Work Text:
Surprisingly, Buffy and Dean were up early on a Sunday, if ignoring their coffee to make out on the couch counted as up. Sam breathed a sigh of relief that the back of the couch hid whatever Dean’s hands were doing.
“Other people live here,” he stated as he bee-lined to the kitchen.
Buffy, wearing one of Dean’s button downs and little else, tore herself away from her boyfriend, blushing as she wrapped herself in a blanket. “Morning, Sam.”
Dean didn’t look at him, content to stare at his girlfriend’s profile until his eyes crossed, the desire on his face, a lust that craves sweetness and touch, bare.
Sam wondered if Dean had told Buffy he loved her. He wondered if Dean himself knew.
Tossing blueberries onto his cereal, Sam asked, “Would it kill you guys to be a little more quiet when you’re screwing around? You freaked Jada out last night.”
Buffy turned a deep shade of red. “Jada’s here?!”
“Was,” Sam clarified. “She left last night to get some sleep.”
Finally looking at him, Dean grinned ear to ear. “It would, Sammy. Of all the things that have tried to gank me, quiet sex would do it.”
Sam glared at his brother.
Sam had few inhibitions when it came to sex, and he wouldn’t have minded Buffy and Dean’s shouts and grunts so much if he wasn’t convinced they were doing it just to be annoying. He guessed half the time they weren’t even having sex, but were laying in bed making noise and giggling to each other about how funny they were.
It had bothered Jada though. Of all the women he’d been with, she was definitely the most timid. Not in the moment. In the moment, she was big grins, lip biting, hair pulling and deep moans. But she didn’t like to talk about it and was usually bashful, if snuggly, in the mornings. She didn’t tell him what she liked, what she wanted. After playing naive last night, he’d actually gotten her to ask, “Would you do that thing with your tongue?” It was probably the dirtiest thing she’d ever said.
But Sam liked a challenge. Each night together, she was a puzzle; if he unlocked her, he got a humming reward.
Ready to change the subject, he asked, “Are we still on for Thursday?”
“Yeah,” Buffy replied, her blush subsiding., “Dinner’s at five-ish, barring any Chumash raiding parties or burned pies.”
“I have nothing for Chumash raiding parties – and I need to hear that story later,” said Sam with a grin, “but I have a solution for pies.”
Dean curled his lip and scrunched his nose. “Pie doesn’t need a solution.”
“I’m making pumpkin pie from scratch,” Buffy said eagerly. “I have a little more practice with it than the apple fiasco.”
“It wasn’t a fiasco,” Dean said, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her behind the ear.
Sam cleared his throat. “Jada’s mom decided to fly to Japan to see her brother this week, so Jada and her aunt suddenly don’t have any plans for the holiday, and she’s a great baker…”
Buffy clapped her hands. “Homemade pie not made in my home! That will give me back at least an hour for other cooking.”
“You could not make everything from scratch,” Dean suggested. “I’m not too fancy for stuffing from a box.”
Shock and horror washed over her face. She poked Dean in the stomach to emphasize her point. “You are getting a homemade-from-scratch Thanksgiving, mister, and you are going to love it. You’re also going to help.” She kissed Dean on the forehead and stood up with her blanket. “Tell Jada the more the merrier.”
“Wait. What?” Dean looked back and forth between his girlfriend and brother.
Sam put his coffee down with a thunk. “Do you have a problem with my girlfriend coming over?”
“She’s your girlfriend now?”
“You guys argue. I need to shower,” said Buffy with an eye roll as she left.
Dean watched her leave, then scurried over to the kitchen. “You are not bringing them!”
“Buffy’s cool with it. What’s your problem?”
“This is the girl who got bit by a vampire and still won’t admit it was a vampire. You wanna bring Super Civilian and her crazy aunt into a house with a Slayer, a witch and…is Anya coming?”
Sam set his empty cereal bowl in the sink with a clatter. “It’s just dinner, Dean. We’ll be there maybe three hours, then I’ll bring them home. You act like Buffy and her friends have never pulled off normal before.”
“It’s not just that, it’s…” Dean shook his head and poured himself another cup of coffee as he considered his words. “I suck at the fine points of relationships, but a holiday with your friends is pretty serious, right? Are you an’ Jada actually serious?”
