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tamingthemuse2008-09-20 07:59 pm
chosenfire28.livejournal.com) wrote in tamingthemuse2008-09-20 07:59 pm
Entry tags:
113 - Swank - BtVS/Supernatural - A Broken Valentine - Chosenfire28
Title: A Broken Valentine
Author: Chosenfire
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN. All recognizable characters and situations belong to their respective owners and I make no profit off of playing with them.
Rating: NC-17
Status:Multi-chaptered fic, (5/6)) Incomplete
Warning(s): Violence, Smut, Strong Language
Pairing: Buffy/Dean, Sam/Faith
Spoilers: BtVS post Chosen, SPN Season 2 AU
Summary: The spirit of a broken hearted woman draws the Winchester brothers and their Slayers to an old cemetery and Dean and Buffy’s fighting puts Buffy in danger. Can Dean save her and their relationship?
Challenge: Prompt #113 –Swank at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tamingthemuse
Previous Parts: Chapters 1-4 Here
Auhtor’s Notes: I have a goal, to finish this before the end of the month, so I am using this fic for this month officfinishing. Also, special thanks go out once again to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blue_icy_rose for not only betaing this for me but for chatting with me on YIM as I wrote it and keeping me going, really, I would have never finished this without her so thank you so much.
Banner made by Me
Chapter 5 Bleed
Buffy winced, feeling the burn of the knife as it cut into her skin and she struggled helplessly as her blood began to flow easily down her arm and onto the floor as Annette cut deep and moved to the other arm. Buffy closed her eye,s trying to pull her strength together and muttered, “It doesn’t matter.”
And it didn’t. She knew Dean would always choose Sam, the same way she had chosen Dawn when it had been her little sister or the world; the decision she had never been able to make for Angel. There were different kinds of love but it didn’t make it any less important.
She loved him. She needed him.
She didn’t care that Dean would never need her in the same way he needed his brother. Dean would kill for Sam, would hurt and bleed and die for his younger brother with a devotion that bordered on reverence.
Buffy knew Dean loved her. She knew he loved Sam but she didn’t want Dean to love her with the intensity that he loved his brother. She didn’t want him to devote himself to her that way.
Buffy didn’t want Dean Winchester to die for her.
To make her into another person he would give his life for, stop living for. She didn’t want him to make her into just another sacrificial promise. He was too willing to do that already. He begged for death for Sam’s sake, for his father’s, for the world. He would give everything to matter in that way.
Because he didn’t believe he was worth it, because Buffy knew Dean put no value on his own life, and what his love meant to others. To Dean, loving someone wasn’t staying with them, it was dying for them.
Buffy didn’t want that.
Angel gave up his own happiness to protect her, Spike let himself be beat down and torn apart to show his love for her. All Buffy really wanted was someone to love her enough to put themselves first, to care enough about her to realize that their own happiness mattered more than her own.
Was it too much to ask for? For him to be selfish?
But he wouldn’t be, he would try to save her. Buffy knew that. Even if she was a perfect stranger, Dean would risk everything to try to save her because that was the kind of man he was.
And she couldn’t let him, she needed to save herself.
With each second that passed, she was growing weaker, her strength drained away as if she were a rag being wrung out but Buffy held on to one thing. Annette was an idiot. Little miss suicide chick couldn’t feel it, the little tingle in the air every other spook seemed to sense that made Buffy not normal, not just a regular human but a Slayer.
It would take longer for her to die, hours more even, because while her blood flowed steadily down her arms, wrapping around her wrists and dripping to the cool stone floor, the wound was already healing. Skin knitting itself together again and if the cuts had been even an inch smaller it would have healed before death neared.
They weren’t smaller but Buffy had time. Time to close her eyes and even out her breathing, appearing weak and fading, when really she was reaching out a feeling towards the force that held her down, familiarizing herself with it.
She breathed in and let the unnatural grip around her flow and rest. She didn’t fight it, didn’t need to. For years, she had been touched by magic, stalked by death. Her senses had been honed on a place that had been so saturated in evil that it still clung to her today. She could feel it, each time she breathed in, it got stronger and more solid.
Buffy could feel the sweat on her skin and the weakness in her limbs but that didn’t stop her, didn’t break her focus. It was like a blanket, a heavy ass blanket she could move aside if she just concentrated harder.
Her breath started coming in short pants and her arms burned, hell, her whole body burned as she swallowed her weak screams.
There was a large crash as the door to the crypt was kicked open, rust making it easier than it should be and Buffy pushed and strained, managing to raise her body up slightly as she took in Dean standing in the doorway, his eyes blazing and the shotgun held loosely in his hand as he pointed it at Annette and fired.
The ghost didn’t have time to do the whole fading into thin air thing and the salt tore into her as she screamed and vanished. Buffy sat up, gasping, the world spinning around her and a loud buzz in her ears. She felt Dean’s skin against her own as he supported her and she found herself in his arms.
