#he cried when they fell apart and Andrew saw and helped him tape them up

[neilwearsjorts]

Neil wears converse

No, he wears one pair of converse and he is so attached to them that when they eventually fell apart instead of being normal (opposite of the foxes) and buying new ones he taped them together

I want a fic of Neil going through the stages of being a converse owner

Anyways Andrew and Allison occasionally take him shoe shopping and no matter the amount of shoes they buy for him he still wears the beat up converses

His shoes are probably so raggedy

[whatdoyouthinkmyjobis]

Hunters on the Hellmouth

masterlist

first chapter

previous chapter

TW: Discussions of rape and miscarriage. Major feels. Here’s a cheat sheet for keeping track of the Potentials.

Chapter 39: The Walls Came Tumbling Down

Spike bit his fingernail down to the bed, spilling blood on his lips. He spit on the floor, repulsed by the memories.

Buffy had been missing for three hours. He’d tried to follow her immediately after she disappeared, but couldn’t get any further than singeing his shoes. The portal was Slayers only. To pass the time, he read the spell book Buffy had given him. It explained that “finding the path” wasn’t a vision quest, but a portal. The gibberish started to weave together a coherent story, though still not one that made sense. The Witch, it explained, had ousted the King, who by all accounts was a philandering, temperamental murderer. The Witch had help from the Huntress. Later the Huntress was struck with remorse for the King -- her father -- and tried to bring him home. For this act of betrayal, the Witch put the Huntress to sleep and locked her away.

“Fairy tales,” Spike snorted. But then, the shadow casters were only supposed to work for the Huntress, and they had worked for Buffy. If disappearing for hours counted as working. For all Spike knew she was being tortured, punished for the crossing the yellow tape. He started chewing the nails on his other hand and considered getting Dean.

There was a pop like air rushing into a vacuum. The writhing men comprising the shadow figures flew apart, leaving a soaked Buffy on the ground in their place. Spike gathered her into his lap, her wet hair and clothes seeping through his shirt and jeans. “Hey! Hey, Goldilocks. Did you find anythin’ you liked at the Bears’ house?”

Her eyes flew open and she punched him in the nose. Bone crunched and blood spewed from his face. Then she kicked him in the head. Everything went black.

After throwing Buffy out, Dawn and Willow had clutched each other and cried, using phrases like tough love and the right thing, though neither of them felt convinced. Now that it was morning, Dawn’s head still pounded, her empty eye socket raged.

She wanted to set the world on fire. She wanted to cry. She wanted her sister back.

Dawn stood at the top of the stairs listening. She listened to the Impala’s purr as Sam and Dean left at daybreak to look for bodies in the rubble of the winery. To Andrew worrying about Spike not coming in last night. To Xander and Anya arriving with more food and medical supplies. To the Potentials padding up and down the stairs to use the bathroom, and when they tried to talk to her, she pretended not to hear.

She couldn’t see them on that side of her anyway.

Downstairs, Dawn could hear the Potentials debating the veracity of what Dean had told them.  The Potentials had insisted on knowing what was going on. (She couldn’t blame them for that; though she blamed them for everything else.) After watching Buffy ousted from her own home, Dean delivered a no-holds-barred, fire-in-the-belly speech including everything from angels trying to force God to return to what the demons did to Sam.

It seemed they were stuck on the part about alternate dimensions. Some believed in them. Some didn’t, despite Anya having explained about hell dimensions in her introduction to demons lecture. However, she had also told them demons were poor, misunderstood creatures.

Downstairs, a girl asked, “D-do you think Lucifer brought any h-hellhounds with him?”

Dawn closed her one good eye, rested her head against the wall, and let the voices of the girls downstairs mix into an unintelligible buzz. After a while, she sensed someone was sitting on the step by her. Peeking through her lashes, Dawn saw Wook staring into space.

“Did you tell her?” Dawn asked. “Did you ever tell Sophia how you felt?”

For a split second, horror took over Wook’s face. Then she shook her head. “Sophia...she was not like me.”

The crush had seemed obvious to Dawn and several other people. “You should talk to Willow. You could probably use a good cry and --” Dawn pointed at the bandage over her missing eye “-- I’m only up for half a cry right now. I hope it helps.”

Dawn slowly walked downstairs. As the Potentials noticed her, a wave of silence fell over the room. She curled up in a chair by the window, fixing her one good eye outside. When it was clear she didn't want to speak to them, the girls resumed their whispers.

“Maybe the angels?” asked Steph. “If they brought the Winchesters here, maybe they’ll come help us?”

Dark circles around her puffy eyes, Maya curled her lip in disgust. “Are you joking? They sound bloody terrifying, like cosmic toddlers throwing a fit for daddy.”

“The angels aren't coming to save us,” said Dani. “God is out of the game. No one is coming, but maybe we can move home field.”

“Move the fight off the Hellmouth?” asked Karen.

“Bigger,” said Dani. “Lucifer is only here because he followed the Winchesters, so let's move the Winchesters back where they belong.”

Dawn stifled a snicker. She couldn’t imagine any of these girls making the Winchesters do anything. When Dean returned, she’d share Dani’s plan.

“You have a magic portal in your pocket?” Betje asked, rolling her eyes.

“Well, no, but --”

Keisha held up her hand to stop Dani from continuing. “I can't even begin to tell you how upset I am about what Dean said. I'm a life-long church girl, and this is not my Heavenly Host. However, I am not about to sell out Sam for my own safety.”

Kate squeezed into the circle. “It's not about you or Sam; it's about saving everyone.”

“I think the people in their world would disagree with you,” Karen countered. “A Slayer’s duty is to save people, not pick and choose lives.”

Dani threw her pillow across the room and released a frustrated growl. “We’re out of options! Either everyone dies or half the people die.”

“It’s not like they’re real, not like us,” Kate added.

“Then we go down fighting!” said Keisha, matching Dani’s volume. “Maybe Buffy was right yesterday? Maybe we just have to attack as much as we can?”

The room disintegrated into bickering about Buffy’s leadership, the realness of unmet people, and the blame the Winchesters bore. Again, a hush fell over them. Someone hovered by her.

“Hmm, Dawn, you’re missing something.” Xander’s hands were shoved in his pockets as he casually inspected Dawn’s new face. “Rumor is, pirating requires a beard. Or a parrot. Both would be better, but you have to have at least one.”

