Chapter Ten

Leaving Sam to get some rest, Buffy and Dean were driving down Massachusetts Avenue in the Impala an hour later, heading towards the antique store to confirm if the cube was in fact the cause of all their deepest fears manifesting into real life enemies. While the cube was so far the only common denominator as to why Sam and Buffy’s fears had appeared, Dean wanted something more concrete. In any case, whether or not it was responsible, they had to re move it from display. There was no telling how many people could handle it while they were browsing through the store. Like Benson and Sherman, they'd have no idea of the danger they'd brought on themselves until it was too late.

Continuing the charade of impersonating FBI agents, it was already mid-afternoon when they headed out. Sam had wanted to come with them but there was no way, Dean was letting that happen. Instead, he managed to placate Sam by setting him the task of researching the possible origins of the cube. Something like that didn’t just show up one day; there would be a history of its prior to its appearance in Lawrence, Kansas. Dean was convinced of it.

Buffy had also put in a call to Giles. She’d last spoken to him the night Bob Sherman had died, updating him on the information she’d gleaned from Dean about the existence of hunters. Like her, Giles had been astonished to learn that there were humans spread across the globe hunting demons and vampires in the same manner as slayers. While the Council was aware of the odd church affiliated crusader such as Holtz who had hunted Angelus a century ago, they were oblivious to an entire culture of hunters who had passed on their knowledge from generation to generation.

Before leaving, Buffy had asked Giles to consult his library to see if there was any mention of a cursed object matching the cube’s description in the Watcher Council archives. She could sense Giles’ uneasiness at the fact that Council records seemed to have visible gaps and the existence of hunters was previously unknown to them. The Council prided itself at being abreast of all things supernatural and such a lapse was unforgivable. Nevertheless, Buffy trusted Winchesters and she wanted Giles to trust them too. Letting Giles impart whatever information he’d gleaned to the young hunter seemed like an obvious first step.

Unhappy that she was forced to wear the same blue suit she’d thought she’d banished to her closet for good, Buffy straightened the collar of the silk shirt that refused to sit properly against the navy fabric. Telling herself that this was a means to an end, she finally opted to distract herself by asking Dean the question she’d been keeping to herself since they’d met.

“So,” Buffy said as they drove down Massachusetts, “what’s wrong with Sam?”

Dean shot her a quick glance away from the road before facing front again. “What do you mean?” He asked, feigning ignorance even though he knew perfectly well what she was talking about.

“Come on, I’m not blind,” she said giving him a withering look that said clearly she wasn’t stupid so stop treating her life she was. “It’s pretty obvious he’s sick and he’s been that way since before our detour to hell last night. What’s wrong with him?”

Dean stiffened. He didn’t want to talk about Sam’s condition. So far, he’s managed to convince himself that Sam was okay and that his condition was temporary. When the trials were done, his Sammy would bounce back like he always did. Except in the back of his mind, Cas’ warning about Sam frayed at the edge of that belief. The trials were affecting Sam on a level that was beyond even Cas’ ability to repair. Worse yet, Dean could see just how badly Sam was deteriorating in front of his eyes.

Buffy calling him out on it meant that it was a truth he could no longer deny.

“He’ll be okay once the trials are done.” Dean returned gruffly.

“The trials?” Buffy asked, refusing to let the subject go now that she’d gotten something out of him. She hadn’t seen any reference to any trials in John Winchester’s diary but then he’d only let her read it the night before. There hadn’t been the opportunity to scour it from cover to cover.

“Yeah the trials,” Dean snapped, not wanting to discuss it with her but guessed rightly that she’d bug him until he gave it up. “Look long story short, we found these angel tablets that give us instructions from God on how to drop kick every demon son of a bitch back to hell and closing the gates on them for good. To do that, we gotta perform these three trials to complete the spell. I was supposed to do them but thanks to a big friggin’ screw up, Sammy got stuck with it. Every time he does a trial, it takes a lot out of him. Once it’s done, Sammy will be fine.”

Even Buffy could see that Dean didn’t believe that one bit.

“What are they?” Buffy asked, steering them to a safer question rather than the one that explained how Sam was the one to get tapped and not Dean. Just by the clenching of Dean’s jaw, Buffy could tell this was a sore point. She’d only known him for days but by the way he’d spat out the words, it was clear he felt incredibly guilty that Sam had taken his place and was suffering the physical toll. As an older sibling charged to protect a younger one, Buffy could relate. It were Dawn, she’d be in the same state.

