Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series and Eric Kripke owns Supernatural
Spoilers: Season 6 and 7of SPN, Season 6 of BtVS and Season 5 of Angel
Buffy was not entirely sure how she ended up in a crappy motel room trading supernatural stories with a yummy hunk of man-flesh by the name of Dean Winchester, aside from the fact that there had been tequila involved. Lots and lots of tequila. That, and she was pretty sure she had taken out a vampire at some point. She combed her fingers through her hair and they came out dusty. Yep, definitely had made with the vamp slayage.
“So Sammy finally owns up to the fact there’s something wrong with him. Says he can’t feel things right ever since he crawled out of the pit.” Right, Dean was telling her a story. The story of “the second time Sam came back from the dead, not counting all those times during the year of Lucifer’s apocalypse” and she was supposed to be listening like a good listener-person.
“We get Cas to check it out, and he says Sam’s soul is still in the cage with Lucifer. So now we had to find a way to get his fucking soul out of Hell,” Dean continued.
“How was Africa?” asked Buffy. Of course it was possible they did the spell with the Orb of Thess-thingy, but she was pretty sure they’d want to avoid the whole “perfect happiness” thing, no matter how majorly sucky their lives were. Not to mention they seemed pretty big on making deals with demons, so they had to have gone to see the same guy Spike had, right?
The look Dean gave Buffy was a very familiar one, the maybe this chick really is crazy look. “Africa? What the Hell are you talking about?” So maybe they hadn’t gone to see the same guy.
“Never mind. So how did you get Sam’s soul back?”
* * *
Dean wasn’t really sure why he wasn’t sleeping with the hot chick in his room yet. And she was hot, even before she totally kicked that vampire’s ass and confessed to being some sort of superhero. But for some reason, instead of being in his crappy motel bed doing the horizontal tango with the sexy blonde that could probably kick his ass six ways from Sunday, he was sitting in his crappy motel chair listening to her talk about the death of a friend of a friend of hers, Fred who was “a girl, not a guy, and a really pretty one, actually.”
“And then her body started going all melt-y or something. Turns out she was infected by an Old One, named Illyria.”
Goddamn Leviathans. Bad enough they had to kill Cas, but now they were going after geeky scientists too? He wasn’t really too clear on how the Old Ones had managed to get out of Purgatory to infect her, but with all the portals Buffy’s friends were apparently opening, they were probably just lucky that only one had apparently gotten through.
“A little sodium borate works wonders on those guys. Melts right through their skin,” Dean offered. Buffy looked completely horrified. Dean ran back through what he had just said, trying to figure out what had upset her. Maybe it was the skin melting? She didn’t seem like the type to be squeamish, but with girls you never can tell.
“Why did I need to know that? I mean, yeah, Illyria’s annoying sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I want to dump acid on her.”
“Wait, what did you say she was infected by again?”