Fandoms: BtVS/Supernatural crossover
Sequel to: Alone, Lost, And Found
Disclaimer: I do not own either BtVS or Supernatural
Summary: For once, life was being good to Spike. His seer was his best friend, Buffy was his girl, and all was quiet on the apocalypse front. He should have known better than to let his guard down.
AN: Thank you, AJ Hofacre for all of your help with this story. :)
Some dialogue from the Supernatural episode On the Head of a Pin is used.
To everyone else, this story is finished and will be posted over the next few days.
Dean lay on his bed, eyes on the ceiling. The moment he’d arrived at Wolfram and Hart, Lilah had stuck him in this room with a smirk and a promise to see him soon The room itself was nicer than any Dean had ever stayed in. The bed was queen sized with soft down filled blankets and cotton sheets. The bathroom held the largest shower Dean had ever laid eyes on with seemingly limitless hot water. A plasma t.v was mounted on the wall opposite the bed. He even had an assistant for crying out loud.
For now, he was allowed almost any frivolity he wanted, right down to a twenty-four hour porn channel. Not that Dean was watching it with those asshole lawyers running in and out of his fancy cell every hour of each day; he’d only asked to see if they’d really get it for him. But while he was no longer held in a dingy hotel with two greedy hunters, Dean’s luck had not changed for the better. Wolfram and Hart felt they owned him. He was theirs to use as they pleased, and then he was just locked away in a gilded cage. The Senior Partners’ own personal nightingale, and one that had to sing on demand.
That was the worst part. The amulet those bastards had placed around his neck seemed to burn against his chest, the weight a constant reminder the lawyers could turn his visions on anytime they pleased and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop them.
The knock on the door pulled Dean from his thoughts. He stood quickly, turning to face the door with a sinking feeling in his chest. Lilah entered like she owned the joint – which, Dean admitted to himself, she probably did – her smirk firmly in place, and the freaky dude with the top of his skull cut off came walking in behind her. A shudder ran up Dean’s spine knowing that hidden under the tall red hat the demon wore the top of its brain showed for all to see. Two more men, belonging to the Wolfram and Hart security team, came in and closed the door behind them.
“You’re going on a bit of a field trip, today,” Lilah grinned, all sharp teeth and malicious intent.
“Excellent,” Dean said with a nod. “Do I get to go out for pizza and free recess after?”
Lilah ignored him, instead turning towards the two bruisers like Dean had never spoken. “Get him ready for transportation. We don’t want to leave our client waiting.”
The two men came forward, and Dean clenched his jaw. His arms were roughly jerked behind his back, a reinforced zip tie quickly cinched around his wrists. A gag was quickly tied in place and soon a dark hood fell over his head. Dean felt a nauseating lurch as he was lifted and slung over one of the guard’s shoulders. Another tie was quickly cinched around his ankles.
“Come, on,” Lilah said. “The van’s ready.”
He was carried through the winding halls of Wolfram and Hart and onto an elevator from the sounds he could hear through the hood. Even with the blackness enveloping him, Dean still had to close his eyes as his stomach rolled again at the elevator’s movements. When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, the smell of exhaust hit him, and Dean was pretty sure he’d just turned a lovely shade of puke green. The rough landing in the back of what he presumed was the van didn’t help.
When the doors closed and the van started up, Dean managed to wriggle the hood off of his head. The doors were bolted and there were no windows in the van, not even one that allowed the morons up front to see into the back, so his vision was barely improved -- not that light mattered much when one was half-demon. Testing the ties, Dean found he couldn’t break them, so he lay back with a weary sigh and closed his eyes. The sway of the van and the smell of exhaust fumes kept his nausea front and center, and Dean prayed the trip wasn’t a long one.
Eh. He never really did have the best of luck.
