Buffy drifted aimlessly through her dream world. She was lucid dreaming again. Aware of her state, yet unable to fully change its outcome. She watched as Sam and her fought, his words slicing her already festering wounds.

"They wanted you to choose, and you couldn't! You wanted us both, you wanted both worlds." Agitated he moved away from her. The pain of his words enveloped her.

She tried to connect herself to her dream self, tried to explain, but words felt foreign in her mouth.

"They wanted me to decide my own fate, which world I could live in. But which path could I really follow? How could I choose between the man who owns my soul and the one who threatens to possess my heart?" Sam's frown deepened so she hurried on, "The answer is I couldn't," she paused, searching his gaze for understanding, "because they were both you."

His expression softened. Buffy used it to her advantage, swooping in to press her mouth against his. He caved at their impact, clinging to her in desperation. His hands roved up her back, molding them together. She melted into his hard chest. Instantly her blood ignited. But the pleasure of his kiss was short-lived.

A second later he slid the knife, the one she hadn't even seen him holding, into her back.

Breath left her, floundering for reason, gasping for air. Pain seared its way up her spine, filling her lungs with hot cement. Her wild eyes locked onto his as she fought for an explanation in her last moments.

As usual, he gave her none. His eyes speaking the words his lips still never had.

-How does it feel?- he urged.

-Sam, please-

-To be stabbed in the back by the one you thought would always protect you?

Darkness swallowed her then, taking her resolution with it.

She jolted awake, dragging Sam from whatever state of rest he'd been in. Guilt flashed over her face, it must've, because he frowned at her expression.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, sleep making his voice sound rough.

She shook her head, not ready yet to speak to him about her reoccurring dream. It wasn't a prophecy. It was her soul trying to cleanse itself of what happened between them. She could do what she did best and bury it a little bit longer, for his sake, if not for hers.

He reached across the arm's length between them and yanked her closer. She slid with ease across the tangled sheets. He pressed a gentle kiss on her nose and nestled into her neck. "Good morning." He muffled into her hair, breathing her in.

She smiled at his mumbled attempt at a greeting and tried to ignore the sun cutting its path through her blinds in search of her sensitive eyes. It was probably later than she wanted it to be.

They'd been on a sort of honeymoon phase for the past few weeks; sleeping in, staying up late, leaving the heavy slaying, or hunting as he liked to call it, to Dean.

Dean was more than happy to give them their space. If he had to bear witness to one more "prolonged and nauseating stare-fest" he was going to vomit, he'd said.

Sam could only laugh. Dean was back to his rough ways. Yet him and Buffy both saw a certain softening when it came to her and even Willow. Sam's brother wasn't one for the touchy-feely family meetings, or even talking about his feelings. Buffy didn't remind him he'd done plenty of that in the last year or so for a lifetime.

She let him run and hunt. He deserved the rest from their twisted little tale.

Sam groaned into Buffy's chest, nuzzling her closer still. A normal girl of her size would've been crushed beneath the pressure. Buffy relished it. She tried not to return the embrace with too much force. She was stronger than Sam. She always had to remind herself of that.

"Another day Miss Summers…" he trailed off.

When he pulled back his lopsided grin and ruffled bed head had her heart fluttering. She ran a playful hand through it. "Don't make it seem so boring, that's when the demons come out of the woodwork." Her light shrug to release the covers moved her chest into his view and she couldn't help but grin wildly at the effect it had on him.

Sam's eyes landed unabashedly on Buffy's breasts. The white tank top she wore to bed (with nothing under it) always had his blood set to boil. The small part of his mind that used to restrain itself roared up for a second. He kicked it to the back of his mind. She is mine now.

Pleasure flooded him at the thought. He'd have trailed after her helplessly forever, but this wild free-spirit had allowed him to catch her, even if only for now…

He yanked her back under the covers in one motion, placing her under him. Her eyes widened but she allowed him to take over. He loved that about her. Loved that she seemed to trust him so completely.

He always wanted the best for her, always pushed himself to be exactly what she needed. If he proved perfect, she would keep falling for him. He had to believe that.

Her small giggle ignited something serious between them. She swallowed at the look in his eyes. It must've been the one he saw now in hers, because he was hardening just thinking about her ready for him.

His rough palm slid down her ribcage, engulfing her slight frame in his grasp. She was perfection. He'd never be able to get enough of her. Once he had his arms around her, he brought his forehead against hers. Her breath hitched. The act of her inhale pressed her chest closer against his. He couldn't restrain himself anymore. He cupped a possessive hand between her legs, massaging her there through the fabric of her cotton pants.

Instantly her irises sparkled. A second later she'd shed her clothes and was yanking at his. He rushed to help her, needing to feel her flesh against his.

