mirrorside | I find it kind of funny...I find it kind of sad

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faith lehane

I find it kind of funny...I find it kind of sad

[Into every generation, a slayer is born: One girl in all the world, a chosen one. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness.

...Except there wasn't just one, anymore, and even thousands of chosen girls had been unable to stop Sam from becoming Satan's vessel. Satan. The Satan. She'd faced monsters and men who were as bad or worse...but those had been nothing to seeing that thing wearing Sam's skin.

They'd been nothing to seeing Dean's face when he came back from that hilltop, eyes vacant, Sam long gone. They hadn't spoken. She hadn't cried. They'd just parted ways and went on with their lives like they hadn't spent the last two years as ...friends. Or, if she dared to say it...family.

The world continued, vampires and demons walked the Earth, and she did her job. She didn't check in with the hunters or try to hold on to that life. Instead, she went back to where she'd probably always belonged. She fought with Buffy. She grew closer to Giles. And, at some point, she found her feet and almost convinced herself that she didn't miss that damn Impala or waking up in another, anonymous hotel room with someone by her side.

It had been a quiet week. She'd been stateside for a few months, checking up on a new Slayer with a troubled past, but nighttime patrols had been lackluster. She'd tangled with a few vamps, but they'd gone down with very little fight, and she wasn't really expecting anything different tonight.

Hands swinging loosely at her sides, she wove aimlessly through the tombstones, gaze idly skimming the ground for signs of any fresh graves. The gates had been closed hours ago, with only the groundskeeper still around for company...and he was on the other side of the graveyard. She'd made sure of it. Which is why she tenses when she hears scraping somewhere up ahead. Her hand sought her stake under her jacket, and her eyes narrowed as she peered through the shadows until the brief flick of a flashlight caught her eye.

Someone was there. And, unless they'd suddenly taken up grave robbing (...though, honestly, it wouldn't be the first time), she didn't think it was vampires.]

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[ Someone was there. Someone who is notably concerned with getting found, if that's a possibility at all. Upon closer inspection, the flashlight turned towards the ground, further than it should--about six feet, if someone were to guess. Behind the rows of headstones was an old grave freshly dug up with an even older body inside. The man holding the flashlight was tall, unceremoniously pouring salt from a canister down onto the corpse. Tossing the empty container to the side, he pulled a lighter out of his jacket and with practiced eased, tossed it onto the body, watching it emotionlessly set alight.

He has clearly done this before. ]

[his back was to her.

This wasn't the first time she'd stumbled across hunters (their paths had a way of crossing in the line of duty), but this one's height and shaggy hair made her stomach wrench before she pushed the thought away. Sam was gone. ~~Worse than~~ dead. Still...

She didn't doubt what he was. Pranksters didn't pour salt into graves and thieves didn't take the trouble to burn the corpses they looted. And the steady hand and easy movements said this wasn't the first time. It was routine. But some hunters were more cuddly than others, and she had girls to look out for. If one was going to be bringing his business to this corner of the world, she was duty bound to check him out.

Arms crossed, she leaned against one of the larger statues]

Damn. And I forgot my s'mores.

[ He didn't react right away, though it can only be assumed it's because he doesn't care to. What it did show is that she either wasn't worth acknowledging or he simply didn't see her as a threat. Both could be true. What he did do was turn his flashlight off, leaving them both in reasonable darkness as befitting a cemetery. ]

That's a bummer.

[ Deadpan. He shoved the lighter back into his pocket and leaned down to grab the large duffle and shovel that was leaning against the headstone. ]

[That voice...

It's impossible. Much more likely that, in the sudden darkness, she was hearing what she wanted to hear--

and, maybe, if anything in their lives actually happened by coincidence, she could believe that. Instead, the impossible was the whole point of her existence...and she suddenly couldn't think.

A million possibilities tumbled through her thoughts in the split second after the light switched off. He was a vampire. He was Sam. He was Satan, come back. He was Sam. He was another hunter who just happened to share a resemblance. He was--]

--Poindexter?