He had picked her up; she was never going to live this down, provided that she lived, of course.
“You okay?” he asked her softly, his voice rough with emotion, and she tried to focus her attention on him and ignore the floating her head seemed to want to do.
Drawing in a deep breath, she forced herself to nod. “Yeah, I’m good. Put me down now.”
He did but kept his arm wrapped tightly around her waist for which Buffy was grateful. She was still bleeding and her body was screaming at her to just lie down and rest. Her eyes fluttered closed and she sagged into Dean, swaying where she stood.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean urged softly. “C’mon, babe, stay with me. Open your eyes.” She tried, she really tried, focusing on his rough voice. “Stop being such a girl, Summers. The fainting thing isn’t really you.”
“Screw you, Winchester,” she muttered. She forced her eyes open and managed to glare at him weakly.
He just smirked, his eyes flashing playfully and a bit of desperation in his voice. “Not right now. I don’t want you to bleed all over me. That’s not one of my kinks.”
Buffy nodded absentmindedly, trying to stay in the moment. There was a slight ripple in the air before Annette stood in front of them, strands of red hair whipping around her face. “You shouldn’t be here,” she breathed out, flickering in front of them, her eyes locked on Dean. “You don’t even care.”
“What do you know?” Dean snarled, pushing Buffy behind him.
She leaned against the wall, her fingertips slippery with blood as she grasped the cold stone for support.
“Enough.” Annette titled her head. “You’re all the same.” And Dean flew across the room and crashed into the wall. Buffy watched him fall to the ground with a thud and struggle to get back up. Annette’s attention was focused solely on him and Buffy let her body be pulled to the ground. She knelt on the dirty floor, her hands wrapping around the gun Dean had dropped. She aimed, her grip a little shaky but sure, and took a shallow breath, muttering flatly, “No, he’s not.” Her finger pulled the trigger as the shotgun exploded in her hand, the backlash almost painful.
She was already slipping to the ground, a bone deep exhaustion sweeping through her. She heard Dean groan and mutter something under his breath before she found him back at her side.
He reached for the gun and Buffy watched his fingers close around the metal, the skin on his hand bronze under a thin layer of dirt. The skin was scraped on his palm and she was fascinated by the way the torn skin crisscrossed.
Her eyes moved from the small wound and settled on his face, how the curve of his jaw was so tight and controlled, the way his eyelashes touched his cheeks and the way his lips were open slightly as he dragged in a breath.
Her eyes met his and she could see the concern and the fear. She knew, she could feel it, what he saw. There was too much blood and she knew he couldn’t fight and protect her. She didn’t want him to save her with his skin being torn apart and those eyes closing.
“Dean,” she breathed out softly. She could already feel Annette coming back and it tore at her that a simple spirit was going to be her end, a psycho Casper was going to do what Angelus couldn’t.
“Shut up,” he demanded harshly. “Don’t you fucking dare say goodbye.” He grimaced as he pulled himself to his knees, leaning back on his heels and cocking the , bringing it up defensively. “You’re going to be fine.” And there was such a conviction in his voice that Buffy wanted to believe it, simply because he did.
A part of her was starting to. Because she wanted him to fight, she wanted him to be selfish, she wanted him to live and he wanted her to live.
The fights, the arguments, they had just been a distraction from the real problem. Neither of them could admit to wanting anything from this relationship and that had almost destroyed them, they had been so close to giving up so many times.
But they hadn’t, and she couldn’t, not when he wanted her to fight.
“No,” Annette screamed as she flickered in front of them, her face was twisted in rage and getting uglier by the second. “Stop it.” She raged as the walls around them began to crack and angry tears marred her face, the pain so palpable that Buffy could feel its sting in a way that had nothing to do with the cuts on her arms.
Dean shifted and there was no sympathy in his face, just hate and determination. The gun was in his hand but they couldn’t keep fighting her off this way. They only had so many bullets and so much time.
Annette’s eyes widened and her voice was a broken whisper. “No.” Her image flickered and flames licked at her feet and her dress.
“Yeah, bitch, it’s over.” Dean’s grin was sharp. “We won.”
Annette screamed as the flames grew around her, engulfing her spirit, and the sound echoed in the room, hollow and haunting. The flames faded away and Dean let the gun fall to his side and he turned back to Buffy.
She rested her body against the wall and watched him out of heavy eyes.
“This place isn’t exactly cozy, so why don’t we get back to our swanky hotel?” he muttered. His arm slipped around Buffy’s waist and she couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t answer him, couldn’t even find the energy to move.
“Hey,” he whispered softly. “Or we could go the hospital. Babe? Buffy?” He stood, pulling her into his arms and his voice filling with panic and fear. “Stay with me, okay/ You’re not getting out of this that easy.” Her head rested on his shoulder and it felt like she was floating, flying even.
