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Language:
English
Series:
Part 2 of Time In A Bottle
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Published:
2023-10-03
Completed:
2024-12-26
Words:
376,842
Chapters:
71/71
Comments:
32
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89
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If We Could Freeze Time

Summary:

“What was her name?”

“Charlotte,” he said. “Her name was Charlotte Anne Pratt.”

***

Over a year after Glory’s demise, a new big bad looms its ugly head, except it brings with it new challenges NONE of the Scoobies ever expected to face. Not only are Buffy’s slayer dreams haunting her, but her ex is working for an evil law firm, something’s killing potential slayers, and a girl who SHOULD have died in 1868 is very much alive. And in Sunnydale. (Follows Your Timing Needs Work of the Time In A Bottle Series. Read that first if you’re lost.)

Some scenes follow BtVS Seasons 5-7 and Angel the series season 5 plot points, but it’s looser than you’d expect. Dawn's in 10th Grade in this, as I made her 16. If you're a fan of Angel as a character, you're not gonna like this fic.

TW: abduction, angst, assault, blood, cults, demon bugs, DID, gratuitous violence, gore, guns, hallucinations, broken/loss of limb(s), malevolent spirits, medical trauma, mentioned animal abuse/experimentation, mentioned sexual assault (past), minor character death, outdated Victorian slang & terminology, severe burns, vomiting, I live for Joyce with a weapon, additional warnings will be added as time goes on

Notes:

It’s the first day of Dawn’s tenth grade school year, and her family has gifted her with a one of a kind gift no one ever thought even EXISTED before! Well, her sister and said sister’s boyfriend brought it home, only the boyfriend and her mom giving the gift a seal of approval. Her sister was a total grump about the whole affair.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Monday, September 2nd, 2002  - Part A



Dawn awoke to the feeling of being watched. She had been feeling that way since Ben died. Glory. Glory-Ben. Bory? Glen? She didn’t know what to call it. Them. But today was different. Today she felt like there were actual eyes on her. Boring into the back of her head like a zoo exhibit. She turned over to jolt at the look of both mom and Spike sitting on the bed next just to her right. “Ah! What the hell, guys?!” 

Spike guffawed while her mom just shook her head. “We have a surprise for you,” she said cryptically. Out of PJs already, both of them looked ready for the day. Whatever the surprise was, it was the ‘needing to be fully dressed’ kind. Oh, geez, she thought. This can’t be good. The last ‘surprise’ she got was helping her mom go for an office depot run. And then printing about 400 forms for something. Okay, maybe not four hundred, but still!

“Great… what’s that?” She asked in the most sarcastic tone she could achieve. “Is it an alarm clock that isn’t you two sitting on my bed at,” she turned to check the alarm clock next to her, realising with a startle that it was new. Brand new and bright purple, like the rest of her favourite things in her room. “Oh. Aww, thanks guys!”

Joyce shook her head. “No, that’s from Buffy. This is from the two of us, but,” she warned, index finger raised in preparation for laying down some responsibilities she didn’t want to have. “You’re solely responsible for everything that’s required, alright?”

“Ugh! I don’t even know what it is, and now I have to agree to do chores for it? Do you two not know what the term ‘gift’ means?” 

She heard Buffy’s own bark of laughter from the bathroom, eavesdropping on the conversation. Wait, was that Buffy laughing? It sounded… off. Really off. 

Joyce frowned. “Just… agree before I change my mind, okay?”

Rolling her eyes, she figured she’d deal, whatever it was. A gift with chores could be… not horrible. “Yeah yeah, fine fine fine. What is it?”

“Well,” Spike started, being a bit cryptic, as per usual. “Buffy and I were patrolling around Miller’s Woods, and we came across something we-”

“Leave me out of this!” Buffy shouted back at them. She started huffing in the other room, like she was arguing with someone, but who? Dawn couldn’t hear anyone but her sister. “Oh, just sit still, why don’cha!”

“As in me and your mum,” he stressed, loudly enough to let his girlfriend know that he didn’t need her input currently. Ugh , Dawn thought. Together a year and already acting like an old married couple. “We thought you could use a…”

“A friend,” her mom finished for him. 

“A… friend.” The words sounded wrong in her mouth. “You were patrolling near Miller’s Woods - near Buffy’s school - and found me a ‘ friend’?! ” She folded her arms in defiance. Ugh! The nerve . “Guys, I know I’m not popular or anything, but I can make friends outside of demons and vampires on my own, you know.” 

It was true. She was never popular to begin with, but when she’d taken off in the middle of the night in 2001, she didn’t think her social life would handle it. And with Dawn!Bot in her place, it sank. Melinda wouldn’t look at her, Janice got in with Kristy’s crowd, and Lisa’s family moved to a town in New Jersey to be closer to her grandparents. She’d spent most of the ninth grade eating lunch in the library behind the stacks. She had made two friends over the summer, though - Kit and Carlos - when they’d been victims of a demon attack during one of her training runs. 

Buffy was reluctant to train Dawn at first, but dealing with the fallout of Glory, she knew she couldn’t be left unprotected. And she was pretty decent for a new human fighter. Had the same level of rage Buffy did at that age, no less. Inexperienced, but teachable. Something Spike found way too much joy in. He threw kicks and punches at fledges to show her how to best use their size against them, and Giles had her meditate twice a day. The last one sucked the most. But being in the sewers on a daytime patrol, it was quickly shown as necessary to keep from passing out from the smell. Or hurling. 

Still, she didn’t need help making a friend. “And why get me to deal with ‘the responsibility’? It’s so weird to say that. Like ‘hey this is Diana, she’s your friend now. Don’t forget to help her with her homework or she’ll leave’ ?” 

