Do not own. Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and Buffy belongs to Joss Whedon.
He is the thing she remembers most clearly about being dead, even if he was only part of it for a few moments. She jumped and then he was there along with the angel in the trench coat. They both wore suits, but he wore his so much better than the angel did.
They fought over her, the angel and the demon. They fought over where she would go – heaven or hell. It was like divine tug-of-war and she remembers laughing at them even as she was crying. The angel had asked her, very solemnly, what she was laughing about, but he just laughed with her, understanding, and they both ignored the angel’s question. He wouldn’t understand.
He had lost the fight for her soul. She had tried to be glad, tried to convince herself that heaven was obviously the better place to go. But she had wept and she had mourned. He’d kissed her on the forehead then and said, “Ta, love. Be seeing you.”
She hadn’t even known his name then, but she’d been ready and willing to go to hell with him. For him. But the angel had won and he had lost and then she had lost him.
But she hadn’t lost him forever. It seemed he had been right when he bid her farewell. She watched from the training room as he strolled into the Magic Box to introduce himself to Giles as Crowley, King of Hell. He spoke of why he was there, but she barely heard that part.
She slipped into the main area of the shop and walked up to stand next to her watcher, who was listening to Crowley’s explanations. He stopped talking mid-sentence when he saw her. She smiled widely and said quietly, “Hi.”
A smile of pure pleasure crawled across his face. “Well, well, well, what do we have here,” he murmured, looking at her like a starving man might look at a four-course meal. “Hello, love.”
He opened his arms and she launched herself into them, both of them ignoring Giles’s demands for answers. He wouldn’t understand.