“Buffy!”
Author: Chosenfire
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN. All recognizable characters and situations belong to their respective owners and I make no profit off of playing with them.
Rating: NC-17
Status:Multi-chaptered fic, (5/6)) Incomplete
Warning(s): Violence, Smut, Strong Language
Pairing: Buffy/Dean, Sam/Faith
Spoilers: BtVS post Chosen, SPN Season 2 AU
Summary: The spirit of a broken hearted woman draws the Winchester brothers and their Slayers to an old cemetery and Dean and Buffy’s fighting puts Buffy in danger. Can Dean save her and their relationship?
Challenge: Prompt #113 –Swank at
tamingthemusePrevious Parts: Chapters 1-4 Here
Auhtor’s Notes: I have a goal, to finish this before the end of the month, so I am using this fic for this month of
ficfinishing. Also, special thanks go out once again to blue_icy_rose for not only betaing this for me but for chatting with me on YIM as I wrote it and keeping me going, really, I would have never finished this without her so thank you so much.Banner made by Me
Chapter 5 Bleed
Buffy winced, feeling the burn of the knife as it cut into her skin and she struggled helplessly as her blood began to flow easily down her arm and onto the floor as Annette cut deep and moved to the other arm. Buffy closed her eye,s trying to pull her strength together and muttered, “It doesn’t matter.”
And it didn’t. She knew Dean would always choose Sam, the same way she had chosen Dawn when it had been her little sister or the world; the decision she had never been able to make for Angel. There were different kinds of love but it didn’t make it any less important.
She loved him. She needed him.
She didn’t care that Dean would never need her in the same way he needed his brother. Dean would kill for Sam, would hurt and bleed and die for his younger brother with a devotion that bordered on reverence.
Buffy knew Dean loved her. She knew he loved Sam but she didn’t want Dean to love her with the intensity that he loved his brother. She didn’t want him to devote himself to her that way.
Buffy didn’t want Dean Winchester to die for her.
To make her into another person he would give his life for, stop living for. She didn’t want him to make her into just another sacrificial promise. He was too willing to do that already. He begged for death for Sam’s sake, for his father’s, for the world. He would give everything to matter in that way.
Because he didn’t believe he was worth it, because Buffy knew Dean put no value on his own life, and what his love meant to others. To Dean, loving someone wasn’t staying with them, it was dying for them.
Buffy didn’t want that.
Angel gave up his own happiness to protect her, Spike let himself be beat down and torn apart to show his love for her. All Buffy really wanted was someone to love her enough to put themselves first, to care enough about her to realize that their own happiness mattered more than her own.
Was it too much to ask for? For him to be selfish?
But he wouldn’t be, he would try to save her. Buffy knew that. Even if she was a perfect stranger, Dean would risk everything to try to save her because that was the kind of man he was.
And she couldn’t let him, she needed to save herself.
With each second that passed, she was growing weaker, her strength drained away as if she were a rag being wrung out but Buffy held on to one thing. Annette was an idiot. Little miss suicide chick couldn’t feel it, the little tingle in the air every other spook seemed to sense that made Buffy not normal, not just a regular human but a Slayer.
It would take longer for her to die, hours more even, because while her blood flowed steadily down her arms, wrapping around her wrists and dripping to the cool stone floor, the wound was already healing. Skin knitting itself together again and if the cuts had been even an inch smaller it would have healed before death neared.
They weren’t smaller but Buffy had time. Time to close her eyes and even out her breathing, appearing weak and fading, when really she was reaching out a feeling towards the force that held her down, familiarizing herself with it.
She breathed in and let the unnatural grip around her flow and rest. She didn’t fight it, didn’t need to. For years, she had been touched by magic, stalked by death. Her senses had been honed on a place that had been so saturated in evil that it still clung to her today. She could feel it, each time she breathed in, it got stronger and more solid.
Buffy could feel the sweat on her skin and the weakness in her limbs but that didn’t stop her, didn’t break her focus. It was like a blanket, a heavy ass blanket she could move aside if she just concentrated harder.
Her breath started coming in short pants and her arms burned, hell, her whole body burned as she swallowed her weak screams.
There was a large crash as the door to the crypt was kicked open, rust making it easier than it should be and Buffy pushed and strained, managing to raise her body up slightly as she took in Dean standing in the doorway, his eyes blazing and the shotgun held loosely in his hand as he pointed it at Annette and fired.
The ghost didn’t have time to do the whole fading into thin air thing and the salt tore into her as she screamed and vanished. Buffy sat up, gasping, the world spinning around her and a loud buzz in her ears. She felt Dean’s skin against her own as he supported her and she found herself in his arms.
