“Sir? Sir!” An urgent voice penetrated the fog surrounding his mind. The sound of busses downshifting, the soft hiss of breaks, the pungent aroma of diesel, and the clacking of bus doors sliding open and closed registered. When he opened his eyes the harsh florescent light caused him to quickly shut them again. The pounding in his head increased.

“Sir, you can’t sleep here. If you don’t leave, I’ll be forced to call security.”

Groaning, he sat up, hands rubbing his head. Everything was too loud, too bright. He could hear people arguing, a child screaming for a toy, a wife quarrelling with her husband, a group of teenager‘s excited chatter. Where in the goddamn hell was he?

Peeling his eyes open once more, he looked at the bus station attendant and gave a weak smile. At least it was dark outside.

“Sir, please, you have to leave.” The girl’s voice was annoyed, but it still had an inflection of worry that pushed him to follow her request.

“Okay, okay.” His voice sounded raspy and sent shockwaves of pain through his much-abused head. Lowering his arm, he noticed a key dangling from his wrist. Like brass, it was scratched and tarnished and had the number forty two printed on the side. Going on a hunch, he stopped the attendant.

“'Scuse me, uh, sorry to bother you, but can you tell me where to find locker forty two?”

Sighing, the attendant pointed out a row of lockers behind him before going back to her counter. Nodding his thanks even as she walked away without a single look back, he stood and slowly made his way over to the lockers, trying to keep away from as many people as possible. Subconsciously, there was something telling him that if he even looked at someone else, his brain would be in for a world of pain much worse than what he was already experiencing. Reaching the neat rows of lockers, he slowly walked up one aisle and down the other, eyes scanning for the correct number. When he found the locker, he took a deep breath before trying the key. A part of him wasn’t sure if he even wanted to look, but he needed answers and this was the only clue he had.

It was either luck or fate stepping in, but the key fit and turned the lock easily. Inside was an army green duffel bag, with only the name Dean W. printed on the tag attached to the handle.

“Huh,” he said as he pulled the bag from the locker. “Is this mine?”

Looking around, he saw the familiar symbol declaring that the Men’s restroom was off to his right. Quickly making his way to the restroom, he slipped inside. Once he was sure no one else was there, he locked the door. With a sigh, he leaned against the cool stone walls, letting his aching head fall back. Even with the closed door between him and the outside world he could still hear the grinding sounds of raised voices, the screeching of luggage across tiled floors, and the low, growling rumble of the busses’ engines as they roared to life.

Letting out a deep sigh, he walked to the sinks and let the bag rest on the counter. Pulling the zipper open, he peered inside. Clothes, all neatly packed greeted him. A black wallet rested on top of a folded pair of worn jeans. Pulling the wallet out, he opened it and found nothing but a thousand dollars in cash. No ID, no credit cards, nothing. Not even a library card. Cursing, he placed the wallet back in the bag and took out a change of clothes. The ones he was wearing were stained with dirt and other substances he didn’t wish to examine. The sinks provided him with a place to wash up while he changed, and once he had his filthy clothes bundled up, he felt somewhat better. Opening the bag, he reached inside to place his dirty clothes at the bottom. A box of rock salt, a machete, and sawed off shotgun greeted him. There was even a box of ammo.

“Holy fuck!” he yelled, taking a few startled steps back, dirty clothes momentarily forgotten.

Approaching the sinks again, slowly this time, he placed his dirty clothes next to the bag and pulled out the shotgun and ammo. The shotgun was placed next to the bag for later inspection. Taking one of the buckshot’s in his hand, he twisted it apart. All he found were white crystals that looked suspiciously like salt. Placing a few on his tongue, he discovered that the crystals were salt.

“What the fuck?” he said, the opened cartridge held in one shaky hand. Tossing the slug, he began to dig through the bag, opening zippered compartments on either end as well as the small pocket in the center. In one of the zippered ends he found an ornate handgun.

Replacing the items, and placing his old clothes on top of the weapons, he quickly zipped the bag closed. His hands came to rest on the counter on either side of the bag, his forehead resting on the rough material. His breathing was coming in shallow gasps, his heart beating a furious rhythm in his chest. He was shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm, and all of his attempts to calm his jittery body failed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to fight off the nausea. The world was spinning madly out of control and he felt that if he let go of the sink, he would be lost with it.

A loud pounding on the door, which was quickly accompanied by an angry voice, startled him from his thoughts.

“Hang on a minute!” he yelled. “Can’t a man be sick in peace?”

Taking a deep breath, he stood upright, grabbed the duffle and stalked towards the door. He jerked it open right before the guy could pound on it again.

“It’s all yours,” he spat, muttering insults toward the man under his breath as he walked away. Still a bit unsteady on his feet, he quickly made his way out of the bus station. With the bag he was carrying he didn’t need anyone calling the cops. It wasn’t like he could tell them where the stuff came from. Hell, he didn't even know where it came from.

When he reached the sidewalk, the smell of gas fumes hit, making him gag and stumble against the rough brick of the bus station's wall. Cars roared past, honking at the car in front as if the deadly speed the other vehicle was going wasn’t nearly fast enough, and sirens wailed shrilly in the distance. Sighting a bench, he quickly made his way over and sank down on the hard seat. Leaning his head back, he stared up at the sky. He could see the moon shining overhead, but the light pollution blocked the stars.

Groaning, he leaned forward, letting his head rest on the bag in his lap. So far, he suspected that his name was Dean, the clothes in the bag had fit him perfectly when he‘d changed, and that he had a wallet with a thousand bucks in it and shit all else. Cursing, he wondered how he had ended up in a bus station in L.A. of all other places in the damn world, and why he had no memory of who he was, or where he‘d come from.

Sighing, Dean tried to figure out what to do. He knew he should go to the police, but the large machete and sawed off shotgun advised him otherwise. Plus what kind of guy carried around a shotgun with rock salt buckshot instead of proper ammo? Oh and the handgun he’d found? Fully loaded with what looked like silver bullets. Yeah, so going to the police was very much out of the question.

Suddenly pain -- fierce, blinding pain unlike anything he'd ever felt -- ripped through his skull. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gripped the sides of his head and clenched his jaw. He tried to stay quiet through the assault on his brain, the last thing he needed was for someone to notice. Along with the pain came pictures -- a blonde man was fighting a group of things... Vampires, his mind supplied when one of the creatures crumbled to dust. A young woman was cowering behind him. From the looks of things, the blonde guy was losing. And then the image shifted, and Dean saw the blonde guy slip, his head hitting a brick wall and fangs, yellow eyes, and a ridged forehead springing to the fore as he roared in pain. It was all the opening the others needed and the stake in the blond's hand found its way to his own heart, courtesy of one of the more exuberant vampires. The man -- who Dean now knew was a vampire, too--crumbled to dust and the girl was drained.

When the images stopped, Dean took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his shaking body and racing heart. Grabbing his bag, he stood and ran. He had to know if what he’d seen was real.

When he came to the corner, Dean frantically looked around, hoping something would spark his memory, anything to tell him where he should be going.

Another stab of pain assaulted his mind, followed by an image flashing quickly before his eyes. His startled and agonized gasp had people edging away from him, but Dean didn’t notice. He turned left and ran across the street, dodging cars trying to turn, and shoving people out of his way when he reached the other side.

At the next corner, another flash told him to turn right, and so on until he reach the mouth of a familiar alley. Dean could hear the sounds of fighting coming from the other end, the panicked cries that he realized belonged to the girl he’d seen. Dropping his bag, he opened it and pulled out the machete, and charged.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike was bored. He was more than bored. He was so bored that he was ready to actually do some spring cleaning, even if it wasn’t technically spring. No one was walking through the doors, and it seemed no one was calling.

Sighing, he sat back and placed his feet on the counter. Some days he had no idea why he had taken Angel up on his offer. Sure, the Hyperion was nice and big and comfy and free, but it was also lonely, cold and isolating. There was nobody around to make it feel warm. Dawn only came back on her days off, if she wasn’t out with her friends, and she rarely stayed, preferring to go back to her dorm. Right now she was out with some friends being a normal college student, and Spike wouldn’t begrudge her that for all the world.

Angel on the other hand, was off in Europe trying to get back into Buffy’s good graces. After the battle with the Senior Partners had ended rather abruptly, thanks to Willow transporting the demon army back to their home dimension and closing the portal, Angel had decided that Los Angeles held too many painful memories. His team were all gone, Gunn having died not even ten minutes into the battle. Even Illyria had decided to leave, demanding that Willow open a portal to an appropriate hell dimension for her to take over. The grief of losing Wesley was still strong, even though Illyria denied it, and Spike figured that was reason enough for the God-King to want to leave.

Spike had thought of leaving too, until he’d finally managed to talk to Buffy. Their talk hadn’t gone well, stilted as it had been. When she had simply told him that yes, she did love him but she couldn’t be with him, Spike had snapped. Now their conversations went through Dawn, and they only ever spoke directly when a crisis was brewing, or when Spike was giving a report on the latest bit of demonic activity in the area. And sometimes he got really unlucky, had to warn her about a run in he’d had with one of her pet slayers. Those were fun conversations that Spike tried to avoid.

Glancing at the clock, Spike grimaced. It was only a minute after he had looked the last time. It was definitely time to go kill something before he really did start cleaning. This helping the helpless (or hopeless--it depended on the day) was a colossal pain.

Roaming the streets of L.A alleviated some of Spike’s restlessness, but his nerves were still on fire, his demon restless in his mind.

People walked past, cars zoomed by. It was a cacophony of sounds and harsh lights, each distinct but blending into a whole creating a unique symphony for the city. Spike thrived on the noise. It got his blood flowing, and sharpened his senses. Despite how he arrived, Spike considered Los Angeles his city, abandoned by the so-called real Champions, and left to be looked after by the second-rate souled vampire that no one seemed to want either. The city of lost souls, of sinners and saints, welcomed him as one of its own.

Turning a corner, Spike heard a scuffling sound. Standing still, despite the constant flow of people passing him by, Spike extended his senses. He felt a faint prickling along the back of his neck. There were vampires in the alley; how many exactly, Spike didn’t know. What Spike did know was that they had someone with them and that if he didn’t get down there soon, that someone would die.

Taking off down the alley, Spike sprinted, jumping to land atop a blue dumpster. Luckily for Spike the alley was lit buy a lone streetlamp and he could see the five vampires surrounding the young prostitute.

“You lot willing to save some of that for me?” Spike grinned as the fledges turned their attention to him, and away from the young girl.

“Get your own food!” One vamp snarled. “This one’s ours.”

“Sorry, mates,” Spike said with a patently false put upon sigh. “This is my turf, and I can’t let worthless sods like you ignore that.”

Pulling a stake from his pocket, Spike lunged, heading towards the closest vampire. The fact that the git happened to be wearing a Sex Pistol’s t-shirt with tight skinny jeans and Converse shoes was all the incentive Spike needed. He knew from living in Sunnydale how expensive the jeans were, and Spike felt it was his duty to rid the world of sorry posers who insulted punk rock. And, er, save innocents in the process, of course.

The vamp turned as Spike drew near, snarling. They met halfway, in a tangle of limbs. The others soon joined the fray, and Spike was quickly fighting for his life.

When one of the vamps ripped a pipe from the side of one building, Spike knew he was screwed. Fledges weren’t supposed to be smart, and in fact these five weren’t. But what the others hadn’t thought of, this group had. They attacked at once, using their greater numbers to their advantage.

He cried out and vamped as the pipe met his head, slipping backwards and knocking his head against the brick wall behind him.

They were a lot harder to kill than he’d originally thought. Or maybe he was losing his edge, or hell, maybe he was just tired of trying, but for the split second that he was down, Spike gave up. As one of the fledglings wrestled Spike's stake out of his grasp, he drew in a gasp of air, apologizing in his head to Dawn... and to Buffy. He stopped fighting and the stake was soon making its way towards his heart. Closing his eyes, Spike waited for the end, waited for the hell fire to greet him, waited for the tortured cries to mingle with his own. But that didn’t happen. Suddenly dust was falling down on him, and one of the vampires was gone. His abandoned stake clattered to the ground.

Everything seemed to freeze. A young man had entered the alley and managed to kill the vamp that would have killed Spike. The guy said nothing, just stood there, a dark look on his face, a machete held in one hand.

As one, the two remained vamps turned and charged the new comer, giving Spike a chance to scrabble for the stake that had fallen into the vamp dust and climb to his feet. With expert aim, Spike threw the stake and dusted one of the vamps before it could reach the new guy. His savior stood still, waiting for the last vamp to reach him before twirling the machete and swinging it with all of his force behind it. The blade bit into the vamp’s neck, sliding through bone and tendon to take the head off.

Blinking in disbelief -- after all, it wasn't too often that a stranger saw fit to save his ass -- Spike glanced away to see the young girl he'd been trying to protect huddled in the corner, shaking and sobbing. Edging closer to her, he helped her up and calmed her down before letting her go with a not-so-subtle warning to find a new profession that didn't involve standing on dark corners in the dead of night in Los Angeles.

The girl seen off safely, Spike turned toward the young man poised in the mouth of the alley once again. “Hey, mate,” Spike asked as he slowly approached. The young man before him said nothing, just continued staring at his hands as if he had never seen them before. Spike could hear the guy’s heart beating furiously, and could tell by the rise and fall of his chest that his breathing was way too shallow. “You all right?”

“At least I know I’m not crazy,” the young man muttered to himself, voice as shaky as his hands. Turning his gaze towards Spike, “You okay?”

Spike didn’t answer for a second. He had thought the guy was human, but on closer examination, he saw that the guy’s eyes were pitch black, and unlike Willow, this guy didn’t reek of magic. Some type of demon, or half demon, then, Spike figured, and one that apparently went around saving people.

“Yeah, mate,” Spike said with a brief nod. “You got here just in the nick of time.”

“That’s good,” the young man said with a nod, his eyes now a green tinted hazel.


“How did you know to get here?” Spike asked, taking a few tentative steps forward.

“Saw it happen,” the young man replied. “Had to see if I was crazy or not.”

“You don’t know if you’re crazy?” Spike asked, eyebrow raised. “In my experience that’s something you can’t miss.”

“Huh,” the young man replied. “Guess it should have been obvious then.”

“You got a name?” Spike asked. He was now less than three feet from the guy. He was dressed in a black t-shirt, a green (unbuttoned) button-down, a battered black leather jacket, thrifty, ripped blue jeans and shiny leather biker boots. He had short dirty blonde hair and several days stubble covering his chin.

“Uh…Dean, I think.”

“You think?”

“I don’t really know,” Dean said with a shrug. “I woke up in a bus station with a key to a locker. The bag inside had a tag on it that said Dean. The clothes fit so I figured the stuff was mine. And why in the hell am I telling you this?”

“Cause you just helped save my ass?” Spike said with a smirk.

A sheepish chuckle greeted his words. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“So, Dean,” Spike said. “All thoughts of insanity aside, what really brought you here?”

Dean sighed, hand raising to rub at his still aching head. “I had some sort of vision.”

“A vision?” Spike asked, eyes narrow. He’d been played with once, and he wasn’t about to let some upstart try it again.

“Yeah.” Dean looked up, his eyes meeting Spike’s. “Look, dude, I know this sounds crazy, but I saw you get killed. I don’t know why, but…Look, you’re safe, the girl is safe, so I’ll just be on my way.”

The vampire's eyes narrowed in concentration. There was something familiar about this situation, and there was something nagging at him, saying that this man was completely on the up-and-up. After debating with himself for a moment, it was Spike’s turn to sigh. “Do you have anyplace to go?”

Dean’s shoulders slumped. “No.”

Walking forward, Spike placed a hand on Dean’s shoulders. “Come on. I’ve got this bloody massive hotel all to myself. There’s plenty of room, and it’s a safe place for you to figure out your next move in.”

“Thanks.” Dean’s words were quiet. When they reached the mouth of the alley, Dean stooped to pick up a green duffle bag. They didn’t speak the whole way back to the hotel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After showing Dean to one of the many empty rooms, Spike headed downstairs and grabbed the phone, dialing as he settled into his chair. Dawn picked up on the first ring.

“The world better be ending.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that, Bit,” Spike said with a chuckle. “You know how often the apocalypse happens.”

Dawn snorted. “Every other week it seems like.”

“About right,” Spike answered. “Listen, Dawn. It looks like I’m going to have to bow out of tomorrow’s plans.”

“Why?” Spike could envision her glare. Not surprisingly, it looked remarkably like Buffy‘s.

“I’ve got a bloke staying here for a few days,” Spike said. “Doesn’t know anything about himself, and I just wanted to make sure he was, well, safe.”

“Demon?”

“Yeah.” Spike sighed. “He claims he saw me dust in a vision.”

“Spike!!”

“Ow! Bloody hell, Bit! Watch the ears.”

“But-“

“I’m fine,” Spike said, voice firm. “I just want to keep an eye on him without having to worry about you as well.”

“Fine.” Dawn huffed. “But call me when it’s safe to come back.”

Hanging up the phone, Spike sighed in relief. He didn’t think Dean was a threat, but Spike would never take those kinds of chances with Dawn’s life.

Hearing the shower cut off upstairs, Spike slowly made his way to the room he’d let Dean use. A sharp knock herald his entrance.

“Getting settled in okay?”

“Yeah. Um…Hey, thanks for, well, letting me stay here,” Dean said, hanging his wet towel on the bathroom door.