Sam bit back a laugh. “Those evenings you sat with Dottie for her so we could go out, you know those were dates, right? We didn’t run off to fuck in her car.”
“Ha. Ha.” Dean took a sip of his coffee as he inspected Sam, eyeing him like he was a different man. “You can’t date her, Sammy.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “…What?””
“She’s an outsider, and she’s just going to get hurt,” Dean said in that substitute father voice that drove Sam up a wall.
Sam resisted the boiling urge to deck his brother. “She lives on a Hellmouth. There aren’t any outsiders here. And when she’s ready to accept what’s happening, I don’t want her to be alone. Besides,” he continued, the fight slowly draining from his fists, “I miss being with someone.”
“I thought you made a home run with her weeks ago,” Dean said with an eyebrow raised.
“No, not sex,” he sighed. “I see you and Buffy everyday, holding hands, smiling at each other. She turns you into a doofy, giggling puddle.”
“What? I don’t giggle!” Dean’s eyes darted around the room, avoiding Sam.
“You do and you know it and you love it. I miss that. Sex is great, but so is curling around someone at night. So is having someone smile at you when you get off work. God, Jada made me breakfast yesterday, and I thought, ‘This is a moment I could live in forever.’”
Dean shook his head slowly. “I’m not saying Jada isn’t a great girl – and smokin’ hot – but I thought this was just screwing around. Do you have to date a supernatural greenhorn?”
The question was like ice on his spine. It was a question Sam asked himself over and over. If he hadn’t dated Jess, would she have died? Even with Azazel dead, was he setting Jada up for pain?
“What other options do I have? This world isn’t full of hunters. Of the clued-in women I know, there’s your girlfriend, a lesbian, the ex of a friend (who I also shot in the head,) and a kid.”
Buffy emerged from the bathroom in jeans and a t-shirt, her wet hair wrapped in a towel. “Sibling squabble over?”
Sam knew exactly how to win this argument. “Dean doesn’t think Jada can handle the freak show that is us.”
Buffy removed the towel from her hair and ran her fingers through her damp waves. She walked over to her boyfriend, tossed the towel around the back of his neck, and pulled him down to her eye level. “My house. My freaks. My guests. Got it?”
Biting his bottom lip as he gazed at her, Dean looked too turned on by her bossiness to argue.
“Buffy’s street is up here on the right,” Sam said.
“Where are we going?” Dottie asked for the second time since they’d left the apartment.
Jada took a deep breath, put on a big smile, and said brightly, “We are spending Thanksgiving with Sam’s brother and their friends.”
“I know that,” the old woman said with a dismissive wave. “You always think I don’t know things, but I know things. I know more than you.”
“I’m sure you do,” Jada said quietly.
Sam smiled at Jada weakly and reached across the seat to hold her hand.
“Is it close?” Dottie asked. “I gotta pee.”
“It’s that white house on the left. See Dean’s car?” Sam pointed to a small white bungalow where a man and a woman were talking in the driveway. “That’s Xander and Anya. Did they come together?”
Xander, waved at them with a doofy grin while Anya, who looked like a 1930s fashion plate in a pencil skirt and bow blouse, shuffled inside with her grocery bag.
“Hey Sam!” Xander said as he approached their car. “Who are these lovely ladies?”
Opening up the back door to retrieve the basket of pies Jada had made, Sam said, “Xander, this is my girlfriend Jada Green.”
Jada hoisted her bag on her shoulder and gave a timid smile. She tried to recall a single story about him (poker nights?), but all she could focus on was –
“And this is her aunt Dottie Johnson.”
Dottie sat on the edge of her seat, waiting to get out.
“Would you like a strong arm to lean on, ma’am?” Xander asked, extending his hand to the old woman.
“I’m waiting for the hunky one,” she said, pointing at Sam.
Jada sighed. “I just want to apologize now for any and everything Auntie says.”
Xander shrugged and took the basket of pies from Sam. “I’ve been friends with the Winchesters for a few months now. I’ve accepted my role as ‘not the hunky one,’ but I do think of myself as the Zinger King.”
Jada followed them around the back of the tidy house to the kitchen where Buffy – her back to her new guests as she stirred something on the stove – was arguing with an indignant Anya who was methodically laying out frozen dinner rolls on a pan.
