Written for The Rooftop's Love/Hate Challenge
Disclaimer: I own neither Supernatural or Buffy. This was written for enjoyment, not money.

A/N: Can be read as a tag to my fic Gone or on its own.

In the End

The cold air slapped against Buffy's face as she ran. The pale grey of predawn lighting her path as she sprinted through the thick woods, breath coming in heavy gasps and blood streaming from a cut above her eye as she threw another look over her shoulder.

He was fast. Faster than he should be. And that was the problem, wasn't it? He wasn't at all what he should be. She cast another look behind her - that was her mistake. She slammed into a solid wall of warm flesh with grunt and went bouncing off, hitting the leaf littered forest floor hard. She had about a second where her addled mind worried about the damage she'd probably just done to him before he was on her.

She grabbed handfuls of his leather coat-

Snow fluttered down around her, the flakes sticking together in huge clumps as they fell from the sky. It would have been pretty had she not been freezing her ass off. She pulled her arms in closer to her chest as she sat huddled in on herself next to the Impala's wheel-well. They'd split up to cover more area and she'd gotten back first. And being as paranoid as he was about this car, he'd had to lock the freakin' thing even though they were in the middle of nowhere. A warm weight suddenly dropping over her head made her jump slightly, but the surprisingly heavy coat was far too familiar for her to be alarmed. She peeked out from under it, gripping the smooth leather to keep it from sliding off, to look up at him, larger than life standing over her and grinning fondly.

-and used his momentum against him, sending him somersaulting over her. She rolled, trying to pin him, but he was quick and maneuvered himself into a position where he could lever her off of him. They went tumbling across the ground, twigs snapping and dry leaves being crushed beneath them. Opening after opening presented itself and she had to use every bit of concentration she had to keep the Slayer in her from taking advantage. Something else was in the driver's seat, but that didn't change the fact that he was still in there somewhere. And, no matter what, she couldn't bring herself to hurt him. What if she used too much strength, put too much pressure on his all too human body?

It already seemed like they'd been playing this game of cat and mouse, push and pull, for days and as he pinned her, the hopelessness and exhaustion washed over her, released in the form of a ragged sob.

"Go ahead, hit me. Stab me. Hurt me, Buffy," he said, leaning in close to whisper the last bit. The familiar warmth and smell-

She snuggled further into the warm down bedding, relishing this change from the norm. Gone were the itchy, cheap sheets of the places they usually stayed at - replaced with cloud soft cotton and down. Bright white and fresh looking instead of the tired, well worn, hideously patterned blankets she'd forced her eyes to adjust to over the years. But best of all was the smell. No industrial strength detergent almost gagging her with its overpowering scent, this was soft and barely there, allowing her to smell the man beside her. Leather, gun oil and the exhaust from the Impala seemed to cling to him even though he'd already showered. She loved that smell. She turned in his arms, burying her face in his warm, hard chest and breathing deeply. His deep chuckle rumbled under her cheek as he told her to quit sniffing him like a perv.

-making tears leak out of her eyes as she laid there limply.

"Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis," she began unsteadily, her throat tight. They'd been through a lot of crazy, impossible situations and they'd made it out. But something in her knew, this time… This time was different.

He knew it too. He just smiled at her-

The crinkles around his eyes were one of her favorite things about him. She loved it when he'd laugh and those lines that got a little more prominent every year would make an appearance. She'd made it her goal in life to make that skin as wrinkly as she could. They were out in full force now as he bent over, clutching his stomach as she peered up at him from the swampy hole she'd fallen in - a brave turtle nudging her elbow. Finally getting control of himself, he reached a hand down toward her. The brilliant smile on his face made the fact it was at her expense just fine.

-and reached up with one hand, digging fingers under his own ribs and breaking them without even a flinch. Her words died out.

"Go on," he goaded. "You were saying something?"

She kept quiet, knowing she couldn't get the words out faster than he could hurt the body he was in. When she didn't answer, he just smirked, twisting his usually handsome face into a look of hate and ridicule that was a travesty to his actual character.

He carried the kid with one arm, like he weighed no more than a watermelon. And while the small form shook and tried to burrow closer, he talked - his rough voice soothing and completely calm as he told the child how he had nothing to worry about. The good guys always won, didn't they? And they were the good guys, so what was there to be scared of? Slowly the kid stopped shaking, assured by the confidence in his savior's voice that nothing would get him.

She gathered up the remainder of her strength and bucked underneath him, trying once again to get control of a situation that her heart told her was already lost. Even though someone else was running the show, his body's muscle memory knew her all too well - allowing him to stop her before she really got started. She stilled again, the tears coming faster.

"Shhhh, don't cry," he said, his hand combing through her hair in a way it had a million times before - soft and soothing.

Calloused fingers ran through her wind tangled hair as they sat on the ground next to the broken down motorcycle of Bobby's that he'd insisted they try out. She harrumphed and whined about knowing it had been a bad idea, but leaned into his touch anyway, letting his fingers expertly pull apart the stubborn knots. Finally tiring of her blabbering, he tugged her now tangle free hair back and captured her lips with his.

Except it wasn't. It was a mockery of something intimate between them - a disgusting imitation that infuriated her as much as it broke her. Black eyes obscured well-loved green and his smile widened.

She braced herself.

She'd known. She'd always known, right from the beginning, that it would end like this. That there'd be no peaceful endings or sweet goodbyes. It would be dirty and heartbreaking and final.

She wasn't wrong.