I do not own either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Supernatural.Type:
Spoilers through My Bloody Valentine. Some dialogue from various episodes is also used.Summary:
The war is over, and with the help of the slayers, the world is safe once more. Now, three months later the man Buffy only knew as the archangel Michael, is waking up.Author’s Notes:
First off I'd like to thank both moragmacpherson and aj_hofacre for all their help. Any mistakes left are all mine. I'd also like to thank lightthesparks for her wonderful artwork. And finally, I'd like to thank the mods of sncross_bigbang for hosting this challenge.
It all started with a phone call. Dragging her hand along the surface of the nightstand, it took Buffy a few tries before she had the offending object lifted from its cradle and clutched in one hand.
“Hello?” Her voice was sleep rough and her mouth felt like it was coated in half dried glue.
“Buffy.” Giles’ voice, urgent and solemn carried over the line. She sat up, pushing her hair from her eyes. She checked her alarm clock and the red glowing numbers told her it was nearing two a.m.
“What’s wrong?” Buffy asked, her heart clogging her throat.
The words sent Buffy tumbling out of bed, blankets tangled around her legs and her pillows impeding her grip. The lack of any form of light did not help matters either. The resulting crash heralded Dawn’s arrival and the younger Summers quickly flipped the switch by the door. Bright light flooded the room, and Buffy narrowed her eyes, looking up at her sister from her position on the floor. Dawn’s hair was sticking up in the back, her pajamas were twisted around her body, and she stood, wide-eyed, chest heaving.
“Buffy, what is it?”
“We’ll be there soon,” Buffy forced out, hanging the phone up. As she faced her sister, her lower lip began to tremble. She took a deep breath, hoping her racing heart would calm to a steady beat.
Dawn’s jaw fell open, and she stood marble- still for a few seconds before rushing forward. She grabbed Buffy and dragged her from the floor.
“Then what are you waiting for?” Dawn asked, shoving Buffy towards her bathroom. “Go! Get dressed!”
The door clicked shut behind Buffy and she stared at it, unable to make her body move. The words he’s awake kept running through her head, etching themselves on her skull. Her hands began to shake as her lungs purged themselves of air. Buffy had prayed for this moment, and as the months had passed, she had slowly resigned herself to the fact that he would never wake up.
Buffy tried to get her lungs to cooperate, nearly flailing as they seemed to close off even more. Her heart banged against her ribs causing her already tight chest to ache more. She clenched her hands into fist, holding them firm against her stomach. Closing her eyes, Buffy focused on her temperamental lungs. She needed air, so she would get it. Slowly, steadily she felt her chest easing, her lungs relaxing, and air moved freely in and out of her body. Her heart rate settled to a manageable rhythm.
Once her goal was accomplished, Buffy opened her eyes, prying her hands loose and away from her body. Going to her closet, she decided to wear ‘the outfit’-- a small red top and a long skirt with one side slit. It was the only one Michael had ever commented on. He’d been confused as to how she could fight in it, calling it ridiculous and impractical. She had rolled her eyes at him then, now, she just wanted him to notice it again.
Upon leaving her room, Buffy found Dawn standing, arms crossed over her chest just beyond her door.
“About time you stopped primping,” Dawn grumbled, before grabbing Buffy’s arm and dragging her from their apartment.
They reached the Council in record time, grateful for the lack of traffic at the late hour. Buffy clung to Dawn’s hand as they made their way down to the hospital wing of the Council building, their hearts hitching in their throats. Their footsteps echoed in the silent hallway, and Buffy was surprised to see so little activity. She had thought such an event would have at least spurred the Watchers into research frenzy. So far, all they had come across was a few nurses and a few bored and injured slayers.
They met Giles at the private room they had set aside. Buffy bit her lip at his grim face, fearing the worse.
“He’s fine, at least that is what the preliminary tests show,” Giles said, looking up from cleaning his glasses. Replacing them, he reached out and gripped Buffy’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “They just got done getting him settled so he’s awake right now, but there is something I wish to speak with you about.”
“Buffy, please, listen,” Giles said, reaching out with his other hand to stop her progress. Buffy shoved her way past him, barging into the room. Her entrance startled Michael, and his green eyes widened before glancing briefly past her. He was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats, a drastic change from the flimsy hospital gown she had grown accustomed to seeing him in. She watched as he swallowed. There was an odd look in his eyes she had not seen before.
“Um, hey…” Michael’s voice was rough still, but softer than she was used to. She took a few steps forward before stopping when he leaned back into the bed, an uneasy look settling over his face. “Think you can tell me exactly where I am? The others didn’t say much.”
“Michael?” Buffy said, her hands shaking along with her voice. He lowered his head, covering his face at her words. She could have sworn she heard him curse. “Michael…”
“Dean,” he said, cutting her words off. He was giving her a sympathetic look and her heart shattered at her feet. “My name is Dean.”
“Oh,” Buffy replied, arms coming up to cross over her chest. Maybe if she squeezed her arms hard enough she could keep her ribs from cracking.
“So…” Dean said, eyes scanning the room. His brow furrowed as he took in the books and magazines piled on the over-bed table, the chair she had spent endless days and nights in, which still held her pillow and blanket. The stuffed angel bear perched on top of the wall mounted TV received a raised eyebrow. “Uh, where am I?”
“You’re in a specialized hospital,” Buffy said, carefully selecting her words. He turned his skeptical look in her direction.
“I didn’t know hospitals specialized in treating former angel condoms.” His words carried the challenge in his eyes and a lot of sarcasm. Then he shot a look at the badly concealed dagger and demon text, and if possible, his expression upped the sarcasm level.
“You…you know?” Buffy said, ignoring his tone, and cursing herself for forgetting to remove the dagger and the book. Dean rolled his eyes.
“I let the bastard possess me,” Dean said. “So, yeah, I know. What I don’t know is where the hell I am, or who the hell you are.”
“This is the medical wing of the Watcher Council’s headquarters,” Buffy replied, her tone becoming business-like, her expression failing at being polite.
Dean sighed again. “Look lady, they already told me that part. What they didn’t say was where the hell I am.”
“Oh.” Buffy swallowed and her jaw clenched. “Cleveland, Ohio.”
“What day is it?”
“August 12th,” Buffy answered. “You’ve been here for three months.”
“Year?” This time Buffy heard a bit of fear in his tone and she felt herself soften.
“It’s 2010,” Buffy said watching as Dean’s shoulders slumped in relief.
“Any chance I could get a phone?” Dean asked, and the worry in his voice matched the urgency of his gaze. “There are some people I need to call.”
“Sure.” Buffy nodded and turned towards the door. “I’ll ask one of the nurses to bring you one.”
His quiet ‘thank you’ followed her out into the hall. Seeing Giles’ sympathetic face and Dawn’s grief-stricken one, Buffy felt her resolve crack. Taking a deep breath, she pushed it aside. Now was not the time.
“He wants a phone,” Buffy said, and she was happy to note that her voice stayed neutral.
“Of course,” Giles said with a nod, turning to retrieve one of the nurses.
“Buffy…” Dawn said, the tone of her voice matching her tear-filled gaze. She reached out to place a hand on Buffy’s shoulder, but Buffy sidestepped, catching Dawn’s hand in hers instead.
“Come on,” Buffy said, leading her sister away from Dean’s room. “Let’s go home, it’s late.”