Spike snorted, laughing at the image she painted. “No, Bit. Just agree so big sis can finish grumbling.”

Ugh. Fine. Whatever gets them out of here so I can get ready for school. Her first day at the new high school, on top of it all. The one built right on top of where Buffy used to go. Where the very mouth of hell was. What a legacy she was following. “Yes, okay, I’ll handle all that! Now tell me what’s going on.”

Joyce nodded to Spike, both of them grinning like loons. She had never seen a weirder friendship. At least Spike’s friend, the loose skinned demon, made sense hanging out with the vampire. And Clem always had a soft spot for Dawn, even if her ‘skin was too tight and smooth’ for his liking. 

Spike stood, leaving her room to get something, a bit of an argument between him and Buffy started and ended within moments, and then he was back. Literally. He walked in backwards gripping something in a towel. 

“What… is happening right now?” 

“Want you to meet,” he turned around, earning a gasp from Dawn. “The newest member of the family.” 

Opening the blanket, she looked upon the scruffy looking dog, short haired with a patch of fur missing over the throat where it looked like something bit it- him. It was definitely a him. And he had a scratch over his right eye, through the lens and everything. It looked like something with three claws had done it, but two of the claws were too short to do any lasting damage. She didn’t know the breed, he looked kind of like a whippet, but with slightly floppier ears. White and brown and black and grey - he was ugly and bony and definitely suffering from some type of mange. But his little gauze wrapped tail was wagging as he sniffed everything he could reach, making little wuffling noises. 

“A dog! I get a dog?” She gently reached out, letting him sniff her. 

Joyce looked to Buffy, her oldest leaning against the door jab with her hands at her hips. “Uh, not exactly,” she started, hoping the Slayer would help. 

She didn’t. “Just watch, Dawn.”

“You three are the worst. You get me a dog and now I don’t have one? What’s happening?”

Spike lifted the dog up and laid him out on her bedspread, stepping back to observe. The dog stood up cautiously, sniffing her face. She should be grossed out with a dog who was clearly injured and suffering from a skin condition, but when he licked her cheek with his big, slobbery tongue, all she could do was laugh. “Hee hee! That tickles, puppy!” She knew it wasn’t a puppy per say, but his paws were way too big to be a fully grown dog yet either. “Do I get to keep you?”

“Of course you get to keep him. It’s just, he isn’t exactly a dog. I mean, he’s not just a dog.”

“Well. Yeah. I get that. He’s also gonna become my best friend. Aren’t you, buddy?”

“We hope. And he’s also gonna be your patrolling buddy”

“Uh,” Buffy interjected. “Only once we agree when it’s safe enough. I don’t want to be worried about a vamp snacking on his parts.”

“Oh. So he’s not just a dog. He’s a dog and my best friend and my patrolling buddy. Anything else?” 

She watched her new pet stretch with his front paws down and his butt high in the air. His fur shimmered, muscles twitching as he transformed into a smaller being, with all the same colour pattern and identifying features, except now he was…

“He’s also a cat,” Spike added helpfully. Like she didn’t have EYES! 

Staring wide eyed at the pet on her bed, Dawn briefly wondered if all those ads about suffering from lead poisoning were true. Was she hallucinating? This… wasn’t happening… was it? “Wh- wha- what- wha- how? He’s- two of them- oh my GOD- but, what? How?”

“Told ya it would break her brain, babe,” Buffy smugly told her lover, arms closed over her chest. 

“Oh my God,” Dawn stared at the now cat, his little nose pressing into her palm. She melted, scratching under his chin as he purred. Two pets for the price of one. “I love him! What’s his name?” 

“Your pick, Nibblet. He’s yours,” Spike reminded her, watching in fascination as the kitten sniffed the teenager’s pyjama pants. “Just remember to pick up after him. Or else mum’ll have both of our guts for garters.”

“And I’ll join her,” Buffy remarked.

He sucked his teeth at her, glowering at his lady. “He’s not dangerous ‘s far as we know. Red and Glinda made with the research, and testing of all the things that could be wrong with him, and came back negative.”

“Except the mange and the broken tail,” Buffy added. “And he can still see out of that eye, but not as well as he once clearly did. Willow said it’s mostly just… vague shapes, so if you see him looking at you with just the good eye,” she gestured at the being’s face. “It’s cuz he’s trying to focus, or whatever.”

“How is he- is he like, demonic? But like a good demon, like Clem?”

“No,” Spike scoffed, a little amused. Leave it to the former Key, sister of the Slayer, living on the Hellmouth to assume anything barmy be at least part demon in origin. Like the limited edition Pop Tarts all over again. “No such thing as a dog-cat demon.”

“As far as we can tell,” her sister continued, “he was a scientific experiment by one of the undergraduate research students, probably in one of the bio-chem programs. He was being snacked on by a demon… what’s-it who’s it?”

“Vatis Floozhet.” Spike’s repertoire of demon names always fascinated Dawn. She could barely remember the order of all the presidents. “Nasty buggers. Fast, shadowy things, covered in moss. They like snacking on smaller predators. Didn’t expect your pet to change mid-attack, and we nabbed it right quick.”

“Gemini.” She said, nodding resolutely, the cat laying his fat twenty pound body on her lap, curling into a ball and purring. “Aawww! I think he likes it!”

“Me too,” her mother agreed. “Now, come on. We gotta get you to school.”

“You just gave me a pet and you’re rushing me off? Why not just give him to me later?!”

“Cuz I gotta get to the gallery, and you two girls have school, and the one stuck with him all day couldn’t wait.”