[her voice is suddenly hoarse, even though she'd practically given up smoking since moving in with Giles.]

[ He freezes at that, shoulders going a bit stiff. To anyone else it might appear that she's struck a nerve, discovered something he wished to hide, which was true. But what she didn't know is that he just didn't want to have to go through the effort with her. Not when he can clearly remember how much of a battle it had been before just to get her to talk to him when they started working together. Too much damn energy that he could be spending on other things.

Guess he's lucky he doesn't sleep.

But he knows that when Faith sets her mind to something she doesn't stop until she's finished. Turning tail at that point would be even more a waste of energy, even if he has better things to do. So Sam slowly turns around, but doesn't address her. Let her jump to her own conclusions. ]

[Except she doesn't jump. Not at first. Instead, she stares at him with wide eyes and an expression that hides nothing. Fear and hope and uncertainty and confusion all war for dominance as she looks up at him. Her gaze soaks up his features, even half-veiled in shadow, not quite believing what she's seeing.

Alive.

He's alive...

....Right?

Chin going up, she took a step back.]

How the hell are you here?

[Memories of the First Evil puppetting the Mayor sprang to mind. Besides escaping hell, there were a million reasons why she could be seeing him now...and none of them were good]

[ It's a fair question and one he doesn't quite know the answer to himself, even if he wanted to share it with her in the first place. The darkness aids him a bit in his mask, but despite being out of practice, Sam pulls what would be a characteristic turn of his brows as he shrugs. Perhaps a little too dismissive, but the lines in his face should say enough even in the dim light that it's a topic that has weighed him down.

Sam Winchester doesn't like not having answers. At least he used to. ]

Honestly? I've got no clue.

[she hadn't dreamed of this moment. If she was anything, she was a realist. She'd know the cost of Sam's plan--whether he succeeded or not. If she'd pictured anything, it had been facing down his doppelganger as the whole world went to hell around them. Literally.

But, dreamed about or not, something felt...off.

He wasn't trying to convince her he was real, and he wasn't giving her "words of wisdom," which probably meant he wasn't just some evil hallucination. But she's still wary.

It wasn't that he hadn't called her. Maybe that should have been a sign, but even if that thought hurt it wasn't exactly surprising. Not to her. She'd been out of the country and, even if she hadn't, they'd said their goodbyes. They'd all known there was no coming back from ~~his~~ their plan. If he'd survived, he could decide to move on without her. Really, why shouldn't he?

But, then, why was he here?

Stake still in one hand, she frowned at him, even as that familiar frown pulled at parts of her heart she'd been trying to claim didn't exist.]

Hold out your hand. [her head canted to one side] ...Slowly.

[Her knife wasn't silver, and she wasn't carrying holy water. With the types of jobs she usually had, she had no way to test him the way a hunter would. But she still had a few tricks up her sleeve--

assuming he was real enough to try them in the first place]

[ He exhales slowly through his nose. He doesn't really want to entertain this right now, not when he'd just finished one job. What Sam wants is to let off some steam and to get out of the cemetery, but that's clearly not an option. His eyes flicker up to hers for a moment before he sets his duffle bag down and slowly holds out his arm, face up, and rolls up his sleeve.

Go ahead. He won't even flinch. ]

You remember that Lucifer qualifies and angel, not a demon, right?

[ If she did have Holy Water, it won't do shit. ]

Shut up.

[Tucking her stake into her belt, she kept her eyes on him as she reached behind her neck to unfasten the simple, silver chair. It only takes a second before the cross pendant is in her hand and she takes a cautious step close enough to press it into his palm, her fingers closing around his wrist to feel a pulse. Warm skin. He was solid and...as far as she could tell...alive.

She has no way to test for angels. But she wasn't a vessel and the one nod of respect she'd had to give Lucifer was for his honesty.

True, he'd been full of shit...but he'd believed it.