“It’s no problem. Know what it’s like to be a bit lost.”

“Lost, yeah. Good way of describing it. I don‘t know a God damn thing about myself except for possibly my name, and that I‘m apparently psychic.”

“Yeah, about that,” Spike said. Leaning against the wall, he ran his hand through his hair, unsure of how to start. “Can you tell me exactly what happened tonight?”

“You think you know something about these things, don’t you?”

“I might.”

“I was sitting on a bench outside the bus station,” Dean said. “I was trying to figure out what to do when massive amounts of pain just bashed through my skull. Had no clue what was happening. Then I started seeing images, right in front of my eyes. I just…I had to see if it was real.”

Spike nodded. “A few years ago, I met someone who got visions. From the sound of it, they were a lot like yours. Won’t know for sure until I talk to a friend, but I think you’re supposed to be someone’s seer.”

“Seer of what?” Dean asked, eyebrow raised. “Violence, death, and destruction? No thanks.”

“Sorry, mate,” Spike said. “Don’t think you have much of a choice.”

“And why is that?”

“Because if I’m right, then you’re meant to be helping some poor bugger save the world.”

“Great.” Dean flopped back onto the bed, eyes focused on the ceiling. “A mission statement. Just what I needed.”

“Bloody Powers are an irritating lot.” Spike chuckled.

“Powers?” Dean asked, raising his head.

“The Powers That Be,” Spike said. “The irritating Higher Beings I think are responsible for sending you that lovely vision you had earlier.”

“Joy…”

“Look, don’t worry about it. We’ll talk things over tomorrow, see if anything comes up.”

“And if I have another vision? Then what?” Dean asked, voice hesitant.

“Then we’ll take care of it.” Spike shrugged, sounding as if there was no other option. “It’s what I do.”

“That’s good to know,” Dean said with a nod.

“Look, I’ll just leave you to get some rest. We’ll discuss this more tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Thanks, again, for letting me stay here.”

“No problem, mate,” Spike said with a gentle smile, leaving Dean to his thoughts.

Pushing the door open, Dawn quietly peeked through the crack. Luck seemed to be in her corner for once, and the lobby looked empty. As silently as possible, Dawn crept into the hotel, slowly closing the door behind her. She didn’t see Spike anywhere, which was normal. It was very early in the morning, and barring an apocalypse, Spike was usually asleep at this time.

Grip tightening on the small can of mace on her keychain, Dawn let her gaze travel over the room as she headed towards the staircase. Of course Dawn knew that Spike could and would take care of himself, but ever since his death in Sunnydale, Dawn didn’t like to take anything for granted. Spike, in her mind, was supposed to always be there, even if she wasn’t speaking to him. And then one day he was gone, in a 'not supposed to come back unless he had shitty luck like Buffy,' gone. Dawn had mourned him, and then kicked his ass for not telling her he was back.

Now she worried about him, and despite her promise to steer clear of the hotel, she just had to make sure this mystery guy didn’t harm her surrogate big brother.

She was partway through the lobby when the kitchen door opened. Having nowhere to hide, Dawn spun around and stood her ground. She knew where Spike kept all of his weapons, plus Spike had taught her a really awesome move that was meant to bring instant pain to whoever it was used on. When she got a good look at the person, Dawn cursed her fickle luck.

“Hey,” Dawn said as she effected a ditzy air with her high pitched voice and too bright eyes. “Do you like, know where I can find the guy who runs this place? You see, my friend has this like really creepy guy following her, and I heard that this was like the place to go if you had a problem that the cops won’t handle. Cause seriously? This guy is like uber creepy.”

“Um,” the guy said, seemingly unsure as to how to handle Dawn’s absurd request. “We’re not actually opened yet.”

“But you’re door was like totally unlocked,” Dawn replied, widening her eyes a bit more.

“No it wasn’t,” the guy said, eyes narrowing. “How’d you get in here?”

“She used her bloody key,” Spike growled. “Dawn, drop the valley girl act. It’s irritating when your sis does it, and it’s even worse when you do it.”

“Fine,” Dawn said with an irritated huff.

“And she is?” the guy asked, sounding a little unsure.

“She, is Dawn,” Spike answered. He directed his gaze at Dawn, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “She’s a friend, and she’s not supposed to be here right now.”

“Like you’re surprised to see me,” Dawn said with a toss of her head.

“Not really.” Spike shrugged. “Why do you think I’m awake at this ungodly hour?”

“Um, hi,” the guy started, only to have Spike interrupt him.

“Dean, Dawn.” Spike made a quick gesture with his hand indicating the two of them. “Leave us for a minute will ya? I need to have a word with Dawn here.”

“Sure.” Reaching for his jacket, Dean pulled it on and headed towards the front doors.

“There’s a coffee shop around the corner,” Dawn called over her shoulder.

“And let me guess,” Dean replied, gazing at the girl through unimpressed eyes. “You’d like me to bring you some coffee back?”

“No.” Dawn’s grin widened. “I was just trying to be polite about telling you to get lost.”

“Dawn!” Spike growled.

“Don’t sweat it,” Dean said, his whole body having froze up at her words and a scowl on his face. “I didn’t want to hang around to meet Skipper anyway.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

“Skipper?!?!” Dawn shrieked. “How dare he-“

“Dawn, don’t even start!” Spike snapped. “You didn’t have to be rude.”

“When were you going to introduce me?” Dawn’s eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Dawn…I just wanted to be sure about a few things first.” Spike ran his fingers through his hair, hoping to find a way to explain things without setting Dawn off first. Ever since their reunion, Dawn was finicky about who should be in his life, and what he should be doing. Spike figured it was left over from when he was ‘dead’, but that didn’t make it any less irritating.

“Like if he was a mass murdering psycho or not?” Dawn asked.

“I seriously doubt that’s the case,” Spike said with a roll of his eyes.

“Then why all the secrecy?”

“Was just trying to respect his privacy,” Spike grumbled.

“While keeping me out of the loop.”

“You’re not out of the loop. You are the bloody loop!” Spike snapped, finally having enough of playing twenty questions.

“You haven’t told anyone else about Dean?” Dawn’s stance softened, and she sounded almost hopeful.

“No. We haven’t really had a chance to talk yet.”

“Oh. So are you planning on telling her?” Dawn asked, her suspicion back in full force.

“Yeah,” Spike said, eyes narrowed. “Once, as I’ve already said, I’ve actually had a chance to discuss things with Dean.”

“But-“

“Enough Dawn.” Spike’s glare intensified. “He was a bit knackered last night, and you know the type of hours I keep.”

“Plus, I wasn’t supposed to be here.” Dawn added. “Though you knew I’d come anyway.”

“Not the point, Dawn. We’ve got a lot to talk about, and none of this concerns you at the moment.”

“Fine, but if he tries to kill you, I’m going to resurrect you just so I can say I told you so.”

“Fine! Now be gone. I know you’ve got class in an hour.”

When Dean returned, Dawn was nowhere to be seen. Spike however, was sitting behind the front counter, head resting on the smooth surface.

“Hey, man,” Dean said. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Spike said, finally raising his head. “Hurricane Dawn has left the building.”

“She was only looking out for you.”

“I know.” Spike sighed. “Dean, we need to talk.”

“I know,” Dean said, taking the seat right across from Spike. “Before you say anything, I just wanted to thank you for letting me crash here last night.”

“I’m not kicking you out.”

“You’re not?” Dean asked, eyebrow raised. “Oh…”

Spike let out a low chuckle. “I just wanted to know how you were doing. If you had any ideas of how you wanted to go about doing... whatever it is you think you need to do.”

“I though you were the one with the ideas.”

“Well, mate,” Spike said. “My plans usually consist of find demon, kill demon, get a beer. I’m too bloody impatient for anything long term.”

“Is that right?” Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess that makes two of us.”

“Oh, really?”

“Well, last night I didn’t plan on anything beyond finding out if what I’d seen was real or not.”

“Makes sense,” Spike said with a nod. “Anyway, you can crash here for the time being. Tonight we’ll hit the streets, see if any rumors are circulating.”

“Sounds like a decent plan.” Dean nodded, scratching his chin. “What about that friend you mentioned last night?”

“We’re meeting with him later tonight.”

“Alright,” Dean said with a nod.

“We could also go to the police,” Spike suggested. “See if they can come up with anything.”

“No police.” Dean shook his head. “Not yet at least.”

“All right,” Spike said. “We’ll go down that route when you’re ready.”

“Spike…” Dean said, his words trailing off as he stood up. “I‘ll be back later. I‘m gonna catch a few Z‘s.”

With that, Dean turned and left the lobby, heading back up to his room. He needed time to think, and he thought that Spike might need some time to sleep as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sighing, Spike sat staring at the phone. It was a simple device. It let you connect with people all over the world, either by talking to them, texting them, or if you were behind the times, through the evils of dial up internet. Spike, however, felt like he was staring at a Rugaru. Disgusting things really, what with their flakey skin and rotten teeth, and hunger for human flesh.

Taking a deep breath, Spike reached out, picked up the phone, and dialed before he could change his mind. He had to talk to her before Dawn did, or Buffy would be calling him demanding to know what the hell he thought he was doing. Unfortunately for Spike, she picked up on the first ring.

“Please tell me there isn’t another apocalypse.”

“Funny, Slayer,” Spike grumbled, though his amusement carried over the phone. “Your sister said the same thing when I talked to her yesterday.”

“That’s because you rarely call,” Buffy said.

“I have my reasons,” Spike hedged, not wanting to get into another conversation about the state of their relationship.

“So, what’s up?” Buffy asked, for once letting the subject drop to Spike’s relief.

“Well, you see, I was out last night, fighting the good fight and all…”

“Spike, what did you do now?” Buffy sounded annoyed.

“Nothing!” Spike said quickly. “It was just a near miss, and someone stepped in and helped.”

“Who?” Buffy asked, suspicion coloring her words. “No one just steps in to help. Unless it was one of the local slayers-”

“No,” Spike said. “It was a bloke I believe is named Dean. Apparently he had a vision of me dusting.”

“And you believed him? And what do you mean you think his name is Dean?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Spike said. “He claims he doesn’t remember a bloody thing about himself. Just has a bag with a name tag that has Dean written on it.”

“Spike.” It was Buffy’s turn to sigh. “You’re letting him stay there at the hotel aren’t you?”

“He’s not a bad person,” Spike said, his hackles rising. “He's just a bit lost, is all. Know what that’s like.”

“I wasn’t implying-”

“I know,” Spike sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I told him I’d help him try to figure out who he is. I’ve got a few ideas, and hopefully one of those will pan out.”

“Why not just call the police?” Buffy asked.

“Um…because he’s half demon,” Spike said in a low rush, hoping she didn’t catch what he’d said.

“He’s what?!?!” Buffy cried out. “Spike! This guy might be working for Wolfram and Hart, or some other baddy that wants your head.”

“He’s not.” Spike’s voice was firm, a coldness having entered it that was rarely heard unless he was pissed.

“Then let Willow check him out,” Buffy said, her tone matching his.

“No,” Spike said, standing his ground. “I told you, I’ve already got a few ideas I want to try out first. If these don’t pan out, and if Dean agrees, we’ll let Willow take a look at him. Until then, it’s a no go. Promise me, Buffy.”

“All right,” Buffy said, exasperation lacing her words. “Just keep me updated okay? I worry.”

“I will, luv,” Spike said, his voice softening.

“Good, cause if you didn’t, I’d have to come down there and kick your ass.”

“I’d like to see you try!” Spike laughed as he hung up the phone, counting this phone call as a success. Hopefully, this meant his day would only get better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike didn’t want to laugh. He really didn’t, but he couldn’t stop the first few giggles that slipped free. Lorne was dressed in his usual garish suits, topped with a beige trench coat and fedora. His bright red shoes clashed horribly with the coat and hat.

“Hello Lorne,” Spike said, his laughter flowing along his words. “Glad you could make it.”

“Spike,” Lorne said, red eyes hidden behind overly large sunglasses. His entire posture was guarded, as if he would bolt at the tiniest sound.

“Angel isn’t here,” Spike said. “He’s off in Europe. Doesn’t even know I know how to get a hold of you.”

“Oh, well in that case,” Lorne said, pulling off his hat and coat. The sunglasses went next, placed in the pocket of his suit coat. “What can I do for you?”

“Got someone here I want you to read,” Spike said.

“And whose the lucky contestant?”

“I think that would be me,” a voice replied from the staircase. Turning his head, Lorne took in the young man holding tightly to the stair railing, anxiety and fear pouring off him in waves.

“Dean, this is Lorne,” Spike said. “Lorne here is a Pylean empath demon. He can read people, their emotions, souls, futures, hell, even their destinies, and all they need to do is sing.”

“You want me to sing?” Dean asked, shock settling on his features.

“You want answers?”

“Right, karaoke time it is.” Dean came down the rest of the way. “So, Big Green, what do I sing?”

“Anything, as long as you don’t call me Big Green again,” Lorne said, more amused than annoyed.

“Okay.” Dean nodded. After a few minutes, Dean started singing. His voice wasn’t as bad as Angel’s but it wasn’t good either. If he'd been a bit more relaxed, Lorne knew that the kid would have had the theatrics to back the song up. As it was, all the demon needed to understand anything about Dean was his very telling choice of song and the sad inflection in his voice. Sole Survivor would never look the same again.

“Enough,” Lorne said after only a few bars. Turning to Spike, “He’s legit, and he’s yours. Please, keep try to keep this one in better shape than Angel did his.”

“'Scuse me?” Dean asked, confused.

“What about his memories?” Spike asked.

“Can’t say,” Lorne said with a shrug. “The Powers are being stingy on the info. Just take care of him. He’s important.”

“And he’s right here.”

“Sorry, mate,” Spike said. “But it seems like I was right.”

“About the whole seer thing?” Dean demanded.

“Yep,” Spike replied, shrugging his shoulders.

“Okay, but what does that mean?” Dean asked, eyes darting between the two demons.

“It means, Dean-o, that you get to play Robin to Spike’s Not-So Dark Knight,” Lorne answered, a slightly amused grin on his bright red lips.

“I’m his seer?” Dean asked in disbelief, pointing at Spike and gesticulating wildly.

“Seems so,” Lorne chuckled, nodding.