Four right turns, one left, and a quick merge onto the freeway later, they were coasting along. Dean could hear the severity of traffic decreasing the farther away they got from the city. Scooting around he managed to get himself in an upright position, leaning against the side of the van. Three hours later, by Dean’s calculations anyway, the van finally came to a stop. He could hear the doors opening and closing, the crunch of gravel beneath shoes, and soon the backdoors were opened and sunlight streamed in, blinding him. He missed getting a look at the owner of the rough hands who grabbed him and slung him over another broad shoulder. The stench rising from the person carrying him caused him to dry heave. His eyes watered, and he tried to breathe through his mouth as best he could. Definitely a demon this time, and one that was in desperate need of a good scouring, preferably with a flamethrower.
From his position, Dean could only hear a metal door being pulled open. Inside the building stained concrete floor greeted his eyes. Angling his head, Dean took in the various boxes and crates stacked against the walls. There were creatures – humans and demons – milling about, sorting through boxes; the beasts were moving the crates easily. More than a few demonic eyes glanced his way, malicious glee obvious for any to see. When he was finally placed on his feet, Dean saw that his escort’s skin was a mottled gray color, with dark eyes and a red tinted mouth filled with jagged teeth -- a Rugaru. Dean shuddered. He didn’t even want to know how Wolfram and Hart had gotten one of those things to cooperate.
A new pair of hands shoved him into a chair and a length of rope was wound around his arms and chest, securing him in place. After that, demons and humans alike went back to work, ignoring his presence. Lilah Morgan sat in a chair next to him, cell phone held to one ear, her laptop resting on a table before her. Dean couldn’t see what she was typing, but he could hear the conversation she was having all too clearly. So if the bitch was stupid enough to talk about him while he was right next to her, then she shouldn’t be surprised at his eavesdropping.
“Yes, everything is secure,” Lilah said with a nod.
“Have you set up what is needed for the ritual yet?” a gruff voice on the other end asked.
“We’re moving the final pieces into place now,” Lilah answered. “When will your boss be here?”
“Soon.” The phone call ended, and Dean cursed – that had been all but freaking worthless. It hadn’t told him anything. Roughly an hour later the door opened, and a group of black-eyed demons walked in. Dean tensed as the feeling of dread that had taken up residence in his stomach turning into ice-cold terror. Lilith was at the center of the group, a bright smile on the innocent face she had “borrowed.”
“Dean!” Lilith’s voice was full of childish glee as she skipped over to him. Placing her small hands on his knees, she deftly crawled into his lap and grabbed the sides of his face, bringing his gaze forcibly to hers. “It is so good to see you again! I’ve missed all the fun we used to have together.”
Dean tried to shrink back away from her, but Lilith held tight. “But no worries. We’ll have fun and play again really soon. Right, Lilah?”
“Of course, Lilith,” Lilah said her fake, placating smile firmly in place. “The Senior Partners are looking forward to helping you in this endeavor.”
“Goodie!” Lilith nodded, climbing down from Dean’s lap; she dusted her hands off, then primly smoothed out nonexistent wrinkles on her pink frilly dress. “Is the altar ready?”
Dean felt his heart just about stop. His eyes widened as he glanced over his shoulder at the stone alter being moved into the center of the room. Soon a white powered ring encircled the altar, and symbols were diligently drawn on the sides and the floor in what Dean was sure was human blood. A smaller stone table sat near the altar. On its surface several instruments were all laid out in a specific order. Two ornate bowls were placed on either side of the altar. A familiar pitcher was then placed on the table. Dean’s breathing became heavy and quick, and he frantically pulled at the ties around his wrist. They refused to break and only cut into his flesh, but he had to try. He already knew what the alternative was, he’d already seen it in a vision a few months back, as for the angels, well... they weren’t required to help him. He’d be on his own.
“Dean, stop it!” Lilith said, slapping his knee. It hurt more than it should have for someone her size. “We can’t have you all icky! The ritual works better if you’re clean.” She paused. “But if you wanna be all bloody, then I guess we can let you have your way.” The demon within the child’s body turned an eerie smile his way, her eyes becoming just the tiniest bit brighter. “It’s your call, though.”
Dean froze as terror infused every fiber of his being. He couldn’t let Lilith get her way, he just couldn’t – he couldn’t abandon Sammy again, and Spike would be useless without him, and he may have had disagreements with her, but he just couldn’t foist those two hopeless dimwits on Buffy like that, she was the only one besides him who could handle the idiots.
