddenly occurred to her that maybe she shouldn’t tell an angel she was sleeping with her boyfriend. Didn’t they frown on that? Or was Castiel all-seeing? Oh God, does he watch us have sex?!
“Uh, yeah, so I was wondering why you saved Dean. I mean, he’s amazing, so I’m definitely not complaining, but you’re an angel. Aren’t there, like, floods and famines for you to stop? Why are you interested in him?”
Buffy held her breath and listened. She heard nothing in the still night, not a squirrel racing down a branch, not anyone’s soft snoring, and certainly not the booming voice of an angel. Could he even hear her if she wasn’t in crisis? Was there some sort of priority line, like a soul emergency room? She imagined Castiel in a white robe with long flowing hair seeing broken person after broken person, and she had no idea what her number was.
“I wish you looked out for me the way you look out for Dean. Sometimes I feel like everything is stacked against me, and I just want to be a college student with a part-time job and a great boyfriend. I want to have a life beyond killing evil things, you know?
“I’m sorry. I’m complaining, but if you’re not too busy looking after Dean, could you look after me sometimes, too? We’re usually together anyway. And Giles and Will and Xander and Dawn? And Spike, who is probably not doing so hot right now.” Was is sacrilegious to pray for a vampire? Did it matter if she wasn’t religious anyway?
“So, yeah, thanks for saving Dean, and I hope to hear from you soon.”
Easily the worst prayer in the history of praying. Castiel would probably share it with his angel friends and laugh at her. Even so, she felt calm enough to maybe, finally, get some sleep.
By the morning, Buffy’s cuts had fully healed, and Willow helped her remove the unnecessary stitches. Breathing came easier as well, though she doubted her bones were fully mended. Xander was kind enough to drive her to the Winchester’s apartment.
“You tell them I’ll be by on Monday to kick their asses in poker,” he called after her as she crossed the street to their building.
She smiled. “I don’t know if they’ll be up for poker by then.”
“Exactly! This is my one chance.”
She let herself in and found Dottie Johnson, their senile neighbor, sitting on the couch flipping through an old book that Buffy hoped was about something benign, not pointy.
The old woman lowered her book and scowled at Buffy before her eyes settled on her silver cross. “Good girl,” she said, her voice as rickety as an old rocking chair. “Do I know you?”
“Hi, Mrs. Johnson. I’m Dean’s girlfriend, Buffy. Remember?”
“Who names a child Buffy?”
Wanting to avoid a conversation she’d had several times, Buffy shrugged and set down a pan of Dawn’s get-better brownies in the kitchen. She was still searching for all the Winchesters’ booze when Jada emerged from Sam’s bedroom. She smiled more than anyone Buffy had ever met, but today the smile couldn’t get to her eyes. Usually dressed pristine and professional, she was casual in jeans and glittery cat t-shirt, with a pink headband holding back her hair.
“Buffy! I didn’t know you were here.” Jada eyed the stockpile of beer and whiskey.
“Sorry, I thought I should hide the alcohol while the guys are on painkillers.”
“That’s probably a good idea. We can take it to my place.”
Jada examined Buffy’s bruise-free skin. “You must have been buckled in. I’m glad someone walked away okay.”
“Wasn’t an accident,” said Dottie. “It was the vampires.” She held up the book she’d been flipping through and pointed with her gnarled finger to a bumpy-faced, fanged block print.
The bit of a smile Jada had been able to muster gave way. “Of course.”
“Books say Heaven’s gonna send a saviour. A girl. She’s gonna kill all the vampires,” Dottie continued.
Not usually given the opportunity to hear civilians talk about her, Buffy pounced. “What else do the books say about her?”
Jada glanced at Buffy with mild annoyance – probably the dirtiest look she’d ever given anyone – and ignored the supernatural conversation. “Auntie, would you like some music? How about I bring over some of your records?” With that plan, her smile was back in place as she took the booze away.
Buffy scooted around the old woman. “I’m going to check on the guys.”
“You tell them not to worry. The Slayer’s gonna save us from Hell,” Dottie said.
She peeked into Sam’s room and found him reading in bed. Planting a kiss on his forehead, she said, “Thank you.”
He smiled sleepily, a small blush blooming on his cheeks. “For what?”
“Teaching me how to pray.”
