Title: Sleeping Beauty
Fandom: Buffy/SPN crossover
Rating: R up to NC17
Warnings: Sexual contents
Summary: Dean drops down the rabbits hole, straight into a slayer’s dream
Notes: Pairings/Characters: Buffy/Spike, Dean, Castiel
Dean ran through sunlight covered streets. Graffiti stood out on grey and colored walls. Some of them yelled their word at him; “Croatoan”, they said as if to rub his face in it. As if he wouldn’t know what it was about if they didn’t. He didn’t see them. That was a good thing, if he did, that would mean they were too close; that it was too late already. He was alone, unarmed, except for the knife at his back, or the gun in his holster, but neither of them would be enough. He could hear the harsh pounding of feet following behind him. It rang a sound through the streets, where the cars used to be.
He slipped into another alley, and noticed a rat slipping away from him, like he did from the Croats. The rat snuck into a door that was left open, as if the occupant had planned to be right back for the shopping bags lying unopened and rotten in the street. Dean grabbed his gun and tried the door; it opened with little or no noise. He jumped in and closed the door behind him. There was a lock on the door and he turned it.
The footsteps were close enough now to recognize. Hard and unrelenting for the men, slightly softer for the women and then there were the ones you barely even heard, the children. Dean didn’t have to see them to know their eyes would be tinged red with murder. He didn’t want to see them.
The television was still playing. Static. He wondered if he should turn it off, or check to see if he could find some news report, or hell, some game show, or a hint of reality TV still on. Those things were like cockroaches. He didn’t think that even the apocalypse could blotch them out of existence.
“Dean.” He looked up at the sound of his name. It came from the television. Cas was in the TV. “Come!”
He stared at the door into the living room. The angel was standing by the window, looking outside. His arms hung by his side, over his trench coat. Something was wrong with that; Cas had lost that coat a few years ago, somewhere near Chicago. Hadn’t he?
Dean knew he had to cross the hall to get to him, but somehow it felt farther than it looked.
“Cas get out of there.” He whispered, hopefully loud enough for the angel to hear. But Cas wasn’t an angel anymore and; hadn’t been for years, or that’s what his memories told him. His eyes were telling him something else with the shadows appearing behind his friends back.
Dean ran down the hall. It should have been only a few feet, but it seemed endless as he kept running until he stepped into a beam of light coming from the widow where Castiel had been just seconds ago. He turned around and the hallway and room were gone. He stood in what was left of a cave, rocks crumbling down on top of him. He kept running and almost fell right off a cliff into what looked like a snapshot from hell, and he’d know. Dean shivered and crawled back until he clung to the last remaining wall behind him.
It fell to pieces and he suddenly felt a hand grab his shoulder and pull him back to safety and in clear sight of the ravine. “Cas… What the hell?” The angel stayed silent. Dean stared down once again. There were thousands of them, monstrous, almost unreal and somehow not half as scary as the Croats, because these things at least didn’t look as if they’d ever been human to begin with.
It was like being present at Helm’s Deep, and it would have looked almost perfectly staged, if it weren’t for the screaming of the monsters as they burned in beams of sunlight. Dean just sat there; unable to look away as they kept burning until all that remained in the middle of the destruction was a couple.
She was gorgeous, petite, blond, armed, and not some wilted flower by any meaning of the word as evidenced by the smirk on her face. The man holding her was only about a head taller than her. He was blond as well, the kind of platinum blond that you could only find in a bottle. So was hers, but he wasn’t gonna argue hair color with a woman, that way lay suicide.
Their hands were burning, but neither of them seemed to notice. He pulled her towards him; she jumped into his arms and grabbed his mouth with her lips. Her legs pulled close around his middle and he supported her with one arm, while his other hand caressed her hair.
The flames jumped around them, illuminating them, but neither of them seemed to even cringe at their touch. She opened his zipper and he groaned under her assault.
Dean wondered if this was what it had felt like to Chuck when he’d dreamed about him or Sam. If it was, Dean was going to make sure he’d steal Chuck a couple of bottles of good booze, just to make it up to him. He blushed and tried to look away from the two lovers, staring at his friend, his angel, who stood there, stick up the ass as he'd been, before the end of the world, before all things went to shit.
“What’s going? Who the fuck are they?”
“You don’t remember,” It wasn’t a question.
