Chapter Eleven

After four years of dealing with angel crap, there was one thing Dean Winchester recognised immediately; how it felt to be teleported.

The instant the blinding white light had enveloped him and Buffy, Dean just knew. Of course, knowing this didn't mean he could do jack to change it or the crap fest they now found themselves. He'd felt the similar sucking sensation in his gut and then as if a light switch had been flicked off, the light vanished and there was only darkness in its wake. The air was forced out of his lungs, leaving a sense of disorientation that resembled an extreme case of vertigo. He sank to his knees, forgetting for the moment that Buffy's hand was still gripped tightly in his or that he had brought her to the floor with him. In retrospect, it didn’t really matter because the important thing was they were still together. He couldn’t be sure of that being the case if he had let go of her.

When the spinning stopped, his knees were screaming in protest at being pressed up against a hard, cold floor. With one hand bracing himself against the surface, the cold that travelled up his arm told Dean that it wasn't wood. It was some kind of black stone...obsidian....Sammy's voice echoed in his head. There was little light and the air was crisp like the sterile air one associated with hospitals or churches. He didn't know which was worse. It felt wrong and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, poised for revelation of some unspoken horror.

"Buffy," he finally spoke, gripping her hand tighter and taking unbelievable comfort in feeling the warmth of her skin against his.

She didn't answer immediately, prompting him to turn to her and finding that even though her hand was in his, she was lying on her side against the floor, her hair spilled over the black slate, having broken free of the constricted bun she'd worn playing the FBI agent. She looked out it and panic surged through him at the possibility that she might be affected worse than him. That didn’t make sense, he countered immediately. She was the Slayer.

He’d seen how fast she healed, how much strength she had. Was it possible that he was handling better because of his 'trips' with Cas or maybe that there was something about her 'slayerness' that didn't react well to this place. Whatever the reason, he was gripped with the same heart pounding fear her felt whenever he saw Sammy hurt.

"Buffy," he leaned over and rolled her onto her back. She didn’t react to his voice and that just made Dean feel more anxious. “Come on Sweetheart,” he coaxed gently, “give me a sign here."

Dean pleaded, brushing her cheek with his fingertips, hoping the contact might give jostle her back to consciousness. After only a few days of knowing her, how much Dean cared for Buffy scared the hell out of him. Not since Lisa and maybe even Cassie before that, had Dean felt such an intense connection to any woman. Furthermore, with this one, there was the possibility of a relationship that did not have to end because he was afraid he couldn’t protect her.

After a few seconds, Dean was rewarded with Buffy’s face contracting into a grimace as if consciousness hurt. When she fluttered her eyelids open, green eyes stared at him with a mixture of confusion and fear. Dean was so relieved to see that she was alright, he was pulling her to him before she even had a chance to speak, enveloping her slight frame within his arms. For a moment, he thought that bastard in the antique store had done something to her and they were so far away from help that he’d lose her if he couldn’t get her to it.

"Glad you're still with me," he said gratefully, his eyes brushing hers with tenderness.

Buffy's head was swimming and her slayer senses so often sharper than anything felt as if every neuron in her head had been scrambled and she was still struggling to pull them back together again. She gasped audibly at the sensation of being held up in his arms, relishing the pleasure of his strong chest pressing against hers so tightly she could hear his heart pounding against her own. Buffy allowed herself to be swallowed by his concern and she hugged him back, relishing the strength and passion he was channelling to her form his own forceful will. Dean was like a force of nature and it had been so long since Buffy had been able to commend herself to anyone who could make her feel everything would be okay even when it was not.

"What happened?" She asked softly when her equilibrium was restored and she was strong enough to draw away from him to look at his face.

"We've been teleported," Dean answered, having no doubt of that fact. "That I know. Everything else, not so much. I wanted to see how you were doing first. Can you stand?" He asked gently.

The cold floor and the ache of her flesh pressed against the hard surface told Buffy that everything was working because she could feel it. “Yeah, I’m good" she answered and tried her legs by attempting to stand.