Despite herself, Dawn felt a small smile trip across her lips.

“Good news though! No beard means it’s easier to eat this.” He handed her a candy bar, one of the good ones with chocolate and peanut butter.

It was ridiculous and exactly what she needed. She unwrapped it slowly. “Willow tells me I can get a glass eye. I could get something that totally matches my other one, and then, like, pop it out on Halloween to scare kids.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“Not that we’ll see another Halloween with this bozo army.”

“And the spirit is gone.”

Dawn took a large bite and glanced out the window. “Shut up! Buffy’s outside.”

Xander and Willow’s hearts were heavy but happy as they crossed the street to talk with Buffy.

Buffy stood staring at the neighbor’s lilac bush as if she could set it on fire with her mind. She plucked a heavy bloom. “They love me. They love me not,” she said as she pulled the petals off.

“Buff, that’s not fair,” Xander blurted. Not the foot he’d wanted to start on. He was still uncertain if he hadn’t spoken up in her defense out of cowardice or agreement. The bruise on his cheek felt like the latter.

“We love you!” said Willow, reaching out to rub Buffy’s arm. “We just think you need a break. All the stress is affecting your judgement.”

“My judges are the guy who left his fiance at the altar and the woman who tried to burn the world? Both less than a year ago. What do you know about stress?” Buffy asked as she crushed the flower in her fist.

“A hell of a lot,” said Willow in a low voice.

“You’re not the characters I came to Disneyland for. Where’s Dean?”

“He and Sam went to deal with the bodies at the winery.”

“Then you two can Hi-Ho your butts back in the house, and I’ll wait here,” she said with coldness in her eyes.

“I know you’re mad and all, but come in for some --”

“I’m not here for you,” their friend snapped. Her eye twitched. “Not yet. Now go back inside or I’ll give you more than a bruise.”

To Dean’s surprise, other than missing doors and a blackened entrance, the winery was still standing. “Two cans of gas and a building full of alcohol.”

“Wine doesn’t have a high enough alcohol content to burn, so it probably put the fire out,” Sam explained.

“Wow, even the things you know about booze are nerdy.” Although, Buffy would be relieved to know his anger-move hadn’t been any more effective than her plan.

“We going in?”

The dark maw of the building stared him down. Less than a day before, that place had claimed five of them and incapacitated even more. A chill ran down Dean’s spine. “Can’t afford it. Let’s go.”

On the way back to the Impala, his phone rang. Xander wanted to warn him that an angry Buffy was waiting for him at the house. Angry. Crying. Dean didn’t care. He needed to see her.

Haloed by the purple flowers in the neighbor’s yard, Buffy looked stunning. Her hair was in loose, natural waves, and her face bare of makeup. It was her soft-with-sleep, content-in-his-arms beauty, though he doubted she wanted to be held.

When he gently called to her, her icy resolve melted away. “Dean!” A smile blossomed on her lips as she breathed out his name. "We need to talk.”

“Buffy, I'm so, so sorry for the shit I said.” He took her small hands in his; it was the first time he’d touched her in what felt like forever. Exhibiting no hesitation, she lightly squeezed his fingers. He’d never been so thrilled to hold a woman’s hand. “I hope you believe me when I say I didn't want any of this. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She nodded, the light catching on the fan of her lashes. “It’s hard for people to see a bigger plan in the moment.” Looking up at him with curious eyes, she said, “Speaking of, do you have a plan for Lucifer?”

“It was a bitch of a night, sweetheart. Treading water as fast as we can, but look around you.” Every house on the block was empty. “The tide’s comin’ in.”

“Do we head for the hills with the girls?”

“Of course not. We’re the line between him and the rest of your world. We gotta hold it so the world doesn’t go all I Am Legend.”

Worry swelled in Buffy’s eyes. She opened her mouth several times, but said nothing. Finally, she swallowed and said, “What about Michael?”

“Michael? I don’t think that douche even knows we’re here.”

The worry washed away. She gazed into his eyes and appeared surprisingly happy for knowing it was the end of the world. “It’s like a burn one, get-one-free special.” She laid her head on his chest, her arms encircling his waist. Dean embraced her, content that if they were going to die at least they would die together.

She shifted, and he started to let her go. “No,” she said, “keep holding me, baby.”

A shout down their deserted block drew his attention. Blood streaming down his face, Spike ran at them yelling something. Confused, Dean looked down into Buffy’s black eyes.

He fell back in terror, numbness taking over his body. Everything seemed to slow down and speed up all at once. His brain screamed, No! No! No!

“Hey baby, surprised to see me?” the demon inside her cooed. She grabbed him by the arms and tossed him into a flower bed.  

Spike jumped her, but she threw him over her shoulders.

“I thought I killed you.” Buffy pulled a knife from her boot. Spike blocked the blow to his chest, leaving a gash on his forearm.

Dean pulled her off, causing her to whirl back on him and slash his cheek. “Gonna cut your pretty face --”

Then she stopped. Stopped talking. Stopped moving. The black in her eyes swirled wildly. Buffy trembled, then collapsed in a heap. Behind her, Spike stood holding a bloody rock.

Buffy didn’t know where she was. It was so dark, she couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or closed. She tried to feel for a wall, a door, a light, but she couldn’t move her arms. It was like fighting off a deep sleep.

She wasn’t alone. Someone -- some thing -- was laughing. It sounded like broken glass, like a punch knocking teeth loose, like being lost and alone; yet somehow Buffy knew it was a laugh.

I like it in here, said a voice that was a cross between a bark and a hiss. So many toys.

Suddenly, Buffy was in bed. Angel’s hands slid from her breasts to her thighs as he kissed her neck with tantalizing slowness.

That laugh.

Buffy was at her high school. She was holding a gun. Angel stood before her, pleading. Shaking, she pulled the trigger.

That laugh again, like cold water running down her spine.

Now Buffy was struggling on the bathroom floor, tired and terrified, trying to push Spike off of her.

Fuck, this is fun.

Then Buffy could see. She could see Dean standing in front of her, saying something she couldn’t hear. Buffy tried to say something, anything -- he was right there -- but no words came out. Then he was holding her. It was bliss and torture all wrapped together.