He grinned wickedly at her, winking. 

Even though he wasn’t doing outright evil things anymore now that he was with Buffy (and had a chip), he still wanted to be a total asshat at times. Like now. “Ugh! Fine! Okay, Gem,” she sighed, petting between the cat’s ears. He purred louder, content with her touch. “I’ll see you after sch- wait. How do I get him to the vet? What am I supposed to say?”

“Don’t worry,” mom said, standing as she waved her off. “I already handled it/” Her youngest scrunched her nose in confusion, Joyce adding, “it’s Sunnydale. Some vets are trained in… ‘special’ cases. Information’s already on the fridge. Come on, school.” She pulled him off her lap, placing the fur ball on her pillow as she stood up. The thing was massive, but still smaller than the dog version of himself. “See? He’s fine! He likes your bed. But if he destroys my couch, he won’t be allowed to leave this room again for a very long time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She let herself be dragged out of bed, dressing excitedly after her family left the room. She asked Gemini what he thought of her outfit, but when he cracked his eye at her and meowed, she couldn’t tell if it was a yes or no. Either way, she kissed his clean little head and bounded down the stairs. In the kitchen, her mom was scrambling eggs just as Spike was putting dishes away. “Will you call Buffy if something’s wrong with him? She doesn’t have classes till after three.”

He’d grown used to living with them for a while, knowing that after a year of dating her older sister, there were things you just didn’t say ‘no’ to. Washing the gross blood mugs, using an ashtray for his yucky cigarettes, boots off in the house, wearing clothes to bed (and around the house), and genuine hygiene things were non-negotiables. Saying no to Baby Bit was a fifty-fifty deal. Sometimes he could, and deal with her bitching (and Buffy’s). Sometimes he shouldn’t, lest he want to make himself into hour glass filling. This was one of them ‘dust in the wind’ situations. “Yeah. I’ll take the cordless to the basement. Gotta get some kip once you’re off.”

“If ‘kip’ is sleep, why is ‘kit’ clothing?” She asked, grabbing toast and buttering it liberally. Buffy wrankled her nose in disgust. So what if she liked a lot of butter? Not like she ate toast like this every morning. “I thought it was, like, a tool kit, or something.”

He shrugged, pouring out the coffee for the adults. She knew he hid chocolate sauce somewhere in the house, but she still couldn’t find it. One of these days… “Dunno. Reckon the originators didn’t take your opinion into account. What with ‘sit’ and ‘sip’ bein’ so dissimilar.”

Dawn nodded, biting into her overly buttered toast. “English is weird.”

Buffy snorted next to her, reading through the paper. “You’re telling me. Giles used ‘askance’ in a sentence yesterday, and I had to pull out the thesaurus off his wall to make sure he wasn’t insulting me.”

“Was he?”

“No,” she sipped the coffee her boyfriend slid in front of her and frowned. “Did you put cream in this?”

He grinned back, Cheshire Cat that he was. “I did.”

“Why?”

“Felt like it.”

Dawn rolled her eyes as her mom took Buffy’s spot. Here we go again , she sighed internally. The Buffy and Spike arguing sho- is that broccoli in the eggs?! Ugh! Fine, whatever. She took the plate from her mom, trying and failing to eat around the vegetable. 

“I don’t take cream, Spike. It’s too fattening.”

“And I told you, that skim crap ain’t milk. It’s practically water. ‘Sides, your nightly slaying-”

“Slayage.”

“What ever. It’s not like you’re gonna keel over from it. Your cholesterol is probably better than everyone else’s on the block.”

Every day, day in, day out, this was the background noise of her life. Dawn had hated it at first. Their fighting reminded her too much of what their parents used to do. But unlike their parents, the couple in their kitchen always made up. Usually resulting in someone walking in on them with each other’s tongues in their mouths. Gross. Still, it was how they were before they dated. Before he moved in, before they were even allies. It was nice to know some things didn’t change.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Dawn’s excited for her first class to begin, but what’s that weird sound in the girl’s first floor bathroom near her locker? And why’s it still there by the time 11AM rolled around? And hey! How’d she end up in the basement with a tall, lanky guy wearing braces, and a blonde, curly haired girl in said basement with not-quite-ghosts trying to kill them?

Special thanks to bunniefuu from Forever Dreaming for the transcripts so I could use some dialogue from the show without having to watch each individual scene myself like I did last fic.
https://transcripts.foreverdreaming.org/viewtopic.php?t=8427&sid=48ed25b9d521fba59a64c57763bf4d56

Chapter Text

Monday, September 2nd, 2002 - Part B



“I’m sure it’s gonna be fine,” Buffy reassured her, arm wrapped around her. She’d insisted on walking the young teen to her first day, intent on seeing Xander to go over the latest floor plans in case of any hellmouth-iness. His company had been commissioned to build the school on top of the skeletal remains of their alma mater, though he wasn’t personally on the project until recently. His crew had been working on a fix for the new owners of that condo building on the north end, after a series of demon related incidents led to a burst pipe, flooding the twenty two stories from the penthouse down. Nothing good could come from building a new school on top of the Hellmouth. She wanted to be prepared, and helping ease your sixteen year old sister usually comes top of that list of things to be prepared for. “You have your stake just in case?”

“Yep! And my holy water, and my lockpick kit, and an extra set of pens. I think I’ve got it covered.”

Buffy frowned. “I don’t like that you have a lock pick kit. Spike shouldn’t have gotten that for you.” 

“Geez, you’d think I was going around, breaking and entering for armed robbery or something. The most extreme thing I used it for was on the backdoor that one time I locked myself out.”