He got up off the floor with her, eyes very much fixed on Buffy, ensuring that that he only let go of her hand when he was convinced she could stand up on her own. Only then did Dean turn his attention to where they had materialised. He knew before he had even looked, that they were nowhere near the antique store, what he wasn’t prepared for; was how sinister their new environment would appear.

They were in a corridor almost thirty feet across. In front and behind them, the corridor disappeared into the distance until they couldn’t see where it began or ended. The walls that flanked them on either side was made of the same dark stone. It was as if the whole construction was carved out of a gigantic slab of stone. The walls on either side of them ran at least fifteen feet high with no roof. And above their heads, the sky was moonless and dark. Dean felt his breath catch when he saw no stars, not a single one, not even clouds that might have obscured him. Dean had spent enough times stargazing from the roof of the Impala to know there was nowhere you could go on the planet and not see stars.

"Where the hell are we?" Buffy asked, retrieving the handbag that was lying on the floor next to her, her tone subdued as if she was afraid of breaking the silence or worse yet, getting an answer.

"I don't know," Dean replied but then he remembered what that spooky son of bitch had said to them before the lightshow had started. The God of the Razor Realm. Was this it? What the hell did that mean? Was there a deity roaming the halls of this creepy place, looking for them? "Let's keep moving anyway," Dean suggested, deciding that until he knew for certain, there was no point worrying her. Besides, his time in Purgatory had taught him one thing; it was never wise to stand still in one place.

"Yeah, good idea," Buffy nodded, trying to hide how freaked she was out about this place. Something about it was playing havoc with her slayer senses. In the early days, before she had become more in tuned and in control of her slayer senses, she'd felt the supernatural most acutely. They'd manifested themselves as cramps at first because it she was untrained but eventually thanks to her training with Giles, she honed it to the point where she could feel it like a sixth sense. Right now, that sixth sense was telling her that they were in a place so unnatural it could not cope.

"Son of a bitch probably hit us with some kind of dream spell," Dean spoke, just to break the interminable silence which felt like icicles against his spine. "Me and Sam drank this tea made of African Dream Root. It tasted like total ass but it allowed us to moon walk in each other's dreams. Real creepy shit for sure but maybe that’s what this is."

"So you’re saying we’re now lying on the floor of that antique store, drooling like idiots?" Buffy declared, her expression souring as she looked up and down the corridor before facing him again. "Terrific, he's probably dismembering us as we speak."

"Way to keep some optimism there Counsellor,"' Dean shot her a look. "He's more likely stashing us somewhere until he can deal with us without being seen. It was still daytime when he zapped us so store’s still open. We got a bit of time. Besides, when we don't check in, Sam will come looking."

"Sam's in no shape to take this guy on," Buffy pointed out, "and who knows, he might end up in the same place we are."

That was not a pleasant picture she’d painted but Dean had faith in his brother. Even if Sam wasn’t a hundred percent, his brother knew better than to rush in blindly to rescue them. If he figured out they were in trouble, he’d get back up. Of course that back up was Garth. These were the moments when Dean really missed Bobby.

"Sam's gotten me out of tighter spots," Dean assured her and himself, "He'll figure something out. Meanwhile, we can try and make our own way out of here."

Realising that defeatist attitude was helping no one at this point, Buffy reminded herself that she was the slayer and he was the ordinary human. She ought to be the one making him feel better but instead he was playing, being strong man comforting little blond girl. How the hell did she let herself fall into that role? Then again, when it came to Dean Winchester, Buffy was learning that it was kind of nice to let him take the reins (to a point) because he felt an equal, not someone she had to protect. That was part of Dean’s charm, Buffy decided. The man had no limits, or didn't believe that he had any. She admired him for that and at the same time wanted to drop kick him to the other side of the planet.

"Right,” Buffy stated confidently, deciding that it was time to start acting like the slayer not some wussy girl that needed him to hold her hand. "So assuming this is a dream, there's always an escape hatch right? Kind of like red pill, blue pill?"