She sneaked into Dean’s room. Sleeping with his headphones on, he reclined against a pile of pillows, with blankets bunched up under his cast foot. His face peaceful, lips slightly parted. Wearing nothing but his boxers, the bruises on his arms and ribs were dark reminders of the violence he’d endured.
Strains of piano and brushed snare floated in from the other room. Dean took off his headphones, and, noticing her for the first time, broke into a room-lighting smile. “Hey, beautiful. What’s up with the music?”
A gravelly voice sang, “Give me a kiss to build a dream on / And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss.”
“Jada is trying to distract her aunt from vampire stories.”
Dean chuckled.
She sat on the edge of his bed, and he started to rub her thigh. “Dottie wants me to tell you the Slayer is going to save us all.”
“I heard a rumor about that. Cas is listening to you. That feathery s.o.b. has been ignoring me for months.” He played with her fingers before tugging her close. His kiss was slow and firm, an ocean of gratitude wrapped in the press of lips.
Foreheads pressed together, enjoying the closeness of him, she asked, “Now that you know he’s listening, are you going to trying praying again?”
“Yeah, I need to make sure Bobby’s okay.”
“But do you still want to go home?”
Running his fingers through her hair, he said, “I ain’t leaving you, darlin’.”
She heard his words, but thought – hoped – that he was saying something else. The same thing she hoped he was saying every time he drove her to work when she was running late. Every night he made her dinner. Every time he patched her up after a fight. When he stayed in town, though they were only planning to be a fling. When he didn’t run after learning about Spike, after – everything else.
“I love you, too,” she said.
“Please don’t freak out. I don’t need you to say it back or anything. I just–” She choked back tears. “I almost lost you, and I needed to say it to make sure you heard the words. It’s not like my loving you could make us any more marked than we already are.”
Dean stared at the ceiling and chewed his lip, a habit amplified when he was hunting for honesty. Uncertain, Buffy laid beside him. He squeezed her hand, letting her know that whatever his response was, it wouldn’t be leave.
Of course, he’d heard the words before. When his mom used to sing him to sleep at night, then tuck him in and whisper, “Goodnight, angel. I love you.” And he believed her. She was the one who took care of him when he was sick, who bandaged his knees when he’d fall down.
But that was only one of a handful of times he’d heard it. Usually, it was cold comfort in a bad situation. His dad would say it after an extra week away, pretending it wiped away the things Dean had to do for food. A few one-night-stands had shouted it as they fucked, the flailing of someone drowning in loneliness. It was always on the lips of the dying, a hopeless goodbye with a pretty bow.
This brush-with-death declaration felt like the latter. He whispered, “You don’t think we’re going to make it, do you?”
“What? Why would you say that?”
He continued looking at the ceiling as he spoke. “Because I already know how you feel about me. Not gonna lie, for a while I held my breath and thought you’d wake up at any moment and run away screaming, but you didn’t, Buffy. You dug in, and damn it hurt sometimes, but you helped me be a better man, healed some things in me that had been broken for a long time. And a person doesn’t do that if they don’t care.”
“Then what’s so wrong about saying it?” she whispered.
He smiled at her, hoping to ease her. “Nothing’s wrong, Girly. It just sounds so final, you know? We’re fighting this dickbag from beyond that doesn’t even have a body but somehow has an army, and it just kicked our asses. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for Cas.”
Hearing the words, Buffy couldn’t hold back her tears any longer.
“Hey, come on. Don’t – Ow! God!” Dean tried to reach out, but gabbed his ribs before rolling onto his back again. “Look,” he said between pained breaths. “I’ve seen a lotta people in their last moments. You know what they always say?”
She didn’t have to answer.
They lay quietly listening to the man on the record player sing, “When you kiss me heaven sighs / And though I close my eyes / I see la vie en rose.”
“I promise you this,” Dean said. “I wake up every day and think about ways I can show you how crazy I am about you, and I’m gonna keep doing it until the world is ashes. Okay?”
She smiled hopefully. “You’re crazy about me?”
“Tom-Cruise-jumping-on-a-couch crazy.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Buffy laughed.
Dean grinned. “It will in a few years.”
The man kept warbling, “And when you speak / Angels sing from above / Everyday words seems / To turn into love song.”
“How long are you staying?” he asked.
“As long as you need me to.”
“Forever then?”
“Forever.”