“Remembered her lock pick, but not her house key.” She shook her head as they officially stepped foot into campus. Her eyes widened at the new look of the school, the size of the modern pathways and landscaping made her feel closer to LA than Sunnydale. “Woah. Oh-kay, now this? This is a school I would have staked to go to.” 

“Staked?” They turned around quickly, shocked to see a tall, bald, well dressed man behind them. “Are you an avid gardener, Mrs….?”

“Oh, it’s Miss, actually. I’m jo- she’s my sister- do I have mom hair?”

Dawn rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Chosen One, saviour of humanity, worried about her hair. Some things never changed in their family. “She’s not much for gardening, but uh…. If she were, it’d be, like, hard to kill things.”

“Yep! Definitely.”

This intrigued their tall, dark, and handsome interrupter. “Flowers? Vegetables…?”

“Garlic!” Dawn blurted. “An-an- and herbs and stuff like that. Mr…?”

“Wood, as in-” 

“Principal,” Dawn finished for him, having read the newsletter they sent out. Weird that they didn’t have a picture, or else she wouldn’t have made such awkward small talk with him. “Principal Wood.” They got stuck in a few more minutes of it, the small talk, of which led him to finding out who’s sister Dawn really was. And it led to him asking her a lot of questions that made Dawn really uncomfortable. Making up an excuse for both Summers’ girls, she left to find her new locker, hugging Buffy and waving them off. 

Her principal had a weird fascination with her sister, it was creepy. He was like, 35! And Buffy might be dating a 140 or so year old vampire - note to self, she thought, ask Spike his age again - but she was dating someone. Why didn’t he get that when she’d mentioned she couldn’t go to the parent-teacher mixer cuz she had to help her boyfriend with work? Ugh. So lame. Guys hitting on her sister wasn’t new for the sixteen year old, but it was so messed up when it was someone in an authority position, or whatever. First that weird guy who fixed their roof last year, and now her principal. Hurl.

She sat next to Kit in their homeroom, Carlos assigned to a different floor. It went alright, despite the sound of something… off in the girl’s east hallway bathroom on the first floor. By second period, the noise and weird vibes stopped. She didn’t know what she was worried about. Just her imagination. Right? Wrong.

Halfway through third, she felt it again. That unmistakable, ‘something was totally wrong’ kinda way she learned to not ignore. As in, she should have learned to ignore it, but she never did. It just wasn’t the Summers family way. Shooting her hand up, Dawn asked her Spanish teacher if she could use the bathroom, taking the pass to check it out. Cautiously pushing the door open, she stepped forward, calling out to see if anyone was hurt or in need of help. And promptly fell into a hole in said bathroom that shouldn’t have been there. “Ow.” Looking around, she blinked at the change of scenery, sighing. Just her luck that she’d fall through to the basement of the old school, with her weapons back in her school bag, upstairs in her locker. Thankfully, she had the common sense to take her phone with her to the bathroom. 

“Dawn?” Buffy’s voice came in a little tinny, far away. “Why are you calling? Aren’t you in class?”

“Bathroom. Actually, funny thing,” she continued. “I thought I heard a girl crying in here, then I fell into a giant hole in the floor, right into the basement.” She hissed into the phone, hearing something in the distance. “Something’s down here.”

“I’m on my way.” 

But she wasn’t alone. A timid black boy a grade younger than her was further ahead, his tall lanky frame folding in on itself as he rocked back and forth against the wall. “A- are you real?”

“Course I’m real,” she scoffed. “Aren’t you?”

“Ye- yeah! I just… okay, this is going t- to sound weird,” he stammered, clearly petrified at whatever he’d just witnessed. “B- but I was in the bathroom, an-”

“You fell through a giant hole in the floor? Yeah, me too.”

“Ye- yeah, but….”

“But…?”

He wiped at his face, trying to get rid of the dust clinging to his brow. “I uh, I saw something. Someone. It, um, I think it was a janitor? He- he started yelling at me, I think cuz- cuz we’re not supposed to um, be here? And then he, uh, he kinda got closer and…”

“And…?” She watched as he fidgeted some more, clearly needing a nudge. “Look. I’m Dawn, and my sister used to go to this school, you know, before it exploded, and she… Well, she told me about a lot of weird things about this place. So whatever you think you saw, I promise I’ll help get to the bottom of it, okay?”

“Pinky swear?” He asked, lifting his pinky to her.

Grasping it gently, she nodded. She wasn’t totally inept at human emotions, no matter what Chrissy the C-you-next-Tuesday said. “Pinky swear.”

Seeming happy with her answer, he shook her hand once, letting go before he stood. Boy, he was tall. Really tall. Taller than their principal, tall. Taller than maybe even Riley was. Not that she really remembered how tall Iowa was, except that he was taller than Spike. “Okay, um, so, he was yelling at- at me, and I thought he was just you know, mad cuz this is, um, out of bounds? But when he walked into the light… Dawn, he was dead!”

“A ghost, vampire, or just plain zombie?”

“Wh- what?”

Oh, brother. Right, non-Scooby human. “This is…. this school? It’s um, it's kinda on this… natural.. Gas… thingy. It makes people, um, hallucinate,” she tried, but her fibbing wasn’t super convincing. Not the way her mom’s was. Post-aneurysm, at least. Before the surgery, she wasn’t that convincing, either. “But whatever it is you saw, it um, can narrow down the uh, type of gas it is.”

“It can?”  

“Uh huh!”