So she tests him the only way she really can, her fingers still pressing against his wrist]

So...who are you? Hunter? Or dumbass angel with a superiority complex?

[ Sam lets her work without further sass, simply watching her do what she does. He doesn't particularly care if she believes him or not, but he also knows she's not so naive to turn a blind eye to what she sees in front of her. He watches her face for subtle clues as to her thought process before glancing down at their hands. ]

I like to think I've been there and done that. [ And back up to her face. ] Just a hunter right now. I should have guessed you'd be here.

[Just a hunter.

His final comment pings something in the back of her mind, but nothing she's paying attention to in the moment...because he's real. There's got to be a catch. She's too cynical to believe there isn't. But, right now, none of that matters.

She wouldn't admit to missing him. She hadn't even really let herself mourn his death. And, in another state of mind, she'd be more than aware that he's not particularly thrilled to see her. But now all she can feel is relief--complete and utterly overwhelming.

Her hand tightens on his, the edges of the cross pendant digging painfully into both of their palms, and her other hand whips out to grab a handful of his shirt. Twisting the fabric in her grip she jerked him down to her level to cover his mouth with hers in a shallow but desperate kiss.

...Really, it was between that and punching him]

[ Well.

He wasn't really expecting that but he's not really objecting. Sam does pause as he frowns slightly. He supposes if there were anyone he could count on for a booty call it would be Faith Lehane, but after this time? Well, who is he to turn it down? It saves him the energy of trying to find someone later.

He doesn't assume she'll go along with it, though. But he does return the kiss with some ferocity. ]

[he tastes familiar, and the kiss lingers longer than she might have let it otherwise. The comfortable energy that always sparked between them may not feel quite right, but it feels right enough that she doesn't want to pull away--half afraid that he will disappear the instant she does.

For all that she's slow to trust, she took things at face value. She can tell something is wrong but...well...after what they'd been through, she's not expecting anything to be right. So when he returns her kiss, his mouth pressed hard against hers, it chases back the doubts that better sense had left lingering.

By the time she pulls away to look up at him, dark eyes peering through long lashes, she's grinning. There's genuine relief in her expression and, for once, no ulterior motive of desire. Sex was safe, but this time her real feelings are there on her sleeve, with her wanting to be close just for the sake of being close. For knowing that he's still there.]

Nice to see you, Jolly Green.

[Of course...she's still Faith.

The look in her eyes could easily be called affection--even as she releases his hand, chain falling silently to the grass, and punches him in the stomach.]

That's for being a dumbass.

[ So he wasn't expecting her to pull away, either; sex was something Sam could always count on her for, if anything else. Why not capitalize on it? Except there's a slight change in her expression, not the raw heat he's used to seeing in her eyes, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He frowns slightly, pure curiosity before--

--if she wasn't a slayer he might have been able to block that, but right in his gut and Sam stumbles back a step, bumping into the headstone. ]

--Yeah. [ He almost finds this funny. ] Nice to see you too.

[she smirks, amusement clear as she tosses her hair over her shoulder and takes a moment to consider the open grave]

So....seriously?

[there are a million questions. How long has he been back? Is he okay? Does Dean know, yet? But she has her duty to her girls, and her walls to maintain.]

You...what...get back from hell and just decide it's business as usual?

[ He winces a bit as he stands to his full height, glad at least that she still has some spunk. Even though he doesn't want to play twenty questions. It's a fair one, still. ]

Something like that. [ Is that weird? ] What else can I do?

Dude. It's called a vacation.

[but that's reassuring, too. Sam...ever the workaholic. This, at least, feels right.]

Last I checked we didn't have anything vested in our 401k, so...

[ Sam shrugs with a half smile, taking a step closer and just walking out the ache in his abdomen. It was nothing in the grand scheme of things, though she probably won't miss his eyes searching hers or the way they dip down momentarily. ]

Though that was what all those credit cards were for.

[For once, sex is the last thing on her mind.

