I'm up to chapter nine in this fic, and Nicole (blue_icy_rose
) is writing the companion fic, Too Much Interference. This is a Buffy/Supernatural crossover, with my side of the writing following the viewpoints of Sam and Faith, and Nic's side following Dean and Buffy.Title: Too Much Information
Status: Mucho Incomplete-o
Rating: PG-13 for now. Just you wait. Muahaha. It’ll be all with the violence. But there's a lot of fluff, too. Mostly fluff at this point.
Characters: Yes, there are quite a few in here. Look into their minds. Mainly Sam, Faith, Buffy, and Dean.
Timeline: Buffy Universe: Season Five (and I haven’t seen all of that season, so if I mess up anywhere please tell me so I can revise!!)
Supernatural Universe: After 2.6, before 2.9. Ahem. After Jo’s foray into hunting and before Sam’s immunity to the demon-y plague thing.
Synopsis: The Scooby gang, bar crew, and Sammy narrate while Dean and Buffy make with the love bunnies and the killing. Sam has plans for Sunnydale. Too bad Faith is distracting him from his work.
Disclaimer: I don’t own either series. If I did I’d waste sooo much of the CW studio’s money trying to coerce Sarah Michelle Gellar into a steady role on Supernatural. I mean… she’s really gotten into a horror kick, right? She belongs on the show! Hell, so do I! I want to be that sad little PA that they send out to try and find the guys and drag them back to work when they run off. Anyway, point: I gain nothing from this. No money, no nookie.
And now, the story.
If there's a link for the chapter, it's been posted. Will update regularly!
I love my brother. I do. But there are times when I feel like choking him until he turns purple and begs for mercy. Now is one of those times.
Why, you ask? We were at The Bronze, the only good boozing spot around, because Dean would rather let his libido guide his actions than his big brain upstairs. Not that I don’t like the people here, I do. I’ve met some great new friends. But come on, I’m getting too old to be following my brother around on his foxhunts.
Bars aren’t really my scene. But Dean loves the view and the menu, and it’s an awesome break from the shit motels we stay in. Even I can’t say I don’t appreciate the beer. Something tells me that he wouldn’t miss the musky places much, though, if he had something better to go home to. Like a really good therapist.
Okay, I know. Back up, right? This all started almost a week ago-six days-when we tracked a wyrm to Sunnydale, sunny California. It was a pretty standard hunt, other than the part in which we chased a huge and surprisingly elusive reptile from Nevada down to southern California. Normally we’re able to shoot our targets before they start running (slithering, flying, whatever).
And apparently there’s a Hellmouth right next to the OC. Interesting, huh? Never see that on the show. Guess where we are now. Damned thing drew us right into it, probably trying to worm its way back into Hell. What better place to escape your hunters? I’m not diving in after the thing.
On average, I’m told, there is an apocalypse here in Sunnydale every one to two years that must be averted. I think it would just be so much easier to try and find a way to sew the mouth shut. I’m told it can’t be done, but… I don’t know. The idea of having our asses saved from the demon dimension by something lovingly called a Scooby gang makes me sweat.
I hear the gang’s come a long way, though. That they used to be every bit as awkward and powerless as they look. Most of them, anyway. Now there are several Scoobies we might have trouble beating. Weird that the demon isn’t one of them. She’s crazy, but powerless. The danger in her lies in her blunt honesty. Way worse than Dean’s, she doesn’t try to coddle anyone’s feelings-it’s just not in her. Literally.
The first time we ran into them they didn’t really seem like much. Just a normal group of kids gathered around or on the front counter of the Magic Shop. I think we surprised them by coming in-and actually knowing what we wanted. Can’t blame them for the shock, there are plenty of spell-casting wannabe’s running around out there. We did ask for some pretty nasty things, though, so it’s no wonder they all had their guard up.
I presume the word had gotten out somehow we’d spent the previous night hacking through the town’s hedges with machetes trying to track a new critter down. And apparently that infringed on the Scoobies’ territory. I don’t think the gang honestly cared past the point of curiosity, but Buffy… she was different. She stormed into the store and ambushed us at the cash register. So five seconds after we met her, we had the floor to our backs and the air out of our lungs.