He had picked her up; she was never going to live this down, provided that she lived, of course.
“You okay?” he asked her softly, his voice rough with emotion, and she tried to focus her attention on him and ignore the floating her head seemed to want to do.
Drawing in a deep breath, she forced herself to nod. “Yeah, I’m good. Put me down now.”
He did but kept his arm wrapped tightly around her waist for which Buffy was grateful. She was still bleeding and her body was screaming at her to just lie down and rest. Her eyes fluttered closed and she sagged into Dean, swaying where she stood.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean urged softly. “C’mon, babe, stay with me. Open your eyes.” She tried, she really tried, focusing on his rough voice. “Stop being such a girl, Summers. The fainting thing isn’t really you.”
“Screw you, Winchester,” she muttered. She forced her eyes open and managed to glare at him weakly.
He just smirked, his eyes flashing playfully and a bit of desperation in his voice. “Not right now. I don’t want you to bleed all over me. That’s not one of my kinks.”
Buffy nodded absentmindedly, trying to stay in the moment. There was a slight ripple in the air before Annette stood in front of them, strands of red hair whipping around her face. “You shouldn’t be here,” she breathed out, flickering in front of them, her eyes locked on Dean. “You don’t even care.”
“What do you know?” Dean snarled, pushing Buffy behind him.
She leaned against the wall, her fingertips slippery with blood as she grasped the cold stone for support.
“Enough.” Annette titled her head. “You’re all the same.” And Dean flew across the room and crashed into the wall. Buffy watched him fall to the ground with a thud and struggle to get back up. Annette’s attention was focused solely on him and Buffy let her body be pulled to the ground. She knelt on the dirty floor, her hands wrapping around the gun Dean had dropped. She aimed, her grip a little shaky but sure, and took a shallow breath, muttering flatly, “No, he’s not.” Her finger pulled the trigger as the shotgun exploded in her hand, the backlash almost painful.
She was already slipping to the ground, a bone deep exhaustion sweeping through her. She heard Dean groan and mutter something under his breath before she found him back at her side.
He reached for the gun and Buffy watched his fingers close around the metal, the skin on his hand bronze under a thin layer of dirt. The skin was scraped on his palm and she was fascinated by the way the torn skin crisscrossed.
Her eyes moved from the small wound and settled on his face, how the curve of his jaw was so tight and controlled, the way his eyelashes touched his cheeks and the way his lips were open slightly as he dragged in a breath.
Her eyes met his and she could see the concern and the fear. She knew, she could feel it, what he saw. There was too much blood and she knew he couldn’t fight and protect her. She didn’t want him to save her with his skin being torn apart and those eyes closing.
“Dean,” she breathed out softly. She could already feel Annette coming back and it tore at her that a simple spirit was going to be her end, a psycho Casper was going to do what Angelus couldn’t.
“Shut up,” he demanded harshly. “Don’t you fucking dare say goodbye.” He grimaced as he pulled himself to his knees, leaning back on his heels and cocking the , bringing it up defensively. “You’re going to be fine.” And there was such a conviction in his voice that Buffy wanted to believe it, simply because he did.
A part of her was starting to. Because she wanted him to fight, she wanted him to be selfish, she wanted him to live and he wanted her to live.
The fights, the arguments, they had just been a distraction from the real problem. Neither of them could admit to wanting anything from this relationship and that had almost destroyed them, they had been so close to giving up so many times.
But they hadn’t, and she couldn’t, not when he wanted her to fight.
“No,” Annette screamed as she flickered in front of them, her face was twisted in rage and getting uglier by the second. “Stop it.” She raged as the walls around them began to crack and angry tears marred her face, the pain so palpable that Buffy could feel its sting in a way that had nothing to do with the cuts on her arms.
Dean shifted and there was no sympathy in his face, just hate and determination. The gun was in his hand but they couldn’t keep fighting her off this way. They only had so many bullets and so much time.
Annette’s eyes widened and her voice was a broken whisper. “No.” Her image flickered and flames licked at her feet and her dress.
“Yeah, bitch, it’s over.” Dean’s grin was sharp. “We won.”
Annette screamed as the flames grew around her, engulfing her spirit, and the sound echoed in the room, hollow and haunting. The flames faded away and Dean let the gun fall to his side and he turned back to Buffy.
She rested her body against the wall and watched him out of heavy eyes.
“This place isn’t exactly cozy, so why don’t we get back to our swanky hotel?” he muttered. His arm slipped around Buffy’s waist and she couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t answer him, couldn’t even find the energy to move.
“Hey,” he whispered softly. “Or we could go the hospital. Babe? Buffy?” He stood, pulling her into his arms and his voice filling with panic and fear. “Stay with me, okay/ You’re not getting out of this that easy.” Her head rested on his shoulder and it felt like she was floating, flying even.
“Buffy!”