Because when push came to shove, they were family, and Dean had always believed in family.
Dean drew a deep, shaking breath, and then did something he hadn’t done since he was a child.
Bobby and Ellen stood before the Hyperion, duffle bags resting on shoulders. The flight had been agonizingly long, and frightfully short at the same time. Both were eager to reach L.A, and help find Dean, but both were reluctant to step into the storm they’d heard brewing during the short phone call.
Sighing, Bobby trudged up the steps, and pushed open one of the heavy doors. Ellen was right behind him. They stopped short at the sight before them. It was seemingly organized chaos. Young girls rifled through bags, checking weapons and supplies. Sam was seated at the counter, computer in front of him, Willow at his side. Spike was cleaning one of the many swords they owned and Buffy was twirling her scythe, anxious to get going. It was Buffy’s sister who noticed them first.
“Bobby!” Dawn called out joyfully, starting forward at the sight of the older man and gaining everyone’s attention. The lobby went still as all heads turned in their direction. “And... friend?” She concluded curiously, pausing at the sight of Ellen.
“Ellen?” Sam said, voice uncertain, but hopeful. “Why--How did you guys get here so fast?”
“Gave the airlines the family emergency spiel,” Bobby answered.
“We also figured you guys could use the extra help,” Ellen said as she stepped around Bobby and into the main part of the lobby. Sam was quickly at her side, arms wrapped around her. There was desperation in his grip, and Ellen held on tighter. “We’ll get him back, honey.”
“You didn’t have to come, Robert,” Spike said, shaking Bobby’s hand.
“Like I was gonna sit this one out,” Bobby said with a snort. “Spike, this is Ellen Harvelle.”
The two eyed each other, Spike with his head cocked to the side, an odd look in his eyes. “You didn’t happen to own a Harvelle Roadhouse 'coupla years ago, did ya?"
“I did, why?” Ellen said, arms crossing over her chest. Spike let loose a sad grin, shaking his head.
“Dean mentioned it one night,” Spike said with a shrug. “Of course he was pretty pissed at the time, so I’m not sure how much of what he said was true.”
Sam winced at the memory. “I am never getting into a drinking contest with you two again.”
“Knowing, Dean,” Ellen said affection in her words. “Most of it was pure bull.”
“Don’t we know it,” Buffy added fondly as she came to stand beside Spike. She extended her hand towards Ellen, and gave the other woman a firm handshake. “Hi, Ellen, I’m Buffy Summers. The girl that hollered at you when you walked in is my sister, Dawn. The redhead is Willow, our resident Wicca and the head of the coven here in Los Angeles. The rest of the girls are my Slayers."
Ellen nodded towards everyone in acknowledgement eyes following the groups’ movements. “Looks like ya’ll are planning a siege.”
Spike’s face clouded over. Sam’s eyes narrowed. Both were so perfectly still, reminding Bobby of the eerie silence before a tornado hits. It was Buffy who spoke though.
“We’re getting ready to hit Wolfram and Hart.” Buffy cast a worried glance Spike and Sam’s way before turning her gaze back towards Ellen and Bobby. “From what Spike’s told us, they close down around six o’clock, so we’re hitting them at about eight.”
“Limit collareral damage.” Bobby nodded.
“And less people to try and stop us,” Buffy added. “So, what can you do?” Her question was directed towards Ellen. Buffy had already seen Bobby on a hunt.
“I can shoot just as well as anybody here,” Ellen said, eyes focused on Buffy. “I know how to track an oponant, and lay traps. Know how to knock a man out, and I know how to keep ’em out too. Just ‘cause I was married to a hunter doesn’t mean I always stayed behind like a good little wife.”
“We’ll give her the tranquilizer gun,” Buffy said to Spike, looking back at Ellen when he nodded his assent.. “If it’s human, tranq it, leave the demon killing to the rest of us.”
“Sounds good.” Ellen nodded.
