Wrong Package (Whistler/Dean Winchester)

Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS or Supernatural, just playing with the characters.

“Don’t listen to the guys from ‘down south’,” the oddly dressed man told Dean as he pointed downward. “Your father may be suffering but they aren’t going to help you save him.”

Dean fought not to lunge at the guy. He was clearly a demon and needed to be offed but he wasn’t threatening and Sam didn’t seem to be getting any weird vibes off him. Still, he was incredibly annoying and Dean wanted to kill him. He put his hand on his gun to comfort himself.

Dean wondered absently why all this crap happened around the cheeriest time of year. It was snowy and everyone was spending tons of money on presents and stuff. It was a great time of year for credit card fraud since there was so much more spending going on, the credit card companies wouldn’t necessarily be flagged for an odd purchase here and there and that made for a nice couple weeks for him and Sammy. As far as Dean was concerned, that was just about as good as Christmas could get.

Until he found out his father was suffering unimaginable agony, at least.

“So you’re saying there might be a way to get our dad back?” Sam asked eagerly.

Whistler shuffled his feet. “Maybe ‘back’ is the wrong word. For you to get him ‘back’, you’d have to have someone be willing to go to hell and bring him back here. The term that’d probably work best in this case is ‘release’.”

Dean ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“I’ll go,” he said.

“Dean! No!” Sam said vehemently, twisting around in his chair to look directly at his brother. “There’s no way, you can’t go!”

Dean was about to argue back but Whistler cut off any argument he might have to make.

“He’s right. You wouldn’t make it out alive, let alone sane. Plus you need someone to take care of the spell-casting and such and Sam’s just not adept enough.”

“And I am?” Dean asked doubtfully.

There was a knock on the door and in walked a young brunette woman. She was pretty enough and had a great smile.

“No, that would be me. Sorry, I don’t come with a bow but I do come with a candy cane,” she said with a smirk as she held up a handful of them.

Dean gave her his most charming smile. “Someone who comes in such a pretty package doesn’t need a bow,” he said.

He and Sam stood up to greet her as a shorter woman came in with a sour look on her face.

Dean felt his smile slip off his face as she glared at him.

“The pretty package not only has a name, but a number as well.”

The young woman turned around and said a heated, “Buffy!”

His smile started to tug at the corners of his mouth again.

“The name is Dawn but the number is more important,” the ‘Buffy’ said ignoring the other woman, “because the number is 17.”

Dean winced and Dawn huffed.

“I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean. You’ll have to excuse him, he has a problem with his head,” Sam said, trying to make amends.

The blonde woman shrugged. “I’m Buffy.”

“Nice of you to join us,” Whistler said.

Buffy glared at him until he took a step back.

“Blame it on ‘Candyland’ here,” Buffy said as she took a candy cane from Dawn.

Sam stood up. “I’m sorry but I don’t quite get what’s going on. You two are going to save our dad?”

“Buffy’s going to do the footwork and I’m going to be opening the doors to make it happen. Don’t worry,” Dawn reassured him, “I may be young but I’ve been trained.”

Dean looked at Whistler and murder was in his mind.

“You don’t think I can go get him but you’ll send a scrawny woman after him?”

“Hey!” Buffy said, affronted. Dawn covered her mouth and tried to keep from laughing.

“What?” Dean yelled back at her.

Buffy grabbed Dawn’s arm and started to lead her out of the room.

“We’re outta here,” Buffy snarled at him.

“Good!” Dean called after them.

“Oh, and by the way, Merry Christmas poo head!” she called out as she slammed the door.

“Yeah, well ‘Bah Humbug’ to you,” he yelled back at the now slammed door.

He turned to Sam and mouthed, “Poo head?”

Unfortunately Sam couldn’t appreciate his silent question as his head was buried in his hands.

“Why did you do that?” he asked wearily.

Dean’s looked incredulous. “Are you kidding me? Did you see them? Am I the only one here who thought that was ridiculous?”

Whistler took a seat across from the brothers at the table again.

“I have a feeling you’re going to come to know the term ‘groveling’ very intimately by the time this is all over with,” he said.

‘What do you mean?” Sam asked.

The demon answered the question with one of his own.

“What do you know about the Slayer?”

The brothers were quiet as they examined their memory banks for the term.

Dean looked up at the demon. “The Slayer’s a myth and even if one did exist, he wouldn’t be helping with something like this.”

Whistler took his hat of and turned it around in his hands.

“Why don’t you get comfortable? This is going to take awhile.”