Dean glanced at the vampire, a bemused smirk on his face. “Well, fuck me.”

~~~~~~~October 1, 2008: 141 Days Later~~~~~~~~~

“Dean!” Spike bellowed up the stairs. “Get your ass down here! We’ve got to move.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Dean grumbled as he rushed down the stairs. “Dude, chill. We’ll make it.”

“Dean…”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said with a grin. “She’s the love of your life and even though you guys aren’t together, she still owns your balls.”

“She does not!” Spike growled as he pulled his coat on. “It’s just if we’re late getting there, Buffy will be pissy and I don’t want to ruin Dawn’s big night. 'S her eighteenth birthday an' all.”

“Dude, that is one lame ass excuse,” Dean said with a laugh.

“Come on,” Spike growled grabbing Dean by his neck and dragging him out the door.

When they arrived at the restaurant, luckily on time, they were greeted with an exuberant Dawn, and friendly but awkward smiles from the Scoobies and Angel.

“Spike!” Dawn cried out with a grin, as she flung her arms around his neck.

“Bit,” Spike chuckled, lifting her off the ground as he hugged her tightly. “Ah, sweetheart, you’re looking lovely.”

“Thank you,” Dawn preened with a quick bow, her blue eyes glittering in delight. Turning, she gave Dean a quick hug of his own. "Hi, handsome!"

Dean laughed, ruffling Dawn's long, layered hair. "Hello to you, too, beautiful."

Snuggling into Spike and looping one of her arms through Dean's, Dawn gestured wildly to gain everyone else's attention. “Everyone, this is Dean, Dean, this is everyone.”

“Buffy, Angel, Xander, Willow, and Giles,” Spike offered in a low whisper. Dean simply nodded and waved, sticking close to Spike and Dawn.

Once they had sat down and orders had been taken, Willow leaned forward, eyes focused on Dean.

“So, Dean,” Willow said. “How do you like working for Spike?”

“Um,” Dean said, glancing at Spike briefly. “I don’t really work for him.”

“We work together,” Spike stated, voice firm. “He has the visions, and then we go out and kill whatever he saw.”

“We don’t always kill things,” Dean said with a shrug. “Sometimes we blow things up for no good reason.”

“It was a vamp nest.” Spike’s shrug was casual, as if blowing stuff up was an everyday occurrence.

“There were only three vampires,” Dean said as he turned to focus on Spike.

“You’re forgetting the troll.”

“There was no troll,” Dean corrected. “The troll was underneath the candy store, which you also burned down.”

“You helped,” Spike said, a defensive note to his voice.

“Well, yeah,” Dean answered. “It was a troll. The damn thing stunk.”

“Wait a minute,” Angel said holding up a hand. “You routinely burn down buildings?”

“Only if they’re abandoned or closed,” Spike said, a grin widening on his face when he heard Buffy’s stifled giggle.

“Spike…” Angel started, the warning tone in his voice all too clear.

“Don’t worry Angelus,” Spike said, eyes rolling. “We get the job done.”

“How did you two meet?” Xander asked, eye focusing on the two men.

“I had a vision and saved his lazy ass,” Dean answered, grin firmly in place.

“So the visions brought you to L.A?” Willow asked. When Dean’s face became distant and he hurriedly excused himself, she glanced at Spike and quickly apologized, worry in her eyes. “I’m sorry, um…I…what did I say?”

“You didn’t tell them.”

“Sorry. I kinda felt it wasn’t my story to tell,” Buffy said with an apologetic shrug. “Besides, Dawn vouched for him.”

Watching Dean’s retreating form, Spike sighed. “He doesn’t remember. Woke up in a bus station thirteen days ago with a locker key. The bag inside the locker had the name Dean, with the last initial W on the tag. He found me shortly after that.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Giles asked. The tone of his voice caused Spike’s hackles to rise.

“Because Dean didn‘t want to,” Spike stated firmly. “Look, guys, the poor bugger is confused. Knows he’s part demon, but he’s afraid of what he was like before he lost his memories. That bag of his had some wonky stuff in it. And besides, it’s not as if we haven’t looked. We just haven’t found anything.”

“Maybe I could hack into the police records,” Willow offered. “See if anything pops up.”

“Ask him first,” Spike said. “If he say’s no, then drop it.”

“Okay,” Willow said with a nod. When Dean came back, the subject had been changed to recent activities, most centering around the most embarrassing demon slaying experiences.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“He seems nice,” Buffy said hesitantly from her seat next to Spike. They were both studiously not looking at each other, their eyes trained on Dean and Dawn as the former twirled the birthday girl around the dance floor.

“He’s a good friend,” was all Spike said. If she expected him to make this easy for her, she was dead wrong.

“You guys seem to be doing a lot of good,” Buffy said, trying to pull Spike into a conversation. “Well, you know, aside from the whole random blowing up of things.”

“We’re a team. 'Sides, I seem to remember you committing a bit of arson yourself.”

“Spike…” Buffy said with a sigh, her words trailing off.

“What?”

“Why does it have to be like this?” Buffy sighed, finally turning to look at Spike.

“You know why,” Spike grumbled keeping his eyes focused on the dance floor.

“I thought you of all people would understand.”

“Understand what? That you love me but you refuse to be with me?” Spike said, eyebrow raised and voice bitter. “Explain to me exactly how I’m supposed to understand that.”

“I need time to grow,” Buffy said. “To figure out who I am-“

“Bollocks!”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Spike snapped, scowling. “If you really love someone, you grow with them, and damn what everyone else thinks, especially a certain poofy-haired former love of your life.”

Standing Spike went over to the dancing couple. Tapping Dean on the shoulder, he cut in, taking Dawn across the floor in an improvised waltz.

Buffy couldn’t take her eyes off of him. It was the same argument every time they spoke. She needed time. Time to figure herself out, to become a cookie. Why Angel understood and Spike didn’t, (and why Spike always assumed that it was because Angel was whispering words of doubt into her ear), Buffy didn’t know. Thoughts swirled inside her head, and she failed to notice when Dean sat down next to her.

“Really screwed that one up didn’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Buffy asked, an incredulous expression on her face.

“I heard you guys,” Dean said. “All I know is if it were me, I wouldn’t walk away.”

“You so don’t know a thing about this-” Buffy began, a nervous laugh and a flustered glow on her face.

“I get not knowing yourself,” Dean interrupted, eyes serious and focused on Buffy, the emotion and wisdom in them so intense that whether she wanted to or not, Buffy couldn't have looked away. “I get feeling lost. But if I found out that there was someone out there who loved me the way Spike loves you, I would not throw that away. No matter what anyone else said, or did, or thought.”

"But it's not anyone else, it's me," she whispered. "I want to make sure that I've completely figured myself out and that I'm in the right place before I can even think about being with him. It has nothing to do with anyone else."

Dean shook his head. "You were with him before, right? And you've known him for so long... Buffy, wouldn't it make more sense to let yourself grow with him and be happy, instead of trying to grow without him and making the both of you miserable?" He stared at her for a moment longer, then shook his head and shrugged. Standing, Dean went to join Angel and Xander at the bar, leaving Buffy alone with her thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, the atrium was empty and had been so virtually all evening, what with Buffy, Spike, and Angel off killing a pack of vampires terrorizing a neighborhood. Xander, Dawn, and Giles were in Wesley's old library going over books and trying to find away to kill a demon living under some old lady’s house. Willow knew that Dean had stayed behind as the vision he’d had of the vampire pack had been a bit more brutal than most, but finding him had been more difficult than she thought. She made her way down the stairs of the hotel and looked around before walking across the lobby to Spike and Dean's office, pausing to knock at the door.

Poking her head into the doorway, she said, “Hey, Dean," before glancing around the room and frowning in confusion. All she could see was Dean’s leather coat on Spike's chair. Which was why she yelped when it moved and Dean bolted straight up from underneath it, yowling at the stab of pain to his head from sitting up so fast.

“Yeah?” Dean groaned as he lifted tired and pain filled eyes to the petite redhead.

“I talked to Spike, but he told me I should ask you,” Willow started, her voice rife with hesitation. “Anyway, um, if you want, I can surf through the police records, without alerting them to you and all. This would be strictly confidential.”

“You think you might be able to find out something about me,” Dean said. After a brief pause, Dean slowly nodded, mindful of the stabbing torture still picking at his brain. “Do it. This not knowing crap is bullshit.”

Standing shakily, Dean left Willow in the office in time to see Angel, Buffy and Spike all clomp through the doors at the same time. Everyone else had moved into the lobby and were scattered around, talking and leafing through books.

“She ask you?” Spike inquired quietly from Dean’s left.

“She going to look,” Dean answered, then sighed. “Spike, am I making the right decision here?”

“Only time will tell, mate,” Spike said, patting Dean's back lightly in consolation. “And its your decision to make.”

“I know,” Dean said. “It’s just... It’s been several weeks, and we haven’t found a damn thing.”

“Well, if anyone can find something, it's Willow.”

“Man, I hope you’re right.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, Willow walked into the lobby, folder clutched to her chest.

“Um, guys,” Willow said. Her voice was shaky. “I found something.”

“Tell me.” Dean was immediately out of his chair and standing before her, the anxiety in his movements belying the way his arms were crossed over his chest and the blankness of his face. Spike stood next to him, supporting him without invading his space while Dawn hovered behind the two men, worry creasing her brow and twisting her lips.

“Well, your full name is Dean John Winchester. You were born on January 24, 1979 in Lawrence, Kansas to a Mary and John Winchester, both deceased, and it seems you were... wanted by the FBI for..." She swallowed hard, her eyes softening in sympathy. "For murder."

“So I was an evil bastard then,” Dean murmured with a nod, swallowing hard around the knot in his throat. “Funny, but I don’t feel evil.”

Feeling it best to just get the rest of it out of the way all at once, Willow blurted out, “You were also wanted for credit card fraud, insurance scams, assault, breaking and entering, grave desecration, and impersonating a federal officer.” As she finished reading off the list of crimes, she could see the others' eyes grow wider and wider.

“Okay,” Buffy whispered from her spot against the counter, looking shell-shocked. “So wasn’t expecting that.”

“Now what?” Spike asked. “It’s not like we’re turning him in.”

“No, well, we can’t,” Willow said, then quickly adding, “Not that we would.”

“What else is there?” Dean growled, eyes flashing black.

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

“What?!?”

“Apparently you died while in custody,” Willow said reading from the print out. “The official report said it was a gas leak.”

“Somehow I doubt it was a gas leak,” Buffy snorted in disgust.

“No, I probably just killed everyone getting away,” Dean snarled as he turned to leave.

“Dean, wait,” Willow said.

“Why?” Dean asked. “So I can learn how I used to nail puppies to trees?”

“No,” Willow said. “I don’t think you did any of this stuff. See here, it says you killed all of these people in St. Louis, but see here? I don’t think it was you.”

“How can you tell?” Buffy asked coming over to Willow’s side.

“For awhile the authorities thought he had been killed in St. Louis. They even buried his body, but here in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, they realize he’s not dead. They end up blaming Dean for several murders and a bank robbery,” Willow continued. “It lists one of the murder victims as being a twin to a lady who worked at the bank. Only the lady swears that she doesn’t have a sister.”

“Shape shifter?” Spike asked.

“Looks like,” Willow said. “And the graves he supposedly desecrated, all linked to unusual deaths in the area. Plus, after Dean left the area, the killings stopped.”

“Vengeful spirits,” Dawn concluded, her eyes lighting up as she nodded. She spun toward Dean smiling with relief. “So you were some sort of demon, evil spirit hunter then!”

“Looks like,” Willow said as she handed Dean the file. “One more thing." She glanced up at him and smiled gently. "You had a brother named Samuel. It seems he was with you when you were supposedly killed.”

“I have a brother?” Dean asked, eyes wide. His shoulders fell when he registered what exactly Willow had said, and he stumbled backwards. His knees hit the couch and he sank down in disbelief. "I had a brother." Spike sat down next to him, angling himself toward the younger man and watching him with concern. “He’s dead. I’m dead.”

“Nah, mate,” Spike said. “I think it’s obvious that you’re not dead. As for your brother…”

“He might not be dead either,” Buffy said softly, her eyes full of compassion as she took a seat on Dean’s other side, her hand tentatively covering his. “I mean, like Spike said, you’re not, so maybe the FBI were mistaken.”

“I can do a locator spell,” Willow offered. “See if I can find him.”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a nod. “Please, I have to know.”

“Okay.” Turning, Willow grabbed her bag and went into the office. A few minutes later she returned, a small slip of paper in her hands. “If I’m correct, it would seem that one Samuel Winchester is currently in South Dakota.”

“I’m going.”

“No!” Buffy cried, grabbing Dean's arm and stopping him in his tracks. He spun around and looked at her incredulously.

“He’s my brother!”

“And he probably thinks you’re dead!” Buffy said. “Dean, think about this logically for a minute. If your brother was the one who was dead, and you knew he'd been gone for nearly five months... What would you think if he just showed up on your doorstep alive and well?"

Dean sputtered, but his frantic look was gone, and he'd stopped straining so hard against Buffy's grip. She glanced at Spike pleadingly, and he nodded gently at her. She looked back at Dean and said, "Look, just let me go and talk to him. Get him to come here.”

“But…”

“What if you have a vision?” Buffy asked. “What then?”

“I don’t know!” Dean yelled running his hands through his hair. “All I know is that I’ve finally got a chance to get answers and…”

“I’ll make sure he comes here,” Buffy said softly. “Even if I have to conk him over the head to do it.”

Bobby sat at his desk, eyes focused on the slumped figure seated on his couch. It had been nearly five months since he’d seen Sam, five long agonizing months in which Bobby had spent every day praying that that day wasn’t the day he’d find out he’d lost Sam as well. Dean and Sam might not have been his sons by birth, but damn it, they sure felt like his and he didn’t think he could survive losing them both. It was already hard enough to keep going with Dean gone.

“Sam-” Bobby said, only to be interrupted by a sharp knock to his door. They both looked at each other, surprise written on their faces. Suspicion quickly took over and Bobby rose to answer the door. The small blonde-haired woman on the other side was an even bigger shock.

“Can I help you, Miss…”

“Buffy Summers,” Buffy answered with a smile. “I’m looking for a Samuel Winchester.”

Face turning cold, Bobby leveled Buffy with a cold glare.“I’m sorry, but I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Look,” Buffy said, stopping the door before he could close it. “I’m trying to find this guy.” The picture she held up was of a young man with hazel eyes and messy brown hair. Bobby cursed under his breath. There went his plans for trying to get through to Sam.

“I don’t know what you want-”

“It’s about his brother Dean.” Bobby was momentarily stunned, then anger quickly burned through him.

“Dean’s dead.” A cold voice came from behind him, and Bobby could have hit something. The boy was supposed to stay out of sight, but instead of listening to him, Sam was now standing in the doorway, a wicked looking hunting knife in his hand.

“No, he’s not,” Buffy said softly. “He’s been in Los Angeles for the past three weeks.”

“I watched his body burn,” Sam ground out. “My brother is dead.”

“Burn?” Stunned, Buffy stood silent for a few seconds. “Wait, hold on a minute. I can prove it.”

Watching her through narrowed eyes, Bobby waited to see what proof she’d give them. His eyebrows nearly disappeared under his hat when Buffy pulled out her wallet. When she pulled out a picture of a group of people, one of which looked to be Dean, his knees started to shake. The date was printed on the picture.

“Here,” Buffy said, shoving the picture into Sam’s hand. “This was taken a few days ago at my sister’s birthday party. If Dean is really dead, then how was he there?”

Looking from the picture to Sam’s, Bobby could see his eyes began to water. The guy in the photo looked exactly like Dean, right down to the sly smile on his face. Bobby noted that it was a copy of the one worn by the blonde guy next to him.

“How…”

“Sam,” Bobby said. “We watched his body burn.”

“I know, Bobby,” Sam said. “But he’s in this picture.”

“He woke up in a bus station,” Buffy said interrupting the pair. “He doesn’t remember anything.”

“He…”

“He only figured out his name because he had a key to a bus locker with him,” Buffy explained. “The bag inside had a tag saying Dean W. The clothes fit.”

Bobby watched as Sam turned and walked back inside, picture still gripped tightly in his hand. Sighing, he cursed the fates for doing this to Sam, right when he thought he might be reaching him.

“I think you better come inside,” Bobby said, opening the door wider. Stepping back, Bobby let Buffy enter. He noticed how her gaze flickered over the tattered old furniture, the scattered piles of books, and the numerous empty bottles littering any available surface.

“So you guys really like old books, huh?” Buffy asked. Bobby nearly laughed at her stunned expression when Sam placed a shot glass filled with a clear liquid was placed in front of her. “And what‘s this?”

“Just drink it.” Bobby stood, arms crossed over his chest, eyes hard. Sam stood by his side, an equally detached look in his eyes.

“And why should I?” Buffy asked.

“Then I guess you can leave.” Bobby made to go to the door, and Sam’s hand tightened around the knife he still held.

“Okay, okay,” Buffy muttered. “But if you guys get me drunk, I am so puking on your priceless books.”

As she took the shot glass, Bobby shot Sam a quick look. At his nod, Bobby turned his gaze back to their guest. Both breathed a sigh of relief when her eyes popped open in surprise once she realized what she was drinking. “Water? Why in the world would you guys wanted me to drink water?”

“Holy water.” Bobby grabbed the shot glass and returned it to the kitchen.

“You were checking to see if I was a demon,” Buffy said, annoyed.

Sam just shrugged his shoulders. “You can never be too careful.”

“Especially if some stranger comes bearing news about someone who is supposed to be dead,” Bobby said as he leaned against the entryway.

“Right,” Buffy said with a nod. “You two are worse than Giles.”

“Giles?” Sam asked, eyebrow raised.

“My Watcher,” Buffy said. “I’m a slayer.”

“And why would the Council send a slayer to talk to me?” Sam asked, voice hard. “They usually like to sit up on their high horse, with all their books and experts and leave the real work to the rest of us.”

“You are so right about that,” Buffy said with a disgusted snort. “The old Council was full of pompous windbags.”

“The old Council?” Bobby asked. He’d heard about what had happened to the old Council. Every hunter worth their salt knew that demons had been behind the bombing, and they also knew that the rules had suddenly changed. What those new rules where, Bobby didn’t know, but he still wanted to see if what Buffy told them matched the information he’d gathered.

“Yeah,” Buffy said. “A few years ago the old Council building in London was blown up by the First Evil. The news reports wrote it off as a terrorist attack.”

“I remember hearing about that,” Sam said, voice quiet. “I was at Stanford at the time.”

“Your father and brother knew demons were behind it, but could never figure out which one,” Bobby said, a shudder going through him as one of his theories had been confirmed. “They were rather busy that year.”

“We were all busy that year,” Buffy said. Her eyes held a haunted look as her mind brought forth memories of dead friends and allies, and Bobby winced in sympathy despite his misgivings.“Anyway, with all the potentials turned slayers, we decided to set up a new Watchers Council. No more stuffy windbags.The Watchers and Slayers are all equals now.”

“So, this new Council you’ve got,” Bobby said. “What’s that got to do with Sam?”

“Um, nothing really,” Buffy said. “I just came here to see if he was the same Sam Winchester we were looking for.”

“But why are you looking for me?”

“Because your brother wants to see you?” Buffy said, her tone making it obvious she thought they were being obtuse. “You have the picture I just gave you.”

“And Dean?” Sam asked. “Where does he fit into this?”

“He’s working with a friend,” Buffy said, indicating Spike's image in the picture. “The two of them are partners. They save people, help the helpless and all that. And honestly, I think they both like being a pain in my ass.”

Her tone of voice told Bobby all he needed to know, and he had trouble curving his desire to offer her a good strong drink. It sounded like Dean, if this was in fact Dean, had taken up with someone who was just as big a pain as he was.

“He doesn’t know who he is, but he’s still out saving people.” Sam laughed at the irony that was his life.

“What’s so funny?” Buffy asked as both Sam and Bobby shared a grin.

“Nothing important,” Sam said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “How did he come back?”

“We don’t know,” Buffy said. “We thought the FBI made a mistake listing you two as dead. Figured if he was alive then you might be too.”

“He didn’t die that day,” Sam replied. “ In fact, neither of us were at the station when it blew.”

“Well we already know they got that wrong-”

“He was killed by hellhounds,” Sam said interrupting Buffy. Now Bobby had to curb his desire to smack Sam. He knew the boy was only doing it to see what her reaction would be, but if this was a trick, the last thing they needed was for some demon to find out exactly how to get to them.

“Excuse me?”

“He made a deal to save me, and the crossroads demon collected.”

“Oh.” Buffy was quiet, brows knitted together in thought. “So…”

“I was dead,” Sam said with a shrug. “Now I’m not.”

“Wow,” Buffy muttered. “And I thought Spike and I were the only ones who had such crappy luck.”

“What was that?” Bobby asked, eyeing Buffy suspiciously.

Sighing, Buffy ran her fingers through her hair. “Look, just come back to L.A with me. Dean really wants to see you.”

“Sam,” Bobby said gently. “The Watcher’s Council isn’t exactly the bastion of truth and justice they like to say they are.”

“Hello,” Buffy said, waving her arms. “I’m right here you know. Look, I get that you don’t trust the Council, hell I didn’t. You wouldn't believe the bullshit they put me through, but it’s changed. The slayers run it now.”

Bobby simply leveled Buffy with a skeptical look. “Thanks for stopping by, but you can leave now.”

“But-“

“Look, this discussion is between Sam and I,” Bobby said as he lead Buffy towards the door. “And is no business of yours.”

Sighing, Bobby turned to face Sam. He was sitting on the couch again, picture clutched in his hand. Dread settled in his stomach, staking its claim and making itself at home. Bobby had spent months trying to get Sam to talk to him, and now that he was finally here, one tiny blonde girl with a picture was about to ruin everything.

“Sam…” Bobby said, his words trailing off with a sigh.

“It’s Dean,” Sam said, eyes still focused on the picture. “At least I think it is.”

“We don’t know that,” Bobby said coming to sit next to Sam.

“But we don’t know if it’s not him either,” Sam pointed out.

“You’re going to Los Angeles whether I want you to or not aren’t you?” Bobby said with a sigh, already mentally creating a list of things he’d need to pack.

“Bobby, I have to.”

“I know Sam,” Bobby said. “That’s why I’m going with you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shocked at the abrupt dismissal, Buffy found herself on the front porch, door locked behind her. “Well, that was rude.”

She kicked at the door petulantly.

"Can I at least give you my contact info?!" she whined through the door. When she didn't get an answer, she snatched an old receipt from her pocket and a marker from her purse before writing out her name and the location of the hotel where she was staying. Folding it in half, she slid it with little difficulty under the gap in the door, then stood.

Straightening her clothes, Buffy turned and walked away, pouting and grumbling about unruly, paranoid hunters the whole way. When she reached her car door, Buffy pulled it open with more force than necessary, nearly yanking the door past its stopping point. Wincing at the whine of bending metal, Buffy climbed in and shut the door. Soon her cell phone was out and she was dialing Spike’s number while turning the key. A cool blast of air hit her face at the same time Spike’s voice came over the line.

“Ragged Angel Investigations, what do you want?”

“Nice greeting,” Buffy said. “It’s not wonder you guys are rolling in clients.”

“Ha, ha, Slayer,” Spike grumbled. “We’ve been getting telemarketers all day. Now what have you found out?”

“Sam is very much alive and very paranoid.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I found him at this guy’s house. His name is Bobby Singer,” Buffy answered. “I got the feeling he knew both Sam and Dean pretty well.”

“So he’s a friend of the family,” Spike replied. “Doesn’t explain your paranoid comment though.”

“Well, they both hunt demons.” She paused and licked her lips before she continued. “And so did Dean, before he died.”

“Died?” Spike asked. Buffy could picture his shocked reaction in her mind.

“Yeah,” Buffy answered softly. “Dean really died and was cremated. Looks like it didn’t stick.”

“Bloody hell,” Spike grumbled. “Is there a Resurrections R Us store that we missed?”

“No,” Buffy said with a soft giggle. ““It just seems that the Powers are screwing around with people’s lives, like always. Dean was a demon hunter who made a deal with a crossroads demon to resurrect his brother. The demon collected and his brother lives.”

“I see.”

“Spike,” Buffy said with a sigh. “I’ll try again tomorrow, but as for now, I’m heading back to my hotel.”

“All right, luv,” Spike said, his voice carrying his distraction. “Call when you know if they’re coming or not.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Hanging up the phone, Spike rubbed his forehead. Dean had died, and just like Buffy, and just like him, Dean had been resurrected, brought back against his will. Of course in Dean’s case, it might have been a good thing, what with him being in hell. Spike had seen a bit of hell and remembered the few tales Angel had shared. A person like Dean didn’t belong there.

“Take it that call was bad news.”

Looking up, Spike eyed the young man standing before him. “You were dead.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean sighed. “The FBI-“

“Got that part wrong, yes,” Spike interrupted. “But you did die.”

“How?”

“Hellhounds. Seems you made a deal with a crossroads demon in order to bring your brother back. The demon gave you one year.”

“I…then how did I come back?”

“Buffy and I think the Powers That Be did it.”

“Why?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” Spike sighed. “I guess they figured since Angel wasn’t playing at being their puppet anymore, that it was time to find a couple of new puppets.”

“Any way we can cut the strings?” Dean’s words were hallow, his eyes bleak.

“Know where we can find a bloody huge pair of scissors?”

“No,” Dean said shaking his head.

“No matter,” Spike replied nudging Dean’s shoulder. “We’ll just make sure to give them indigestion for all the trouble they’ve caused us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Sam was standing in the hallway of the local Holiday Inn. Raising his hand, he gave two sharp knocks, then stood back. Buffy opened the door quickly, her purse on her shoulder and her keys in hand, making it clear that she'd been preparing to leave -- probably to come and kick their door in again, Sam thought. She blinked in shock and surprise at seeing Sam towering over her, and jumped when Sam barked out, “Where in L.A is he?”

Her hand at her chest, she sighed and answered. “The Hyperion Hotel-“

“I know where that is,” Sam said, cutting her off. Turning, he left casually calling over his shoulder. “Tell him we’ll be there Friday at noon.”