Soon bags were placed near the lobby doors. Some were filled with weapons, some with ropes, while others held unique smelling herbs and old books. A group of slayers were off to one side, getting last minute instructions from Buffy. Spike was swinging a sword, first in wide arcs, then in small tight ones, switching hands each time. Willow was sitting in the middle of all the chaos, back straight, eyes closed. Streaks of white and black kept alternately appearing and disappearing in her red hair. Sighing, Sam went back to staring at his phone. Ruby hadn’t called him back yet and he was growing impatient. He needed to be strong if they were going to get Dean back safe.
A moment later, the lights flickered, causing Sam to glance around the lobby. No one seemed to notice, so he went back to his task. When the lights flickered again, Sam stood. The lobby fell silent. Buffy and the other slayers were standing on guard, Spike’s eyes scanned the lobby, and Willow stood, hands held out at her sides. Bobby and Ellen held their guns at ready, Dawn standing just behind them. When the doors banged opened, everyone tensed, ready to fight. The figures standing in the doorway had Sam bolting across the lobby.
“Don’t!” His words rang out, startling everyone. One of the slayers had already charged, and it was only due to Spike’s vampire reflexes that he was able to stop her in time.
“Sam?” Ellen asked, gun raised, fury rising in her words and eyes.
“That’s Castiel,” Sam said, breathless from his fright as he pointed first towards the brown-haired man in the trench coat, then again at the taller black man with him. “And that’s Uriel."
Buffy’s eyes widened and her head darted towards Uriel. “Oh.” The others hadn't had the distinct pleasure of being confronted by the notorious angel -- they had only heard of him through the stories Sam and Dean had related to them after coming back from their disasterous hunt against Samhain and the confrontation over Anna.
For the others to suddenly have this bizarrely huge, intimidating man standing in their lobby was awe-inspiring and downright terrifying, all at once. Sam was beyond that. For him, a slow burning rage rose. To the angels he was just the boy with the demon blood and Dean their puppet. He would save Dean, and show them he was more than just what flowed through his veins.
In a panic Buffy turned to her still agitated slayers, she barked out, “Stand down! They’re the angels.” Bobby and Ellen lowered their guns, and the slayer in Spike’s arm’s stopped struggling, instead edging away until she was hiding behind him, her eyes wide. Willow relaxed her stance slightly.
“What the bloody hell is going on here!” Spike demanded as he came to stand by Sam’s side. He let his narrowed eyes scan over the two angels. He could feel his demon quivering in rage and fear, intuitively knowing the two beings before him were not to be trifled with.
“Sam,” Castiel said, as he came to stand before the group. “You’re targeting the wrong location.”
“What?” Sam’s knees nearly gave out as he grabbed onto Spike’s arm. ““No! But… no! How could --"
“You better start explaining yourselves.” Spike’s growl was low, and deep as his eyes flashed yellow.
Uriel, with a disgusted sneer on his face, pushed forward, heading toward Spike with murder in his eyes. "You think you are in the position to demand answers from us, Demon?" the large man rumbled, his brow clouding with thunder as he advanced.
"No!" Buffy gasped as vaulted quickly in front of Spike. She shook, terror and defiance in her eyes when the angel kept coming, but she held her ground. Sam stepped up beside her, his own hands shaking with something other than fear.
“Uriel!” Castiel didn’t even turn around, a simple raised hand stopping the angry angel from reaching his target as Spike pulled Buffy back against him protectively. Castiel gazed at them kindly when Buffy slumped backwards into Spike’s arms, shaking in relief. “We know where Dean is."
“Dean’s alive?” Sam said, hope warring with dread. Castiel simply nodded his head, eyes looking over the group before him. Sam tensed up, noting the solom look on Castiel‘s face. “Then why haven‘t you brought him here?”
“Why not?” Buffy snapped. The way she spoke, crossed her arms over her chest, and narrowed her eyes belied how shaken she truly was when she huddled herself between Spike and Sam.
Castiel sighed, taking a few steps forward. “The building is protected. We can not enter.”
“Right,” Spike said with a nod. “So what do we do?”
