Hellmouths are for Lovers

Alt Ending#2: Damned If You Don't

The words hung in the air like they were just waiting for Dean to reach out and take them, but he refused. They would figure out—he always found a way. He was a professional consequence avoider. He could not risk losing the chance to close the Gates of Hell forever, and to do that, he needed Buffy. Dean had one real purpose, one design, and that was to ensure she finished the trials. When they slammed the gates, he could protect her. He was the Slayer's Champion in whatever alternative universe he was trapped, and he would do anything necessary to keep her from burning. Not the slayer, not ever.

"No."

"Dean..."

"God Damn!" he barked. "Neit! Nein! What language do I have to speak for you to under-fucking-stand that no means no!"

"You've made your choice then, Dean. Now it's up to you to live with it," Zach replied haughtily, folding one hand over the other and closing the distance to Dean. "The offers stands just the same, but have this fun little consolation prize on me."

Holding up two fingers, Zach tapped the space just above the bridge of Dean's nose. It was like an explosion of light inside Dean's mind, and when the light faded Zach was gone. In his absence though remained the knowledge of how to resurrect Buffy.

It was waning though, and he was clinging on to it desperately like a perfect dream fading from memory just after waking. Knocking the chair over as he rushed to the library, he came crashing into the library and slid to a stop at the table where everyone was gathered.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Willow asked studying his face as he frantically cleared away books and scrolls.

Succeeding in finding his objective, he pulled a notepad out from under a book, ripped away the half used page and tossed it aside.

"What the hell is going on, boy?" Bobby asked to not avail.

Until his task was done, Dean ignored all questions and comments, scribbling down the words and ingredients before they slipped from his mind. Those gathered around the table leaned over curiously, watching as the hasty scribbled became intelligible and clear. Finishing, he threw the pen back on the table.

"What is it?" Dawn asked, afraid she was the only one confused.

"It's..." Sam turned his head to another angle to confirm his assumption, "it's a spell."

"It's how we get Buffy back." Dean fell down into the empty chair at the head of the table like he had just run from Marathon to Athens.

"Where the hell didja get it?"

"Don't ask. Just use it."

"That doesn't sound ominous," Xander scoffed skeptically.

"Dean, I swear to whatever God is listening, if you sold your soul—" Sam was trying not to yell, and Dean cut him off.

"Relax, Sammy," Dean assured. "I didn't make a bargain, trust me. The Dick gave me a better deal, and I didn't take it. Scouts honor." He held up two fingers for emphasis.

Sam's face contorted in anger. "You got this from an Angel?"

At that, Willow stole the notepad from in front of Dean, inspecting it critically.

"I didn't ask for it, trust me! I wouldn't be surprised if it was useless anyway."

"Can we trust it though?" Bobby asked Willow.

"It's kind of brilliant actually. A little disappointed I didn't think of it myself..."

"But, is it safe to use?" Bobby asked a little more forcefully than he meant too.