Dean went on to explain the details of the first two trials which involved the killing of a hellhound and bathing in its blood followed by the rescue of an innocent soul from hell. It all sounded terribly gruesome but very much in keeping with the biblical nature of Sam and Dean’s experiences with demons and angels. For once, she was grateful that the worst she'd had to deal with was Glory. Not that was any picnic either.

“Each time he does it,” Dean sighed, allowing his worry to show once he turned the Impala off Massachusetts Drive into the mall parking lot where the store was located. “He gets weaker.”

Buffy frowned, saying nothing at first as she contemplated these trials. It was clear they were meant to be undertaken by someone who was more than mere mortal, someone who stronger and more durable than a human; someone like a slayer. Once again, Buffy wondered how the Watcher Council could have missed knowing about, resulting in Sam and Dean, two normal humans to carry the burden of what should have fallen to a Slayer. “Is it too late for someone else to do them?” She asked after a long pause.

Dean didn’t look at her. “Probably not,” he admitted. “But we’ve have to start from scratch and we were damn lucky to walk a soul out of hell, we won’t get that chance to do it again. Trust me, if I could find some way back into hell to do that, I’d let Sammy off the hook in a heartbeat.”

“I didn’t mean you,” Buffy retorted rolling her eyes, “I meant me. ”

He shot her a look that showed her he was clearly not on board with that idea.

“Don’t give me that face,” Buffy countered that incredulous expression he’d just thrown her way.at the mere suggestion. “You said it yourself that it’s hurting Sam. It’s probably because it wasn’t meant to be done by an everyday human. This sounds like something that should have been carried out by a Slayer. I’m stronger and I can heal faster. Maybe, maybe it’s something I should do.”

“Well we’ve been getting the job done without Slayers,” Dean pointed out. “Us good ol’ boys do know a thing or two.” He disliked how being ordinary now meantweaker .

“Don’t be a jerk,” she dismissed his snark promptly in the same manner she dealt with a petulant teenager which he could sometimes be, Buffy decided. “I didn’t mean it that way. I mean that I can heal faster and maybe this thing won’t affect me as badly as it’s affecting Sam.”

Dean swallowed down his annoyance because she was staring at him with genuine concern for Sam and Dean was never able to be mad at anyone who cared for his brother as much as he. Until he'd seen for himself how rapidly she healed, Dean had thought this Slayer thing was overrated. However, aside from her strength, the injuries she’d received fighting Angelus and then Michael and Lucifer in the cage were almost completely healed. She could probably could handle it better than either he or Sam but that didn’t mean Dean was about to let her try. While he appreciated the sentiment, he was no less prepare to sacrifice her as he was Sam.

“It’s too late Councillor,” Dean spoke in a calmer tone as he sought out a free space to park the car inside the concrete parking structure. “The hellhound thing we might be able to recreate but getting into hell and bringing someone out? We were lucky to get in the first place. No way would Crowley, the bastard in charge of hell, will let us sneak through a second time. Our best bet to help Sammy is to let him see this thing through. ”

Buffy nodded, unhappy at where that left Sam and by the look on Dean’s face, she wasn’t the only one.

******

They were almost to the front of the store when Dean’s cell phone rang. Reaching into his jacket, he extracted the device to see that it was Sam’s number on the display. Gesturing at Buffy to hold off going into the place, Dean held the phone his ear.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice greeted him when he pressed the receive button.

“Hey Sammy, what’s up?” Dean asked, hoping that Sam might have managed to identify the cube through researching on the internet. It would be far safer if they knew what they were dealing with.

“I got a hold of Diane Lee,” Sam announced quashing that hope. “I think we’re definitely on the right track with the cube. Apparently, Sherman was afraid of vampire films.”

“Seriously?” Dean made a face at Buffy who looked at him with puzzlement.

“Yeah apparently he and his friends snuck into a screening of Nosferatu when he was kid and it scared the crap out of him. Hasn’t watched one since.”

“Well at least he was spared the Twilight films,” Dean quipped. “Okay, we’ll get in touch with Terry Sherman after we check out the cube. You rest up, order pizza and watch porn. Buffy’s got cable.”

“HEY!” Dean smirked as he heard her outraged exclamation next to him.

“Nice Dean,” Sam shook his head and then answered, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

He hung up just in time to be swatted across the shoulder by Buffy who was giving him a look of contempt. Dean laughed at her pouty expression. Like Sam, she was fun to mess with.

“What?” He claimed ignorance even though he knew exactly what his sin had been.