The voice practically sang, Gonna kill your boyfriend. Gonna make you watch. Gonna snap his neck. Oh yes! Oh yes!

Whatever this thing was, Buffy wasn’t going to let it win. She managed to loosen her grip on Dean, but she heard her voice ask him to stay. For a brief second, she felt the thing look away, distracted by something Buffy couldn’t see. She seized the moment, and threw Dean away from her.

Blackness and laughter. A flash of Spike and blood. Buffy tried to move, tried to scream, but she could see her own arms lashing out with a knife. Now Dean was in front of her, blood on his cheek. Buffy focused on his eyes, those deep green eyes. She pulled up all the love inside of her, everything she had done and hope to do with this man, and shoved it to the front of her mind.

The laugh was cut short. Buffy’s body was holding still.

Then everything went black.

This was a nightmare. If Dean opened his eyes, he would see Buffy sound asleep with little pillow creases on her face. Instead, Spike, his face a sickly shade of purple, sat sprawled on a chair while Anya sewed up his arm. The mysterious book Spike had brought consumed Giles, who looked like he’d aged ten years.

The kitchen was packed with everyone who cared about Buffy. And the guilty, Dean thought, bitterly surveying their downcast faces.

“How’s Dawn?” Xander asked Willow when she returned to the kitchen.

“Sleeping.”

“You put her under?”

“I hate to use the word hysterical -- because sexist, but it applies. She was hysterical and crying, which isn’t helping her heal. She kept saying this wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t kicked Buffy out.”

The Potentials averted their eyes.

“She’s not wrong,” Dean grumbled under his breath.

Keisha started to apologize, “If I knew this could happen--”

“No,” said Betje, shaking her head. “What’s done is done. We have to fix this demon problem.”

Karen took a bloody towel from Spike and handed him a fresh one for his split lip and broken nose. With the power off, they had nothing cold for the swelling. “Recap for the new girl? My head was spinning too much to get all of that.”

“Kind of ‘urts to talk,” moaned Spike.

Anya sighed. “Previously on Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Kicked out of the house with her tail between her legs, Buffy thought she’d do a vision quest to learn more Slayer tricks. Only the vision was more of a touch-and-feel experience. Poof! Gone. Poof! Back with bonus gross demon parasite.”

“You’re grossed out?” huffed Willow.

Anya finished bandaging Spike’s arm and repacked the first aid kit. “Demons may maim and kill and sew chaos, but there are lines. Very few demons possess, and they’re social outcasts. This goes off the map into unknown heebee jeebee territory.”

“Okay, Robin, that was very helpful,” Sam said as he came in the back door and hung up his phone. “Unhelpful asshole. He doesn’t know anything.”

Sam handed Willow a small necklace. “You too, Giles,” he said.

“No anti-possession charms for the rest of us?” Xander asked.

Sam handed another to Spike. “The rest of you aren’t vessels. You can’t be possessed. Just witches, slayers and vampires.”

“And Potential Slayers,” Willow added as she slipped on the necklace. “But that got explody last time.”

After securing unconscious demon Buffy in a devil’s trap in the basement, they had moved most of the Potentials to the neighboring house for safety. Some were too injured to move. A few, wracked with guilt, refused to leave.

His nose buried once more in his book, Giles muttered to himself, “Where did Bernard find this? These were lost. They’re all dead.”

“Giles, mutter reassuring things or don’t mutter at all,” Anya snapped.

Giles snapped his head up, seemingly surprised the conversation had moved on without him. “In any other circumstance, holding this book would be a rare treat. Scholars thought they were lost when the Order of the Oracle was wiped out.”

“Order of the Oracle?” Sam said. “I have one of their books. I found it online.”

Giles glared at Sam over his glasses. “Could I see this book?”

“Yeah, it’s in the car.”

“It’s in your bloody--!” Giles took a deep breath and muttered into his book, “Let’s just keep rare texts in our cars next to our mixtapes. Heaven forbid we use bookshelves like civilized people.”

“We do an exorcism, right?” asked Karen. “Some pea soup, head spinning, and Buffy’s back?”

“No,” said Dean, tired of listening to them.

“No? It was good enough for me,” said Spike.

“That demon was making you a vampire. That’s the gig here. This one, I don’t know where Buffy found it, but it’s from our side of the tracks. I think it knows me. We need to find out how it got here and if more are coming.”

“If there are?” asked Xander.

Dean didn’t want to tell him it dropped their chances from zero to zilch.

Karen’s eyes darted from person to person in spinning confusion. “Can we go back to Spike being a vampire -- because what?”

The basement door burst open and Andrew collapsed on the ground wheezing. “Buff-- She-- It? Waking is happening.” Anya and Giles followed the Winchesters while everyone else hid their faces.

In the basement, Dani was standing dangerously close to the outer line of the demon trap inspecting Buffy, black eyes fluttering, with the curiosity of children taunting a lion at the zoo. “Doesn’t look so bad. She couldn’t be worse than a Serparvo or a Haxil Beast.”

Laying on her side, Buffy opened her eyes.

“Dani, step back!” barked Sam.

“Help me! I’m afraid!” whimpered the demon.

Dani leaned across the circle, her face close to Buffy’s. Before Dean got to the bottom of the stairs, the creature jerked toward the Potential and bit into her cheek. Dani reeled back screaming. Buffy smiled, a chunk of skin hanging from her teeth.

“No!” shouted Anya her finger wagging at the bloody-faced creature. “Bad demon! Naughty! You’re the kind of demon that gives demons a bad name. What kind of demon are you anyway?”

“The real kind.”

Anya looked at the Winchesters with fear and confusion as she lead Dani upstairs.

The demon spit the piece of cheek on the ground. For a brief moment, the edge melted from her glare as Buffy coughed and spit blood from her mouth. Then she grinned an awful, red grin. “Sam and Dean. I missed you boys! Haven’t seen you since I sicced my puppies on your last girlfriend.”

“Meg,” growled Sam.

“In the flesh -- or rather your girl’s flesh, huh, Dean?” A satisfied chuckle bubbled from her throat as Dean bit his tongue to keep from reacting. “I think of all the bodies I’ve possessed, this one is my favorite. No offense, Sammy.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” said Dean.