“Remember what?” Dean wanted to answer; Cas placed two fingers on Dean’s forehead. Dean tried to pull back, but it was too late. Cas’ fingers felt like a cool breeze in the middle of the inferno and for a moment there was silence.
Nothing happened, and the angel disappeared. Dean stared back at the couple. He could see them now, but he wasn’t sure what it was what they were doing. It wasn’t quite fucking, but it lacked even the hint of sweetness and cuddles that could make him call it ‘making love’. Whatever that meant.
It was primitive and pure and somehow it all happened standing up, with the man holding up the woman and his face… it wasn’t human, at all She looked on fire as she rode the creature into hell.
The flames burned around them, licking onto their skins, melding them into one, but neither flinched under their scorching caress. He held her close, his arms supporting her as he pushed inside of her.
“The Slayer.” Dean felt the word coming out of his mouth, but lacked understanding of what it stood for. Then he looked at the creature and said, “Vampire”. Even if it made no sense, he’d seen vampires, and they were nothing like this … thing.
Yet the names felt right. The slayer and the vampire didn’t care about him. They didn’t even see him as they kept going. The Slayer screamed and the vampire whispered in her ear, "What has heaven done for you?" The words rang quietly in the silence of the cave, breaking it up like foam on burning oil. Tears dropped down the woman’s face as she looked into eyes that shifted between blue and gold. Smooth skin faded between strongly human and demonic curves. She didn’t scream, just a sigh, a desperate need for silence in this most sacred of moments
"I need you. I love you."
The flames froze over. The creature looked so sad. “No you don’t.” the vampire answered. “But thanks for saying so.” He looked right at Dean and smiled. His skin lit up like Fourth of July firework and light as glorious as that of an angel’s grace burst out of him as the vampire slowly but surely crumbled to ashes. The Slayer fell, fell down in ash and mud, her face smeared in grey.
“This isn’t your world.” A voice said somewhere from the shadows.
“I walk. I talk. I shop, I sneeze ,“ she answered from the comfort of a crypt. “I'm gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back.” Music played in the background. “There's trees in the desert since you moved out. And I don't sleep on a bed of bones.” She stopped for a moment. “Except when I want to.”
Dean blinked for only a second, to find himself moved somewhere oddly domestic. The sound of wings fluttering in the dark played strangely against the sound of laughter coming from the TV screen in front of her. The slayer stared at it, and the people on it. The carpenter, the witch, the watcher and the key. All of them happy, all of them her business. All of them away from her.
“It is time.” The voice said, a familiar voice, endlessly known. Dean crawled up in front of a lake, Castiel standing in front of him. It was as if he was in two places, the lake with Castiel and fishing gear that he only seemed to own in his dreams: and the tomb with the TV, both were equally real.
“Cas what’s going on?” He begged one last time for answers.
The Slayer sat on the water, alone. Cas stayed silent, as he stared at the girl; the Slayer. Dean didn’t even know how he knew what she was, but since it was a dream, he just accepted it.
“What the fuck was that, Cas? That girl and that thing?” Well, maybe not the last time.
Castiel ignored him; Dean dropped his fishing pole and stood next to him, staring at the girl.
“This is a dream.” Castiel stated.
Deal rolled his eyes. He’d figured out that much. It wasn’t like any dream he’d ever had, not since…
“The Slayer is sleeping, Dean. She needs to be awoken, if we wish her aid against Lucifer.” Dean still didn’t get it. “You do not have much time.” Castiel was gone before Dean could ask anything else. A grumbled “son of a bitch” left Dean’s lips.
So there he stood, the last bit of land before a huge stretch of water and a hot chick sitting in the middle of the water. He hesitantly placed one foot on the water and could feel it sink in.
“Dream,” he whispered. “It’s a dream, control it.” He closed his eyes and took the step, it held. But he didn’t look down, too worried that the illusion wouldn’t hold.
Then he took another step and fell, face down on silk sheets. He stared up and saw her, she was holding on to the vampire again, sitting on top of him.
“Man, you totally make me want to meet you in real life.” Dean couldn’t help but say. “Without the vampire.” He quickly added.
She ignored him.
She ignored him again, and continued a pace that would make lesser men scream in terror, and make them beg for more at the same time. Her eyes focused on nothing but the vampire beneath her.
“I can feel it, Slayer.” The vampire’s voice sounded quiet, unsure of himself. “You want the dance, that little moment, where the final kiss leaves you hoping for it all to end. Leaving you… alone.”