Filling Buffy in as they walked into the store, they found the place near empty. It was getting on in the day and Dean guessed the antiquing crowd probably liked to do their shopping early. Once again, they were assaulted by the scent of old books and dust. If you lit a match up in here, the place would probably go up like a candle. As they approached the counter where a cash register that looked like one of those from an old western, there was no sign of the owner. Maybe the guy was out back or maybe, Dean thought suspiciously, maybe he’d even seen them and decided to get scarce.

“Well if he ain’t around, I say let’s not rock the boat,” Dean told Buffy, “I saw we find it, grab it…so to speak…and head back to your place. Once we’re there, we can figure out whether it’s our cursed object and what to do with it, if it is.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Buffy agreed, already leaving him behind at the counter and making her way through the narrow passageways that wound through the store like an ant farm.

Dean followed her, flanked by display cases and shelves full of stuff that he couldn’t believe people paid money for, let alone showed off proudly in their homes. Everything in the place had the potential for disaster. This whole joint was cursed object heaven.

“I never get why people want this crap,” Dean commented, looking at the collection of dusty vases, old books and painted porcelain with distaste.

“My mom used to say it’s about creating a sense of immortality,” Buffy remarked offhandedly as she continued walking, her eyes scanning everything so she didn't walk past the thing. “Touching a piece of history so that you become part of it, for the next person to remember.”

“Huh,” Dean shrugged. “Never thought of it that way.”

“Come on,” she glanced over her shoulder as she turned a corner, “don’t you want to leave that car of yours to Dean Junior some day? It’s the same thing.”

“There’s never going to be a Dean Junior Counsellor,” Dean replied, “I won’t live that long.”

The certainty in which he said those words made her stop and turn around to look at him. When their eyes met, Buffy saw the resignation in his, even sadness. He had surrendered so completely to the life he led, he could see nothing else, couldn’t see anything better. Her heart ached for Dean at that understanding because she hadn’t given up that hope, not really. Xander had his daughter, Willow and Kennedy were adopting and even though she was still alone, Buffy liked to think it was still in the cards for her. However, the futility in his eyes seemed set in stone and she wished she could make him see otherwise.

“You might,” she countered gently.

“I won’t.” Dean stated, his certainty not wavering. He'd tried it with Lisa and hadn't been able to make it work. In the end, all he could do was let her and Ben go. When that had happened, Dean decided that he'd never have the life he wanted and had to be satisfied with the one he had.

“You will,” Buffy insisted with equal certainty because she wanted it for him. Not because she might have her own selfish reasons but because he deserved it. That sadness was one she was familiar with. In a vampire, it had felt bad enough because there was no way for Angel that didn’t end in death. However, in a human like Dean, she refused to believe that it was impossible even if he believed it was. With a wink, she tapped his chest, “I won’t let you skip out early if I can help it.”

And before he could argue with her, she was off and Dean could do nothing but follow her. Crazy chick, he thought but he thought it while he was smiling.

******

The cube was exactly where she and Sam had seen it the day before.

It sat atop of the display cabinet with the rest of the bric-à-brac looking as harmless as the ballerina figurine and the football trophy collecting dust next to it. The cube had been returned in its original shape, hiding the within its three dimensional walls. As Buffy had described it before, it was a little thing that could fit easily into someone’s palm. Gilded in gold with designs that looked like symbols but not so much that he could decipher them, Dean stared at the markings and thought he saw something familiar though he couldn't determine exactly what.

“That’s it, huh?” Dean remarked as he leaned forward and studied it for a few seconds before straightening up again. He reached into the pocket of his suit coat and removed a set of latex gloves. Pulling them onto his hands, he had no idea whether this would work or not. However, if contact with flesh was what set this thing off, then he’d take every precaution he could.

"Let’s hope this works better than condoms…you know like 99 percent effective?”

“God Winchester!” Buffy shot him an aghast look, unable to believe he’d just said that. “Gross.”

“How can you gank vamps and monsters the way you do and still sound you should be collecting unicorn stickers and princess dolls?” Dean teased as he leaned forward to pick up the cube.

"You are such a boy," She snorted and turned her nose up, indicating she was having no more part of this conversation.

"I'm all man baby," he winked, aware that this banter was as good as foreplay where she was concerned. "Now get your phone out and send a picture of this to Sam. That will give him something more to go on. Then I say we get this thing out of here and go lock it down at your place. Just in case the gloves don’t work, the last thing I want is for my worst fear to show up when I’m not near Sam.”