“Too late. I love exploring her nooks and crannies. All of her dark places. The secrets in here!” Meg shimmied with excitement. “For instance, Giles,” she said, directing her attention to librarian on the stairs, “do you remember telling her you would always support her? It’s one of those memories a girl with daddy issues goes back to when she's having a down day.”

“I remember,” whispered Giles, his eyebrows furrowed with agony as he beheld his only child strung up like a puppet.

“Until she fucks up, of course. Then she’s out on the street.” She still smiled her bloody smile, but her eyes were pleading.

Giles glared at her with steely resolve. “The consequences for my actions have been dire, and I won’t leave her now.”

“Enough!” Dean snapped. “How’d you get here, Meg?”

“Hard work and clean living?”

He crouched by the edge of the demon trap, so he could look into Meg’s black eyes. “You think I don’t know how to get information out of you?”

“I know for a fact you couldn’t hurt your Girly any more than you’d hurt your Sammy. She’s barely spoken to you for weeks, and you’re still jumping through hoops like a trained bitch to get her to notice you. You got it bad, Dean, and she’s ready to run away screaming.” Buffy slammed her body against the floor. Once. Twice. Three times. She rose to her knees slowly, awkwardly, Buffy’s long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and neck, a wry smile on her red lips.

“You know what pushed her away? It wasn't the Apocalypse or the Potentials or anything else you’ve blamed.” Her smile disappeared. Her mouth clamped shut. A twitch washed over her muscles like a personal earthquake. The smile returned. “It wasn’t any of that. It was the baby.”

The more Buffy focused, the more she could move. She beat her fists against the darkness and screamed, screamed to get out. She shut out the taunts, the memories, and focused. I’m near my house. Dean is here. Spike is here.

She tasted blood. Cold crept into her bones. Dean’s voice, far off and muffled, snapped the silence. Dean is here.

The laugh again.

Buffy threw herself against the blackness once more and felt a hard smack. The air rushed from her lungs. Pain was good. Pain was present.

Then she could see her basement. She was in the demon trap they’d painted for Spike. Dean and Sam stood outside of the circle; Giles on the stairs. Dean’s jaw twitched with rage.

Suddenly, there was a white hot stab in her gut. Buffy screamed in agony.

Oh yes, let’s share that, the voice growled.

Buffy tried to put her hands over her mouth, to bite her tongue. To keep it in. Still the word erupted into the air, plump and sad.

Baby.

Dean clenched his jaw. The ploy was low even for Meg. “You're lying.”

“Why? Because she would have told you?” she said in a mocking whine.

“Because you’re a sack-a-shit demon.”

“And this sack of shit is wearing your girlfriend. I have access to memories and thoughts you couldn’t imagine. She may let you rut around in this body, but it's not yours.” Quickly, Buffy slammed her body back into the wall with a gasp.

Then a laugh. “She never forgot your dream of starting a family together, Dean. Buffy battles monsters for a living, but the mere idea of spawning your green-eyed ankle-biters made her want to vomit. Then she got two little lines on the test.

“I know what you’re thinking. Wracking your brain counting back the days since she let you fuck her. Wondering if you always used a condom. Blaming her for messing up her pills,” Meg twisted Buffy’s lips into a smirk. “What’s funny is that you two morons with your supercharged bodies thought the conventional would be enough.”

Dean wasn’t thinking any of that. Instead, a cold grief crept into his bones that Buffy had carried the burden alone. Another person he loved was too scared to tell him the truth. He shook his head and whispered, “You can shut up.”

“Or what? You’ll make me?” She grinned from ear to ear, her tongue caught between her teeth. “Already called that bluff, dickwad. Besides, if you want the truth, you can ask Giles.”

Giles’ eyes flitted between Dean and the demon. The unasked question seemed to press him smaller. “Awhile ago, Buffy wanted to come when I drove to Los Angeles to pick up two Potentials at the airport. I thought it was odd, but I was happy for the company. She was distant, quiet. We had a strained conversation. As soon as we arrived in LA, she got a ride into town, leaving us at the airport for a couple hours. She never said what she was doing. I...I had assumed she went to see Angel.”

“Is she pregnant?” Dean whispered, trying to keep the shattered feeling from his voice.

Meg laughed, made all the crueler in Buffy’s voice. “Not now, baby daddy. I took care of that before I came. Bad enough I have all the memories of fucking you; didn’t want any part of you sharing my meatsuit too. Took a lot of poking around in there. In fact, I made sure that if you exorcise me, she’s going to bleed out.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek so hard it bled. Sam whispered in his ear, “Go upstairs, and let me handle this.”

The holy water and salt Buffy could handle, but that wouldn’t break Meg. Ruby’s knife tucked into Sam’s belt worried him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re white as a sheet,” said Sam, concerned.

Upstairs, people started to scream.

“You pretty much had to chain me to fight me,” Buffy shouted into the blackness.

This isn’t fighting, Firework. This is subjugation. Humans belong under a boot.

“You forgot something.” Buffy smiled, confident she could end this. “I’m the Slayer.”

The laugh. I don’t care if you’re the Pope. You’re still my puppet until I break you and toss you.

Buffy closed her eyes. It wasn’t just her and this thing trapped in here. Buffy was full of memories and love, of joys and comforts this monster couldn’t imagine. She dug down deep. She filled her mind with bright memories of her sister and mother. Of Dean’s tender kisses. Of her friends fighting by her side. She dug down into the parts of her that were warm and soft, the instinctive, protective parts.

That’s where Buffy found her.

At the first scream, Giles bolted upstairs. Sam took the stairs in twos.

Dean wasn’t sure if it was a trick -- another demon, maybe Caleb -- but he knew that he had to stay. He had to get Meg out of Buffy if they were going to win.

In the demon trap, Meg looked at the ceiling in wide-eyed horror. Buffy’s began to glow as if she’d swallowed a small sun. She fell to the ground, shaking and flailing. Then the room flared white.

Through the spots in his eyes, Dean could see a black cloud swirling above Buffy’s body. He pulled her free from the demon trap and held her in his arms. Small beads of sweat formed on her pale skin. Her eye fluttered for a moment before settling on him. “Dean.” Her voice was weak and fading.

It sounded like goodbye.

Willow’s sleep spell hadn’t worked as long as she’d hoped. She sat on the living room floor with Dawn sobbing into her shoulder.

