Not That Simple
Two Lives. Three Dads?
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. The idea hardly belongs to me, too since this is a challenge I took.
A/N: Placing Buffy in Supernatural verse. Season 3 takes place in fall of 2005. Dean 26, Sam 22, Buffy 17.
“So these are the mean streets of Sunnydale, huh?” Dean asked, looking out the driver side window, taking everything in. “Doesn’t seem that evil.”
“I don’t seem that strong at first glance, but you wouldn’t think I could bend a steel pipe,” Buffy countered from the backseat, looking out her own window.
“Point,” Dean agreed. “Where to first? Food or your mom?”
“Mom first,” she nodded, resolved, “It’d be best if I went to her first. Though, making with the ‘splainy on this is going to be difficult.”
“It might help you spoke like a normal human being,” Dean cut in, rolling his eyes. “What the hell is ‘splainy?”
As Buffy reached forward to smack Dean across the head, Sam was silently agreeing. He was positive her speech was something she picked up in California and not a Winchester trait.
“Just turn here and keep going until you hit Revello,” Buffy instructed.
This was it. In a few minutes, she’d be face to face with her mother, or, rather the woman who raised her. She didn’t care if the memories of Joyce giving birth to her weren’t real, she was her mother. Buffy just hoped that Joyce would want to see her again.
She wasn’t sure why she had doubts about her mom not wanting to see her. Deep down, she had known her mother regretted saying the things she said, but she didn’t have time to make up, she had a world to save. She felt horrible for leaving, but she did what she had to do.
“I’m so sorry.”
She also wasn’t sure who just spoke, her or her mother, all she knew was that her mom had pulled her into a bone crushing hug as soon as she walked in the house and saw her. She was home and she had no plans on running away again.
“I shouldn’t have left.”
“I shouldn’t have said what I said, Buffy, it was just too much.”
“I know, mom, I just didn’t have a choice.”
“You don’t have to explain. Rupert, your W-watcher, explained to me everything that happened. I shouldn’t have stopped you.”
“You were being a mom, mom, I get it.”
Another hug was exchanged and more tears shed at the reunion. But, like most situations in the slayer’s life, the moment was ruined when Dean decided to announce his presence with a cough. Joyce let go of Buffy, but made sure to keep a hand around her shoulders, and looked toward the still open door. She wasn’t sure who they were, but if they brought her daughter home, she’d be eternally grateful. She also couldn’t help but notice something familiar in the two, but she couldn’t quite place it.
“Who are your friends, Buffy? Did you, did you bring her home?”
“They did, mom,” Buffy answered. “This is Dean Winchester and his younger brother, Sam. They’re, um, hunters, kinda like me.”
She figured she might as well start being truthful. And by the widening of her mother’s eyes, Buffy could see the message made it through. “I know it’s a little much, but they helped me when I needed it.”
And like any good hostess, Joyce shoved that thought to the back of her head and instead, invited the boys in and offered snacks and something to drink. She had the summer to cope with Buffy being this slayer; she could deal with there being others in the world who did the same thing, even at their young age. Them being older than Buffy made no difference, they were still young men; too young.
Dean could get used to this.
Joyce, as she preferred to be called (Ms. Summers made her feel old), whipped up some sandwiches and lemonade for them to enjoy as she reconciled with his daughter-niece.
…He really needed to stick with a name for her.
He also didn’t blame Buffy for not telling Joyce the truth about her true heritage. Why ruin a good thing, especially when you just got it back? Telling Joyce the truth now could break her.
“So, how did you boys get involved in this?”
It was a touchy subject, but if Buffy wanted honesty, then he’d follow her lead.
“Our mother was killed by a demon when we were younger,” Sam answered, voice hollow. He may not have known her, or even remember her, but it didn’t make talking about her any easier.
“Our dad wanted to avenger her death, even after he found out the truth. We grew up around all of this,” Dean finished.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Sam spoke, seeing that she wanted to speak. Every time someone heard the story, they always apologized. They didn’t need to hear it, not because they hated, they just didn’t need it. “We’ll stop the demon and it’ll be over.”
“And you’ll go back to college, maybe?” Joyce asked. Hearing that Sam had dropped out was a shocker for her.
“It’s not that simple,” Dean shook his head. “Even after the demon is stopped, we can’t pretend demons don’t exist. We can’t stop, like how Buffy can’t stop being the slayer.”
“I’m coming to terms with that,” Joyce sighed, looking at her daughter. “I know you can’t stop being the slayer, Buffy, but it’s hard.”
“I know, mom, but it’s easier with the gang helping out and Dean and Sam will be here, too.”
They hadn’t really discussed it, but the two planned on staying with Buffy for a while. They wanted to meet her friends, her Watcher, maybe kill some of the corporeal demons she was used to and, oh, you know, be her dad!
“You’ll be staying?” Joyce asked, voice hopeful. She knew Buffy couldn’t, and wouldn’t, stop slaying, but she took comfort in knowing that she’d have a large support system. “I’m sure the rest of her friends will love you.”
“We’ll stay as long as we can,” Sam smiled.
They were sitting on the porch, not at all fooled by the scenic neighborhood. This was the mouth of Hell and people were so oblivious to it all. Although, any passerby would assume the same with Dean and Sam as they sat back, sipping on their lemonade like they weren’t hunters or completely jaded or out for revenge.
“That went better than she thought,” Sam broke the silence.
“They’ll talk more after we leave. Full on chick flick moment,” Dean grunted.
“That’s your daughter for you,” Sam laughed.
“You really think so?” Dean asked, getting serious. “I mean, yea, she looks a bit more like me, but, I don’t know.”
“We’re figure it out.”