“Gotcha,” Buffy tended to agree, considering that Sam would almost certainly be involved in Dean's worst nightmare. She was already extracting her phone from her own handbag to aim it at Dean. The phone captured the image of the older Winchester and the cube in all its perfect pixelated glory and Buffy immediately sent to Sam via text. Now he'd have an image to study and to search against, she thought with satisfaction.

“I say we take this thing with us or go bury it somewhere if we can’t destroy it,” Dean declared as he held the cube in his hand, studying it closely as if his intense gaze would be enough to unlock the mystery of it.

“Well maybe we should try buying it first,” Buffy pointed out, preferring to go the route that avoided a felony. “I mean if its sitting out here in the showroom, it must be for sale with the rest of the stock. The antique store guy probably doesn’t even know what it does.”

“I’m afraid I do,” the man said stepping out of the shadows, “and the God of the Razor Realm can’t allow that.”

"The God of the what?" Dean started to say when the man started singing in a language that sounded like gibberish.

“Karahnia Stahs ohla varayna discara unas celea mokturna.”

Dean had heard enough Latin and enough words from ancient languages to recognise their origins were but the lyrics being sung by the antique store owner was a complete mystery. The words sounded like verses of a funeral dirge or Gregorian chant. It felt sombre and cold, sending a chill through Dean’s spine as he heard it.

Suddenly the cube came to life in his palm. Light poured out of the groves in its ornate design.

“Drop it Dean!” Buffy ordered and Dean did not hesitate to let it go, knowing some serious shit was happening.

It landed heavily against the hardwood floor, with an impact that felt like an anvil dropping from a great height. The walls seemed to quake, furniture shuddered and figurines shattered into a thousand pieces after they’d fallen of their perches. The violence of the impact felt like the tremor of an earthquake, making them both lose their balance. As they struggled to regain their footing, the cube on the floor began to open all on its own. As if compelled by the song being sun, it twisted and turned on its own and then unfolded as Sam had done when he’d discovered the correct sequence.

Except this time, the dance of the misshapen figure within was performed to music emanating from the cube that both Buffy and Dean could hear.

“I’ve seen this part of the movie,” Dean grabbed her hand, his experience entering Purgatory and this situation felt all too similar. “Come on we’re leaving !”

“What?” She stared at him in question. “Why?”

Dean never had a chance to answer her because the figure in the middle of the cube twirled and as it twirled, a curtain of brilliant blinding white light swept across everything in the store, including them.

And when it was gone so were Buffy and Dean.

******

Sam had fallen asleep.

He woke up when he heard someone at the door.

Sitting upright on the sofa, he realised that he was in the dark with only the illumination from the muted television screen offering him any visibility. Outside the window, he saw that it was dark and a quick glance at the clock on the wall indicated it was almost ten o’clock. He’d taken some pain killers a few hours ago and had dozed off, expecting to be awakened in some juvenile way by Dean when he got back. However as his focus began to sharpen, Sam realised two things. One, Dean and Buffy hadn’t come back yet and thanks to the clock, he knew they’d been gone since this afternoon.

The repeated jiggle of the front door knob returned his attention to the here and now. Even though it was likely Buffy behind that door, Sam’s instincts made him reach for the ’45 that was resting on the coffee table next to his laptop. It was habit and even if the threat was benign, John Winchester had taught his sons to take nothing for granted. Gun aimed at the door until he knew otherwise, Sam watched as the door cracked open and a hand fumbled for the light switch.

The light flooded the room and instead of Buffy and Dean, Sam found himself staring at a woman with dark hair, full red lips and equally expressive brown eyes.

“Whoa there pardner!” She said raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t shoot, I’m on your side!”

“Really?” Sam demanded sceptically as she held position and he was able to get a better look at her. She was a little thing, petite but full of compact muscles barely concealed beneath tight leather jeans, a red tank top and leather riding coat that swirled around her ankle boots. She was what Dean would describe as being ‘smoking hot’. As he stared at her, Sam realised he’d seen her before and then recalled she was one of the faces he’s seen in the photographs scattered around Buffy’s home.

At this point, Sam had come to the conclusion that he was most likely pulling a gun on one of Buffy’s friends and instantly lowered the weapon in embarrassment to start apologising. “Look I’m sorry, I thought you were Buffy or Dean.”

“That’s a hell of a greeting you got there for your friends then,” she teased, her eyes dancing in amusement.

“Well not I don’t usually greet people like that…” Sam spat out a stuttered response and secretly thanked God that Dean wasn’t here. Sam would never hear the end of it.