Xander rubbed Dawn’s back. He’d known her since she was nine -- plucky, needy and already showing signs of teenage resentment. “Dean once told me a friend of theirs was possessed but managed to overpower the demon. Buffy’s gotta be stronger than that guy. You’ll see.”

“It’s my fault,” Dawn repeated. “We’re made for each other, and I pushed her out.”

“Maybe we should take her over to the neighbor’s with the rest of the girls,” Anya suggested.

Dawn sat up and glared at her with her one good eye. “No! I’m staying with my sister. I want to see her!”

The Potentials observed their domestic scene from the dining room, the bandage on Dani’s maimed cheek already red. Heading upstairs, Willow said, “I’m going to get more bandages and painkillers.”

Without warning, Dani was consumed by a blue light. She screamed, but other than lending their voices, everyone flattened themselves against the wall. The blue light floated off of her, toward the living room.

Another blue light appeared, but it quickly faded, leaving a short man with a small pursed mouth and golden eyes.

The first light surrounded Xander and Dawn. It was warm and tingly with occasional jolts of fire running through it. The man tapped the light, and it too became a man, with dark messy hair and piercing blue eyes. He pulled the bandage from Dawn’s eye, revealing a blue eye where there had been an empty socket. Frenzied, Dani yanked the bandage from her healed face.

“Keep doing that and you’re going to blow your vessel, Castiel.”

Castiel turned his head to the side like a dog trying to understand. His eyes darted between Spike and Rachel before choosing the girl. “People are hurt from our war, Gabriel. What else should I do?”

Sam and Giles burst into the room. “You!” Sam shouted, lunging at Gabriel. Gabriel flicked away, reappearing at the other end of the room with lightning arcing from his back.

“Lucy! I’m home!” he said with a grin. “Miss me?”

“Cas, we need your help.”

Gabriel laughed but was unamused. “Surprise, surprise. Heard you screwed things up with my brother. Grab Dean; I’ll take you home.”

“What? No, we have a situation in the basement.”

“I’m sure it’s dire, drama queen, but do you remember the little Apocalypse you left behind? There are still two Horsemen riding around in Satan’s saddle. Get your brother. We have to go.”

“You owe me, you son of a bitch!”

A darkness washed over Gabriel’s face before Castiel clamped his hand on his shoulder. “You promised you’d help. You promised you wouldn’t hurt them. Take me to the basement.”

Sam lead the two men and most of the curious group downstairs, where a black cloud swirled inside the devil’s trap, and Dean, his face wet with tears, cradled Buffy, pale and still in his arms. “Cas?” he said, his voice small and broken.

“Check on the girl. I’ll deal with the demon,” said Gabriel. He plunged his hands into the cloud.

Once more, lightning began to shoot from his back. The Potentials, Anya, and Andrew bolted back upstairs. In a second, the demon was gone.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said. He put his hand on Buffy’s head and furrowed his brow. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“What do you --”

“I mean, I could wake her up, but she probably needs the rest. Did she expel the demon on her own?”

Shocked, Dean could only muster a nod.

“Fascinating.”

Buffy wiggled her head like she was fighting an early morning dream. She gazed at Dean through half-open eyes, leaned her head against his chest, and fell back into a dead sleep.

Dean didn’t know or care why angels were in Sunnydale. He didn’t care about what trick Gabriel was there to play. All that mattered was that the woman he loved, the woman who he thought had just died in his arms, was breathing against his neck. The Scoobies and Potentials pressed themselves against the wall as he carried Buffy upstairs.

He laid her on the bathroom floor and drew a bath. Dean felt gutted, his insides shoved back in every which way, sewn up with dental floss. He worried it wouldn't hold, one wrong move and his guts would spill out on the floor.

Dawn burst into the room, Willow right behind her. “She's okay?”

“Good as new. Just tired. I see your pirate career is in shambles.”

Dawn smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled. “Those guys downstairs, they're angels aren't they? Your friend Castiel?”

“Yeah.” While he was thrilled to see Castiel, he knew this wasn't a casual visit. “Willow, you mind?” he asked gesturing at the bath. Buffy needed rest, but he knew she usually liked to clean the blood off first Willow, who seemed unusually pale and skittish, grabbed towels.

He heard a whimper as he started to get up. Buffy was reaching out to him, her voice crackling and raw. “It wasn't true. She lied.”

“I know,” he lied.

Downstairs Sam and Gabriel were already in a tense argument, the rest of house looking on in confusion and fear.

Everyone but Spike. “Come on! Get with the healing! Starting to feel like the only girl at the prom without a corsage.”

Castiel stepped toe-to-toe with Spike, their faces inches apart. “What sort of creature are you?” the angel asked.

“Lately, punching bag.”

“Good to see you, buddy,” said Dean, embracing the angel who believed he was worth saving.

“And how the hell do you think we can kill Death?” Sam shouted.

“I can get you the weapon. I need you to do it,” Gabriel said as Sam towered over him.

“What's going on?” Dean asked.

“This asshole--”

“Have some respect, Sasquatch.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Supreme Asshole wants to take us back home to kill Pestilence and Death, because he's too scared to do it himself.”

“This isn't a matter of fear, boy. Someone is going to have to keep the demons off of you.”

“Pestilence and Death? Why?”

Andrew cleared his throat. “Something about rings and a quest and a cage. It sounds like it should have swords and its own Hans Zimmer score.”

“You have the rings of Famine and War,” Gabriel explained. “Collect all four, you got yourself a door back to the cage.”

“Cage is open. Big freakin’ deal,” said Dean. “Lucifer's not going to walk in there on his own.”

“We are still working on an alternative to Sam's possession,” said Castiel.

“What, you got mine sorted?” said Dean.

The angels exchanged quick glances. “Zachariah found another.”

It was the Winchesters’ turn to look confused. That didn't make any sense. Dean was the result of years of cupid interference, breeding vessel with vessel. He was Michael’s only hope.

“They raised Adam,” Castiel explained. “They promised him that if he said yes, they would bring back his mother.”

“Adam? There's an Adam now?” asked Anya.

“We had a half-brother,” Sam said. “He was killed before we met him.”

“Oh goody. More Winchesters,” she grumbled. “Only good can come of this.”

“Granted, this is not my area of expertise,” Giles began, “but Dean is Michael’s true vessel. Wouldn’t possessing anyone else be playing with a handicap?”