“No one cares if they’re homemade, Buffy. They do care that they’re cooked, so oven space?”
“I care! This is an important day!” Buffy’s voice carried a slight childish whine.
Dean gave the new arrivals a tired wave and took the pies from Xander before turning back to his panicked girlfriend and whispering in her ear.
Snippets of her response drifted over to them. “– our first Thanksgiving – I miss her –”
Xander cleared his throat, and Buffy turned with a start. “Company!” he announced.
Being the sudden center of attention sent Jada’s heart racing. Memories of her only Thanksgiving with Tyler’s family came rushing back to her. The silence in the room as all those white faces zeroed in on her, broken by his uncle saying, “I didn’t know you had a thing for black girls.”
Then Sam’s long, slim fingers slipped between hers and squeezed.
“This is my girlfriend, Jada Green, and her aunt Dottie Johnson,” he said proudly. “I think you’ve met everyone but Anya.”
A doe-eyed redhead dashed in and grabbed a pile of plates from the island.
“And that’s Willow,” said Sam.
“Hi!” said Willow brightly before dashing from the room again.
“You’re Sam’s girlfriend?” Anya asked, barely looking up from buttering the tops of the rolls. “Did you make sure she’s not a demon?”
Xander laughed uncomfortably.
“Don’t worry! Jada’s a sweetheart,” said Dean with a grin, “unlike that last bitch. Control issues.”
A slight blush rose to Sam’s cheeks. “It was a short relationship,” he whispered.
“So what’s in the – Oh my god!” Eyes wide with wonder, Dean opened the basket of pies. “How many?”
The boyish timber of his voice made Jada smile. Baking she was comfortable with. “Pumpkin – of course – pecan bourbon, dutch apple, and it’s not really the season, but there’s also a blueberry custard.”
“You had me at bourbon. Girly, did you know you can put bourbon in a pie?”
Dean started to reach in the basket, but Buffy snapped it shut. “Can you put the turkey on the table?”
Pouting, Dean left with the turkey, and everyone returned to their holiday duties, breaking the new person spell hanging in the room.
Dottie tapped Jada’s arm. “Did you make the blueberry, Sweets Girl? Jim doesn’t like pumpkin.”
Jada had reminded her aunt all week about their new Thanksgiving plans. Dottie had seemed to understand – dinner with the Winchesters and their friends. Yet from the moment she got up this morning, it was all questions about how Uncle Jim would find them and would he get there on time.
“Yes, Auntie. Do you still need to use the bathroom?”
“Why are you always asking me about the bathroom? Is your life so boring, you gotta keep track of other people’s bowel movements?”
“Mrs. Johnson,” Sam said, his eyes on Jada, “would you like to see the house?”
The old woman grinned as she once again latched on to Sam’s brawny arm. “You’re a nice boy.”
Relieved, Jada unpacked her basket while Buffy reluctantly rearranged the oven for the offending rolls.
Buffy’s teenage sister (her name eluded Jada,) and Willow came in.
“We’re almost ready!” Willow announced with a bright grin. “The table cloth makes me feel all aristocratic, but without that pesky oppression and exploitation.”
“Such an egalitarian,” Buffy teased. “Your mother would be proud. Dawn, cranberry sauce?”
Jada, already making space in the refrigerator, handed the bowl to Dawn, who gave her a grumpy thanks before disappearing into the dining room.
“Is there anything I can help with, Buffy?” Jada asked hopefully. She hated feeling useless in a kitchen.
Buffy hurriedly ladled gravy in a dish and set it on the island before glancing in the oven. “Food needs to get on the table. Willow, did you put the drinks out?”
“What drinks?”
Horror washed over Buffy’s face as she set the perfectly browned sweet potatoes on a trivet. “Oh no! I forgot drinks!”
“Don’t worry!” said Jada, pulling a couple bottles from her bag. “I brought pinot noir for dinner, Gewurztraminer for dessert.”
Buffy smiled and looked at the bottles lovingly. “That last one sounds contagious, but you just made my day.”
To Jada’s surprise, dinner went relatively smoothly. The food was delicious, which she made sure to mention more than once, watching Buffy’s anxiety fade with each bite. Jada sat near Xander and Willow, who regaled her with funny stories of their long friendship. The Winchesters stuck Dottie in between them, which seemed to make her very happy.