Or, it was. She knows that look. She knows what that means. And there's no denying that she's more than willing to touch him again. She wants to know the catch...and she doesn't trust that he came back undamaged. But when he looks at her like that, there's an almost giddy rush of...something. Relief, maybe. Except it's relief that his initial coldness seems to have been a fluke. Surprise. Not...something more.]

And we don't get paid.

[ He gives a half shrug to that, leaving his duffle back on the ground. He doesn't think he'll need it right now. Not with her and this bonfire of decimated corpse. It's not an ideal setting but he's not looking for a romantic rendevouz, is he? ]

Funny; I'm coping.

Guess you are.

[she doesn't move from where she's leaning against the statue, but her eyes search his face as he comes closer. Part of her knows he could still be a threat. Everything about this just feels too convenient.

But her punch landed easily enough and he wasn't immune, and he didn't try to kill her when she kissed him. And maybe she's not used to getting that look from him, outside of the bedroom, but it's been six months and one devastating apocalypse.

If that couldn't change someone, nothing could]

I'm adaptable.

[ Question time is over, and he's thankful she isn't pursuing it. Closing the distance between them is easy, though Sam stops just in front of her. Normally he wouldn't, but most women he hooks up with can't toss him across the cemetery if they wanted.

Normally he doesn't need permission; most women he encounters end up give it to him rather quickly. But Sam isn't looking for a fight, he never is, he never has to work for one. If they don't want him, he doesn't want them, but that's hardly ever the case. Taking advantage of good looks and relentless stamina is more than enough to fill his time in between jobs. And since he cut loose Samuel a few weeks ago, no sense in wasting a good opportunity.

Sam inclines his head to the side, looking for the green light. ]

[and she gives it.

It feels natural to close the gap between them, her hands tangling in his hair as she arches up on her toes to kiss him again.]

[ His hands immediately go to her hips and waist, pulling her body flush against his as he returns the kiss in earnest. His lips move roughly against her own as he then pushes her back against the statue; none of the kindness that was usually hidden beneath forceful touches, just simple and raw desire. ]

[Her lips part against his, the kiss deepening as she leaned into his touch. She can't help but wince when he shoves her back against the stone, but she doesn't hesitate. If anything, it sparks a familiar need as her nails curl to dig into the back of his neck.

But she doesn't immediately reach to strip him of his clothes. Her touch is fierce and hungry but, for once, this isn't about getting laid.

Nothing about this should be sitting right. His hands are too rough as they grip her, heedless of the bruises they'll leave--bruises she can take and may even welcome...but still...different. The fire crackling behind them sets a morbid scene, even if they weren't out in the open. However shameless she could be, he wasn't.

...Or, he hadn't been.

But she's not thinking about any of that. She's thinking about the fact that, six months ago, she'd watched him accept Lucifer into himself and she'd had to watch that smug, falsely pitying smile as it stretched across his lips. She's thinking about the fact that, at some point over the past three years, she'd actually come to rely on having him there as someone she could trust...and she'd thought that was gone forever.

She'd been making something of herself. Giles agreed. She had responsibilities and, in many ways, a home.

But she would have traded that for the family she'd had with the Winchesters, however dysfunctional.

She'd have traded it all to get him back.

So she kisses him next to a burning grave, her body pressing tight against his and inviting any touches he'll give, because that alone is more than she'd ever expected to get back. It's enough to drive years of cynicism from her--if only for the moment--too grateful to question all the ways this doesn't fit]

[ She's warm and welcoming against him to his hunger and search for that heat to build between them. His roughness may be out of character, but the attention he gives to every inch of her is reminiscent of his usual touch. He kisses her breathless, exploring her mouth before trailing his lips and teeth along her jawline and down her neck, his hands rubbing up and down her sides, up her back, then down to her ass, like he wants to hold every bit of her at once. Their hips touch and he presses into her.

Sam doesn't fight for dominance; he dominates. He towers over her, closing in around her tightly, tasting her skin. ]

[The more he touches her, the less she cares about the quiet, nagging voice in the back of her mind that says something isn't quite as it should be. It's at least partly overconfidence...Sam had never been a threat to her, but she knew his strengths. His weaknesses. She's more than sure she can stop him if he turns out to be a danger.