“Huh.” Her new acquaintance didn’t seem convinced, but he also didn’t seem too keen on being left behind, either. “Well, I’ll uh, have to take your word on it. I’m better at math than I am, um, chemistry. Which is ironic since you need to know a lot of math to be good at chemistry. Oh!” He stuck his hand out to her, wiping it on the side of his shirt when he noticed it was a bit dusty, then offered it to her again. “Thomas.”

Nodding, she shook it firmly. “Great to meet you. Let’s try this way.” Dawn led him away from their position, trying to find where they came in from. Which became majorly difficult, seeing as how they were walking in circles. “I could have sworn I turned left up here.. Huh. Do you see the hole you fell in from?” 

Thomas shook his head, anxiously wringing his hands. “No, I-” A sound ahead stopped his movements, whispering to his companion. “What was that?”

Dawn shook her head, leading them ahead. Putting her finger to her lips, she motioned for him to be quiet before picking up a discarded book on the ground. A twelfth grade classroom was missing their calculus textbook somewhere, but for now, it was the closest weapon they had. Rounding the corner, they found themselves no longer alone. 

A yelp startled them, nearly bumping into the other (living) student trapped with them. “Oh, terribly sorry!” The girl in front of them held up her hands in defence, an inch or so shorter than Dawn, her blonde ringlets filthy from the charred remains of the… something she fell in. Ugh, probably remnants of the mayor if she wasn’t lucky. Her British accent wasn’t expected, but she was very polite. Dawn wondered if she was from the same neighbourhood where Giles grew up. “It seems as though I’ve fallen into Underland.”

“Underla- do you mean Wonderland?”

Blondie’s face screwed up in distaste, like she’d just been handed a booger flavoured jelly bean. “No, I most assuredly did not. Underland is the place in the novel.”

“Oh.” Truth be told, they never did read the book version of that specific tale. Their mom wasn’t a fan of the series as a whole, for some reason. Probably cuz of the drugs. Yeah, definitely the drugs. “Okay, so,” Dawn said, trying to get off on the right foot. The girl was a bit uptight for her liking, dressed a lot Willow did when the redhead in tenth grade. Least, based on photos. “This is Thomas, and I’m Dawn. And I fell through the first floor eastern girls bathroom.” 

“First floor boy’s next door,” he waved, saluting her awkwardly as he grinned through his braces.

“Girl’s loo in the Gymnasium dressing room. I didn’t want to attend and… wasn’t hiding there at all.” 

“Hey, I get it,” Thomas reassured her. “I was hiding from Lance Peterson. Uh, I mean… trigonometry.”

“Ugh!” Dawn exclaimed. “Lance is the worst. He was at my last high school. Such a bully. And his breath is rancid.”

“That’s a very astute observation, Miss Dawn,” the mystery girl advised. “In my biology class, he jested every time the teacher said ‘organism’ . As if it were a naughty word!” 

“Aha,” Tom chuckled. “It’s… it’s so not, of course,” he cleared his throat. “B- but Lance is a jerk, so, you know. Figures.”

“So, what’s your name?”

“Sh-” 

Before she could finish, a ghost came at them, humming some disjointed tune. “Lookie, lookie,” the dead girl declared, materialising in front of Sh- something, making the blonde scamper back in fear. Dawn shoved the girl behind her, blocking her classmates behind her. “The rejects all found each other!”

“Look,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “We don’t want any trouble. Just let us go, and we’ll leave you alone.”

Deadly-go-lightly cackled, her right eye clouded over, face slashed apart. “Let you go? Why would I wanna go and do a thing like that?” Her chiffon blouse had seen better days, torn, not just filthy.

“Dawn…” Blondie tugged on her sleeve behind her, voice an octave higher as fear engulfed her. “Th- that’s not the one I saw.”

“We’re not here to hurt you,” the brunette reassured their spectre, eyes looking around for the dead janitor that Tom told her about. “We- we just got lost, see. First day and all. Gah!” She stuck her tongue out, just in the corner of her mouth to show the ghost they meant her no harm. 

“I know,” he grin turned lopsided, reaching out to try and grab at the girl. “Can’t hurt what your sister already killed, now, can you?”

Thomas backed into the wall closest to them, feeling behind himself for a way out. “Wh- wh- what kinda gas is this? No one we know killed you, mi- miss!”

“Not true. Just ask Dawnie here,” the ghost grabbed her, yanking her forwards. “Tell them how the Slayer was too busy making out to save me from the werewolf that feasted on my heart.” She pulled her top down far enough to show them the hole in her chest where her heart used to be.

Struggling, the brunette raised her fist, socking the zombie in the face. Except when she went to throw another punch, she got flung aside. Grunting in pain, she staggered up. Looking around, they found themselves alone. “Where’d she go?”

Thomas shook his head, eyes darting around the basement in fear, their blonde companion heading to the brunette to check on her. “Sh- sh- she just… disappeared! Poof! G- gone!”

Dawn huffed, wiping her hair out of her face. Today, of all days, she chooses to leave home without a single clip or hair tie. Freaking great! Patting her pockets down, not a single weapon on her. I swear I can hear his British nagging voice already, she groaned. 'You live in bloody Sunny-Hell, don’t leave home without a weapon! I was at BCBG when it opened; tea, crumpets, shagging, blah blah blah.’ Ugh! Come on, Dawn: FOCUS. “Okay, I don’t know what these things are, but they’re not ghosts and they’re not zombies. What I do know is that we need to find something to defend ourselves with. Just to hold them off, you know, just in case.”

Her schoolmates did not seem like the kind who would be throwing down in any kind of fight in any possible way, but neither did Willow or Xander, and they turned out to handle their own when a Hell God was trying to rip them apart. “I- I don’t know how to fight,” Thomas stuttered out. “I- my mother raised me to be a gentleman!”