“You look like my neighbor,” Dottie had said to Dean.
“Well, he sounds like a handsome bastard,” Dean replied with a playful smirk.
Dottie nodded in agreement. “I like to look at his behind.” She mimed grabbing both cheeks.
Jada wanted to slip into the floor and die, but everyone else, Dean especially, seemed amused and quickly moved on to the next topic of conversation. They didn’t judge or gawk at her weird little life.
She liked them.
Sitting on the couch, listening as most of his friends engaged Dottie in a cut-throat game of Monopoly, Sam stretched his arm around Jada. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, smiling like a cat in a sunbeam.
He half expected her to purr when she wore this smile, close-lipped with a slight curl at the corners. It was the smile she wore when she snuggled against his chest as he read to her. It was the smile she wore in the morning as she stuffed him with homemade pastries. Her happiest smile.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” he whispered.
“I am.”
Jada was confident in herself, just not in other people. She was an introvert who could put on a skilled show of casual conversation while dying to get back to her books and baking. He’d worried what her response would be to meeting so many people at once while trying to juggle Dottie.
Buffy plopped down in an armchair beside them. “Jada, I’m so glad you could come.”
“Thanks for having us.”
A whine rose from the gaming table. “Go to jail means behind bars, not visiting, Xander.”
“She’s a little old lady, Anya. You can’t put her in jail with the riff raff. Hey Dot, who ya visiting in the clink?”
“Bootleggers!” Dottie exclaimed, slamming her piece down on the board.
Jada sighed, but didn’t bother interfering. “You’re all so kind. It’s been difficult to meet people since moving here.”
“The end of Thanksgiving marks the official start of Christmas shopping. I say we have a girls day at the outlet mall up the highway,” Buffy suggested, brushing her bangs from her eyes.
“That sounds – what on earth happened?” said Jada, pointing at her own forehead in the same place Buffy had a large cut from patrolling two days before.
“Oh! I do taekwondo. I taekwon-ed when I should have doed,” Buffy said, moving her bangs back over the cut.
Jada leaned forward, her interest piqued. “Auntie’s been on my case to sign up for something like that. Where do you go?”
“I, uh, private tutor!” Buffy said a little too loud. “Someone I know from school.”
“Oh,” said Jada, settling back against Sam.
“You could still find a place,” he said, “or we could go down to the Y and you could beat on some punching bags.”
“He’s always trying to get me to work out,” Jada said, her “extrovert” smile on full display. “Next he’ll tell me sweets are bad for me.”
Buffy leaned on the arm of the chair, curiosity clear on her face. “I know this isn’t really my business, but Dean told me some jerk jumped you a couple weeks ago. Did you ever find out anything about it?”
Sam squeezed Jada’s hand to remind her he was there. Discussing the attack was still difficult for her, and she was still afraid to leave her apartment at night without him.
“The police didn’t seem too concerned,” she said quietly. “I guess it was just this bizarre, one-time thing I was unfortunate enough to be a part of.”
Buffy was about to say something else when Dean came in, moaning greedily over a bite of pie. She looked at her boyfriend skeptically. “Do you need to be alone?”
Practically drunk with contentment, Dean settled into the other chair. “Don’t be jealous, Buffy. You’re still my girl.”
“I’m going to have to roll you out of the house, aren’t I?”
“Probably.”
“Where are you going?” Jada asked.
“Homework!” said Buffy. “I have a project due Monday, and I left my research at Dean’s apartment.”
Dean winked at her. “Homework? That’s not what you were calling it earlier.”
Buffy rose, grabbing a bright blue pea coat and a battered leather jacket from the hooks by the door. “Before you eat another piece.”
Dean rolled his eyes as he set his plate down. “I think I’m supposed to wait twenty minutes or something.”
She smacked his ass as he slipped on his jacket. “Go!”
“You’re gonna make Dottie jealous,” he laughed. And they were gone.
“You ready to head back?” Sam asked. It was just after eight, Dottie’s preferred bedtime.
Jada inspected the gaming group for a moment, the happy smile on her lips. “Auntie seems okay. I was thinking of tackling the dishes for Buffy.”
