Title :: Stillest Nights
Rating :: FR18
Disclaimer :: Supernatural and all related characters are copyright Eric Kripke, Kripke Enterprises & The CW Network. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Synopsis :: They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars, only to rise again. Stillest Night
Blue dust settled over the side of his hand and the edge of his thumb as Dean rubbed the cue chalk over the tip. Setting the small square down, he brushed his hand off on his jeans and bent, waist cupping the felt table’s edge as he lined up the pool cue and pulled back. Dean aimed down his arm and pushed forward, hitting the cue ball with a satisfying crack and rose, watched it strike the yellow and white and sink it.
His brows lifted and he stepped around the corner, making his way to the other side of the table and his next shot as he asked, his voice causal, “Snakes and
A brunette head bobbed, brown eyes growing wide as the jailbait cheerleader sipped at her cherry coke before stating, “An infestation.”
Dean cleared his throat; a little surprised she knew a word that big and bent to line up his next shot. “Eight ball corner pocket and you say this happened last week?”
“Uh huh, right before the Sadie Hawkins Dance.” She turned, placed her coke next to his beer and stepped up to the table, fingers dancing over the dark green felt. “There’s been chatter in the caf’ that a group of students did an exorcism.” Dean’s hands flexed around the wood in his hands, but she was already rambling on before he could ease in another question. “Of course I so don’t believe in that stuff,” she shook her head, “I mean that’s just stupid. Know what I mean?”
“No, not really.” The eight ball rolled forward, taking the pocket he’d designated and before his brain began to leak from his ears he dropped the cue across the table and gave the conversation one last shot, “You say a group of students performed an exorcism? That seems like an odd way to get rid of an infestation.”
She shrugged. “Welcome to Sunnydale.”
“Yeah, I keep hearing that.” Dean sidestepped the brunette and snagged his beer from the high table and took a long pull, all the while wishing this hole in the wall had a full bar. He dropped his arm and wiped off his mouth with the back of his hands before deciding to cut his losses and find a real bar.
Turning back to the jailbait he caught sight of a petite blonde watching him with interest from a table across the dimly lit club. Her focus shifted to her drink, shoulders hunching as her hands came up from her lap to wrap around a brightly colored plastic cup when she realized he was looking back. His mouth dipped in at the corners before he turned back to his clueless informant and wished her a goodnight before she could protest.
Grabbing the leather coat draped over the back of one of the stools surrounding his table, he shrugged it on and made his way through the Bronze and toward one of the many exits. He caught sight of the cute blonde through the crowd again, her hands absently spinning the cup across the table as she sat by herself and watched the dance floor. Her mouth was set in a thin line and Dean allowed himself a quick detour to slip past her table and pause, offer her a quirk of his lips and a simple, “Night,” before he making his way to the club’s side entrance.
His hands slid into the lined pockets of his jacket as Dean ducked his way outside and welcomed the slight breeze coming in from the nearby docks. It ruffled his hair, brought with it the salty scent of ocean water and his stride slowed as he neared the end of the warehouse that housed the Bronze. His head cocked when Dean thought he heard the muffled sound of foot falls over the music pouring out of the small club and he turned, looked back toward the entrance and frowned into the shadows beyond it.
His brows drew together and rose upward before he gave a slight shake of his head and turned back to the vacant street. The wind picked up, slicing against his face and raising the collar of his leather jacket as Dean quickened his stride, cutting across the street toward the parking lot that housed the Impala. He fisted the keys and gripped them tight, silencing any possible noise they’d make as he eased them out of his pocket and located the right one as he reached the driver’s side door.
Green, hazel-flecked, eyes narrowed when the muffled steps returned and Dean eased his free hand beneath his jacket and reached for the back of his jeans where his Colt 1911 was safely nestled. His back stiffened, pulling up straighter when the steps suddenly stopped and Dean turned, took in the slightly weaving guy standing behind the car next to his. Brown eyes widened and then narrowed, as if trying to focus on him, before the guy slurred out, “Nice car.”
Pale lips quirked and Dean shook his head, letting his hand fall away from the Colt as he turned fully toward the drunk and inclined his head. “Thanks.”