Except, inch by inch, he claims control without her even truly fighting for it back. Her hands join the frenzied search, tangling in the longer locks of his hair...tugging shirts free from waistbands and jackets...searching for new scars on old skin. He surrounds her and she moves in close rather than pulling away.

With her breath growing ragged and her limbs tangling with his, he could hurt her now. Easily. Slayer or not, she wasn't impervious.

But it never occurred to her that he might. Not really. Not while he was still kissing her]

[ He won't hurt her, not intentionally. Bruises and bite marks came with the territory, but for all intents and purposes, she is safe for now. He smooths his hands up her stomach, pushing her shirt up until he decides to grab it and pull it over her head, letting it tangle in her hair and hold her hands just for a lingering moment as he claims her mouth again.

Her back pressed against the stone, Sam closes the distance between them again as he tosses her top to the side. He doesn't need to be in a similar state of undress, but he'll let her do as she pleases, for the most part. Grabbing her hips, Sam pushes her up, hoisting her to put her weight against him as he pulls her legs around his waist. ]

Edited (MOVE YO' SHIT FAITH) 2013-10-15 02:58 (UTC)

[The raw scrape of stone against her skin makes her shiver, skin goosebumping as she worked her hands free of the entangling fabric.

When he goes to lift her, he almost doesn't have to. With her arms woven around his neck, she almost lifts herself to tangle around him, her chest pressed flush against his.

Hips rolling against his, one of her hands freed itself from his hair to snake down between them. It was a familiar move...one that had usually been selfish on her part, her own hand adding friction in spite of the added layers between them. But, for now, her only goal is unfastening his jeans--though she can't help the low groan that spills into his mouth as he thrust against her]

Edited 2013-10-15 03:05 (UTC)

[ It isn't taking much to get him aroused and she's sure to feel it. His hand slides along her thigh with the other grips a fistful of her hair, directing the kiss exactly where he wants it to go. His hips push forward into hers as he pulls her own motions forward with his hand fastened under her bent knee. He's to the point and even more quiet than usual, his warm and staggered breath the only other indication of his arousal.

Sam finally leaves her knee to mimic the motions of her hand, all but yanking her pants undone. ]

[the button of her jeans protests, the threads nearly snapping under the force of his pull, but it only gets a surprised laugh from her. It's a giddy sound, edged with heat as it spills from her lips to his.

Braced between the statue and his body, she's trusting her own strength and his awareness to keep her from dropping as she shifts against him. The rolling of her hips is purposeful, fully to add to his already noticeable desire, but also meant to work her jeans down her legs...at least until they reach the point where his body becomes an obstacle to their movement.

The hand that's not looped around his neck is busy as well. Her palm pressed against the sharp corner of his hip, feeling his muscles shift under her touch, before pushed his jeans down as well.]

[ It's exactly how he wants it. Not really an exhibitionist, Sam just doesn't really care who may happen to see them. But he's not intending to put on a show, either. What he wants his simple; to bury himself inside of her and to hear her cry for him. He doesn't need to be undressed for that.

His teeth graze her lip as he pulls her underwear to match the waist of her jeans, pressing awkwardly against his stomach, but still workable. His hips jut forward towards her hand, demanding, not questioning. ]

[caught between the force of their bodies, her hand worked its way past the elastic band of his boxers, fingers finding flesh as they pressed close together.

His hand passing close to her core, fingers dragging along the inside of her thigh as he yanked the fabric down the line of her legs, drew a throaty note of encouragement from her. Her hips rolled as his thrust, seeking his heat even as his hand moved down her leg.

His hand on her ass is the only thing that keeps her from untangling herself from him to wriggle free of her clothes. Instead, the heels of her boots dig into his back as she tries to get as close as the binding fabric will let her]

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I find it kind of funny...I find it kind of sad

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