~~~~~~~~~Oct. 17, 2008: 158 Days Later~~~~~~~~~

Sam had read plenty of descriptions about buildings looming, but had never really seen it done in real life. The hotel before him managed to loom quiet nicely, as far as looming went. He remembered reading about the Hyperion Hotel a few years ago with Dean, both making bets on what type of demon or spook had caused all the chaos and deaths. Dean had insisted it was a vengeful ghost, Sam had thought otherwise. Neither had been able to make it to the hotel so that they could find out who was right, and who had to pay up.

“So this is the place, huh?” Bobby asked from Sam’s right, eyes focused on the hotel. “Looks…charming.”

“Dean and I always thought this place was cursed or something,” Sam said with a grin.

“You boys would,” Bobby chuckled with a nod. “Sam.” Bobby placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder halting him. “Are you prepared that this guy might not be Dean?”

“I am, Bobby,” Sam said with a sigh. “But are you prepared for the fact that this guy might be?”

“Sam…” Bobby said. “I know you want your brother back. Hell, I’d give almost anything to have Dean back, but people don’t just come back from the dead.”

“I did.”

“Yeah, well your brother sold his soul to bring you back,” Bobby snapped, then sighed. “Look, Sam, what I’m saying is that to bring someone back, there’s always a price. And in most cases, you don’t always get back the person you wanted.”

“I know.” Sam ran a tired hand through his hair. “But the only way we’ll ever know is if we walk through those doors.” Taking a deep breath, he walked up the steps and opened the front door. Silently, Bobby followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean paced across the lobby, hands restless at his sides. He was mumbling to himself and kept checking the clock every time he passed it. He was anxious, and with good reason -- his brother was arriving at any moment. That didn’t stop his antics from getting on Spike’s nerves, however.

“Bloody hell, Dean,” Spike growled. “If you don’t stop pacing, I’m going to tell one of Buffy’s mini-slayers that you feel like sparring.”

His comment shocked Dean from his trek across the floor. “Don’t you dare! Those girls…hell, I’d rather go after a chaos demon than spar with any of them.”

Spike just chuckled. “Still having trouble keeping the young one’s hands off your bum?”

“And you don‘t?” Dean snarked back. He liked the girls, really, he did. They were smart, funny, and incredibly good fighters. They were also incredibly bold, and a part of Dean couldn’t wait until Buffy left so that they didn’t have a reason to hang around the hotel anymore.

“We’re not talking about me,” Spike said. “I’m not the one wearing a bloody trench into the lobby floor.”

“True,” Dean said. “You just run and hide like a little girl whenever one of them talks about a little practice match.”

“I do not!” Spike yelled.

“Did you, or did you not, suddenly decided to go buy more supplies the moment Sheila mentioned wanting to practice her sword work?”

“Yeah, well if I remember correctly you buggered off pretty quickly that day too,” Spike volleyed back.

“Dude, she’s fourteen and she’s already grabbed my crotch twice!“ Dean yelled, arms waving. “You know I love the ladies, but I do not go in for jailbait.”

“Seems like some things never change.” Both Spike and Dean halted their argument, heads whipping around to stare at the front doors. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike could see the color drain from Dean’s face, could hear his heart rate sky rocketing and his breathing shallow. Coming to stand next to his friend, Spike leaned over and whispered, “Breath,” into Dean’s ear and pushed him forward slightly.

“Sam,” Dean said, his voice shaky.

For several minutes, no one moved. Then Sam came forward, and flung a clear liquid in Dean’s face.

“Ow, fuck!” Dean cried out, taking several steps back. Spike was by his side before anyone else could move, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“What in the bloody hell did you throw at him?”

“Holy water,” Bobby answered, eyes narrow.

“You‘re not Dean,” Sam said, his voice cold.

“Then who the hell am I?” Dean snapped, eyes bloodshot and itchy.

“My brother isn’t a demon!”

“I’m half demon you oversized freak!” Dean yelled back.

“There is no half,” Sam snarled, as he took a step forward.

“Right, and since when are you a bloody expert on all things demony?” Spike snarled, eyes flashing yellow.

Dean watched through blurry eyes as Sam and the guy he figured was Bobby Singer take a step back, their anger depending to a stark cold rage.

“Stop it!” Dean’s voice echoed throughout the lobby, causing everyone’s eyes to lock on him. “Just…forget it. This was obviously a mistake.”

Dean turned, heading back towards the stairs leading to the second floor of the hotel. His shoulders were tense, arms held stiffly at his side. Spike’s voice sharp and dangerous filled the lobby. “Get out before I rip your bloody intestines out and hang you with them.”

“Come on, Sam,” Bobby said, reaching out to take Sam’s arm. Sam’s eyes stayed focused on the familiar form of the man who thought his name was Dean, his doubts growing by the second. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe Dean had come back, memories wiped clean with a demonic roomate. It was the demon part that had Sam hesitating. Demons were evil, with few exceptions as far as Sam knew. But then why would a Slayer seek them out if that were the case? Making a gut decision, Sam pulled free and took a step forward.

“Wait.” Dean, or the guy who was using his name, stopped, though he didn’t turn around.

“Sam.” Bobby’s voice cut through Sam’s chaotic thoughts and the anguish in his eyes deepened. Spike, against his better judgment, felt himself feeling sorry for the pair. “Dean wasn’t a demon.”

“But.” Sam had to swallow a few times before he could continue speaking. “He’s Dean.”

“Could be a revenant,” Bobby said softly, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. His own voice sounded haggard, reminding Spike of Giles after Buffy’s death. That was the only reason he held his tongue.

“'Scuse me?” Dean asked, both eyebrows raised as he turned to look at Sam. Both hands rested on his hips, feet slightly apart. It was a classic Dean pose, and Sam had to blink several times to clear his vision.

“He hasn’t changed,” Sam explained, voice shaky. His gaze kept darting from Bobby to Dean, confusion and grief battling for dominance. “The way he talks, the way he acts, hell even the way he moves, it’s all, well, Dean. But-”

“I’m part demon,” Dean finished. A Sam’s nod, Dean felt his shoulders slump. He couldn’t stop the sense of loss he was feeling from coloring his words. “Yeah well, it’s not like I have the memories to explain that part.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Sam said hesitantly, coming to stand before Dean.

“For the best?” Dean spat, glaring at Sam. “How in the world could this be for the best?”

“Well for one thing, you don’t remember dying.” Sam’s voice was flat again, barely holding back emotions that had been plaguing him since his brother’s death. “Or being in hell for that matter.”

“But they’re my memories,” Dean growled, his frustration lacing his words. “And... alright, so not remembering hell is a damn good thing, but I don’t remember Mom, or Dad, or growing up, or anything else that’s important.”

Nodding, Sam had to swallow a few times before he could speak. “Then we’ll find away to get them back.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Sam said. “There's going to be some things you'll wish you didn’t remember. But you‘re right, they're your memories and you shouldn‘t have had them taken away. No matter how painful some of them are.”

Even with the earlier tension still filling the air, Dean introduced the group to Sam and Bobby later that night. Once Giles had discovered how knowledgeable Bobby was about the occult, the two had walked off into the Hyperion's garden, discussing everything they could and sharing the differences and similarities between practically raising two teenaged girls, one of whom was a Slayer, and two bullheaded young men.

Upon being reintroduced to Buffy by Spike, Sam smiled sheepishly and shook her hand, apologizing for any rudeness she'd suffered from his and Bobby's paranoia. Buffy had waved it off and in turn introduced the hunter to her younger sister, Willow, Xander, and Angel. Subsequently, once Sam had exchanged niceties with the two men, Dean had approached Willow and taken her aside, asking her about the possibility of recovering his memories, now that Sam was with him again.

Willow's eyes had practically glowed from even being asked, and she'd excitedly agreed, almost bouncing from the chance to help Dean this way. Which was why, two days later, she appeared in a manic whirlwind of ecstatic hyperness, charging down the stairs of the hotel.

“I’ve done it!” Willow squealed as she ran into the lobby, waving around a piece of paper. Her red hair stuck up in flyaways all around her, not quite lending to her unintentional Mad Scientist impersonation, but nudging it along just enough that Dean just couldn't help but laugh.

“You’ve done what?” Dean asked, a smirk on his face. “Created a monster? Won the lottery?” His eyes lit up. "Figured out a way to make an ever-flowing fountain of beer?"

“No. And I‘m not going to make a beer fountain no matter how nicely you and Spike keep asking,” Willow said, dropping her arm, a mock pout on her face. Her grin broke through almost immediately. “I found a way to get your memories back.”

“You did?” Dean asked, hope and fear filling him. Everyone else stared, while Sam, Bobby, and Spike came to stand next to Dean, all waiting for Willow to continue.

“Yeah,” Willow said, pride in her discovery flowing along her words. “I’ve even got most of the ingredients. I just need to get a few more and we’re all set.”

“Give me that,” Sam demanded as he reached forward and grabbed the paper from her hand. Bobby was quickly by his side, their eyes scanning the list of ingredients and the spell itself.

“I think this might actually work,” Bobby said as he let Sam show Dean.

“Of course it will work,” Willow said, slightly insulted that they might not have believed her.

“Excuse me if I don’t want to put all of my faith in someone I barely know,” Bobby said, before turning back to Sam.

“Willow’s a really powerful witch,” Buffy said, her tone insulted on her best friend's behalf as her arms crossed and a scowl appeared on her face.

“Doesn’t mean she’s always right,” Spike replied softly as he too read over the spell.

“Spike…” Buffy said pleadingly. “You know if anyone can do this, it’s Willow.”

“Didn’t bloody say she couldn’t do it,” Spike answered, looking back at Buffy. “I said she’s not always right. It never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes read things over.”

“He’s right, Buffy,” Willow said, her excitement dimmed slightly. “How many spells did I mess up before I finally started to get them right?”

“You always got them right when it really counted,” Buffy said, standing by her friend.

“Hey, as long as she doesn’t turn my brain to Swiss cheese I’m good,” Dean said handing the spell back to Sam.

“I promise I’ll do my best,” Willow said, eyes focused on Dean.

“I know you will.” Dean nodded. “How long is it going to take to get everything ready?”

“Um…tomorrow around noonish?” Willow said, her face scrunched up in thought. “I need to get the rest of the ingredients, and prepare everything before we start.”

“Right.” Dean nodded. “Sam, Spike? Want to go out and kill something? I’m feeling a bit edgy right now.”

“Come on, mate,” Spike said as he pulled on his jacket. “I know just the place. We‘ll be back later, all. Don‘t bother waiting up.”

Before any one could respond, Spike and Dean headed out the door, dragging a reluctant Sam behind them.

“Hey, wait up! Spike? Spike! Don‘t you dare go slaying without me!” Buffy called as she grabbed a weapon and rushed out the door behind them.

“That poor boy won’t know what hit him.” Bobby chucked softly to himself.

“Why do you say that?” Angel asked, eyeing the hunter wearily.

“Because it seems Dean has landed in the only place with people as thickheaded and gung-ho as he is, and Sam has just been dragged along for the ride.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Then next day saw a slightly battered Spike, Dean and Sam sitting around the lobby, quietly watching Willow set up the spell. Dawn and Xander were out getting lunch, and taking their time, while an equally battered Buffy watched from the sidelines with Angel and Bobby. Giles had gone back to his hotel room, citing the need for peace and quiet.

As she placed the last candle in its spot, Willow nodded to herself before checking over her list. “That should be everything. Dean, I need you to stand in the circle, please.”

Nodding, Dean carefully stepped forward, making sure not to mess up the delicate chalk patterns on the floor.

“All right,” Dean said. “Let’s get this thing over with.”