The guy nodded, a bit too rapidly, swerving his balance and he stumbled. Dean took a step forward, almost reaching out to catch him, but the guy managed to palm slap the trunk of the car beside him and steady himself. He leaned into that hand and peered at Dean before stating, “I really mean it. That car’s a beauty.”
“You’re right, she is.” Dean moved forward another step. “Hey, why don’t we get you back inside and call you a cab.”
The drunk ignored Dean and ran a hand through his overly gelled hair, disarranging the spikes before his hand dropped to the back of his head and scratched at it. “You know what else is beautiful?” He didn’t wait for Dean to answer as he staggered back his feet. “My girlfriend.” He turned, met Dean’s stare head-on, features crumbling around the edges as he fell back against the car trunk once more. “She broke up with me,” he paused, frowned, “Does that mean I shouldn’t call her my girlfriend anymore?”
A brow quirked and Dean sighed. “Usually. Come on let’s get you back inside.”
He moved to the guy’s side and pushed his shoulder beneath the arm closest to him. He grabbed the side of the guy’s body and pulled him up as the drunk tossed his arm easily across Dean’s shoulders. His head rolled toward Dean and he narrowed his eyes, “Do you know my girlfriend?”
Dean snorted. “No, can’t say that I do.”
A frown could be heard in the drunk’s voice as he prompted, “But I saw. I think I saw you,” there was a confused pause before he added, “You talked to her before you left.”
“The blonde?” Dean closed his eyes briefly, mentally kicking himself for responding.
“That’s her! Isn’t she beautiful?” Dean nodded and the guy grinned. “Yeah.” They were almost toward the warehouse that housed the Bronze, just next to the alley beside it when the drunk rolled his head toward Dean again. “You know, I’m the jealous type,” he paused and Dean just managed to contain his eye roll. “But I’m more of an opportunist.”
The drunken edge to his speech melted away and Dean stiffened when the arm around his shoulders tightened into a headlock and the guy shoved him sideways into the darkened alley as he added, “And I’m recruiting.” ~*~
“No, you guys go to the basketball game. I got this covered,” Buffy muttered to herself as she moved, noiseless and slow through the narrow hallways of the Restfield Mortuary towards their morgue. A muffled bang drew the hand carrying her stake higher and green eyes narrowed as she hurried her stride only to hesitate at the entrance to cold storage. Her fingers flexed, hand tightening around the stake and her shoulders tensed as she head a metallic groan and a dull thud as something struck the tiled floor on the other side of the door.
Rolling her eyes at the stealth-less-ness of newborn vampires she pushed her way into the room and arched a brow as it pulled itself up from the floor and saffron eyes focused on Buffy, narrowed. Bare feet slapped against the floor as they moved around the examining tables toward her. Buffy’s eyes widened as it became a definite he as he cleared those tables and presented her with a very male—a very well
She ignored the blush sudden rushing to fill her cheeks and fell into a loose limbed stance as she waited for the fledgling to do something stupid—like trip and fall on her stake. Instead he paused, head cocking and with a shake of his head, the wrinkled visage of the vampire slid away and left Buffy staring at a startlingly attractive face.
A startlingly attractive and familiar face and her stake lowered, falling to her side as she recognized the cute guy that had taken the time to say goodnight to her at the Bronze after he’d caught her ogling—damn the urge ogle. Her voice was tight as she asked, “Did Angel send you?”
Green eyes, surrounded by long lashes narrowed further, a frown marring his features as he shook his head. “Who?”
“Angel?” Buffy rolled her eyes and began a slow advance as she snarled, “Tall, dark and crazy?”
“Now that hurts, Buff.” She spun, backing away from the door and the naked fledgling with Angel’s words and her hand tightened, the stake giving a low crack as her lover tsk’ed her from the doorway.
Fear crawled it’s way up from the pit of her stomach as Buffy kept her focus divided and the fledgling turned with her movements and she didn’t entirely like the look she was receiving from him—or the response his body was having with her being in closer proximity. The blush was worse this time as she focused on his upper body and only his upper body.
“She smells good.” His head turned, painfully slow towards her and Buffy swallowed, suddenly terrified.