Their British classmate rolled her eyes, turning around to look at what was nearby. “What about these?” Pointing to the bricks on a nearby shelf left behind by the construction crew, Dawn looked at them curiously. “Perhaps we could throw them at the attackers?”

“Hmm.. maybe.” Dawn picked them up, feeling the weight of the lopsided pair. They must have been left behind cuz they were C - graded. Or whatever it was that Xander called it. “Damn! I wish I brought my bag with me. We could have put these in it and swung it around like a mace.” And she could have used one of her many weapons in said bag, too. Damnit!

“Uh, what about this?” Looking up, the girls watched as the gentleman of the group pulled an impressive, double edged dagger out of the wall. “I… don’t think I like this natural gas poisoning.”

The blonde cocked her head at the tall boy, utterly flummoxed. “What?”

“Oh, of course!” Leaving the bricks, Dawn jogged to where Tom was holding the crusted over knife. “God, we never did find this! It- uh… it was, like, part of the display, in the front hallway… weaponry in war, and advancements, and… stuff..” Damnit! Why didn’t I get the good lying genes like mom did?! “You guys grab some bricks, I’ll use this.”

“You know how to use that?!”

“You don’t actually think they’ll come back for us, do you?”

“Think they're gonna come back?” The dead girl popped up seven feet from the curly haired girl’s face. Slowly advancing without a sound, Dawn shoved herself between the two civilians and the not-ghost a second time. “We never left. We'll always be here. Just like you.”

Dawn curled her lip in disgust, a look she totally didn’t practise in the mirror, thank you very much. “No. You’re wrong.”

The dead teenager tilted her head at the trio, laughing hollowly. “Why do you think we picked you? The ones no one will miss. The ones that don't belong. You spend all your time trying to get out of high school, and now you'll never ever leave. Just like us.”

“Oh, shut it!” Palming the hilt, she stabbed at the girl’s heart like she’d stake a vamp, a scream gurgled out of her intended target. Yanking it back out, she kicked at the girl’s knee, knocking her to the ground. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own- oof!” The dead janitor Thomas warned her about popped out of the wall, jabbing her in the face and knocking her to the ground. Dazed, she blinked at the ceiling as she gathered her strength to prop herself up on her elbows. In a show of bravery, Thomas threw the brick at his new acquaintance’s assailant, which earned him a shove into a stack of school chairs. “Oi! Ugly!” The not-ghost swivelled his head at her, missing the book cart she kicked at him until he toppled over onto the cement. “That’s what you get when you attack innocent school children!”

Thomas whined behind her, grabbing her sleeves as he helped her up. “Dawn, we really need to get out of here.”

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him, turning to see their British Curly Sue have a spectacular panic attack. “Hey, hey, hey,” the pair hustled closer to console the trembling girl. “It’ll be okay, okay? My sister’s on her way, and she’s gonna get us out. Just breathe, please, okay?”

While Tom was having a hard time with the monstrous life at Sunnydale High, their little blonde schoolmate was about ten seconds away from a heart attack. She hugged her elbows, rocking back and forth on the spot, eyes watering. “I- I don’t want to be here. I want my mummy. I want to be home!”

“We’ll get you home,” Dawn reassured her, rubbing a comforting hand up and down the girl’s back. “We’ll get you to your mom,” she tried, the girl’s head shaking aggressively. “No, I swear- we’ll get you to your family, and this’ll just feel like a crazy-”

“Dawn, lookout!”

With a grunt, the janitor was back up and in fighting shape, grappling with the former Key, and throwing her into a wall. He growled as she lost her grip on the knife, cackling as he moved forwards. Stalking her, he motioned to grab at her neck. “You can thank your sister for this.”

Before he could make contact, a pipe knocked into his temple, sending him sprawling to the opposite side of the room. Like a Valkyrie in the shadows, their blonde rescuer dropped a hand down to her charge, always there when she was needed most. “Thanks, sis,” Dawn said, standing. 

“Anytime. You three okay?” They nodded, the blonde girl looking around wildly for more potential attackers. “So these ghosts…”

Dawn nodded, dusting herself off. “They can punch. Like, actually grab and punch and stuff.” 

Buffy had seen and fought an awful lot of strange in her life at Sunnydale High, but ghosts that punch? Nah, that was out there, even for her. Normally, a Slayer would call her Watcher in cases like these, but then no Slayer she knew of had a vampire boyfriend who was more familiar with Hellmouth-y demons like hers was. “I’ll call Spike,” she said, trying to find a signal.

“I don’t think a spike will slow them down much, Miss… Dawn’s sister.” Curly Sue hesitated. She seemed freaked, which Dawn appreciated, but was also clearly annoyed by the entire situation. Huh. Must be a British thing. “We must find an exit!”

“Yeah, we will,” Buffy added, nodding. “But first we have to find out what these things are. Hey, stretch, can you help me onto this?” She gestured to the rickety filing cabinet in the furthest corner.

Thomas rubbed a palm on his opposite bicep, clearly twitching. He did not seem to like that idea. “I dunno, it doesn’t look safe.”

“Trust me, okay? Up, please” Buffy motioned. He relented, bigger pushover than Willow ever was, and she victoriously got a signal. “Aha! Thanks kid.”

“Thomas. Or- or Tom.” 

“Tom. Thanks. And you’re…?”

“Sh-”

After the third ring, she heard the grumbling voice of her man. “Wut?”

