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@summersslayer

Today was definitely not his day. Not only did this witch seem to be even more powerful than they thought, but she managed to get the upper hand. Again. But, at least this time around, she wouldn’t come out on top. They made sure of that. Dean slowly picked himself off the ground with a huff, already guessing how sore he’d be the next day from being tossed around like a doll. He went over to the now deceased witch, nudging her arm with his foot, making sure she was dead. 

“Since when did everyone decide it was time to beat up on me? Between her, that last demon, Hell, the werewolf before that... I’m done being bait,” he grumbled, walking over to where the other hunter and the slayer were, offering his hand to the later as Sam got to his feet. 

Either she was somewhat tipsy too, or Sirius was making sense. Buffy was going with the former. “Did they teach you that in elementary school, too?” A hand on her friends’ shoulder steadied him. “Alright Sirius, you’re wasted. And that guy over there keeps saying if you spill another drop of beer on him, he’s going to punch you. How’s about we head back to the dorm?”

Dumb motels, why couldn’t they have comfortable couches? And why didn’t the dumb TV work? Dumb. All of it. Tonight was just dumb and she hated it, and Buffy wanted to fall asleep. Just forget about it all. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen. Not when all she could see whenever she closed her eyes was thatgirl. That girl who had her annoyingly cute manicured hands all overher boyfriend.  

Maybe it wasn’t completely his fault, but Buffy decided not to stick around and listen. She came looking for him at the bar because it’d just been a bit too long for her safety comfort. Concern, that’s what it was. She wasn’t “checking up on him” or being “clingy”. She was just concerned. And what did she find? Low cut, large breasted, Slutty McPrada practically sitting in Dean’s lap. God, she knew he was a lady’s man. That he loved to flirt and charm the pants off of anyone he could, and she accepted that, but he made her worried and for what? Maybe a few free drinks? An ego boost? Whatever he needed that she couldn’t give him. Well, whatever. He could deal with himself and his ego boostalone tonight. Maybe not just tonight, either.

She could hear him getting up, and immediately her face become a blank sheet. She clutched the blanket to her and was determined to ignore him, but found herself incapable of holding back, like usual. “Why? So you’re the one who needs the massage in the  morning? I’ll bet your friend Miss. Double D’s would love to give you a hand with that.” She pulled the blanket up over her head and from underneath, “Couch is nicer anyway.

He lets a long, silent breath, and rubs a hand down his face, stopping to squeeze the bridge of his nose. Alright, so he may have fucked up. He shouldn’t have even given the woman a passing glance at the bar, but it was an aspect of his personality he’d probably never be able to shake. Flashing the grin that he knew made most women’s, and some men’s, depending on the crowd, panties drop, even if they weren't the focus. The whiskey-soaked voice he’d acquired over the years that could make even the cheesiest line sound like sin. He’d spent most of his life flirting across half the bars in the Continental U.S, a habit that that was great when he was single and a problem now that he wasn’t, though Buffy had always accepted, if maybe wasn't always comfortable with, that until tonight.

The difference was that he did have Buffy now. He still made the flirty comments, still charmed them so fast their heads would spin but past that? No. God knows he’s a lot of things but he isn’t that kind of asshole; to have someone care about him enough to stick by his side, be there for him to cling to when, well, Hell hit the fan? Loyalty isn’t something he takes for granted, he knows he doesn’t deserve half of what she gives him.