With a slight nod, Willow motioned for silence. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and offered a prayer and request for blessing from the Goddess before she started a low, steady chant. Her words, slowly gained in volume, rolling and churning in a musical rhythm. Bobby followed along, carefully weighing each word, making sure nothing was left out. Sam tried to follow, but his worry kept him focused on Dean, and the words barely penetrated.

When Willow raised her hands, the chant ending on a shout, the flames of the candles flared up brightly before abruptly extinguishing. Dean stood perfectly still, eyes closed. No one spoke for several minutes.

Taking a few cautious steps forward, Sam raised his hand, intent on seeing if Dean was okay.

“Dean…” Sam said softly.

“Don’t touch me!” Dean yelled as he backed out of the circle. His face was scrunched up, one hand resting on his forehead. He was breathing hard and Spike could hear his heart beating entirely too fast inside his chest.

“Dean?”

Looking up, Dean’s eyes were wide, grief and agony filling them. “I…I need to think.”

Dean turned and fled upstairs. A minute later the sound of a door slamming echoed throughout the lobby.

"Guess the spell worked," Buffy said softly with a shrug, her eyebrows raised as she gazed in the direction that Dean had taken off in. She didn't think she had ever seen anyone look so spooked -- particularly Dean who was so similar to Spike in every way it was impossible to think of him ever being scared of anything.

"How can you be so cavalier about this?" Sam asked, the anger in his eyes glinting as his gaze shot from where his brother had gone, to the blonde girl sitting on the counter across from Spike.

"Don't let it bother you, Sam," Spike said, heaving a put-upon sigh and shaking his head at Buffy, his eyes staring almost through her in his disappointment. "Slayer is just being her typical obtuse self.”

"What? Spike, no!" Buffy cried, eyes widening. Oh, god, why couldn't she ever say anything right when she was around him anymore? "I was just... I didn't mean to... I was only trying to-“

"Know what you were saying, Buffy," Spike interrupted, his voice gentle but not without reproach. "It's the tone I suspect Sam is taking offence to." The displeasure in those beautiful blue eyes of his was almost more than Buffy could bear, and unable to keep his gaze, she ducked her head down miserably.

“Slayer,” Spike started, his tone gentling. “Buffy…”

Willow, sensing the tension between the two blondes, immediately turned her head and began gathering up her things to afford them some privacy, and the remaining group followed suit, not wanting to witness what was sure to be a personal moment.

“I’m going to go check on Dean,” Sam murmured softly, eyes darting between Buffy and Spike before he turned and quickly ran up the stairs.

Without everyone's eyes on them, Buffy slumped down, huddling in on herself. “Why can’t we talk to each other anymore?” Buffy asked quietly. “We used to be able to. And now all we do is say the wrong things, and fight.”

“Think you‘re not remembering things properly,” Spike said with a slight grin as he crossed the room and took a seat beside her. “We were well known for putting our foots in it.”

“Spike,” Buffy said, raising her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

A thousand and more meanings were carried along her words.

“I know, luv,” Spike said as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze. “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The memories had come rushing back. The night his mother died, holding his baby brother in his arms and vowing to protect him just like his Dad wanted, taking care of Sam while their father was off hunting a demon or ghost, not sure if this would be the night he wouldn’t come home. Later, the fighting, Sammy wanting a normal life and their father wanting to keep their small family close. Then came the hunt for their Dad, Jessica dying, Sam’s visions, both of Dean’s near deaths, their Dad’s sacrifice, and later Sam’s own death and the deal Dean had made to bring him back. Then he’d died at the claws of Lilith’s hellhounds.

Dean clearly remembered his heart struggling to beat, the tears in his flesh caused by the hellhounds, the taste of his own blood. His own screams, and the screams of millions of damned souls raging along with him, and the demons who gleefully cut into him, day after day, year after year, so many demons that Dean had lost count. A part of him felt like he could still smell the sulfur in the air, could still feel the blades as they cut into him, how they had cut into others…

A knock on the door drew him from his slumped position against the wall. Wiping his face, Dean stalked forward.

“I told you I needed time to think!” Dean snarled as he swung open the door. Sam was standing on the other side.

“And what makes you think I was going to leave you alone to suffer?” Sam asked, voice raised. “Hell, even when you were dead I was looking for a way to bring you back!”

“Well I’m back, now you can go,” Dean growled as he started to slam the door.

“Dean,” Sam sighed, his voice heavy. “Don’t shut me out.”

“I’m not." As he was being drawn into the conversation anyway, Dean shook his head and backed away from the door. “I just… Sammy, I’m part demon now.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam replied.

“I…”

“You were okay with it before you got your memories back,” Sam pointed out as he stepped into the room and closed the door.

“You weren’t.” Dean watched as Sam ducked his head, taking deep breaths in a way Dean knew meant he was struggling with his emotions.

“Dean.” Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Before I got here, I wasn’t even sure if it was really you.”

“Yeah well, now we both know the truth.”

“And what’s that?” Dean could hear the anger in his brother’s voice.

“I came back wrong, Sam,” Dean said, frustration, anger and fear causing his voice to crack.

“No,” Sam said. “Dean…”

“I’ve got a demon in me!” Dean yelled. “An honest to God demon. And lets not forget these damn visions that pound my skull night after night. Sam, don’t you realize how far off the reservation I’ve gone? How far from normal? How far from human?”

“Dean,” Sam said coming to stand before his brother. “Angel said that demon is there to help you survive those visions.”

“Dude, that‘s not the point,” Dean said with a sigh.

“How? Cause this is about you?”

“Goddamn it, Sam, fuck off!” Dean yelled, pushing Sam towards the door.

“Why? Do you feel like this makes you less you?” Sam yelled back, grabbing hold of Dean’s arms. “Cause from where I’m standing you’re still the same overprotective jackass that I grew up with.”

“This isn’t a joke, damn it!” Dean yelled, though he couldn't quite stop himself from snorting with laughter at Sam's comment.

“I know,” Sam stated matter-of-factly, a grin appearing on his own face as he gave his brother a brief shake. “But you are being an ass.”

“Damn it, Sam,” Dean grumbled sitting on the edge of his bed. “We’re not going to have a chick flick moment, are we?”

“God no!” Sam laughed, sitting down beside his brother. “I’d have to hit you if we did.”

“Well that’s a relief. 'Course, if you tried to hit me, I’d kick your ass.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep,” the older Winchester said, a smug look on his face. “Being half demon makes me stronger than regular people. Gives me heightened senses too, though that can be a pain in the ass if I have to help Spike track some evil bastard in the sewers.”

“Ah, I see.” Sam nodded, failing to keep the laughter out of his voice. “You need the extra help. I understand.”

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You son of a -- Damn it, Sammy, you're going down!"

Sam barely had time to get his arms up as Dean tackled him off the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The loud thumping sounds coming from above startled everyone. Eyes on the ceiling, the group heard the sound of furniture getting knocked over and when a particularly loud crash was heard, Spike turned, quickly running towards the stairs, fearing the worst. A surprisingly strong hand halted his progress.

“Don’t,” Bobby said. “Those two idgits are just screwing around.”

“And how the bloody hell would you know that?”

Bobby just stared at Spike for a moment. His expression clearly implying that there were now three idgits instead of the aforementioned two. “I’ve know those two boys their whole lives. If they were really fighting you would have heard it long before now.”

“Then what are they doing up there?” Buffy asked, flinching as another crash sounded from above.

“Probably beating the tar out of each other,” Bobby said with a casual shrug.

“But-”

“It‘s a Winchester thing,” Bobby interrupted, voice firm. “Their Daddy was the same way.”

“You telling stories again, Bobby?” Dean’s voice floated down to the group in the lobby. Both Sam and Dean were slowly coming down the stairs, a few bruises starting to show already. Spike breathed a sigh of relief, and then leveled the two with a glare.

“So, how much of the room did you two wankers destroy?” Spike asked, eyebrow raised. Dean shot Spike a patently fake look of innocence.

“Not a damn thing wrong with the room, mate,” Dean said, all false cheer and casual disregard. “All four walls remain standing.”

“Dean…”

“It’s nothing that can’t be fixed in a few hours,” Dean replied with a roll of his eyes.

“What about the lamp?” Sam asked, smirking at his brother.

“Dude, that was a mercy killing,” Dean answered with an exaggerated shudder.

“You broke the bloody lamp?” Spike asked, eyes wide.

“What?” Dean asked. “It was ugly. Besides, Sam was the one who knocked it over.”

“After you pushed me into the nightstand,” Sam shot back.

Spike sighed, lowering his head. It wasn’t like he really cared about the lamp, Dean was right after all, it had been ugly. But that meant it had to be replaced and Spike hated shopping. But so did Dean.

“You’re buying a new lamp.” So, he’d make Dean do it.

Later that afternoon, everyone was scattered around the lobby empty and half filled containers of take out littering the spaces between them. They were sharing jokes and stories, though Sam wasn’t as happy as the others. Dean had told them about the cursed rabbit’s foot that Bella had paid to have stolen from their Dad’s storage unit. He’d felt marginally better when he’d been able to share Dean’s intense fear of all things aviation. Then had come the killer clown story and Sam had gone back to pouting.

“You should tell them about the robot,” Xander said, glee filling his words.

“Which one?” Buffy asked, her gaze briefly flickering towards Spike. “We’ve come across three.”

Seeing the look on Xander’s face, Spike groaned. Sam leaned forward, sensing that it was time someone else was going to get thoroughly embarrassed. He could still hear Dawn’s giggled, “I lost my shoe,” coming from his right. Even as he felt a pang of sympathy, Sam was still glad that he was out of the spot light.

“Hold on a minute. I need another drink,” Dean said, standing. “And I don’t want to miss this.”

Dean only made it halfway across the lobby before he screamed, hands gripping the sides of his head, knees buckling. He barely felt the strong arms surrounding him as he crumpled. Images flashed quickly. Two young girls, one white eyed, the other cold, a chilling smile on her face. They were standing at a crater as a dark skinned demon poured blood over the edge. The ground rumbled, cracking open, the smell of sulfur filled the air. Then Dean was breathing harshly, most of his weight supported by Sam. He could feel Spike’s cool hands resting on his shoulders.

“Spike,” Sam asked, his voice harsh. His grip on his brother tightened ever so slightly, and Dean could feel the rapid beating of Sam’s heart. “What the hell just happened?”

Spike didn’t answer at first, just gently squeezed Dean‘s shoulders. “Dean, mate, what did you see?”

“See?” Sam asked. “That was a vision?”

“Yeah,” Angel answered.

“But…” Sam trailed off. “Mine were never quite that violent.”

“That’s cause they were apart of you,” Angel answered.

“And Dean‘s are a form of punishment,” Sam finished, his voice a whisper.

“Dean?” Spike said, pulling Sam’s attention away from Angel.

“Give me a minute,” Dean said. “Sammy, let go.” Standing, Dean took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. One hand rubbed the side of his head, trying to ease the pounding left by the vision. His other hand still gripped his brother‘s arm. “All right. There were two creepy kids. One was Lilith. I’d recognize that little bitch anywhere. Don’t know who the other was. But from what Spike’s told me I think they were in Sunnydale, opening the Hellmouth.”

“What?” Buffy asked, eyes wide with panic. “Spike closed it. We closed it. There’s nothing left but a crater.”

“They’ve got some demon pouring blood over the edge, and when his pitcher is empty the ground shakes and cracks open,” Dean replied. “Looks like they’re opening it to me.”

“Whose this Lilith, bint?” Spike asked.

“She’s a bad ass evil bitch that’s trying to destroy the world,” Dean said, trying not to show just how much the latest vision had freaked him out.

“Describe the other kid,” Angel demanded.

“Um,” Dean started eyes closed. “Short dark hair, dark dress with white lace along the trim. Black shoes.”

“Damn it!” Angel growled, punching the wall.

“Know who Little Miss Muffet is, Angel?”

“Yeah, the Senior Partners conduit.”

“Bloody hell.”

“The Senior Partners?” Dean and Sam said at the same time. One incredulous, the other in confusion.

“The Senior Partners are the big bads who run Wolfram and Hart, a multidimensional evil law firm,” Spike answered. “They’ve been planning their own apocalypse for millennia, and from what Angel’s told me, they don’t like others stepping on their plans.”

“Which makes you wonder why they’ve teamed up with Lilith,” Dean added, raking his hand through his hair.

“We need to call Giles,” Buffy said, as she headed towards the phone. “This is big.”

“I’m going to call Ruby,” Sam said, bracing himself for Dean’s reaction.

“Ruby?” Dean asked, eyebrow raise. “Demonic bitch Ruby? You’re still listening to her?”

“She’s been helping me track down Lilith.”

“Dean.” The look Bobby gave Dean clearly said, Go easy on the kid, but Dean was pissed. He didn’t trust Ruby, didn’t like the ideas she fed Sam. Every thing about her set his teeth on edge, and Dean wanted her as far away from Sam as possible. Tightening his grip, Dean dragged Sam into his and Spike’s office, ignoring the others confused looks, and slammed the door behind him.

“She’s been helping you work on your psychic mojo hasn’t she?” Dean asked, fear running along his words, his father‘s warning echoing in his mind. “Damn it Sammy! I thought we agreed to leave that alone.”

“You were gone, Dean,” Sam snapped back. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Sam-”

“No, Dean,” Sam yelled. “I know what I’m doing.”

“But going after Lilith? With Ruby?” Dean said, his voice taking on a frightened, desperate pitch. “Sam, that’s suicide.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam said, voice soft. “Dean, Lilith can’t hurt me.”

“Excuse me?”

“After you…” Sam started.

“Died. Kicked it. Bought the farm. Became a hellhound’s chew toy,” Dean rattled off, waving his arm in a hurry up gesture.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Died. Lilith shot out this burning white light. Only it didn’t do anything to me. I don’t know who was more shocked. Her or me.”

“What happened after?” Dean asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“Nothing,” Sam said. “She got out of there pretty fast after that. Ruby’s been helping me figure out what I can do while we track Lilith down.”

“I see.” Dean nodded. “I want to know everything she’s taught you.”

“Dean-”

“Everything, Sammy!”

“Fine!” Sam snapped. “I’ll make a detailed list later. But right now we need to figure out what Lilith and these Senior Partner’s have planned.”

“I know.” Dean turned to rejoin the others into the lobby. “But Sam, we will be talking about this later.”

“I know.” Sam sighed, and followed his brother.

Everyone else was pulling out books and notebooks and beginning the tedious process of trying to find any bit of information they could. Willow was sitting at the computer while Buffy, with a cell phone held to her ear, hovered behind her. Sam wondered a small ways off, making his own phone call.

“Dean,” Buffy called out. “Can you describe this Lilith?”

“Um, she’s a powerful demonic bitch with white eyes instead of the regular black variety,” Dean offer with a shrug, not quite sure how to describe the demon.

“Sounds like she has to have a host,” Spike said. Noticing the other’s blank expressions he rolled his eyes. “Without a body to take over, she’d be as untouchable as the First.”

“She can’t impersonate the dead, or the formerly dead, can she?” Buffy asked, anxiety filling her words.

“Not that we know of,” Bobby answered. “She just needs an unwilling body to possess.”

“Right,” Buffy said with a nod, quickly relaying the information and closing her phone.

“Maybe if we knew what she wanted, we would be able to figure out how to stop her,” Angel suggested.

“Sam’s head on a platter and world domination,” Dean said, sarcasm and worry filling his words.

“Dean!”

“They needed to know, Sam.” Dean rolled his eyes at his brother’s look.

“Um, why would this Lilith want to kill Sam?” Willow asked, eyeing the two brothers.

“Because Sam is the only real threat she’s got,” a voice said from the doorway. All eyes turned to see a dark haired young woman standing in the open door way. She had a slight smile on her face, and her presence had Dean, Bobby, and Sam all tensing. Her eyes were focused squarely on Dean and Sam, her smile widening into a smirk.

“Good to see you again, Dean,” she said as she started to walk down the steps into the lobby. “I’ve gotta say, demon’s a good look for you.”

“Ruby,” Dean growled, teeth clenched. He would have torn across the lobby if it hadn’t been for Spike’s hand on his shoulder. “Can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”

“You should be thanking me,” Ruby said, smile gone.

“For what?” Dean growled. “Messing with Sam’s head? Cause you really did a bang up job with that.”

“For keeping Sam alive,” Ruby bit out.

“Dean, Ruby, stop it,” Sam said, stepping between the two.

“One wrong turn, just one,” Dean said, eyes focused on Ruby. “And I’ll kill you.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Her tone was just as harsh.

“Oh, he won‘t have to try,” Buffy said with a bright smile on her face. “Spike and I will just hold you down for him.”

“A slayer,” Ruby said, surprise coloring her words. “With a witch and two vampires. This is interesting. Sam, just what have you gotten us into?”

“We’re trying to figure out how to stop Lilith and the Senior Partners,” Sam replied.

“What?” Ruby said, jaw hanging open. “Are you crazy? You can’t take both of them on at the same time.”

“We don’t have a choice.” Sam sighed. “We got some pretty good intell that they’re going to try to reopen the Sunnydale Hellmouth.”

“Then we find Lilith and take her out before she can meet her knew playmates,” Ruby replied. “We do not, however, go after her with the Senior Partners by her side.”

“And just what do you know about the Senior Partners?” Angel asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“I know what every demon knows, Angelus,” Ruby snapped.

“It’s Angel.”

“Right,” Ruby said with a nod. “You’re all good now.”