“Eh…more like follow the white rabbit, " Dean countered, “Although right now, I’d take either.” Still he was pleased she was rebounding from the earlier disorientation and sounding more like herself again.

“Just call me Alice,” Buffy quipped but her gaze had shifted away from him and was surveying their surrounding with laser like precision. She was taking in everything; from the texture of the walls, to the ends they couldn’t see and the lack of stars in the sky.

“Only if you were wear the sexy Halloween costume that goes with it,” Dean winked.

“You’re a dork,” she laughed faintly, guessing he was trying to cheer her up because their situation, even if it was a dream, seemed bleak.

“Yeah but I’m fun to be around,” he grinned before scanning the place himself, though Dean was less subtle about it. After the last year, Dean knew how to survive in adverse environments and making do with what he got. However, he suspected that Buffy despite all the fights she had in her life, had never been placed in a situation where she was cut off from everything she knew and forced to survive on nothing but her wits.

“That’s one way to put it,” she glanced at him coyly when suddenly she noticed something that made her arm shoot out across his chest, halting him in his tracks. “I see something. Stay here.” She ordered and started jogging forward.

Dean rolled his eyes as she went on ahead and muttered under his breath as he took off after her, “Yeah that’s going to happen.”

Buffy glanced over her shoulder and saw Dean following. Well it was worth a try, she thought to herself as she closed the distance between herself and the ‘something’ she had seen. Nearing it, she was able to make out the indistinct shape that was coming into focus as a person beneath the indigo light. Not just a person but a child.

The little girl stepped out from the shadow of the wall and stared at Buffy with intense blue eyes. She was a child of no more than seven years old. She stood there staring hard at Buffy, her arms handing limply to her sides as she waited for the Slayer to reach her. She had black hair, held in place by a red hair band and dressed in a navy pinafore, with white trim on the hem of her skirt. Beneath it, she wore a white shirt with a Peter Pan collar along with white stockings and patent black Mary Janes. She looked like one of those kids that went to Catholic school.

She stared at Buffy with soulful dark eyes, her pink lips quivering in fear.

Her obvious fear made Buffy soften her approach. “Oh hey there sweetie? How did you get here honey?” Buffy flashed her a sympathetic smile.

Dean slowed when he saw her closing in on the girl and wanted to warn Buffy to approach with caution but she was already within arm’s length and cajoling the child forward. Instinctively, his hand reached around his waist, to the Colt he had tucked in the back of his pants. Even when wearing this monkey suit, he and Sam never travelled without some form of protection. Particularly in recent years with angels and demons popping up around every corner like meerkats.

“I’m lost…” the waif spoke in a pitiful voice engendering all kinds of sympathy. “Where’s my mommy?”

“Oh it’s okay sweetie,” Buffy held out her arms and the child slipped into her embrace readily, wanting to be held. “We’ll take care of you,” Buffy assured the girl gently.

“Uh Counsellor…” Dean wanted to warn her it was too late now. Women, he cursed under his breath, they lost all good sense when it came to kids, puppies and shoes.

While still hugging Buffy, the girl raised her head to Dean as she caught sight of him reaching them. Her skin was so pale it reflected what little light there was in this place to make her face look almost luminescent. Her eyes held Dean for a second before her face split into a wide grin that could only be considered unsettling before she flashed her teeth at Dean.

They were triangular shaped serrated knives.

“BUFFY!” He barked in warning, going for his gun as the girl lowered her neck to take a bite out of the slayer’s neck.

Years of dealing with vampires who could trick you with such disarming guises kicked Buffy’s reflexes into action. Utilising lightning fast agility that had not slowed even after three years, Buffy shoved the girl off her as soon as she heard Dean’s panicked cry. The force of it sent the girl stumbling backwards and she landed heavily on her rump when she was unable to halt herself. Furious at being thwarted, she glared at Buffy and unleashed a shrill cry of indignation that sounded like the banshee’s wail.