“Ten points to Gryffindor.” Gabriel shrugged. “He couldn't wait on you forever, Dean. Especially when he didn't know where I hid you.”

“You?” asked the brothers in unison.

“Lemme guess, you thought Cas had the juice to get you here? Please. He didn’t even know about this place.”

Someone tapped Dean’s shoulder. It was one of the Potentials, looking not at all eager to meet angels. “Willow sent me. Buffy wants to see you.”

“Come back tomorrow,” he told Gabriel.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it was to even get here?” the angel asked.

“Been a bitch of a day, Feathers. Come back tomorrow.” Dean raced up the stairs to find the bathroom empty. Wrapped in a towel, Buffy sat on her bed, her wet hair dripping on her sister, who looked like she had no intention of ever letting her go.

Buffy smiled at him softly when he entered the room. “Dean, would you take me home?”

next chapter

[little-drop-of-water]

Will & Lady Tree Chapter 1

So, this is a story I’ve been attempting to to write since...forever and I finally managed to wirte something decent. I wrote it first in spanish, then translated it to english and I’m glad with how it turned out. So I’m posting it here in the hopes someone will read it, maybe even like it, I don’t know, here goes nothing.

    Will ran towards the low wall in front of him, his next move was all he had in mind. He leaped forward, reached the wall with both hands and then pushed himself even further only with his arms.

    He stretched his body in the air; then kept his arms fully extended in front of him while bending his legs up.  He reached another low wall and placed both hands on top. Using the leap’s momentum, he moved his legs down, between his arms, without touching the wall and landed on grass. He kept running until he was able to stop a few feet away from the second wall.

    As soon as he stopped, his friends greeted him with cheers and applause.

“That’s how you do a Double Kong!” exclaimed Andrew “Awesome!” He said as he pat Will’s back.

“Thanks, man.” Replied Will returning the pat on his friend’s back.

“How long did you take to master that?” asked Paul.

“Three to four days” answered Will “For the basic move, of course” added immediately. Then he spent a few moments humming and looking at the distance in thought. “I think it took me about a month in total,” he finally replied, “I started at the gym with mats and gradually increased the distance between obstacles until I reached ten feet. This is the first time I do it on grass and I still don’t dare to do it on concrete or asphalt.”

“Do you think I’ll be able to do it soon?” asked Paul.

“Bad idea,” said Andrew “you’ve been doing this parkour thing for barely two months.”

“You could break a bone” added Will “And how would you practice then?”

“Well, I could brag about getting a broken bone while attempting a Double Kong.” said Paul, and everyone laughed.

“That’s not how it works” answered Andrew, shaking his head while grinning.

“I would rather brag about the Double Kong instead of a failed attempt.” said Will, still giggling.

    His phone rang then. There was an unknown number with Egeoworl’s area code on the screen. The only ones from that town that used to call him were his parents. The few friends he had there preferred to use more discrete methods to get in touch with him.  

    So it was probably mom or dad calling to let him know they changed their number. Will answered the phone, still smiling over what Paul said.

“Hello”

“William?” asked an old man’s voice at the other side of the line.

He wasn’t expecting that.

“Hugh? Hi. How are you?”

“Will I – have to talk to you.”

    There was something different about Hugh’s voice, a kind of tiredness Will didn’t remember. The family’s former gardener was an old man, true, but his voice had always been strong and clear. This was the first time he sounded according to his age.

“It’s about your parents” he continued. His voice was not only tired, there was also sadness in it;         suddenly, Will felt as if he had a hole in his stomach. When he was finally able to speak, his voice came out as nothing but a whisper.

“What is it?” he asked.

“They were coming back from visiting some friends” the old man answered “Their plane crashed against a cliff – I’m sorry” his voice was also a whisper at the end.

    The call must have ended at some point, because he could no longer hear Hugh’s voice on the other side. He must look awful, since his friends approached him with concern and he should have told them something, because both of them hugged him tight. But he couldn’t quite tell what was going on. If human beings had an auto pilot, Will’s had turned on that very moment.

    Paul and Andrew walked him to his apartment; they helped him contact the rest of his family to inform them what happened and made tea while Will booked the soonest flight available to Egeoworl. When they left, they told him he could count on them for anything.

    Will could barely look at them in the face while muttering a husky “Thank you”. He tried to smile, but suddenly his face was too heavy to move, or so he felt.

    He packed, had some dinner, tried to sleep and next morning took a taxi to the airport. He never cried, he never even sobbed. As far as Will knew, he was also dead.

    Sounds came to him muffled, distant. And even if he couldn’t say he saw everything in shades of gray, colors did seem duller and shadows were darker and deeper. It was as if a veil covered him, separating him from the rest of the world.

    Maybe that’s what mourning was. When a loved one dies, you die with them too and sooner or later you are reborn. While you remain “dead”, you are so numb you can’t feel anything; the pain actually comes when the rebirth begins, for now you understand you must continue your life without a loved one.

    Will was still “dead” and didn’t know when he will be reborn. He wasn’t eagerly expecting it either. In that state he did things automatically and not being fully present, right. But that was better than being invaded by feelings, at least for the moment. Plus, it was convenient.

    He had over thirty hours of journey ahead and three connection flights in two different continents. He would leave London on an autumn Thursday and arrive at Egeoworl on a spring Saturday. Being “dead” would at least allow him to think and not make stupid mistakes. It would also give him the chance to go unnoticed.

    Inside Heathrow Airport his looks could easily mix with those of the thousands of sleep deprived and tired travelers wandering through the corridors and stores or sitting in waiting rooms until their flights took off. He would have more time than enough to cry in Egeoworl.

    He took his first flight, listened some music, dozed, ate; he fell fully asleep at some point and when he woke up they were about to land. He waited a few hours in the second airport doing pretty much the same he did during the flight.

    Every time he had to move he felt heavy, as if he was asleep or paralyzed and someone else was moving him like a string puppet. It was amidst the Indic Ocean, on his way to Australia that the rebirth began.        

    Will woke up from one of many naps and felt something forming deep inside him. It started in his mind, stomach and heart at the same time. He suddenly needed to scream. But things wouldn’t end up well if he did it in the middle of a flight, so he went back to sleep. The scream, or whatever that was, wouldn’t come out if he was unconscious… right?