“Cut the attitude, Ruby.” Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “You’re sorely out numbered here.”

“Fine,” Ruby said. “They’re big, they’re bad, and they’re evil. What I‘d like to know is how Dean here got out of hell.”

“Well, we don’t always get what we want,” Dean said, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed.

“Dean.” Sam‘s voice was soft, his eyes focused on the floor. “She has a point.”

“Sam,” Dean said, giving his brother a pointed glare. He didn’t want Ruby knowing about his visions. “I think we’ve already got that part figured out.”

“Nobody just escapes from hell,” Ruby said.

“You did,” Spike snarked, eyebrow raised.

“So did I,” Angel said, tone bland.

Ruby rolled her eyes in disgust. “Everyone knows that the Powers dragged you out of hell. Besides, you didn’t actually die. You earned your trip through a portal.”

“Again, you did.” Spike‘s tone was pure sarcasm.

“You have no idea what I went through to get out,” Ruby ground out.

“But you got out,” Buffy said.

“Yeah, and into a new body,” Ruby snapped. Seeing the looks on everyone’s face, she quickly held up a hand to forestall any comments. “Which, by the way, belongs solely to me. Sam can verify that if you want. However, Dean here, while a bit altered, has his own body back. Sam told me he was cremated.”

“It might be worth finding out,” Willow said. When Spike and Dean shot murderous glares her way, Willow flinched back. “I’m just thinking that if we knew how he got brought back, it might answer more of his questions.”

“Like why I didn’t remember a damn thing when I first got back.” Dean’s eyes were lowered, his tone soft.

“He’s legit,” Spike ground out, head back, and eyes closed.

“Not that I’m doubting you,” Buffy said slowly. “But-”

“Lorne read him,” Spike said with a sigh. “Said he was important and that I needed to look after him.”

“You know where Lorne is?” Angel asked, guilt and hope equally coming through in his words.

“No,” Spike answered. “I know how to get a hold of him, and he doesn’t want to see you.”

“I know.” Angel lowered his head, shoulders sagging. “He’s okay though, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Spike said. “He is.”

“Good.”

“Um, excuse me,” Sam said. “But whose Lorne?”

“An anagogic demon,” Angel said. “He can read people’s souls when they sing.”

“And this Lorne guy,” Bobby said, looking from Spike to Angel. “He’s trust worthy?”

“Yeah, he is,” Buffy answered, understanding Bobby’s suspicions.

“Dean sang?” Sam said unable to contain his glee.

“Dude, shut up,” Dean said smacking Sam’s head.

“The point is,” Ruby said, interrupting the would be fight. “That I don’t know of anything powerful enough to raise someone from hell.”

“Willow could do it,” Spike said, taking delight in poking holes into the demon‘s theories. Seeing the looks he was getting Spike shrugged. “Not saying she would, now, just that she could.”

“I doubt Willow would have left such an interesting scar,” Dean said with a sigh.

“Scar?” Sam asked. Dean pulled up his shirt sleeve. There was a raised handprint on his shoulder.

“Willow’s method leaves you scar free,” Buffy said with a sage nod. Spike snickered while almost everyone else looked at Buffy in varying degrees of horror or interest.

“It fixes a lot of other things too,” Spike said, then quickly sped to hide behind Dean. It didn’t help that Dean was laughing too hard to stand up straight.

“Spike!” Buffy wished fervently that a hole would open up so that she could jump into it, then pull the ground closed behind her. She was going to kill Spike for this. “I can not believe you just said that!”

“I don’t under…I mean I didn’t…Oh…Oh!” Willow said eyes widening. “I so did not need to know that.”

“Neither did I,” Angel grumbled. Xander and Dawn nodded in agreement, both looking pained. Dean suddenly stopped laughing, eyes wide.

“I’ve been re-hymenated,” Dean said. His tone sounded shocked and just a bit horrified.

“Dean,” Sam said, trying and failing to keep the laughter from his voice. “Guys don’t have hymens.”

“Not the point, Sammy,” Dean said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I came back with all of my old scars gone. No bullet wounds, no knife cuts, none of the off-angle fingers from all the breaks. I mean, my hide is as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Which leads me to conclude, sadly, that my virginity is intact.”

Spike and Sam’s loud guffaws filled the lobby. Even Buffy, Dawn, and Willow were having trouble keeping a straight face. Angel and Xander just looked slightly sick while Bobby rolled his eyes and grumbled about thickheaded Winchesters.

“You guys are idiots,” Ruby said “We’ve got two major bad asses teaming up, and you guys are cracking jokes about your virginities.”

“Well, what do you suggest we do?” Buffy asked, folding her arms across her chest. All traces of her former embarrassment gone.

“Find out how to stop Lilith,” Ruby replied, glaring at Buffy. “And while we’re at it, figure out how Dean earned his free pass out of hell.”

Finally getting control of himself, Spike shared a look with Dean, then nodded. “Half on Lilith, the other half on finding Dean answers. But this Lilith bint is our top priority.”

The others readily agreed, the Scoobies for once not arguing that it was Spike ordering them around instead of Buffy.

Seats were retaken and search engines called forth. Sam, along with Ruby, sat next to Willow, his laptop resting on the counter. Both were surfing through various websites, going about finding answers in their own unique way. Bobby, Dawn, and Angel were huddled over some books written in obscure languages. Buffy and Xander both sat, staring at the books before them, their eyes already glazing over in boredom. Spike and Dean were left on the sidelines, watching as the group got to work.

“You sure about this?” Spike asked, his voice a low whisper.

“Gotta be,” Dean said with a shrug. “It’s not like the bad guys are going to take a time out just because we’re not ready.”

“True,” Spike said. Patting Dean on his shoulder, Spike went and grabbed a book of his own to look through. Sighing, Dean rubbed his still aching head and hoped that they’d find the answers to their problems soon.

Sighing, Bobby hung up the phone. He’d just gotten off the phone with several of his contacts, and the reports that had been coming in over the last few days were disturbing. Not to mention the rumors he was hearing, the questions he was being asked. Bobby knew word spread quickly, hunters were worse gossips than hormonal teenage girls, but he’d hoped they would have more time…

“Hey, guys,” Bobby said, gaining everyone’s attention. “Got some info you might want to hear.”

“What is it?” Dean asked, coming to stand before the other man, arms crossed over his chest.

Bobby took in Dean‘s haunted gaze and weary countenance, and sighed. It wasn‘t like he was the only one feeling the weight, but Bobby knew Dean. He would take it all on his shoulders; it was what he’d always done. “From what I can tell, demons are on the move.”

“And let me guess,” Buffy said. “They’re coming here.”

“Some are,” Bobby said with a nod.

“Why?” Sam asked.

“Seems they’ve heard whisperings of Lazarus here,” Bobby replied nodding towards Dean. “Though, from what I’ve been told, they either want to see if the rumors are true, or they’re going to ground.”

“Something big’s coming,” Dean said, eyes focused downwards.

“We need to find out what‘s causing this,” Sam said. His gaze rested solely on Dean.

“You think this is tied into Dean’s resurrection?” Buffy asked. Sam nodded.

“Guess the sooner we find out who worked the mojo, the sooner we can figure out what’s causing our other problems,” Dean sighed, rubbing weary hands over his face.

“Willow,” Buffy said. “Think you can work your magic and find us some answers?”

“I can try,” Willow said. “I’m going to need Dean, though.”

“As long as it’s not permanent,” Dean replied.

“It won’t be,” Willow said, her voice gentle. Everyone watched intently as she came to stand next to Dean, and pushed up his sleeve. Placing her hand over the scar on Dean’s shoulder, Willow closed her eyes. It wasn’t long before Willow jerked her hand away with a startled yelp.

“What was it?” Buffy asked, her voice filled with worry.

“All I got was a name,” Willow said, voice shaky. “And a strong warning to look no further. So I didn‘t look.”

“What name?” Bobby asked.

“Castiel.”

“I haven’t heard that name before,” Bobby said, tone thoughtful.

“Well, you’ve got a name,” Ruby said, her tone bored. “That’s all you need for a good summoning ritual.”

“She’s right,” Dean grumbled, hating to admit that Ruby was right about anything.

“Not so fast,” Bobby said, tone firm. “We don’t even know what we’d be summoning.”

“He’s right,” Angel said. “That’s why we use every protective ward we know before we summon this thing.”

“And that’s my cue to leave.” Ruby stood, pulling her jacket on.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Buffy asked, arms crossed.

“I believe I just said I was leaving,” Ruby replied, the snark in her tone matching Buffy‘s.

“And why is that?” Spike asked, coming to stand next to Buffy.

“Because unlike you two,” Ruby said, gesturing towards Dean and Spike. “Protection symbols and I don’t mix.”

“Let her go,” Sam said with a sigh. “She won’t go far.”

Once Ruby was gone, Buffy turned towards Dawn before letting her gaze flicker towards Xander.

“Got it,” Xander said as he stood and placed his hand on Dawn’s shoulder.

“Oh, come on,” Dawn grumbled. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Don’t argue, Bit,” Spike said. “We don’t know what we’ll be getting and your sis doesn’t want you in harms way.”

“Fine,” Dawn said with a roll of her eyes. “But you so owe me for this.”

Once they were gone, Buffy took a deep breath, letting it out on a weary sigh. “So, lets get started.”

They worked in near silence, checking and rechecking to make sure each brush stroke matched the picture held in their hands. A few hours later the lobby of the hotel looked like a group of occult loving vandals had attacked it. Symbols from every culture were painted on the floor, the walls, the stairs, and thanks to Willow, even the ceiling.

“Right,” Dean said, his gaze scanning the room. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get a beer.”

“All right everyone,” Bobby said after shooting Dean a pointed glare. He knew this look well. Bobby had always known when Dean was bullshitting. “Stand back.”

Walking up to the bowl, Bobby started the ritual. His words were smooth and fluid, rising and falling in a steady rhythm while he tossed in various ingredients. Everyone held their breath, waiting for any sign that it had worked. Minutes passed and nothing happened. The group slumped, disappointment filling the room.

“Well that was a bit of a lark,” Spike said as he hopped up onto the counter.

“Just because there were no fire works, doesn’t mean the ritual didn’t work,” Bobby snapped. “Sometimes these things take time.”

“You sure you did the ritual right?” Dean asked. At Bobby’s murderous look, Dean held up his hands. “Sorry.”

“How long should we wait?” Sam asked, glancing briefly at the clock on the wall.

As if in answer to Sam’s question, the windows and doors started to shake. What sounded like a fierce wind sprung up outside. Everyone huddled together, back-to-back, eyes scanning every inch of the lobby. The front doors suddenly blew open, startling everyone. A figure dressed in a suit, tie, and beige trench coat walked through the doors. The man had short dark hair and a solemn expression. As he walked the overhead lights blew, causing sparks to rain down on the group. When he’d reached the main floor of the lobby Dean stepped forward, shotgun raised.

“Who are you?”

The man turned his gaze towards Dean. “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

Dean was silent for few minutes, the man’s words echoing inside his head. Spike stepped forward and placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“You’re Castiel, aren’t you?” The man turned, briefly giving Spike a nod.

“Yes.”

“And my memories?” Dean asked, his voice a growl. “Did you get rid of those while you were gripping me tight?”

“That was not my doing,” Castiel said. “But I knew it would happen.”

“Gee, thanks,” Dean said, and then he pulled the trigger. The blast didn’t faze Castiel. Sam and Bobby fired off more rounds, though they had no more effect than the one Dean shot off. Buffy and Spike attacked as one, but Castiel seemed to have little trouble knocking them aside. They didn’t get up from where they had landed. Angel leapt forward next. He ended up crashing into the lobby desk next to Buffy, unconscious. Willow tired to cast a spell, but nothing happened. He simply looked over those who remained, and then raised his hand. They all fell to the floor while Dean remained standing.

“We need to talk.” Castiel‘s eyes were focused on Dean. “In private.”

Dean’s shocked eyes roamed over his friend’s still forms. When Castiel took a step forward, Dean shifted so that he was between Sam and Castiel. “What did you do?”

“They are alive,” Castiel said as he came to stand before Dean.

“What are you?” Dean asked, fear in his eyes.

“I’m an angel of the Lord,” he answered, his voice carrying his conviction that no other answer was possible. Dean couldn’t contain his snort of disbelief.

“Yeah, right.” Dean‘s words carried his anger, his fear. If this thing had hurt his friends, his brother… “And what are you supposed to be? The holy tax accountant?”

“This, is merely a vessel,” Castiel replied gesturing towards his body.

“You’re possessing some poor bastard?” Dean asked, eyes wide. His grip tightened on the gun even though he knew it was useless against the being before him.

“No,” Castiel answered. “This man, is a devote man. He actually prayed for this.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe you?” Dean couldn’t contain his skepticism. As far as he was concerned, angels, and God, did not exist.

“That is your problem, Dean,” Castiel said. “You have no faith.”

Suddenly the remaining lights started to flicker again. Dean took a step back, eyes darting around the room. A flash of light nearly blinded him and Dean could clearly see the shadowy outline of wings spreading out behind Castiel.

“What…how?” Dean asked, his voice shaking as hard as his body. He didn’t notice when the shotgun fell from his hands.

“Because God commanded it,” Castiel answered. “Because we have work for you.”

“And where does getting dumped in the middle of Los Angeles with no memory fit into this scheme of your’s?” Dean asked.

“We needed to keep you safe, for the time being,” Castiel replied. “And the Powers That Be agreed to aid our cause.”

“So, I drew the short straw then.” Dean’s voice was rough, narrowed eyes filled with desperate fury.

“We were not supposed to meet just yet,” Castiel replied, his dark eyes scanning over sleeping the group before him. He took in the symbols painted on the walls, ceiling, and floor of the lobby, all meant to protect those within. All no threat to him. “You were supposed to have more time to adjust, but events are coming to fruition faster than we thought.”

“I can’t believe this,” Dean said, shaking his head. “What if I hadn’t found Spike that night? Then what?”

“You were not left unarmed.” Castiel gave a casual shrug.

“That’s not the point!” Dean yelled. “You had no right to do that to me. And now you come in here, and expect me to jump just cause you say so?”

“You don’t understand,” Castiel said. “We thought by placing you with William that you would have time to heal until the proper time came.”

“And the visions?” Dean asked, hating the way his voice wavered.

Castiel shrugged again. “That was part of the bargain we made with the Powers that Be. They needed a seer for their champion.”

“That’s just great,” Dean ground out, eyes flashing black. “You people just blithely play with other people’s lives, all for the greater good, and without a thought as to how this will affect the people you’re screwing over.”

“You will show me some respect.” Castiel’s stand shifted, how though, Dean couldn‘t tell. He was darker, angrier, and as still as the eye of a passing storm. “I pulled you out of hell, and I can put you back.”

Dean stared at the angelic being before him, dread settling into his bones. “You think the Powers will be happy about that? If I’m back in hell, they lose a seer.”

“They would find another.” Castiel’s words were dismissive, as if the thought of throwing him back into hell was not a bother.

“So I’m screwed either way,” Dean said, shoulder’s slumped. He turned his back on Castiel, not caring about the vengeful angel at his back. He simply didn’t care anymore.

“Dean” Castiel said, reaching forward and grabbing his arm. Dean turned, jerking his arm free. Castiel just stood there for a few seconds, staring at Dean. It made him uncomfortable, like the angel was seeing into his soul. Dean was terrified of what he might find there.

“You don’t believe you deserve to be saved.” Castiel’s words held a hint of confusion that had not been there previously. It was a stark contrast to the anger from moments before and Dean lowered his eyes.

“Well, you were the one telling me you could toss my ass back into hell a second ago.” His words came out thin and brittle.

“Everyone deserves a chance to be saved,” Castiel said.

“Even a demon?” Dean asked, hating the scared tone his voice carried, hating himself for showing just how much having a demon inside still bothered him.

“You were only made part demon to enable you to survive the Power’s visions,” Castiel said.

“And what about Spike? And Angel” Dean asked, pointing to his unconscious friends. “Do they deserve to be saved too?”

“Their cases are irrelevant,” Castiel said, eyes briefly looking over Spike and Angel’s prone forms.

“What do you mean by that?” Dean asked, arms crossing over his chest.

Castiel’s gaze rose to focus on Dean. “They are the Power‘s champions and are no concern of ours.”

“But…” Dean said, his words falling short. His memories of hell flashed through his mind. Looking down, Dean stared at his feet. His breathing was shallow and bile rose in his throat. It burned his esophagus, causing tears to sting his eyes.

“You held on for as long as you could,” Castiel said, voice soft and gentle. “And now you have a chance to redeem yourself for those acts, just as your friends are trying to redeem themselves for their’s.”

“What do you want me to do?” Dean asked. He sounded defeated; the weight of what was happening settling on his shoulders.

“Help us stop Lilith,” Castiel said.

“How?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“An angel?” Spike asked, his eyebrows climbing to his hairline.

“Yeah,” Dean said, still not quite believing his own eyes. He was leaning against the counter in the Hyperion’s lobby, hands resting on his hips. The fingers of his right hand were playing with the frayed threads of his pocket. The symbols were still scrawled across the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. Candles and flashlights sat on the lobby counter adding their glow to the few bulbs that remained intact. It was going to take them several hours to clean up, but no one seemed eager to get started.

“Isn’t this a good thing?” Buffy asked, rubbing her arms. Despite her words, she was completely wigged-out. “Cause from what I’ve always thought, angels were, you know, good.”