The stone was cold against his back, and the chains wrapped around his wrist and ankles hurt. More chains were fastened around his chest, pelvis, thighs, and knees. He tried shifting to relieve the pressure, but it didn’t help. He could barely move. A demon in a dark robe slowly walked towards him, stopping just before the altar. Dean watched its movements with weary eyes as it examined each instrument carefully laid out. Seemingly satisfied, it turned towards Dean, and pushed its hood back. The face the demon wore was that of a thin man with even thinner hair and a gray speckled beard. It leaned over, wide smile in place and gently patted Dean’s chest.
“Hello, Dean. It‘s so good to see you again.” Dean’s eyes widened, and his heart nearly froze in his chest. With a vicious tug, Dean tried to free himself, but the chains held firm. The demon only laughed as its eyes seemed to roll up into its head, turning a glowing white.
“Dean, Dean, Dean.” Alastair bent down, his spidery fingers wrapping around Dean’s throat. “I am so disappointed in you. I taught you everything I know, and this is how you repay me?”
“You…bastard…” Dean choked out, before Alastair increased the pressure.
“I shouldn’t be surprised, though,” Alastair said with a chuckled. “After all, you are Daddy’s little girl.” Leaning forward Alastair whispered into Dean’s ear. “Did you know I had your Papa on my rack for close to a century?” Another laugh, then, “I gave him the same deal I gave you, but he said no each and every time. But you, Dean, you broke after thirty years. You just aren‘t the man your Daddy wanted you to be, huh, Dean?”
Dean’s eyes slid closed, his lungs burned for air, and he tried desperately to ignore Alastair’s words, to ignore the truth he could hear in them.
“And it is written, that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man spills blood in Hell... as he breaks, so shall it break,” Alastair recited, poisonous words twisting their way into Dean‘s mind.
“Alastair.” Lilith’s voice echoed through the warehouse, and Alastair straightened up, gaze going towards Lilith.
“Lilith,” Alastair said his smile still firmly in place. “I just wanted to get reacquainted with Dean here. He was such a promising student.” Turning back to Dean, Alastair leaned forward, whispering softly. “Can‘t keep Lilith waiting, can we?”
All Dean could do was lie there, panting anxiously and trying to push back his panic as he listened to Alastair start chanting above him. The blade gleamed in the overhead light as Alastair lowered it towards Dean’s chest. The cold stone of the altar seeped into Dean’s back, and he pulled frantically at his bindings as the first slice was made. He could feel the blade digging into his skin as blood pooled on his chest. It soon began to trickle down his sides in steady streams as more cuts were made. A deep slice across his stomach had Dean forcing back a pain filled cry. Two more along his forearms caused the room to spin. Alastair continued chanting as he carefully placed the knife down and lifted the chalice. He slowly dipped his fingers into the cup, and then sprinkled herb-scented blood across Dean’s carved up chest and arms.
White hot pain spiked through Dean, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. His back arched up from the stone, and then he couldn’t stop the agonized scream from escaping his throat. He could feel his body start to tremble as the pain kept growing with each word Alastair spoke. Dean fought to stay conscious. He remembered pain like this -- remembered thirty years of suffering it, and of ten more dealing it out. It ate at his soul, spreading through his body and bringing back the reminder of sharp hooks and tortured screams.
He could feel the magic building in the air. It prickled along his skin, causing his hair to stand on end. A cold breeze drifted across his chest, a sharp contrast to the burning inside. A loud banging noise started up, and Dean tensed, waiting for the final act, but nothing came. The wind picked up, lights flickered then sparked, and a rumbling thunder sounded in the distance.
The burning inside his body started to fade. Alastair’s chanting stopped.
Dean pried his eyes open, rolling them around wildly as he tried to see what was going on. Demons and humans stood around, eyes scanning the building. He heard the shuffling of feet and robes as one of the hooded figures suddenly stepped forward. There was a metallic clang as the figure knocked over the chalice and spilled blood across the intricately drawn symbols. Lilith’s shriek of outrage was followed by an unlikely voice with a heavy Bronx accent and the hint of a smirk saying a very insincere, “Oops.”
Dean tried to look up again, but from his position he couldn’t seem much. The wind howled once more before it swiftly increased to gale force, knocking boxes, people, demons, and instruments over. Then doors to the warehouse blew from their hinges.
Believe In Yesterday: Chapter Four