“I’ll help,” he said with a smile, never ceasing to be surprised by her kindness.
She washed, humming to herself while Sam dried, content to share space with her light heart. He’d never seen her so genuinely happy.
“You look extra beautiful today.”
She giggled and handed him a plate. “Extra? I’ll make sure to wear this dress again.”
“It’s not the dress – although it is great, and I’ve thought about your ass a lot.”
Pursing her lips, Jada smacked his arm.
Sam added the plate to the stack and dropped his towel on the counter. Slipping his arms around her waist, he pressed her body against his and dipped his lips down to her ear. “What? You don’t want anyone to know I like your ass? Because I was kind of daydreaming of bending you over the counter and pounding you from behind.”
“Sam.” His name hung breathless on her lips. “What’s gotten into you?”
He spun her around, dish soap still on her hands, and kissed her, leaning her back as he gripped her hips. She moaned as he sucked lightly on the tip of her tongue.
She pushed him away with gentle, soapy hands. “Someone could walk in.”
“So? Even Dawn has figured out we’ve kissed.”
She gazed at him through half closed eyes, her lips trying to pout but wanting to smile. “You’re going to be a treat tonight, naughty boy.”
“I thought you liked treats?” he said, the urge growing stronger.
Grabbing a towel for her hands, she said, “If you’re interested in capping off an excellent day, how about–” Jada froze, her horror-stricken eyes fixated on something outside. Her voice a rough whisper. “Blonde. Sam, it-it’s the blonde man.”
In the backyard just beyond the light cast from the house, stood Spike, puffing away on his cigarette.
“Blonde man?”
“The guy who attacked me.” She nervously held her hand over her throat.
A chill ran down Sam’s spine. Spike couldn’t be feeding again, could he? Would he? “That’s the guy who bit you?”
“I-I don’t know.” Jada rubbed her finger over the twin bumps on her neck. “He was blonde.”
“Was he British?”
“No. What?” She tore her gaze from the window and looked at Sam with confusion.
“The guy outside is Buffy’s ex boyfriend. Lurking is his favorite hobby.”
Jada started breathing again, quick and shallow. Gripping the counter tight, she attempted to smile. “Guess I’m a little jumpy.”
Sam kissed her forehead. “I’ll go see what he wants.”
Spike tossed his butt on the lawn and ground it out with his toe.
“What is it about smokers that they think the world is their trash can?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, that’s far an’ away my worst ‘abit.” Spike nodded at the house. “See you got yourself a girlfriend. You make sure she’s not a Luxic this time?”
Spike interested Sam, who had encountered many vampires since landing in Sunnydale. He may posture as a blood thirsty anarchist, but Spike seemed to have a trembling bit of humanity the other vampires lacked. Maybe it was his soul; maybe he was just special. Either way, Sam found him interesting, if nothing else.
Maybe he could even be useful.
“She’s a civilian,” Sam said.
Holding up his hands in surrender, Spike said, “I know. I know. I’ll stay the hell away.”
“You want to meet her?” Sam asked.
“What?” Spike looked around, confused.
“Her name’s Jada.”
“Didn’t think I’d be fit company,” Spike said, bitterly.
“Last vampire she ran into bit her. You wouldn’t do that, would you, Spike?” Sam smiled, trying to wipe away the hint of accusation in his voice.
“Course not.” Spike looked over Sam’s shoulder. “‘ow’d she fight it off?”
“Pepper spray,” Sam replied. “She can’t admit what happened, though.”
The vampire nodded. “I’ve seen that before. People see monsters all the time, but it’s like a mirage in the corner of your eye. You blink, an’ it’s gone. You tell yourself the cozy lie that it wasn’t there.”
“Hello!” Jada appeared, rubbing her arms vigorously and standing just behind Sam’s arm. Her eyes darted all over Spike, inspecting him. She smiled her radiant smile-for-strangers and waved. “I’m Jada. Are you a friend of Sam’s?”
“I, uh, no, we–”
“Sure,” said Sam. “Jada, this is Spike.”
“Spike? Is that your real name or a nickname?”
He shrugged. “It’s what they call me. Is Buffy here?”
“She left a while ago,” Sam said.
Spike pursed his lips and once again gazed at the house beyond Sam.
“Here for leftovers?” Sam asked.