“Well he sure as hell wasn’t a fluffy little cherub,” Dean snapped.

“But-” Buffy started, and then stopped, letting out a tired sigh. “Okay, you‘ve got a point.”

“Angel’s are God’s warriors,” Bobby said, one of Giles’ books lying open in front of him.

“According to the Bible they razed Sodom and Gomorrah,” Spike said, rubbing his face with his hands. He still couldn’t get his mind around the fact that angels existed. He knew better than most that there were such things as higher beings, that didn’t mean he ever thought he’d meet one.

“And they are powerful enough to raise someone from hell,” Bobby said, his words seeming to carry the weight of the world.

“I don’t get it,” Sam said, confusion, doubt and grief causing a slight break in his voice. “If he’s an angel, then…”

“Why was he such a dick?” Dean asked, knowing exactly what his brother was thinking. “I don’t know, Sammy.”

“Look, why don’t we all get some sleep, yeah?” Spike said, taking in the slumped postures and dark circles marring everyone’s eyes. “We’re not going to find out anything tonight.”

In full agreement, the group quickly parted ways, blowing out candles and turning off flashlights and lamps. Tomorrow would bring more questions, but for now, it could wait.

The next day found Dean sitting in the garden, the bright sunlight shining down on him. He paid it no mind, his thoughts occupied by the events of the previous night. He was still having a hard time believing that an angel had raised him from the dead. In his experience, these things did not happen. Angels did not exist, but one had stood before him last night, wiping away years of doubt, but still leaving many unanswered questions as new fears and doubts began to form.

Looking over his shoulder, Dean could see the others in the lobby, joking and laughing, books spread out before them. Giles had rejoined them and was currently cleaning his glasses and shaking his head. From the look on Buffy’s face, Dean guessed that Giles’ current state of frustration was her doing, and that she wasn’t repentant at all. Not that Dean actually felt sorry for the Watcher. Upon learning that an actual angel was responsible for Dean’s renewed gift of life, Giles had badgered Dean for several hours, often repeating questions, hoping that he would remember some small detail that would give them the answers they sought. Spike and Buffy had eventually tagged teamed the Watcher, allowing Dean the chance to slip outside and gain a brief respite.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice came from his left, causing Dean to nearly fall off the bench in fright.

“Don’t do that,” Dean grumbled, heart racing. His shoulders sagged minutely, his hope for some peace slipping away.

“There is something I need to discuss with you,” Castiel said, gaze intent, voice solemn.

“And here I thought we‘d had our heart to heart last night,” Dean said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“This is about Sam.”

“You leave Sam out of this,” Dean growled.

“Last night he left while everyone was sleeping,” Castiel said. “He used his powers to tear a demon from a man’s body.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Dean asked, eyebrow raised.

“We don’t know what Azazel had planned for your brother,” Castiel said. “He covered his tracks well.”

“He’s saving people,” Dean argued, though a small bit of doubt colored his words.

“He’s playing with fire,” Castiel‘s voice was firm. “Stop him, or we will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few days were hectic. Research, interspersed with Dean’s nearly nightly visions, caused Dean to put his talk with Sam on hold. It wasn’t like Dean had wanted to wait, but how was he supposed to tell his brother that God didn‘t approve of his demon removal methods. Luckily there had be no more surprise visits, but Dean didn’t think Castiel would wait much longer.

Sighing, Dean pulled on his t-shirt, then dragged one of his button downs over top. Standing he grabbed his wallet, knife, and gun, then headed downstairs. The gun went into the back of his jeans, the knife in the sheath on his belt. He opened his wallet, quickly counting the cash inside. His supplies were running low, and Dean figured now was good as a time as any to get Sam alone. He just prayed that his brother would be willing to listen to him.

When he reached the lobby, Dean found Spike and Buffy arguing, again. Though from what Dean could tell, there was no heat to it. In fact it sounded more like a combination of flirting and bickering, and a smile broke out on his face. Then he heard exactly what they were arguing about and Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Dude,” Dean said, interrupting the couple. “You guys are so lame.”

“I am not lame!” Buffy protested instantly. It didn’t escape Dean’s notice that she didn’t correct his observation about Spike. From the look on Spike’s face, it hadn’t passed by his notice either.

“You two were arguing over the best method for getting demon goo out of carpets,” Dean pointed out, eyebrow raised. “Next thing you know you’re going to start asking Buffy to speak in French and making out while discussing the best beheading techniques.”

“Hey!” Spike yelled, pointing at Dean. “I wouldn’t do that.” Seeing the look on Buffy’s face, Spike quickly backtracked. “Okay, so I wouldn’t ask her to speak French, girl butchers the English language often enough, never said I would turn down the chance at a good snog.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, his grin turning to a smirk. “Whatever you say Gomez.”

“Nice try,” Buffy groused, though her lips were twitching. “You’re still in the dog house.”

“Woof,” Spike said, growling softly and eyes sparkling. “Care to join me, Slayer?”

“Very funny.” Buffy smacked Spike lightly in the chest.

Dean smiled, shaking his head at their antics. “You two seen Sam anywhere? I need to pick up some things at the store and I thought I’d drag his lazy ass with me.”

“He’s in the office with Willow,” Spike said.

Glancing at the office‘s closed door, Dean couldn’t stop the sigh from escaping. “Those two are getting their geek on, aren’t they?”

Buffy’s eyes widened dramatically as she leaned forward as if to impart some age old wisdom. “He understands Willow techno babble. It’s not natural.”

“Sam was always the brains of the outfit,” Dean said with a laugh and quite a bit of pride.

“I wasn’t the one who made a working EMF meter out of spare parts,” Sam said as he and Willow exited the office. Dean could see Willow’s eyes light up at this, and he ruthlessly resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Trust Sam to ruin Dean’s carefully crafted reputation as the charming rogue.

“Do you think you could show me how you did it?” Willow asked. “I’m sure with more resources we might be able to make one that detects more than spirits.”

“Later, Red,” Spike said, saving Dean. “Man’s got some errands to run and simply wanted to know if Sam here wanted to tag along.”

“Oh.” Willow’s shoulders drooped slightly and Dean felt absurdly guilty. It really sucked. He hadn’t even done anything wrong.

“How about I show you when I get back,” Dean offered as he reached over the counter and grabbed his jacket. “Sam, you coming?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered. “Think we can stop by my hotel first? I want to get my things. There’s no sense in paying for a room if I’m never there.”

“We’ll be back in a few hours,” Dean yelled over his shoulder as he headed towards the front doors. “Sammy! Come on, we’re wasting daylight.”

Once outside, Dean stood back to admire the Impala. When Sam and Bobby had first arrive, he had been pleased to see that Sam had kept the car in pristine condition. His only complaint was that he’d not had enough time to get behind the wheel. Now was his chance, and he wasn’t letting Sam cheat him out of it.

“Keys,” Dean demanded, hand held out. He could hear Sam sigh as he reached into his pocket and handed him the keys. Walking to the car, Dean lovingly ran his hand over the roof, a beaming smile on his face. “Hey sweetheart, you miss me?”

Dean opened the door, ignoring the way Sam rolled his eyes at his antics. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Dean ran his hands over the steering wheel. It felt so good to be back in his beloved car. Putting the keys into the ignition, Dean stopped suddenly, staring at the Impala’s radio.

“What the hell is that?” The horror in Dean’s voice filled his eyes as he turned and glared at his brother.

“It’s an iPod jack.”

“You were supposed to take care of her, not douche her up.”

Dean,” Sam started, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I thought it was my car.”

Dean didn’t say anything, just stared at Sam for several minutes before shaking his head and turning the key. To Dean’s continued horror, soft rock began playing on the radio.

“I can’t believe you,” Dean muttered as he pulled the iPod jack out of the radio and tossed it onto the backseat. He then began running his hand gently over the Impala‘s dashboard. “Don’t worry baby, I won’t let Sam douche you up again.”

“Dean…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean put the car into drive and promptly turned the radio to one of L.A’s classic rock stations. “So, hotel first?”

“Sure,” Sam said, rolling his eyes again. “You’re driving.”

“Damn right I’m driving.” Dean grinned as he pulled into L.A traffic. It took them about thirty minutes to reach the hotel Sam and Bobby were supposed to be staying in. They went straight to Sam’s room so that he could clear out the room before checking out.

Watching his brother pack, Dean could feel the muscles in his shoulder’s tensing again. He didn’t want to have this conversation, but with Castiel’s warning ringing in his head, he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean said standing from his slouched position. His hands were in his pockets, eyes on the floor. He really didn’t want to do this.

“Dean?” Sam asked, taking in his brother’s stance. “What’s wrong?”

“I got another visit from Castiel.”

“What?” Sam yelled. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because he told me to stop you,” Dean ground out. Seeing the look on his brother’s face, Dean felt his heart drop.

“Stop me?”

“From using your powers,” Dean explained.

“Dean-”

“Look,” Dean said, holding up a hand to stop Sam’s words. “Just promise me you’ll stop using them.”

Sam’s face shut down. When he turned his back to Dean, shoving clothes into his bag with jerky movements, Dean could have kicked himself for not realizing how Sam would take things. Now because of the grim warnings of an angel, they were back to square one, tip toeing around, not sure how to talk to each other, and even less sure as to how to act.

“That’s real hypocritical coming from you.” Sam’s voice filled the room and Dean’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing at the hard tone in his brothers words.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Sam?” Dean asked, hands on his hips.

“You’re allowed to use your gifts, but I can’t?”

“Sam, you got yours from a demon,” Dean said, enunciating each word slowly.

“And you’re half demon.” The words were out before Sam could stop them. Dean’s eyes flashed black and before Sam knew it his back was hitting the wall behind him. His jaw hurt and he could taste blood in his mouth.

“Nice to finally know what you really think of me,” Dean snarled. Turning he stalked out of the hotel room, slamming the door behind him. He kept walking, the bright sun shining on his back. When he reached the Impala he jerked the door open and slid inside. Slamming the door shut, Dean sat for a minute, hands on the wheel.

“Damn it!” Dean yelled, hitting the steering wheel with his hand. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

He kept hitting the wheel, over and over again, as his vision blurred. He finally stopped when he felt the wheel start to buckle. Arms stretched out, Dean leaned his head against the seat, eyes closed. His harsh breathing filled the silence of the car.

“Your brother does not understand.”

“Fuck!” Dean yelled, jerking away from the angel sitting calmly next to him. “Give a guy some warning next time would ya? You damn near gave me a heart attack.”

“You’re avoiding the issue,” Castiel said, a frown marring his face.

“No shit,” Dean grumbled as he reached forward and started the car. It rumbled to life, and the familiar purring of the engine helped calm Dean’s nerves.

“If Samuel continues down this path, drastic measures will be taken.”

Dean had to swallow around the bile rising in his throat. “I know.”

“Talk to him.”

When Dean looked over, Castiel was gone. Sighing, Dean turned back to face the windshield. He was just about to put the car into reverse when the passenger door opened and Sam slid inside.

“Get out.” Dean‘s voice came out as a growl, and he was pretty sure if he looked in the mirror his eyes would be an unnatural shade of black.

“Dean-”

“I said get out!” Dean yelled.

“I’m sorry all right!” Sam yelled back as he turned to face Dean. “But you’ve got to admit that it’s a bit hypocritical of you-”

“They’ll kill you if you don’t stop,” Dean said, overriding his brother’s words. Silence followed and Dean turned his head to look at his brother. “At least, that‘s what he implied just now.”

“Castiel was here?” Sam asked. His voice sounded small, and Dean’s guilt sky rocketed.

“Yeah.”

“But I don’t get it,” Sam said, confusion coloring his words. He was slumped down in his seat, eyes focused on his lap. “My method saves people.”

“They don’t see it that way,” Dean replied. “Your powers came from a demon, Sammy. The demon I’ve got, was shoved into me so that these damn visions wouldn’t blow out the back of my head.”

“I know,” Sam said, falling silent.

“Fuck, Sam,” Dean ground out, hands clenching around the steering wheel, his head resting between his hands.

“I get it!” Sam said, voice rising. “The angels don’t like me using my powers.”

“Not that,” Dean said through clenched teeth.

“Then what?” Sam asked, exasperation making his words harsh.

“Vision,” Dean said, as he jerked back against the seat, eyes squeezed tightly shut. His hands flew up to grip the sides of his head as the pain spiked, causing him to groan and curl up around himself. When the vision finally ended, Dean was slumped down in his seat, head resting against the door.

“Here.” Sam’s voice was soft as he slowly helped Dean sit up. After a few minutes, Dean finally opened his eyes to see Sam leaning over the seat. When he settled back down, he was holding a bottle of water in one hand and a bottle aspirin in the other.

Dean gave Sam a weak smile before taking the water and the pills. He quickly opened the bottle, downing three pills and then emptying the water bottle in one long pull.

“Fuck,” Dean whispered as he slumped back against his seat, hand rubbing his temple to try and ease the pain faster. “Sammy, remind me to stay clear of Halloween candy.”

“Um, Okay,” Sam said, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “But what did you see?”

“Some guy eating Halloween candy.”

“Okay…and?”

“He almost immediately started coughing up razor blades,” Dean finished, a shudder running up and down his spine. “Wife finds him on the kitchen floor.”

“Then we have to figure out where this guy is.” Sam turned in his seat, reaching for the door handle. “Halloween is only two days away-”

“No,” Dean said, eyes staring forward, but distant. “This feels like its already happened.”

“Then why show you this?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” Dean sighed. “Maybe we’re supposed to figure out what caused it.”

“All right,” Sam said, brow furrowed in thought. “Did you see anything that could tell us where this guy lived?”

“No, but I got a name,” Dean replied. “Go get your stuff. We need to get back to the Hyperion.”

“All right.” Sam nodded then got out of the car. Watching Sam walk back into his old hotel room, Dean had a sinking feeling that Sam still didn’t understand exactly what kind of fire he was playing with.

Spike looked up when he heard the lobby doors open. Looking at the clock, he noted the time; they should have taken longer. Then he took notice of the expressions on Sam and Dean’s faces. Something had obviously happened; their postures were stiff and their words clipped. When Dean looked up, Spike saw that his eyes were just a bit darker than was normal, and he could see the stress lines around his eyes and mouth. Sam had a faint bruise coloring his jaw line.

“Get everything taken care of?” Spike asked instead. Asking about what had happened in a lobby full of people would only make things worse. Dean was likely to get defensive, clamming up and claiming that nothing was wrong, and from what Spike had learned about Sam, he would probably do that same.

“Kind of,” Dean said, hesitating a bit before answering. Sam continued passed his brother, slumping down onto the couch. The brothers shared a long look before Dean shook his head and turned back to face the others. “I had a vision while we were gone. Saw some guy start coughing up razor blades after eating Halloween candy.”

“And you didn’t call?” Bobby asked, glaring at Dean.

“It already happened,” Dean bit out, sounding more tired than angry.

“Then why-”

“Dean and I think we’re supposed to figure out what caused it,” Sam said. He sounded just as tired as Dean did, and alarm bells started going off inside Spike’s head.

“Right then” Spike said, eyes focusing on Dean. “Got any idea as to where this happened?”

“Not really.” Dean shrugged. “But I got a name, so I figured if we could find this person, we might be able to figure out where this took place.”

“Name?” Bobby asked, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper.

“Norma Bleeker, seventy four years old,” Dean said. “The guy and his wife were talking about her before he died.”

Quickly writing the information down, Bobby looked up at Sam. “Want to help me with this?”

“Yeah,” Sam said after a brief moment’s hesitation. Dean let his gaze drift downwards.

“I’m gonna head up to my room for a bit,” Dean said. “My head’s killing me.”

“Dean,” Spike called stopping Dean just before he reached the stairs. “Just take it easy, yeah?”

“I will.”

Spike cast a brief glance at the clock, then focused back on Dean’s retreating form. He’d give his friend a few hours before he went up, whether or not they’d found anything, he and Dean needed to talk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean was lying on his bed, head buried in his pillow. Despite the aspirin he’d taken earlier, his head still hurt. He had been unable to sleepy any either, despite the exhaustion he could feel settling into his bones. It didn’t help that Sam’s words were carving themselves into his brain, giving him a permanent reminder of how his brother really felt.

A soft knock startled him and Dean tensed, sitting up quickly. He breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Spike leaning in the doorway.

“You all right?” Spike asked as he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. Turning the desk chair around, Spike sat down, facing Dean, his arms folded on the back of the chair.

“I’m just tired,” Dean said with what he hoped was a casual shrug.

“I can see that,” Spike replied, titling his head to the side. “But that’s not the problem, is it?”

“Spike…”

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I’m going to force a bottle of whiskey down your bloody throat,” Spike said. “By then you should be drunk enough to tell me anything.”

“It’s nothing,” Dean said with a defeated sigh. It was just his luck that he would end up being stuck with someone who was an even bigger mother hen than his brother was. “Sam and I just had a fight. It’s no big deal.”

Spike just stayed quiet, watching Dean pick at the comforter on the bed. A sigh escaped as he fell back onto the bed, arms crossing over his face. What really sucked, in Dean’s opinion, was that were Dean had once jokingly said that his Dad was the very definition of stubborn, he had learned over the last few months that it was in fact Spike who bore that particular crown.

“Castiel told me to stop Sam from using his powers.”

Dean couldn‘t hide the desolation in his voice. He hadn‘t bothered trying either. Along with stubbornness, Spike was annoyingly perceptive too. “Bloody hell. I take it Little Brother didn’t like what you had to say.”

