Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, or Supernatural. Rights remain with the creators, Kripke and Whedon.

Warning: MAJOR SPOILERS for season 6 of Supernatural, so if you haven't seen the finale, this'll make no sense to you. Post season 5 Angel, too. And, as of tonight, AU for S7…I guess.

A/N: One of those *really* out-there fandom fusion ideas.

Dying in a suburb and been bad enough. Dean sure as hell wasn't going to kick it in a used book store. However, according to the tightening fingers clenching his throat and pushing him against the shelves of paperbacks, he didn't have much choice in the matter. Sure the hand was tiny, but it was currently doing a damn good job of pinching off the blood flow to his upstairs brain. That, on top of the fact that his feet were swinging off the ground, told him that his attacker wasn't human.

Her being blue was also a dead give-away.

"Drop me," Dean gasped, "you. Smurf. Bitch."

God, Sam was going to have his ass for this one. Sure, bright, flashy lights usually weren't a good thing, but when Dean had seen them blow out the front windows of the closed bookstore, he'd made a run toward the big bad evil, instead of waiting for his little brother to get his sneaky his ass back out of county records. And Dean couldn't stand the idea of having something he couldn't even name taking him out of the game. The idea of leaving Sam again, Sam who was broken somewhere upstairs, Sam who was alone in the world with a frickin' wanna-be God wanting to make him suffer; leaving hisSammy alone again was just too much for Dean to handle.

That thought had the proper effect: motivation. Dean damn-near growled out at the blue woman, scraping at her flesh and swinging out with refreshed fervor.

"Your kind are so weak," she said. It was no accusation, more of a note-to-self. "I had almost forgotten."

Her gaze was intense, fixed. There was something familiar to the tilt of her head, her cold inquisitiveness, that, for just a moment, left Dean forgetting about his current lack of oxygen. Her grip lost some of its strength, and he sucked in a quick breath.

Dean caught sight of a blur of gleaming silver, but he didn't have time to register what it was.

In a split second, the blue woman turned her body, still holding Dean off the ground, and sweeping out her free hand to grab hold of Sam's wrist before he could bring the demon killing knife home.

Dean caught the shock in his brother's eye, pretty sure it was a reflection of his own. Shit, shit, shit!This situation had gone from bad to worse, but Dean would be damned if he was going to let this thing take his brother, too.

"Let him go, bitch!" He kicking out at her purple armor, feeling his boot connect with her stomach.

But she had eyes for Sam alone. "You'd stab me in the back again?" she asked. Then she blinked, as if thewords had conjured up a memory. "Sam…Sam Winchester."

Sam's brow lowered in confusion. "What are you? How did you know my name?"

"I am Illyria, the most revered of all Old Ones," she said. Then she turned back to Dean. This time there was something strange in her gaze. Not mere curiosity, but recognition. "I had almost forgotten," she repeated, at a whisper. "I had almost forgotten who I was in this time."

Without warning, she tossed Sam, throwing him over the countertop across the room. Her attention went back to Dean and she pulled him forward to slam him back again, jarring his bones. A Nora Roberts hardback slid off the top shelf, striking him across the head and leaving stars dancing over his vision.

Dean could play 'name the emotion' all day with this creature: anger. No, friggin' rage was what sparked in her eyes. "Is it you who brought me back to this time?" she hissed. "Meddling hairless apes-is this some ruse to change the course? If so, you will fail."

Dean frowned. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about…" Then the words fully sunk in. "Wait-don't tell me you're a fuckin' time travelling smurf! And here I thought we'd seen it all…Shit."

"I am no smurf," she snapped, aggravated with the term. She calmed back to her cold self in an instant. "You speak the truth," she confirmed, frowning. "But if not you, Dean, who?"

"Do I know you, lady?" Dean asked. As cocky as it sounded, the question came from a genuine concern. In his experience, being known by the creature-feature tearing you a new one was never a good thing, especially if your last name happened to be Winchester. "Let me guess, I did something to piss you off?"

There was the ghost of a smile at her lips, some foreign expression.

"You knew me by another name," she replied. Then she looked around the small store, as if it might hold answers. "Have I ascended into my true self yet? Have I taken the throne, I wonder?" Then she cocked her head in thought. "Yes. I must have. This time is so long past, and yet it appears to be the same world I left moments ago. I forget how predictable your evolution is. You began here, and when I awoke, you were here again. As if I'd never slept. As if I'd awoken to my own memories." She paused, lowering Dean to the ground, but not relinquishing her grasp on him. Her voice was lower now. "I have not yet purified the world in this time. Your existence is proof of that. Soon, though. Soon…I will forgo my plans. Soon, I will hate this world and make it pay."

"Lady, Queen Smurf, whatever the hell you are," Dean breathed, "could you try putting a little less crazy into your evil plans, because, honest to God, they're hard to follow."

"God." She laughed, pulling out the word. It was a strange sound, and it seemed to come from a face made of stone. "God. Yes, that's what I wished to be called, before I destroyed all who could call me such. You never bowed to me, Dean."

Dean couldn't reply. His throat was dry, swollen, panic setting in. "Shit."

Because, deep down, he could see it.

"I destroyed, and I rebuilt," she said, distant, "and yet you crawled from the depths again, fish on the land, ape into man, as my father had designed. Almost as if he had a finger in it."

"Castiel," Dean said.

She turned back to him. "Yes, Dean," she replied, lifting her head, "that is what you called me once."