“Spike, hey-”

“Slayer, I’m trying to sleep here! What’s so life and death you had to bloody well choose now to-”

She rolled her eyes. Her vampire was such a crybaby when he didn’t get his hours in. “Dawn and I are stuck in the basement, and there are-”

“No, you’re not! I’m sleeping in the buggering basement, and I don’t see yous-”

“At her school , you wanker!” 

“Oh my,” their British compatriot breathed, pulling a puffer from her pocket. “Whom does she speak to in such a manner?”

“Her boyfriend,” Dawn explained. 

“Ah. And she is in a relationship with a man she does not like because… of your family’s financial standing? Is it to be a marriage of convenience down the line?”

Dawn snorted at the thought of a little bride and groom on top of a wedding cake, the groom in an all leather tux, bride with a stake in her hand. “Not for her, at least. God , no. They love each other, they just used to hate each other's guts before.”

“Ah,” Thomas nodded. “Classic enemies to lovers sitch. Been there.” He shuffled from foot to foot at the other girls’ stares. “Okay, not like personally, just, you know, in books, and tv shows, and stuff.”

Dawn nodded in understanding as the Brit took a puff from her inhaler.

“Listen to me- ugh! Spike, no,” she argued with the voice on the other side of the phone. “You’re not going through the sewers to come ‘save us’ -”

“Did she just say ‘sewers’?” Sh- something squeaked. 

Buffy just barrelled on, focused on the call. “Just tell me: how do I fight ghosts who can punch me but I can’t do jack to them?”

“Jack?”

Dawn looked to Sh- something with a raised eyebrow. “You really gotta learn American. She means ‘anything’. Like ‘jack shit’ means nothing.” 

“I see…” but she clearly didn’t. 

Buffy nodded, finishing up the call. “Yeah, destroy the talisman, and… okay. Thanks, bye- yeah, yeah, love you t- No, I’m not telling her that! Don’t you dare!” She hung up the phone, turning red as she faced the teenagers. “Let’s go.”

Dawn ooohed at her sister, taking her little sister role seriously as she was as annoying as possible. “What did he tell you to tell me?”

“Nevermind!” Buffy snapped. “Let’s get out of h-”

Before the Slayer could finish her thought, their Brit let out a shriek, the girl falling forwards into Tom as a not-ghost grabbed her ankle, yanking her hard from behind. “Off! Off! Off!” Tears streamed down her face as she tried to kick the dead girl off her, the third not-ghost of the dead nerd that the Slayer had seen earlier making a grab for their tallest ally from the side. “Thomas!”

Dodging the attack, Tom ducked to help yank Curly Sue away, Dawn stabbing at the dead-ish guy while her sister kicked the other one’s butt. Quickly, they got themselves away, leading the pack back where Buffy and Dawn had come from. “What… did Spike say… about the… oh, man, it’s dusty in here!” The youngest Summers girl coughed as she dusted herself off, looking for injuries. “What did he say they were?”

“Vengeance spirits. Someone raised them to do some wacko version of justice, or whatever,” Buffy waved her hand vaguely in the air, trying to remember the rest of what he snarked at her. He really was such a Grumpy Gus when he was sleep deprived. Not her fault he wanted to have a quickie in the morning before the rest of the house woke up. “Oh! There’s usually a talisman. Did any of you see, like, something that could be used… uh,” she looked cautiously at her sister, wondering just how much these new acquaintances of theirs could handle.

Thankfully, she had backup. “Creepy jewellery, or a feather tied to a stick, a hex bag… anything witchy like that.”

Curly Sue shook her head, ringlets shaking with her. Thomas raised a hand slowly, looking sheepish. “Uh, would a creepy doll-thing that I totally didn’t kick under the stall…. Be what we're looking for?”

Dawn looked at her sister, mouth open as the Slayer already flipped her phone open. “Yeah, Xander? Are you still at the school? Yeah, can you come burn something for me?”

 

__________

 

Finding their way back to the general area where they fell from was tricky, but once the talisman was broken, they managed to follow the sound of Xander’s off-key singing of some 70’s musical number to the right hole in the ceiling. Having lifted the kids out, the contractor left, Buffy standing with the trio awkwardly outside the bathroom in the hall.

She wasn’t really great with the whole pep-talk thing, those were more her mom’s thing. But Buffy had gotten better at them in the past year and change. “Listen,” she said encouragingly. “School can be intense, but you'll do okay so long as you're careful. And I suggest sticking together. No one can do life alone, ya know?”

The kids nodded, affirming her statement. “I definitely won’t be going anywhere without my AG7!” The ladies blinked at him, confused. “It- the AG7? The anti-gravity pen that went to the moon? Seriously?! It’s 130mm of chrome finish titanium that can write upside down!”

Blinking, Buffy only nodded politely, making a mental note to ask her best friend if she knew what that was. “Course. You should. Uh, do you want to duck out early?” She asked her sister directly. “No shame in having me sign you out early if you can’t focus on classwork.”

“I wanna stay,” Dawn affirmed, thankful her sister would even dare to ask. “I’ll be okay now. Promise.”

Buffy sighed, hugging the girl tightly, adrenaline leaching from her body now that the danger had passed. “See you at home,” she replied, looking closely at her. “If you need me, I can-”

“No, go. If I don’t get to class, I’ll be stuck sitting next to Lance Peterson all year and yuck , no thanks.” 

“Alright. Good to meet you both, and- your principal is heading back here now. Act natural.”

As promised, Principal Wood strode over in his way too nice for a principal suit, looking at them curiously. “I thought in general it was customary for a person who's graduated to, um, you know, go somewhere else,” he joked with a glint of humour in his eye. 

Buffy shrugged, aiming for a casual air. “Well, it's a new campus. I'm just getting to know it,” she tried to fold her hands without looking awkward. She was failing on both casual and non-awkward counts. “You know, make sure it's safe for my sister.”