“It’s okay hot stuff, didn’t mean to get you all antsy,” she said closing the door behind her and dropping her backpack onto the floor, her eyes never leaving him.

Hot stuff? The comment threw him and he could never deal with women who threw such overt forward passes in his direction. Fortunately shy and awkward worked well for him too. Sam watched her and found himself somewhat transfixed. She moved like a jungle cat stalking her prey moving effortlessly through the tall grass unseen.

She was a Slayer, Sam thought automatically. A very different kind than Buffy but a slayer nevertheless. “I’m not antsy,” he composed himself to reply. “Just a little surprised.”

“Surprises keep life interesting,” she winked as she lowered herself onto the arm chair and leaned forward extending a hand out. “I’m Faith and I’m guessing you’re one of Queen B’s houseguests? Sam?”

Surprised that she knew of him, Sam nodded and shook her hand back. “Yeah I’m Sam,” he extended his hand. “Sam Winchester.”

“Nice to meet you Sammy,” she and then leaned back into the arm chair, crossing her legs on the coffee table. “Giles called me and said B might need some help down here.”

Sammy? Sam would have protested except there was something in the way that she said it that made it hard for him to object. Shaking his head clear of the thought, Sam replied, “He was supposed to call me.” However, in retrospect he supposed he could understand why Giles might have difficulty entrusting him with information, even if Buffy had vouched for him and Dean.

“Don’t take it personal,” Faith shrugged. “The Watcher Man has trust issues and he worries about Buffy in a daddy kind of way. Besides, it’s been awhile since B’s been in the game and Giles figured she could use the back up. I was finishing up dusting some vamps in Amarillo so it wasn’t any trouble for me to drop by.”

Once again, Sam reminded himself not to take offense although he did point out the obvious. “She had back up, my brother’s with her.”

“Don’t get ruffled Sammy,” Faith said smiling at him. “Giles is always a little nervous when it comes to B and the opposite sex. Girl does only one thing better than slaying and that’s picking the wrong guy.”

“My brother is not the wrong guy,” Sam objected immediately to Dean being painted with that assumption. He could see there was something deeper going on between his brother and Buffy. True Dean could be the wrong guy when the mood took him but Sam was certain it was not the case this time. As he thought about Dean and Buffy, he was once again reminded that they weren’t here.

“They’ve been gone awhile,” he met Faith’s gaze and there was just enough of a frown on his face for her to react.

“How long is awhile?” Faith asked, sitting up straight.

"Hours," Sam answered grimly. "Last time I heard from them was at the antique store. They took a picture of the thing. I've been researching it all afternoon but I've come up with nothing. I was hoping that your Giles might have had something more."

"Giles is still checking it out," Faith leaned over and took the phone in her hand. She examined the picture and raised her brown eyes to his. "This has bad news written all over it."

"It probably does," Sam frowned, "but I can't decipher it. It’s in no language I've ever seen."

"Okay, where is this place?" She asked suddenly standing up.

"You're going there alone?"

"Don't get He-Man on me Sammy," she smiled. "It takes down your cute a couple of notches."

Sam stared at her trying to come up with an appropriate response and could only stutter, "It’s not that...I mean... we don't know what the situation is. You could be walking into the same thing they did. If they walked in on anything at all."

"Look B’s a bit rusty but that’s not going to get in the way of her following the p’s and q’s of slaying. She knows better than to go AWOL unless your brother's got powers of persuasion I don't know about."

Dean seemed to think so, Sam thought when it came to the opposite sex but this was different. “Dean knows better than to go silent without checking in. He’d know I'd worry." Sam admitted.

"That's it then," Faith answered staring to move. "I'll see you later Sammy."

Sam forced himself to stand up and grab her arm. He was still aching like hell and he’d most likely need more painkillers before he left the house but there was no way in hell he was going to let this girl go after Dean and Buffy alone if they were in trouble. "I'm coming with you."

"Nice try," Faith glanced at the hand on her bicep and shook her head, gesturing to the bandages on his arm. "You're not in the shape for it."

"I'll be fine," Sam said resolutely not about to be deterred. "I'm going."

"Don't make me get rough," Faith leaned in, a teasing look on her face even though she was deadly serious. She could put him down easily.

"I like rough," Sam countered with as much determination.

Faith pulled back grinning, "baby brother’s got a dark side huh? Okay Sammy, if we're going to ride together. You better keep up."

"I've got stamina," he returned with the same innuendo.

"Not like mine Sammy," she winked. "Not like mine."

TO BE CONTINUED