Getting his ass kicked is how you get Dean to attach himself to you, I guess. Because here we are, three days after we finished our hunt, sitting at a bar table in the Bronze and staring at the slayer. They have quite a crowd gathered. As far as I know, everyone minus Billy vampire is here. Not here, actually, but across the room. Trying to ignore the fact that Dean is sitting with a bottle in each hand tracking Buffy on the dance floor. I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but I have the feeling I’m going to get dragged into it.
I can’t say I entirely blame him. Buffy barely dressed herself to go out. Though the other girls in her party are dressed up, they at least opted for whole shirts to cover themselves with. Well, at least Buff managed to cover the nipples, I guess. What’s really interesting is that I don’t think Dean’s obsessing over the chestal area. I think he’s trying more for eye contact. I have no idea why; you can’t make eyes with anyone dancing when the strobes are flashing over the crowd like they are now. Probably why she’s out there and not seated at a well-lit table for Mr. Insanity to drool over.
I share a look with Willow. I guess we’re both the moderators of Dean and Buffy. The geeky researchers who sit idly by and watch the big kids scamper off with their weapons and sex drives and plunge into the night. Okay, I don’t really sit idly by. I may not have that vicious streak that Dean has, but I can hold my own against a spirit. I think Willow can, too, she just hasn’t been pushed to do it yet.
If nothing else, Dean would probably have some new heart trauma if he ran off alone.
Willow, as she likes to say, is all with the research. Which now a days includes developing her magic. She’s what we call a genuine witch, like Glenda. Good and moral. Something Dean took a day or two to wrap his head around. I think she kind of freaks him out. Most importantly, she is not a high school airhead who latched onto The Craft like it was their Holy Bible set to cellophane. She’s clumsy, but what she does is real and a lot of the time very helpful.
I like her. I sympathize with her caretaker role. She shakes her head at me and glances to Buffy shaking her everything on the dance floor to something loud, then back to me again. Tara catches the look and laughs, and for that Willow jumps. Tara’s awesome. She’s like Willow, and the two fit perfectly together. They agree, I guess, because they’re more or less attached at the hip, hands, or lips at any given moment. Like now.
Yeah, Dean’s got it bad. It’s not like him to ignore two pretty girls necking right in front of him.
“Dude.” I poke Dean with my own bottle and grab his empty one with my free fingers. “Snap out of it. Walk over to her or blink, you’re creeping me out.”
My reward for this brotherly advice is a grunt. I shrug at no one in particular and rise to my feet, swerving around Dean and grabbing the other bottle out of his left hand. Finally, a reaction.
“Man, I wasn’t through with that.” Oh, okay. Concern over the beer, got it. What a two-track mind. I tip the bottle over and a few drops fall to the floor.
“I’ll get you another one. You going to be here?” I nod at the table. “I’m serious, talk to her or leave her alone before she stakes you for your psycho stalking.”
“I am. I will.” Dean sounds so defensive. “I’m just biding my time.” He’s grinning up at me like it’s all planned out is his head. Sure, he’s a real social butterfly.
“Yeah.” I shake my head and walk away. Yup, he’s going to get his ass handed to him. When I pull up a chair to watch, I’m not sure which person I’m going to be rooting for.
The bar serves mostly soda. This is one of the places set up to keep underage citizens away from B&E for entertainment, and since they outnumber us older kids they get a wider selection of beverages. The bartender smiles at me and slides the well open, reaching in for two more Buds.
“There ya go, sweetie.” She slaps them on the bar in front of me and grabs the twenty I offer, winking when I wave it away. That’s how you get the front of the line service: tip. Often, and well. You’ll be remembered and appreciated.
I turn back to face the bar table and find it empty. Xander’s trying to wave me over and the girls have their heads bent together. They’re plotting something again and I guess I’m supposed to help this time.
- Tags:fic, tmi
- Music:Bond: Remixed (the string quartet, not 007)