When her screeched melted away, her faced changed and the child’s eyes morphed into tiny mouths with same sharp teeth. They were chomping at her, making a clacking sound that felt like nail against a chalk board. The girl extended her arm outwards, posing them in the same way as she had done when she had plied for Buffy’s embrace, except her arms, weren’t arms any longer. The flesh had morphed into the cold polished steel of long, sharp butcher knives and her fingers had disappeared into tapered points. Her legs transformed in the same way, the shoes and stockings replaced by steel. When she took a step forward, she looked like a ballet dancer on tip toes. It was grotesquely graceful.

“Don’t you want to take care of me?” The girl extended her arm. “Don’t you want to hug me?”

“Holy crap,” Dean swore under his breath when he reached Buffy who was too horrified to say anything.

The child lunged at Buffy and Dean her bladed arms, flaying wildly at them like some kitchen appliance gone mad. Both Buffy and Dean leapt out of the way to avoid being slashed to ribbons. As she barrelled through them. Dean rolled across the floor and onto his knee, pulling out his gun and taking aim on the girl who had her back to him. It was Buffy she was going for first and that gave Dean a narrow margin of time to act. The girl continued to swing her bladed arms at Buffy, driving the slayer backwards in an effort to avoid the deadly swish of blades.

“HEY T1000!” Dean shouted at the little bitch, trying to draw her attention away from Buffy.

She ignored him though Dean saw Buffy’s gaze averting to his briefly as another swipe cut through the front of her jacket, a button skittering across the hard floor as it splayed open, revealing the white shirt beneath. She wasn’t hurt but it was a close miss. Wanting to give Buffy time some slack to get clear, Dean took careful aim and fired a single shot at the girl’s head. It was the only part of her other than her torso that was still flesh. The bullet slammed into her temple, her neck snapping sharply to one side like it was on hinges. Brain matter sprayed across the black walls but there was no blood, just dark greenish ooze that looked like ectoplasm.

The girl froze in her tracks and turned her head towards him. He saw the ragged hole that was on the other side of her face and she glared at him, those freaky eyes chomping while she opened her mouth and screamed again. The sound cut through his ears and he flinched as she started running towards him.

Buffy wasted no time with the opportunity Dean had given her. She skidded towards the handbag she had dropped trying to evade the girl and reached inside her. Rummaging through it, it was less than a second before she extracted the folded blade that she had tucked in there before she’d left the house for the antique store. It was made from silver and almost eight inches in length. It had been custom made for her by Giles and was easier to explain than a wooden stake. It was also effective on more than just vampires. Since Sunnydale, Buffy had learned that there were meaner things than vampires out there and the predominant characteristic they all seemed to share was their hatred of silver.

“That wasn’t nice,” the girl hissed at Dean and lunged at him, with her blade/hand extended.

He got out of the way and slammed an elbow against her back, causing her to topple forward. She landed on her hands and kicked out her leg, the sharp point slicing across Dean’s side. He groaned in pain, feeling blood spilling out from the gash. Dean staggered back in pain but maintained presence of mind to raise his gun and fire, this time, hitting her torso. Two bullets penetrated the dark pinafore and only the slick ooze saturating the entry points showed Dean that he had actually hurt her. She spun around on one leg and up righted herself with surprising ease.

“Get clear,” Buffy ordered and shoved Dean aside as the girl came at him again.

Dean turned around to see Buffy engage the monster, he’d stopped calling it a girl when the bitch cut him. She ducked smoothly when the creature slashed at her, delivering a side kick so straight, it connected beneath the flaying arm blades and propelled the monster away from her. It managed to keep from falling, regaining its balance by pivoting on one pointed leg before swinging about like a mathematical compass. Buffy leapt back to avoid being cut in half by the thing as it corrected its stance once more.