“Since you’re offering.” Spike took off for the kitchen.
Jada leaned into Sam, resting her head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. “You okay?” he asked.
She sighed. “Yeah. It’s not him. I just had to see him close to convince myself.” She paused. “Does he usually come by to mooch food?”
Inside, Spike, plate piled with turkey and mashed potatoes, inspected the pies.
“He’s all alone,” Sam said. “No family.”
Jada shivered against his chest. “That’s so sad. It’s nice that he and Buffy can still be friends.”
“‘Something like that,” Sam said. “Are you ready to –”
A scream rang from the house.
Dottie left to look for the bathroom. She was certain it was nearby, but she circled the staircase without finding it. The dining room table was bare save for a pretty saffron table cloth. She’d seen a tablecloth like that before. Was it the same one? Yes, she was in the same house she’d been in for Thanksgiving. Her and a bunch of other people her age.
Tired again, she sat on one of the dining chairs, her hips aching, knees popping. She was old. That Thanksgiving was decades ago, her first while Jim was deployed, her last while Jim was alive.
Where was she? This wasn’t her house.
“My name is Dorothy Johnson,” she whispered to herself. “People call me Dottie. I live at 620 Third Street, apartment B, Sunnydale, California. I retired from making coffins.” She tried to reach inside of her mind and grab for what was true, but it was crowded in there and loud, all moments feeling immediate, demanding her attention. “I live with my niece.”
Her niece. Jada. Jada had brought her to this house, which meant she was nearby.
A chorus of laughter came from the other room. With a pang in her knee, Dottie rose and shuffled to the living room where a group of kids were playing Monopoly. She didn’t recognize them.
“Mrs. Johnson, are you okay?” asked a redhead.
“Just tired; ready to go home,” she lied, hoping she didn’t look as confused as she felt.
“Of course you’re ready to split. You have all the money,” complained the pin-up girl.
“An, the money isn’t real,” said the goofy-looking boy.
“Have you seen Jada?” Dottie asked, hoping they knew her.
“She’s in the kitchen with Sam,” said the redhead.
In the kitchen instead of her niece, Dottie found a blonde man in a long leather jacket helping himself to a piece of blueberry custard pie. She didn’t like his pale skin or his face, smug and dangerous. He moved his body like a predator, like someone who could tear a heart apart.
“‘Ello,” he said around a large bite of pie. “You must belong to the other one, the pretty girl.”
Dottie’s fingers felt numb. He was where Jada was supposed to be. “You seen her?”
“Left her outside,” he casually confessed.
But outside was dangerous. Outside were vampires. Dottie bit her tongue to hold back a cry as she pictured her niece dead and cold in the backyard.
She cautiously approached the man who shouldn’t be there and laid her hand on his. His skin was ice cold. Dead. Vampire. Grabbing the serving fork from the turkey tray, Dottie stabbed his hand. He yowled and his fangs came out.
Sam and Jada burst through the backdoor as the rest of the Scoobies dashed into the kitchen to find Spike yanking a barbeque fork from his hand while Dottie searched the drawers chanting, “Wooden spoon. Wooden spoon.”
The fork came out with a sickening wet sound. Spike looked at it with horror. “Bitch stabbed me!”
“Just wait ‘til I find – Ooh!” Dottie turned back to him with a stake in her hand.
Willow and Dawn jumped in front of Spike, pushing him out of the room while Sam tried to distract Dottie.
“Mrs. Johnson, what are you doing?” Sam asked, calmly.
“He’s a vampire!” she shouted, trying to get around him.
How did she know? Spike wouldn’t have told her, but then she had checked Sam for signs of vampirism more than once. “Mrs. Johnson, he’s in the house. Vampires can’t get in a house unless they’re invited. Do you really think Buffy would have asked a vampire into her house?”
“Who’s Buffy?” the old woman asked.
Jada, tears running down her cheeks, grabbed the stake and threw it in the garbage. “Home. Now.”
Relief swept over Dottie’s face. “Sweets Girl! I thought you were dead!”
“Might as well be,” Jada said darkly, shoving her aunt toward the front door. She quickly grabbed their coats and purses, but paused before stepping outside. With a crack in her voice, Jada said, “I’m so sorry, Sam. It was almost a perfect day.”