His laugh was harsh and brittle sounding, and Dean cut it off quickly. He had the feeling if he‘d let it go on long enough, he wouldn‘t have been able to stop it. “He thinks I’m a hypocrite, what with being half demon and all.”

Spike cursed fluently, and in several languages Dean had never heard before, he was pretty sure some were demonic in origin. A small part of Dean was glad that Spike was so pissed off on his behalf. It eased the pain a bit. “I’m sure once he’s calmed down-”

“He doesn’t get it,” Dean said interrupting Spike. Sitting up, Dean lifted his eyes, locking his gaze with Spike’s. “He thinks he’s doing good. Hell, until Castiel said to stop him, I kinda agreed.”

“But you were still worried.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll work it out,” Spike said and the conviction in his voice warmed Dean even more.

Taking a deep breath, Dean gave voice to his greatest fear. “But what if we don’t? Then what?”

“He‘s your brother.” Spike leveled Dean with a stern look. “You’ll work things out.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn was very good at snooping. Most of the time, people seemed to overlook the fact that she was there. Before it had irritated her, but now she counted that as a good thing as she stalked through the Hyperion, ready to do battle. She found the target of her anger right where she thought she would, in Spike’s office, working on his laptop. Not wanting to alert the others, Dawn quietly closed the door, locking it behind her.

“You’re a poopy-head.” Dawn’s words brought Sam’s head up, his eyes darting between her and the now closed door.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a poopy-head,” Dawn repeated. “And a dope. And any other insulting name I can‘t think of at the moment.”

“Look, Dawn-”

“You really hurt him.” Dawn’s words stopped him cold, and the tiny spark of guilt he had been ignoring grew.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam said with a sigh, his guilt making him defensive.

“Oh, I understand,” Dawn said leaning forward. “The angels said to stop using your demony powers and instead of listening, you threw a hissy fit and made Dean believe you think he’s a demonic freak.”

“I never said that!” Sam said, voice rising. “I said he was acting like a hypocrite. There‘s a difference”

“You might as well have,” Dawn answered with a shrug. “I heard what he said to Spike.” At Sam’s look, Dawn rolled her eyes. “They didn’t know I was listening.”

“I’m saving people.” Sam’s words were firm, conviction that what he did was good shining in his eyes.

“You’re not the only freak around here, you know.” Dawn’s words brought Sam up, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

“Come again?”

Dawn sighed. “I’m a Key. Or was a Key. I’m not sure. Anyway, a bunch of monks used magic to put the Key inside me without telling anybody.”

“Oh, my God.” Sam’s expression filled with horror and growing fury at her words.

“It’s okay,” Dawn said, wincing a little at his reaction. It was kind of the truth, but she still didn’t want him to get all righteously angry about it. “They were just trying to hide it from this crazy Hell God named Glory.”

“What does this Key do?” Sam asked.

“My blood can be used to open portals to other dimensions, only if that happens, the walls between all dimensions come tumbling down.” Dawn was quiet for a few minutes. “I looked into seeing if I could tap into it, use it for good, you know?”

“What did you find out?” Sam’s mind was reeling, his fear surrounding his powers growing with Dawn’s words.

“That’s it’s not a good idea,” Dawn said with a shrug that was far from casual. “The other’s don’t know, since I never told them.”

“But-”

“Just because I could possibly open portals, doesn’t mean I could close them again,” Dawn said. “And it’s not worth finding out.”

“I see.” Sam’s voice was subdued and his eyes were focused on his laptop.

“So, you’ll apologize to Dean?” Dawn asked, eyes narrowed once more.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Dawn said, standing. As she walked out the door, she cast a quick glance back at Sam. “But if you don’t I’m going to have Willow turn you into a toad.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy could tell that something was bothering Spike. Ever since he’d come back from checking on Dean, Spike had been quiet, and more than a bit distracted. Buffy knew for a fact that Spike was fluent in many languages, something the vampire was still pissed had gotten out, but instead of making easy work of the passage before him, Spike was simply staring at it like it held the answers to the universe’s mysteries.

Scooting closer, Buffy looked around the lobby. Willow was sitting at the computer, and luckily for her, seemed to be engrossed in whatever she was looking at. Angel, Buffy noted with some amusement was stuck reading a book with a snoring Xander resting his head on his shoulder. Giles and Bobby had gone back to their hotel to pick up some of Giles’ books and bring lunch back for everyone. Leaning closer, Buffy nudged Spike, whispering in his ear.

“All right, spill,” Buffy said. When Spike failed to respond, she kicked him gently in the shin. Spike jerked upright, and leveled her with a fierce glare. “Well, if you had answered me, I wouldn’t have kicked you.”

“You didn’t have to kick me in the first place,” Spike grumbled, turning his attention back to the book in his lap.

“Nu, uh,” Buffy said, placing her hand on the page. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Slayer.” Spike sighed.

“You haven’t turned the page in twenty minutes.”

“It’s nothing,” Spike tried again.

“Spike.” Buffy’s words came out on a sigh. “Talk to me.”

Spike let out his own sigh, closing the book he wasn’t reading. “Slayer…Buffy, it’s not something that we can fix.”

“What?” Buffy’s heart plummeted at his tone. He couldn‘t be having doubts now. They‘d finally started to repair the damage they‘d caused. “Why?”

“Because it’s not us who needs to do the fixing.” Spike’s smile was soft, warm, and Buffy’s heart picked itself up and happily climbed back up where it belonged.

“Oh.” Buffy followed Spike’s gaze as he cast a quick glance at the stairway where Dean was slowly making his way down. She noted that Sam was quick to reach his brother’s side before the two went off to the garden. “They’ll fix it. They’re brothers.”

“I hope so, luv.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, we’re heading out tomorrow, huh?” Dean said as he lowered himself down onto the bench. He could hear the multitude of noises from the traffic and the whispered words of people passing by. Luckily, the smell of jasmine covered most of the noxious fumes left by cars speeding by. It was only now Dean knew none of this was normal for him. He clearly remembered what it had been like before. How despite all of his training, fighting off ghost, demons, and other such nasties took a lot of effort, usually leaving both him and Sam with more than a few bruises. And those were on the good days. Bad days consisted of either of them patching up the other’s broken bones, or stitching up lacerations. Dean honestly couldn’t remember how many times either of them had ended up in the hospital. Now all of this healed in a matter of hours, or days depending on the severity of the injury. Now he could toss a demon around like it weighed nothing. Now he could identify something, or someone, by how it smelled, and if that someone was human or not.

It all just reminded him of how different he really was now, a half demon who got visions of the future. He hadn’t been born a demon, but because of his deal, he was now what other hunters killed. Out there, on the road with Sam, it would only make it worse. He’d have to hide a part of who he was now, and that bothered Dean more than he wanted to admit, even though he still wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole thing. Ruby, the snarky bitch, had warned him after all. Every soul that goes to hell eventually turns into a demon, though Dean was fairly positive that this was not what she’d had in mind when imparting that bit of information.

“Yeah,” Sam said as he settled down next to his brother. “Once we tracked down the right Norma Bleeker, it was easy to find where Luke Wallace lived.”

“Good.” Dean nodded. “We’ll get there, find out what caused his death, stop it, and get out.”

“Dean-”

“It’s going to be weird leaving here,” Dean said, interrupting his brother.

“Why?”

Dean kept his head down and shrugged his shoulders. “Because I’ll be coming back. We never did that before.”

“Oh.” Sam’s voice sounded small and Dean turned his head slightly to look at his brother‘s slumped form.

“Thought things would go back to the way they used to be?”

“Well, yeah.” It was Sam’s turn to shrug. “That’s how things have always worked.”

“That was before.”

“Before what, Dean?”

“Before I died,” Dean stated casually. “Before I got brought back with a demon in me and visions pounding my head.”

“So one last road trip, huh?”

“I didn’t say that,” Dean said. “I just said that I had to come back. I’m Spike’s seer now.” He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The word Seer sounded so formal, and just a bit pompous. It was everything Dean wasn’t.

“Well, it’s about time we got separate rooms. And oh thank God, I won‘t have to share a bathroom with you and your weird teeth brushing habits anymore.”

“Huh?” Dean turned, finally lifting his head to look Sam in the eyes.

“What?” Sam said, finally letting his grin break free. “Did you actually think I was going to leave you here in L.A without me? Dude, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.”

“Shut it, Geek boy,” Dean said, smacking Sam on the back of his head. The anxiety that had been squeezing his heart since their fight disappeared at Sam’s words. He could finally breathe again. Standing, Dean grabbed Sam’s arm, dragging him towards the garden doors. “Come, we’ve got work to do.”

~~~~~~~~~Oct. 30, 2008: 171 Days Later~~~~~~~~~

The motel room was just as gaudy as the countless others Dean had been in over the years. Two double beds, a hideous green couch, and the prerequisite table and chairs. The beds, Dean knew, were thankfully clean but smelled of dust. After a brief test, he found the mattresses were as soft as the floor. It made Dean homesick, which surprised him. He still couldn’t believe he had an actual home to go back to, and all it took as coming back from the dead. Shaking his head, Dean settled down on the couch. Not surprisingly, it was just as uncomfortable as the beds.

Flipping open his phone, Dean took one look at the tiny screen and rolled his eyes. Three missed calls, and Dean was willing to bet there were three fairly annoyed voices mails to go with them. Sighing, Dean hit speed dial, and waited. It wasn’t a long wait, and the gruff voice on the other end was exactly what he’d expected.

“Why the bloody hell haven’t you two called?”

“Dude, we just got a room.”

“Still could have called, Dean.” Great, his first name. Next thing he knew Spike would be adding Winchester as well, and sounding alarmingly like his father when he’d been annoyed. It made Dean feel all of three inches tall, and he hated it. “Spike, we had a long drive. Then we had to talk to Mrs. Wallace, so give me a break.”

Silence greeted his words, and Dean braced himself for the explosion. “What did you find out?”

“You’re not going to yell?” Spike’s amused chuckle helped Dean relax and he sank back into the couch.

“Not at the moment,” Spike answered. “Besides, Slayer’s giving me the evil eye so I’d better behave myself.”

Dean heard Buffy’s distinct voice carry over the phone. “About time you realized who ran this relationship.”

“She so owns you,” Dean laughed. When Sam walked in, Dean noticed the amused look on his brother’s face, and promptly flipped him off.

“Not even going to justify that one, mate,” Spike said.

“Has he read you the riot act yet?” Sam grinned, unwilling to pass up the chance to needle Dean.

“Dude, shut it.”

“Tell Little Brother, I’ll do more than that if either of you don’t answer the bloody phone next time.”

Dean let out a bark of laughter. “Dude, he just threatened to include you in the riot act as well.”

“We were working on the case.” Sam rolled his eyes as he set up his laptop on the coffee table and sank down next to Dean. Dean pulled his phone away and switched it to speaker.

“You hear that Spike?” Dean quipped, his voice taking on the snide tone he‘d perfected in principle offices, and police stations, across the country. “We were busy.”

“Ha, bloody, ha,” Spike grumbled. “Now tell me what you two wankers found out.”

“We found a hex bag,” Sam answered before Dean could reply. Sending his brother a pointed glare, Sam went back to typing. “And not your typical hex bag either.”

“Oh, Willow’s going to love this.” Buffy’s voice drifted over the line. Seemed Spike had put them on speakerphone as well.

“So you lot have a witch on your hands.” Spike’s voice was soft and Dean could just imagine the thoughts in the vampire’s agile mind.

“Yeah,” Sam said.

“What was in the bag?” Angel this time, though his voice was distant.

“Gold thread, some herb that’s been extinct for two hundred years, a Celtic coin, and the charred metacarpal bone of a newborn baby.”

“Eww, gross.” Sam couldn’t help laughing at Buffy’s words, especially when they went so well with the look on Dean’s face.

“Let me guess,” Spike said, his amusement carrying over the line. “Big Bother was holding it wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“Dude, not funny,” Dean grumbled wiping his hand on his jeans. “Now I feel all dirty.”

“Relax, man, it’s at least a hundred years old,” Sam said, picking up the small bone.

“Still gross,” Buffy said. They could hear the others laughing in the background at her words. “Well, it is!”

“She’s right.” Dean nodded point at the phone. Shaking his head, Dean got up, heading for the bathroom. He really wanted to wash his hands. “Witches, man, they’re so friggin’ skeevey.”

“Hey!”

“Wasn’t talking about you, Willow,” Dean called over his shoulder.

“Anyway,” Sam said. “It takes a pretty powerful one to put something like this together.”

“Did you take pictures?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Spike said. “Send them to Willow. She might be able to tell you what they’re made for.”

“You mean besides killing people?” Dean asked, walking back into the room.

“See if Angel, or Bobby, can find out what that coin is, too,” Sam said, ignoring his brother.

“Will do,” Spike replied. “And next time, answer the bloody phone or I’m coming down there.”

A dial tone followed quickly and Dean couldn’t help but glare at the phone. “Dude, sometimes I think he’s worse than Dad ever was.”

“He’s had more practice.” Sam laughed, as he began searching for more information on the hex bag.

“Very funny,” Dean grumbled. Lying back on his bed, Dean sighed closing his eyes. When the vision hit, he nearly fell off the bed. The image of a basement flashed quickly before his eyes, Halloween decorations littering the walls. There were several bored teenagers in various costumes scattered in small groups around the room. In the center of it all was a tub full of water, apples gently bobbing on the surface.

Then the image switched and a dark haired girl was leaning over the tub, her face in the water. Dean could hear her screams, could feel the heat of the water around her face. He knew her heart was racing, knew her lungs were burning with the need for oxygen, and he could feel two sets of hands trying, and failing, to pull her out. It ended just before she died. When he opened his eyes, Sam was kneeling next to him, holding his arms in a vice grip.

“Thanks,” Dean said, voice rough.

“Dean?”

“Girl dies bobbing for apples,” Dean replied, wincing at the pain in his head. Sam started to rise, only to stop when Dean grabbed his arm. Seeing the look on his brother’s face, Sam sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Girl’s already dead isn’t she?”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded.

“I don’t get it,” Sam growled, jerking away from Dean. “Why show you these things if we can’t stop it?”

“Cause the Power’s are cruel dicks?” Dean grumbled. At Sam‘s look, he shrugged. “At least that’s what Buffy‘s told me.”

“Did you get where this happened?” Sam sighed.

“Yeah,” Dean said reaching for the aspirin on the nightstand next to him. Downing three pills, Dean grimaced at the sour taste they left behind, and wished he had something a bit stronger to fight the pain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike sat on the roof, his legs hanging over the side. His cigarette hung from his mouth, smoke curling to join the already smog heavy sky. Dean had been gone for only a day, and if it hadn’t been for the frantic need to find the rouge witch, Spike would have felt his old friend apathy settling in. Sure, Spike knew that Dean was planning to come back, he’d only taken enough clothing to last for a few days, but a small part of Spike still feared that he would send for his things, choosing to stay with Sam rather than return. Spike knew his fear was unfounded, since both brothers planned on returning.

“You know, for a second there, I thought that smoke was coming from your ears.” Buffy was soon sitting next to him, her shoulder bumping his. “Then I noticed the cigarette.”

“Ha, ha, Slayer,” Spike said as he took one last drag from his cigarette and then tossed it away. Turning, he brought his gaze to her smiling face. “What brings you up here?”

“Dean called, again,” Buffy said. “He said they got a visit from their more angelic acquaintances.”

“Bloody hell,” Spike grumbled, rubbing his face. “There’s more than one?”

“Yeah,” Buffy said, her tone carrying a hint of awe and anger. “They met Uriel. And Willow is completely wigging out over this, by the way. I think her and Giles are in research heaven. On the other hand, Dean says he’s a dick.”

Spike snorted in replied. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because we’ve dealt with Higher Beings before.” Buffy rolled her eyes in disgust. “And it seems that these angels are a bit smite happy as well.”

“Oh?” Spike turned to look at Buffy, eyebrow raised.

“They wanted to destroy the town,” Buffy said, eyes narrowing.

“Bloody hell! Dean-”

“Managed to talk them out of it,” Buffy hurried to say before Spike could rush off. “With a little help from the Powers. They know where the witch is.”

Spike’s shoulders slumped in relief, though he couldn’t help thinking of all those people. If Dean had not…Spike shook his head. He refused to go down that path.

“Spike,” Buffy said, her tone taking on a softer note. “How are we going to do this?”

“Well, first off we’re going to help Dean and Sam find this wrinkly hag and put a stop to her ticks,” Spike answered, gaze turning to the Los Angeles skyline. “Maybe even get Red to work her mojo on their records once this case is taken care. Can’t have the FBI charging in and arresting anyone while we’re trying to save the world.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, luv,” Spike said. “But that’s something we can actually do something about.”

“Spike.” Buffy grabbed his arm, her grip tight enough to bruise. “Lilith is trying to raise the freaking Devil. With the Senior Partner‘s help!”

“We fought the First.”

“But…” Buffy sighed.

“There were no actual angels involved then,” Spike said. “And you were the one leading the charge.”

“It’s not fair.” Buffy’s voice cracked and her shoulders sagged.

“Life’s not fair, luv,” Spike replied as he slid his hand along her cheek, turning her to face him. He gently kissed her forehead before letting his forehead rest against hers. “But they’re not alone anymore. And neither are we.”