Clutching his bleeding side, he watched Buffy fight. In Purgatory, he’d struggled for a year to survive against creatures that defied reason in their savagery and knew he was a better hunter than he’d ever been but Buffy was born to it in a way Dean could never be. When she’d fought Angelus, it was a display of brute strength that he could appreciate since that was what he’d been forced to employ over the years. However, now as she fought this overgrown Jinsu knife, he saw a different kind of skill at work. It was almost graceful and Dean couldn’t help but feel a little awe watching her fight.

The creature continued to slash at Buffy but Buffy deflected every blow with her own knife, ensuring nothing made contact with her flesh. As she fought, something awakened in her, something that had been sleeping for three years she hadn’t even realised she’d missed. She slashed at the creature, her slayers senses becoming sharper and stronger with each blow she delivered and each attack she avoided. Three years ago, she’d walked away from the life and Buffy realised, she’d been in a holding pattern, hiding from who she was.

She wasn’t just a slayer but the Slayer. The Chosen One.

“DEAN!” She hollered over her shoulder, “my handbag! Now!”

Dean did it without questioning the fact that she had ordered him to get her purse like he was some pussy whipped husband. It was lying on the floor near his feet. He grabbed it and tossed it to her.

Buffy caught the leather hand bag, now considerably lighter, with one hand and dropped to her knees. She swung it around the creature’s bladed legs, snagging one foot and then yanked back hard. Legs swept from under her, the girl crashed on the floor and Buffy was on her in a second. Without giving the creature a chance to react, Buffy swung the knife once with all the strength she could muster.

Dean watched the girl’s head roll across the floor, coming to a stop at the base of the wall. As her head detached, her body collapsed, her clothes fluttering emptily. The blades which had been her limbs clattered noisily against the floor. Dean saw Buffy prodding at the clothes with the tip of her knife. Nothing moved. When she was satisfied that the creature was dead, she turned back to him, her face etched with concern when Dean realised she was seeing the blood on his shirt.

“You’re hurt!” She exclaimed hurrying to him.

“I’m okay,” he assured her. Actually the wound hurt like a son of a bitch and the blood soaking through his shirt and pants told him it was deep but he was not going to whine about it like a bitch. Leaning against a section of wall, he started unbuttoning the shirt so that he could get a better look at the damage.

“Yeah right,” she retorted, not believing him for a second. Handbag still in hand, she got down on knee so that should could examine him.

“Hey while you’re down there and if you want to make me feel better…” Dean smirked while waggling his eyebrows suggestively. In truth, he was in pain but he sure as hell not showing it to her. After seeing her fight, he felt almost ineffectual.

“Really?” She gave him a withering look and then proceeded to help him with unbuttoning his shirt so that she could examine his wound. Parting the soiled fabric from his stomach, Buffy winced at the sight of the injury. He’d been cut quite deeply beneath the ribs. She couldn’t tell if any organs had been damaged but he needed stitches, that much was clear.

“It feels like a flesh wound from here,” Dean remarked, grimacing when he felt her fingers probing lightly at the cut flesh. “Is it?”

“A pretty severe one,” Buffy frowned while agreeing with his assessment. It was hard to see in this light and she wished she’d packed a torch. “Can you stand for a bit? The light’s not so good and I can’t see that well so I need to be up close.”

“I can stand,” Dean said, leaning back against the wall, closing his eyes to manage the pain while she prodded at him, “do what you have to.”

“Okay,” Buffy nodded and rifled through her handbag. She didn’t have a first aid kit as such in it but she carried a few loose items that would serve in a pinch. “I’m going to seal this up until we get home and I can call Cari again.”

“Sure,” he grunted while keeping a look out to ensure they weren’t ambushed by any other freaky monster. “That was pretty awesome knife you’re packing.”

“Thanks,” Buffy remarked as she pulled a pack of tissues out and started cleaning the wound as best as she could. “I saw one like it in the store a couple of years ago. An Espada something I think.”

“I’ve seen it,” Dean replied knowing the model she was talking about. He had something similar in the boot of the Impala, “the 60NX?”