He perched above her for a second, taking in the sight of her naked beneath him. Restraint took its toll. His body quaked; his face tense. His gaze must've taken on a tormented look because her hands were on either side of his face suddenly, pulling his mouth down to hers gently.

When their lips met it was as if the world fell away. Before this seemed only pain. Now, only pleasure.

He pulled himself straight, gripping her waist and holding her down. She froze. He fed himself into her, watching her face contort with pleasure. He paused halfway in, searching for added restraint.

"More." She whispered harshly. And somehow he found the strength to delve deeper.

Their rhythm melted into one wave, cresting and falling over and over again. He'd never felt as complete as when he was inside Buffy. She was his holy grail, something he'd never even known he was searching for. The perfect taste, the perfect dream.

When he was spent inside her, he felt as if he would live forever.

Her legs wrapped themselves around his hips, urging him faster. He gave in, allowing her to wring pleasure from his shaft on repeat. She contracted around his length, pulling every last drop of love and lust from him. He allowed it. If he wasn't hers, he didn't know what he was.

When their breathing regulated he pinned her with a serious look. "Say it." He breathed.

Her glowing face broke into a searing smile. She knew by now what he wanted to hear. He'd been wrenching the words from her on and off since she'd chosen him over Dean…but the small effect wasn't enough anymore. It was a temporary solution to a gaping problem;a small part of him still felt like he was chasing her.

"I am yours." She whispered harshly, her tone punishing. "Always." She added with a ferocity he didn't often see in times like these. He flinched at the tone. Is she angry with me?

Her face softened suddenly. "I know you think I followed my heart down a darkened path. Stop it." She chided, "Stop thinking." She lifted his left hand and placed it over her chest, right above her wildly beating heart. It pattered feverishly under his palm.

She continued slowly, "You haunt my dreams with your fears. I see it every damned night. It…" she trailed off as if searching for the right words. "It hurts me."

He tried not to grimace at her words. He was hurting her?

Never…his heart whispered harshly.

Hers returned the fight. I never said loving me was going to be easy.

A warning threaded itself through her words. He latched onto it like it was a life raft. He needed to remind himself every damned day that he hadn't fallen for a nice normal girl. Buffy was something different entirely, and she was his.

He captured her lips for a soft kiss. Allowing the sensation of her beneath him to imprint on his mind. These were the memories he'd take with him to the grave. Never had he ever cherished something so completely as he did Buffy Summers.

When Sam's cell buzzed gently from the side table he frowned. Only two people had his new satellite phones number, and one of them was in this bed with him.

Buffy raised a brow in question. Dean?

He nodded and reached for the cell, rolling away from the blissful comfort of Buffy's naked body. When he flipped the cell open an otherworldly static crackled back at him. "Dean?" he called into the receiver, hoping it was just bad reception. "Dean? Hello, are you there?"

Buffy sat up beside Sam, crouching closer to hear what was happening on the other end. He hit the speakerphone button. Instantly static filled the room making them both cringe at the awful white noise.

"What is that?" Buffy called over the loud vibrations.

Sam's mouth formed a hard-line. He merely shook his head. Buffy clutched at the white sheets, fidgeting with them around her chest nervously. The static continued.

Nothing.

"Dean?" Sam called once more, a hitch in his throat.

Suddenly through the noise Dean's voice clawed its way to the surface. "Sam! Sammie, can you hear me? Buddy I am in this backwater town in Vermont and I need you to get your ass here no-" the static ate away Dean's voice again, swallowing up Sam's hopes.

His worried eyes landed on Buffy and the concern he saw in her too was disheartening. She quickly closed the sat phone in his hands with a small flip, and placed her hand over his softly for a second.

Sam never took his eyes off her, soaking in the last moment of peace they'd probably see for a bit. Whatever Dean had gotten himself into wasn't anything new for the boys, but this time they had more than each other, they had an army. And there was no one he'd rather be on the front lines with than the girl who so readily gave him strength to fight in the first place.

"Just another day huh, Mr. Winchester?" she lilted at him through the nerves in her voice. He watched as tears watered behind her gaze. He refused to acknowledge them, he knew she'd never want him to. She'd let him see her weaknesses, it was her gift to him. Yet she'd never let them fall. She was their foundation, their rock.

Sam didn't know what to say. If Dean was in trouble that was one thing, but he wasn't prepared to face yet another reality without his brother. They didn't have much time (Vermont was 3,000 miles away) and luckily Buffy understood that with an otherworldly awareness as usual.

Her hand cupped his neck as she brought his forehead down to meet hers. "I love you," she spoke in fevered serious tones. "Now get dressed so we can go save your annoyingly independent, idiot brother who seems to have gotten himself into a mess yet again."

She didn't have to tell him twice. Sam couldn't have gotten dressed any faster.