Then he was gone and the Slayer, little older than a girl, sank down in the sheets and cried.
Dean wasn’t sure what he could possibly do or say. He wasn’t good with crying women. That was Sammy’s thing, not his. He knew how to give them a good time, how to have fun, a beer, a bit of pie, a night they’d remember for the rest of their lives, but he didn’t do sympathy.
“Are you ok?”
She was fast. Knocked him down underneath her with a stake to his heart. Unfortunately, she’d also gotten dressed. Damn, this could have been so much fun otherwise.
“Who the hell are you?” She asked, pissed. It looked hot on her. He tried to push back, turn the tables, but he didn’t stand a chance. Not even in dreamland.
“Whoa, peace! I’m just here to help.”
She glared at him, hesitating a second before getting off of him. Dean couldn’t help but groan. She paid him no mind and placed her stake somewhere, who knows where. Damn vamp had to be the luckiest guy on earth.
“Help? With what?”
“Uhm, you might have noticed that you’re kinda… stuck?” Dean lifted his arms in surrender for lack of a better word.
She didn’t answer.
“As much fun as the sexathon might be to you, princess, I’d rather get you out sooner than later so you can come and help us stop the fucking apocalypse.”
Flashes coursed through his mind, finding the Slayer in some dark abandoned house in the middle of Cleveland. She’d been alone, as lost as humanity. The witch keeping her there, keeping her alive, bragging to them about her service to Lucifer. The dream root, Cas unable to take it, so it fell to Dean. As most things did.
Dean didn’t even bother wondering what that was about. He remembered Cas saying something about Slayers being experts in stopping the end of the world. Cas had also said that heaven had some kind of arrangement with the Watcher’s council, providing Slayers with prophetic dreams in exchange for their aid in fighting demon kind. It made it easier for angels to stand back and say that humanity was protected already. Well, he hadn’t quite said it like that, but that’s pretty much what it came down to, no matter how many of those poor girls had died because of it. All of them, watchers as well as angels, were douches as far as Dean was concerned; hiding their asses behind the children that they sent out to die in their place.
“I’m done with that.” The Slayer said.
Dean huffed. “Yeah right. That’s why you went after that witch, because you’re ‘done with it all’”
She glared at him, and then she grabbed his arm and put him on his back again. “That wasn’t…I went after that witch, because… because she was killing children.”
“Because you couldn’t let other people die. I know that one. Look, that vamp of yours. Don’t you think he’s waiting for you?”
She froze, and suddenly she was sitting on the bed, holding her legs.
“Let me guess, I said something wrong?”
“He died.” She sounded soft, broken. “He died saving the world and no one cared.”
Dean flinched and thought about his father, about Ash, about Jo, about Ellen. About all the hunters who’d died to save a world that at most saw them as a bunch of lunatics. But most of all, he struggled not to think about Sam. “Pretty weird thing for a vampire to do.”
“That’s pretty much Spike’s epitaph: Weird for a vampire” She laughed, it made her face shine “He kept doing stuff like that, surprising me. Every time I thought I had him figured out, he’d shock me all over again. I didn’t have high expectations, not with a demon. But… I used him, broke him, threw him away, it hurt him, and he … hurt me back. And I thought it was over. I didn’t even realize it was just the beginning of a new level. “
“Look, Slayer. I don’t do this chick flick stuff. I pretty much suck at it. I get it, you’re hurting, your vamp’s dead and you think this,” he waved his hands around, “is better than having nothing. “But there’s a whole wide world in trouble out there. People are dying. Kids are dying. Half the world is burning and the other half is screaming in terror. If this vampire of yours was as weird as all that, do you think he’d want you to sit on your ass and dream of sucking his cock, instead of kicking ass and taking names?”
“And damn good with it.”
"You're trying to get me angry." She said, suddenly.
"Is it working?"
She ignored him, of course. “You’re trying to get me angry enough to wake up and kick your ass. And that’s just…”
“Adorable?” He couldn’t help it. She seemed to bring it out in him.
"That's one way to describe it", she muttered.
“So is that it, end of pity fest? Ready to save the world, kill the devil and do the impossible?”
She closed her eyes and took one last look at the bed. “I might as well, not like I could count on you to keep it up for five hours straight and tear down a building with me.”
She patted him on the head as if in sympathy, snapped her fingers, and was gone. Dean fell back on the bed, and whistled.