“That’s the one,” Buffy confirmed, tossing aside the blood soaked tissues and reaching for the tube of crazy glue in one of the pockets of her bag. “I gave Giles the specs and told him I wanted one custom made with a completely silver blade. It fits in my handbag easily or against my leg in a sheath. Less conspicuous than carrying around a stake.” She said as a matter of factly.

She was awesome, Dean decided.

“That crazy glue?” Dean asked when he saw her squeezing the contents of the tube into his wound.

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded, applying the clear adhesive between the cracks of torn flesh as much as possible.

“Good call,” Dean winced again as she filled the wound then pressed his flesh together with her fingers and thumb to ensure it sealed. Dean threw his head back and clamped his eyes shut to keep from crying out in pain. It had to be done however, he knew that. Crazy glue was the next best thing to getting actual stitches and it would keep him from bleeding out any further. “Sam and I buy that stuff by the crate. I always thought chick’s handbags didn’t have anything useful in them….” He finished with another hiss.

“I’m done,” she said finally, buttoning up his shirt. Buffy stood up and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Do you need a minute? We should get moving. I don’t know what the hell that thing that was but I’m guessing it’s an opening act.”

“Yeah I’m with you on that,” Dean agreed and then added. “I’m fine, I’ve had worse.”

And he had. He could tell her about Purgatory and the crap he’d been through that year, running and fighting to stay alive, while killing everything with teeth, fangs and claws hunting him. This, was benign in comparison.

“You sure?” She stared at him with concern.

Seeing him bleed had driven home to her that he was a normal human who didn’t have her recuperating abilities, despite the fact he pitted himself against monsters for most of his life. While she tried not let her feelings for him run away with her, Buffy could not deny she cared a lot for Dean Winchester and didn’t want to risk his life for anything. However, he wasn’t the kind of guy who took protection from a girl very well, since he was as alpha male as they came so she didn’t want to over emphasize her worry for him.

“Hey I’m okay,” Dean raised a hand to her cheek and held her gaze for a second because he saw the fear in her green eyes. It made his heart swell seeing the depth of her affection for him. Leaning forward, he captured her mouth in a soft, tender kiss. “Takes more than some Jinsu baby to put me down. I’m harder to kill than a New York cockroach.” He winked at her cockily.

Buffy savoured his taste on her lips, losing herself a moment in the kiss. Had the timing been right, she’d have shown him just how much she cared but the timing wasn’t right and their lives were still in danger. Licking her lips when she pulled away from him, she said softly. “Well don’t get yourself killed, I kind of like having you around.”

Dean smiled because this felt like they were saying something to each other that meant more than the playful banter they were exchanging. Like they were claiming each other in a way neither had dared to do with another person before. It wasn’t anything as binding as commitment but it felt lasting nonetheless, like a promise to be in each other’s world from this point forward.

“I like having you around too,” Dean admitted softly, his voice lacking the usual flippancy or cocky arrogance. “You were unbelievably hot when you were kicking that thing’s ass. I didn’t understand the whole slayer thing before but seeing you action, I get it. This is what you are.”

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded with agreement. “I think it is too. I thought I could walk away but when I’m fighting, I feel alive, like this is what I’m supposed to do.”

“I know the feeling,” Dean said pushing away from the wall and heading towards the creature’s remains. Bending down on one knee, he grunted in pain and reminded himself that he needed to be careful how he exerted himself. Crazy glue wasn’t a permanent fix to his injuries and he still needed patching up when they got out of here. For now, he had to take care to last as long as he could at her side.

“What are you doing?” She asked puzzled.

Dean picked up one of the blades that had been the little girl’s arm and lifted it up carefully, examining the edge. “Making use of the native surroundings.” He grinned and tucked it under his arm. “I want to be ready for anything else they throw at us. Grab one Sweetheart,” he nodded at the pile of blades and winked, “let’s hunt some orc.”

Dear God, it was possible she was falling in love with the hottest nerd alive.

TO BE CONTINUED