AN: Written for commentfic on livejournal, a multi-fandom comm. Prompt was: Buffy & Dean, Being Chosen sucks

"It sucks," Buffy said.

"Totally blows," Dean agreed, as they clinked glasses in agreement at the bar.

"And always with the destiny-face," Buffy complained.

"The what?"

"That face they make. The 'why haven't you accepted your destiny yet' face," she imitated in a low and mock-pompous voice.

"Ah, that. Yeah. We call it the 'We're trying to make you our bitch' face," Dean said, "Like us little old humans are just so adorable for thinking we get a say in what they use us for."

"Exactly! Like we're toys that are just there for their pleasure!"

Dean smirked at her choice of words; Buffy rolled her eyes and said, "You are aware this is reality, not porn?"

"Kinda. But I know what you mean. They think we're just tools. Like I'm going to just sit there while they take everything from me, again and again and again."

"And again," Buffy acknowledged, and both stared down into their drinks in silence.

"But hey, it's not like we can just give up," Buffy added, intending to sound positive. Somehow, though, the words came out sounding like a bad joke.

"Yeah," Dean said, voice dry and bitter, "When you're chosen, you have to keep fighting no matter how stupid it is to think you can win."

"And you have to keep living no matter how many people you care about fall around you. Because you're special," Buffy added, words growing thick and unwieldy in her throat.

They sat silently again, longer this time. Buffy pushed away her half-finished glass, while Dean gulped down his Jack and ordered another with a wordless gesture.

"So what do you guys call yourselves?" Buffy finally asked.

"Team Free Will."

"Cool. We're the Scoobies."

"Seriously?"

"Yup."

"Awesome. Hey, do you think-"

"No, we called dibs on the name."

Dean frowned and paused. Then he said, "I would think that after stopping the end of the world we should at least get first choice of what to name our team."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "After the first time? Please. You're lucky we don't haze you guys for being newbies."

Dean sighed into his drink again, but this time his lips had just a trace of smile.

She noticed. "Seriously, Dean, it's nice to meet someone I can talk to about this 'chosen' stuff. We should totally start a Facebook group or something."

"Yeah, I don't know what that is. I'd have to ask my little bro."

"Yeah? Is he chosen too?" she joked.

"Yup," he grimaced, "But by the guys who are even worse than the dicks who chose us."

She nodded and comforted him, "Could be worse. It's not like your little sibling opened the gates to a hellworld."

He gave her a look.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," he said, and for a moment they stopped talking again, each feeling completely alone as they remembered the things that defined them... Protecting the younger sibling no matter what the cost. Finding out that they weren't what you thought they were. Getting over it.

Dying for them. Then, living again. Which was harder.

Yelling at them every day. Wanting so desperately to shield them from everything, especially themselves. Then, finally, accepting that they deserved to live their own lives, make their own decisions. Learning, somehow, to be someone other than the Protector.

Which might have been the most excruciating part of all.

And though they sat close, barstools right next to each other, and though they winced at the same memories coarsing through their muddled minds, they each, for that moment, were utterly alone.

Finally, Buffy broke the quiet. "Okay, multiple choice: of the following list, what is the most annoying? A) Demons who want to make a name for themselves by killing you because you're famous, B) not having anyone who really, truly knows what it's like to be you, C) friends who used to be powerful beings and so they have NO IDEA how to behave non-creepily in social situations, or D) little siblings who never stop complaining about anything, or D."

Dean smiled. "Easy."

They said, in perfect unison, "D."