“She does, doesn’t she?” Her head swiveled, keeping the fledgling in her peripheral vision as she shot Angel a mutinous glare and he raised his brows. “Put down the stake, Buffy, and I’ll promise to make it quick. You won’t feel a thing.” His head cocked, a slow smile spreading with her look of disbelief as he added, “Okay, that’s a lie. You’re gonna feel a lot.”
“Are you going to kill me or just chat about it all day?”
There was a snort from the newbie and Angel sent him a narrowed look that he shrugged off before lunging toward Buffy. She ducked, twisting away from his outreached hands and stumbled when his foot interlocked with hers and sent them both tumbling to the ground and her stake clattering under the examining table. She kicked out, her boot catching him in the inner thigh and he hissed, rolling away from her and onto his feet as Buffy pushed herself onto her knees and scrambled for her stake.
The table above her groaned and flipped, suddenly colliding with the far wall and a heavy boot landed between her and the stake. Buffy rolled onto her back and spun, shoving her heel into the nerve that ran along the outside of thigh and with some satisfaction she heard Angel cry out and crumple to the ground—directly onto her stake.
Her eyes narrowed and she winced as a hand wound into her hair and another grasped her shoulder, lifting her up and tossing her into the wall of cold storage units. Her head snapped back on impact and black and white starbursts came to dance along the edge of her vision. Buffy frowned and after a moment’s hesitation she dropped to the ground as the fledgling’s fist pounded the space her head had been. She brought her hands together, forming a fist with her right and cupping it with her left she aimed for the knee closet to her and watched it shift to the side with a sickening pop that tightened her stomach.
“Bitch,” was growled in her general direction as she shoved herself to her feet and ignored the sudden wave of dizziness as it threatened to spill her on her ass. She brought her elbow up and forward, but the fledgling caught her arm, twisted his upper body and slammed her into the cold concrete floor. Her head impacting a solid surface for the second time in less then a minute and she blinked up at the ceiling, startled and suddenly frantic as the vampire’s knee gave and he collapsed beside her.
A thin coating of blood covered her tongue and Buffy coughed, spraying her face with it and flinched back, confused by her body’s sudden sluggish responses as Angel moved to hover over her. “You don’t look so good.” A finger slid across her cheek, gathered a few drops of blood before he brought the digit up to his mouth and licked it clean, face slipping into its demonic visage with a slight crunch as the bone re-knit. “Now your taste on the other hand—”
The flattened palm of her hand connected with his chin, shutting his mouth better then any verbal rebuttal she could have given and Buffy sat up, winced as the world swam in and out focus. With a shake of her head she put her hands against the concrete and prepared to shove herself up and run—because running seemed to be a sound plan at the moment—only to find a vise-like grip jerking her back against a cold, bare chest.
Her eyes widened as she realized her fatal mistake as teeth sank into her neck, tore her flesh and spilled more of her blood. She gasped and looked into Angel’s startled face as the fledgling’s hold tightened, teeth digging deeper and she gasped, warmth suddenly flooding her chest and face as her life bleed out. She reached back, blindly cupping the ridges of his forehead with her hand as her thumb pressed against the closed lid of his eye.
He jerked back, ripping her flesh as he growled in pain and before she could react, run. Angel was there, his teeth buried in the unblemished side of her throat and pulling the fledgling back to them. Cupping his head so that he retook his place at her throat and Buffy whimpered, weakly pushing at them as her will to fight warred with the darkening of her vision.
Her head lulled back, gaze unfocused on the shadowed ceiling as they both pulled back, gasping from her throat and she shuddered. Body tightening as the world narrowed and Angel pulled her against his chest, cradled her head. Vaguely she heard the sound of more flesh ripping, more blood being spilled and then a cold, wet wrist was pushed against her mouth.
She coughed, pulling back from the bitter taste of blood and clenched her jaw, too weak to argue and instead refused to open her mouth. Two knuckles captured her nose and she looked past the pale hand to see the fledgling’s face reform and she held back until her will to breath became to much and she gasped. Angel’s blood spilled into her mouth, coated her tongue and throat as the fledgling’s hand slipped free of her nose to push the hair from her face.
He cupped the back of her head and leaned forward, tears blurred her vision as they leaked from the corners of her eyes and cold lips pressed to her ear as more cold blood slipped down her throat and he whispered, voice paper-thin, “Welcome to the family.” The End.