    That worked the first two or three times but the scream became more powerful as hours went by. It soon invaded him completely; it was all he could think of and all he could feel. He spent the rest of the flight writhing desperately on his seat.

    As soon as he came out of the plane, he ran to the nearest bathroom and threw up. Than seemed to stop the rebirth process for a while. Back to his living dead state, Will carried on with the journey. He would remain that way until the end.

    He waited God knows how many hours on that Australian airport and finally took his last international flight. After some more hours of flight and a couple of hours in yet another waiting room, Will was boarding the small aircraft that would take him to St. Nicholas Island, where Egeoworl was located. It was the same type of aircraft in which his parents died.

    The aircraft started shaking as they flew over the ocean. Turbulence was common on that region, as well as storms and fog banks. Technology made flights and ferry trips safer but traveling to St. Nicholas Island had always been dangerous.

    They were about to land when Will saw the island’s cliffs and the accident site: It was surrounded by police tape and the area’s vegetation was nothing but pieces of coal. The crash was so intense that chunks of cliff fell onto the ocean.

    Will stared that cliff area from his window; he couldn’t take his eyes off it no matter how hard he tried. His parents died there and, by what he saw, it had been awful.

    When the aircraft came to a full stop all passengers went down to the landing track. Will noticed immediately the typical salty scent in the island’s air and took a deep breath; he would get used to in within a few days and no longer perceive it.

    Once inside the building, the passengers gathered around the only conveyor belt and waited for their luggage. It was then that Will was able to look at them in detail. They all looked just like him or worse: numb, exhausted and devastated. All of them wore black and none seemed to be fully present. They were all living dead, exactly like Will.

    There was a woman in front of him at the other side of the belt; her eyes were teary and reddened. She looked almost like his high school History teacher, who, if he remembered correctly, had an identic twin living in Auckland – oh shit.

    The woman looked at him and burst into tears. Will remained in silence and lowered his head; his eyes now stung as they filled with tears. They didn’t know each other but there was no need. The conveyor belt started working at that moment. The sound shook Will, making him blink, scaring the tears away, only if for a while.

    Luckily, his luggage was the first to come out. As soon as he grabbed it, he left that room as fast as he could. Will noticed the board next to the main entrance door on his way out; it was normally used for unimportant notices but this was not the case. This time there was a text on the board which read:

The people of Egeoworl are deeply saddened by the event that took place on November 19th. Our condolences go to the families of the victims.

O’Connor

Jones

Turner

Wood

Arbor

Smith

Brown

Krueger

Ríos

    He froze right there and then; his last name was not on the list. What was he expecting? He was in Egeoworl after all. Will started shaking from head to toe; he clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt; gripped his luggage tightly until his knuckles went white and began sobbing without shedding a tear until his face turned red.

“They are so inconsiderate” Said a woman behind him.

“I can think of a word worse than that” Answered Will; choking on anger.

“I’m sure you can think of several, in fact”

    Will turned around and met a woman about seventy years old. The lady was tall and stood straight; she wore all black, her clothes were covered in cat’s hair and from her came a scent of fresh herbs that Will could smell from where he was standing.

“Hi Mrs. Smith” said Will “Who in your family –

“My grandson, Edward” the woman interrupted “He started college at Wellington and forgot some things while moving out. He was coming to pick them up” she finished with a trembling whisper.

“I’m sorry” was all Will could say.

“Thank you” answered Mrs. Smith with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes “Are you the only member of your family who’s coming?”

    Will nodded in silence. Then Mrs. Smith rummaged in her purse and took some white plastic pieces from it, they were board letters.

“I have one just like this at home” she said, nodding towards the board “A smaller one, of course, but it comes with different sized letters.”

    Will’s heart shattered like glass. Mrs. Smith handed him the letters and pointed her gaze to the board once more.

“Go ahead” she said “They won’t dare to take it off. I wanted to add your last name since I saw the notice yesterday, but it’s way better if you do it.”  

    Will clutched the letters in his hands and headed towards the board; there was an empty space right at the bottom.  He began placing the letters one by one: C, I, L, T, H. There were tears in his eyes by the time he finished writing his last name. He stepped back to take a look at the notice; it seemed as if it had been written that way since the beginning.

    He read the text once more. Then tears streamed down his face and there was nothing he could do to stop them; he began to sob again, so hard this time he stopped breathing at all and his heart pounded against his chest so violently it hurt. William Cilth was finally reborn and it didn’t feel as bad as he’d imagine. It was infinitely worse.

[anklelocker-blog1]

Extremely rough draft -had an idea and ran with it-

I can vaguely remember my early childhood. All the fuzzy stuff like high chairs and our ceiling color and the long nights are there, a big mush of stuff that everyone remembers. The only absolute moment I can remember, my earliest memory, was learning numbers. I remember them so clearly, probably because on that same day, my mother was beaten and shot as I sat in the other room. I can remember the gunshot, because it was the loudest thing I'd ever heard. I can remember my father screaming and yelling as he left my crib side. I remember the blue of my blankets, and the softness of my pillows. I was wailing as the second and third gunshot were fired, this time from my father's hands, as i would later find out and comprehend that he had broken the intruders arm and shot him in the chest two, three, four times as my mother lay on the floor, bleeding out. I can remember slam of the car door and the soft, gray room where my father and I apparently sat for fourteen hours during my mothers operation. My father tells me that I sat, awake and silent, for those hours, waiting with him for the results that came with joyful tears and breathless laughter as it was declared that although my mother's arm and shoulder were now nerve dead, she would live. Live. We had all lived. Even as that man had kicked in the flimsy apartment door and torn up our home and life. Even as the bullet entered my mother's body and went out the other side. Even as the man whirled around to late to stop the brutal efficiency with which my father, a trained marine, had snapped his arm and taken the gun that had dropped from his now limp arm. I cannot remember arriving back to our home, to the crime scene, in the early hours of the morning. I can't remember my father shushing me and changing my diaper as he repeated over and over "It's okay, it's okay bud. We're just picking up mommy's stuff." I can't even remember the police and red lights and static and yellow tape around my room. The one thing, the only thing and the only reason I still lay awake at night is for that single moment when my father lifted my basket and gave me a perfect view of the kitchen. The man's head was facing the stove, which I only saw because the black plastic bag had not been fully zipped up. This moment, right here, was when I first saw it. When I first understood numbers. About two inches above the man's head floated a very faint gray number 6. It was the same figure I had been seeing in my books, hearing about from my mother as she held up fingers and placed blocks into my hands. Little old me had no idea why this shape that Elmo had told me about was there in our kitchen, by the weird man. It wouldn't be until months later, as I walked around our new little carpeted living room that I would even think about that number again. On one warm and sweaty day, I fell down and cut open my knee on the edge of the fireplace. My father had scooped my crying form up from the ground and sat me down on the edge of the kitchen sink. Through my tears, I saw a number 7 floating above his stooped head as he bent to wash off my oozing leg. I remember pausing my cries for a moment as I swiped my snotty arm under my nose again. Why did my daddy have that number above his head too? "Daddy?" I said "Yeah?" He said as he finished dabbing the now tiny cut with a washcloth. I sniffled again before saying "Why do you have that?" as I pointed above his head at the little blue Seven not an inch from my finger. "Can I touch it?" Daddy glanced up from my knee for a moment. "What do you mean? I don't have anything, Andrew." He felt the top of his head, patting his hair. "Did you put something up there?" "No, silly! I'm saying the seven." My five year old Vocabulary restrained me. "That thingy! It's glowing!" Now my fathers eyebrows knitted in confusion as he turned to the microwave to look at his reflection. The number was obviously right there. Why didn't he see it? "Bud, there's not anything there, really." He turned back and started pushing hair out of my face and feeling my skull. "Did you hit your head? Just now?" Now a hint of worry pushed through his voice. He was being silly. I pulled back from his hands and sat up straighter as I shrugged my shoulders in stubborn anger. "No I didn't! You're just messing with me daddy. I don't like it." He stared at me for a moment before his face turned sympathetic and he reached out to feel my head again, saying "Bud..." "No! I'm real! Right there. Right there!" I said, pointing right at the number. I got so close my finger went through it, but I felt nothing. As I drew my hand away, the number simply reappeared within half a second. I didn't understand. "Jillian! Can you come here for a sec?" My father called. His voice was low and soft, even when he raised it. My mother appeared from the bathroom after a few moments. She walked a little slower as she clutched the bump in her stomach. I remember her bright pink bath robe that she always wore around the house. She pulled it around her now, coming over to me, already examining the situation with her eyes. "Ooh baby. What happened to you, huh?" My father showed her the dried and minuscule cut on my knee, no bigger then the small bandaid he still held in his hand, forgotten. "He says he sees a number..a number seven, right?" He looked over to me as I nodded "And, uh, he says it's glowing and blue." My mother now looked at my face, her's squished up in confusion. "I think he may of hit his head or something cause I don't see glowing number around here. My mother was already bobbing her head in agreement as she reached towards my hair. I shoved away from her hand. I was not happy that they did not believe me. It was so clear! Now that I looked for it, I could a little violet 3 above my moms head. I set my mouth in a frown as I said loudly "You guys don't believe me! It's real! I saw one a long time ago! When mommy got hit!" Both my parents looked at each other very quickly and turned back to me. "What did you say? What do you mean when mommy got hit?" I huffed. "Like, a long time ago! At the other place! I remember the man who hurt mommy was in black and he had a seven above his head! I saw it! I did!" "Okay, alright," my mother said quickly as she reached out and stroked my arm. " I believe you sweety. I do. We just--" My mother shook her head as my father huffed out a little laugh,"we just didn't think you even knew about that, being a baby and all. That was years ago sweety. I believe you though." She leaned towards a little more. "What exactly do you, um, remember from that..that day?" I crossed my arms and looked up to think. "Well, there was a really loud thing-noise. And then you were hurt, and daddy saved you. And then there was gray for a long time. And then you were good!" I thought for a moment and scooched up onto the counter some more. "But then. But then me and daddy came to the other place, with my old stuff. And I saw the bad man. He was laying down, and his eyes were open. But he wasn't movin. He just looked up. And I saw a number six. Gray. Just like daddy's, and yours." "That is..." my mother stopped speaking, and reads out for me with both arms. "Here sweety let's get down and go talk on the couch." "Yeah come on bud I wanna hear more about this. Come on." He said as he led me from the cold kitchen floor to the comfy brown couch we all shared on movie night. I didn't understand why this was new to them. They had been there. They must have seen the guy. Over the next twenty minutes, I recounted my memories, still crystal clear, to my parents as they stared incredulously at me. I told them that that was the first time I had seen the numbers, and that they had numbers too. As time wore on they started asking questions and became a little calmer as they were answered. Daddy got up after a minute and got the coats and the metal thingys. He helped my mother up as she let out a little puff and held her stomach some more. "Lets go talk to a special woman, okay bud? I think she'll be able to tell us about the numbers. And you." I agreed, although I was still a little confused. A few hours later, I met with this nice lady who I learned to call "Doctor Harry" over the next few weeks of lots of talking and writing and answering questions. She gave me candy. My parents were very curious about what I saw. Now that I was looking out for them, I saw numbers over almost everyone's heads. The tall people, though, they were too tall. Doctor Harry had a 4 above her head. I told her that. I told her about the bad man and mommy getting hurt and everything else I could remember. She didn't seem to ever get tired of listening to me. Over the years, we never found out why I had this ability, or curse, or whatever you wanna call it. It was just..there. Nothing else about me was different, in a good way. I played sports and ran around and learned just as fast as everyone else. It wasn't until my eleventh birthday that it all clicked into place. I absolutely loved our president, for no reason at all. He was just a cool guy to me. I didn't know politics or any fancy words for opinion or fighting, but for some reason, that guy was awesome to me. So, I had asked my parents one day if I could meet him, to which I got a chuckle and a "Maybe, bud." to. My little sister had clapped her chubby baby fingers together in agreement, although she didn't understand anything besides "mee-mee" for mom. Lo and behold, five months later, we had a ticket to go to this fancy place far away and see the president. I was so excited. I would get to shake hands with him! As my birthday approached, my excitement grew and grew until I could almost explode. As I watched him step out of his car, I glanced at the two big scary people beside him. One woman and one man, dressed in dark blue, with guns strapped across their backs. They had floating little 7's above their heads. As the president buttoned up his jacket, I saw the little faint 8 above his head. And I understood.