Dawn wanted to roll her eyes at the stressing of the last word, but refrained. She really didn’t need to start off this school year on the wrong foot with her principal. “Sorry about her,” she mumbled. “She’s a big ole worry wart, but I swear, she was just leaving. Right, sis?”

Buffy nodded sharply, turning herself to the exit. “Yep! I’m going. Got class of my own. Bye!’

But while the teens turned away towards class, Principal Wood seemed to take that as an invitation to follow the Slayer out. “Ah! What do you teach?”

Rolling her eyes, she snorted as she could hear her older sister’s stammers that she was actually a student at their local college, not old enough to teach at it. “So,” she asked her new friends. “What class do you two have for your last period?”

Thomas groaned, looking to the ceiling in dejected agony. “Biology.” Dawn winced at the reminder that the boy seemed to hate the thought of dissecting a single being, alive or dead. “Wish me luck on keeping my lunch from popping back up!”

“Luck.”   “Good luck!”

Making sure her pants were dust free, she asked Sh-something the same. “I have History with someone called Mr. Garner in the back of the school.”

“Me too! Wanna sit together?”

“Yes, please!”

“Oh!” Dawn exclaimed, walking next to her new friend to their last class of the day. “I completely forgot. I’m Dawn Summers, the girl who kept interrupting you when you tried to say your… name.” 

In the light of day, she saw the similarities better, but she couldn’t be… could she? What had he said about her again?

Tight ringlet curls, sandy, chin like mine, nose like Harris, with the chubbiest cheeks you ever did see….’

Her sandy blonde hair was curly, ringlets looser from the scuffle. Her chin was so much like his, so was her forehead, closer to their mom if the sketch he made of her was accurate. But she had a scar on the right side of her face. Maybe from chicken pox or acne. And the nose was definitely like Xander’s, though more dainty. Refined. Her cheeks weren’t chubby anymore. But she’d been nine when she died, and kids don’t always keep their chubby cheeks into their teen years. She had died, right? No. There was no way she was-

“Charlotte-”

Charlotte Anne Pratt?!?”

Chapter 3

Summary:

Dawn and her latest blonde associate have a lot to say to one another…. In the janitor’s closet

Chapter Text

Monday, September 2nd, 2002 - Part C

 

“Charlotte-”

Charlotte Anne Pratt?!?”

Charlotte’s eyes jumped from her sockets, utterly stunned. Looking around, she grabbed Dawn’s elbow and shoved her into the nearest unlocked door. Which happened to be the janitor’s closet. Flicking the light on, she held Dawn up against the smooth metal door, grasping the brunette’s thin sweater. “ How do you know that? No one should know that!” She gasped. “You’re a witch…” She let Dawn go, backing away slowly in fear.

“What? No, no, no! I’m not a witch!” She held her hands up in defence. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a witch. Two of my closest friends are witches. Well, they’re my sister’s best friends, but they’re like family, really-”

Charlotte threw a roll of toilet paper at her head, earning herself a ‘hey !’ before continuing. “How then, do you know me? ‘Dawn’ . If that is even your Christian name.”

“Uh... I think we’re like, Episcopalian or something, but we stopped going to church like a decade ago. If we even went at all, and- hey , okay! It’s okay!” She batted the second roll of toilet paper away from her face. “No need to throw any more paper products at me! I know your brother,” she reassured her, Charlotte’s hand lowering. “I know your brother, he lives with us.”

“He- you know William?” She nodded. “Prove it.”

“Pr- uh, okay,” Dawn thought about it. What she knew about Spike could fill a book. But that was Spike the Vampire, not William the Human. But she could figure something out. “He, uh, oh! He said you were a chess prodigy. Said you’ve been playing since you were really young.”

“That is all?” She scoffed. “It is not a surprise that I am on the chess team. I am the president. Or at least I was, at my previous school.”

“Okay,” she snapped her fingers. “He said you liked hats. All kinds. His exact words were ‘she’d use all her pin money on either hats or a new chess set’, and that you wanted to own, like, a museum’s worth of hats if you could. You love ginger mints and hot cocoa, and he’d- he’d hide his penny candy. He’d hide it behind a loose board in the sitting room, and you’d always find it, and eat most of it when he wasn’t looking. Said you had tuberculosis and he…” she looked at the girl in confusion. “How are you here if you died, like, over a hundred years ago?”

Charlotte sat heavily on a pile of paper towels in boxes. “I have no idea. I remember my soul being so full of love one minute, my lungs no longer burning, and the next, I had awoken in a hospital in Los Angeles, California, surrounded with technology I’d never could even dream of, most doctors around me than I ever dare conceive could work at one hospital.”

“Woah. So you’re like… cured?”

“I don’t necessarily consider myself cured ,” she scoffed. “Awoke to doctors telling me my name was Charlotte Smith, daughter to Ashley and Henry Smith, a heart surgeon and university researcher. And now I’m stuck in a world I do not understand, and I have to be on a medication for the rest of my life that is this large,” she motioned with her hands, that looked like two jellybeans stuck end to end. “That I’m to swallow. Whole! No explanation other than that.”

“But… you’re not. You’re Charlotte Anne Pratt. Your mom was named Anne and your dad… actually, I can’t remember what Sp- William told me his name was. I know you were named after your late uncle Charles, and… was it James? Jacob? Jethrow?”

“Jethro?!? Hardly!” She barked a laugh, just as exuberant as Spike’s but much nicer sounding. “No, Alexander.”

“Right! James is his middle name. My bad.”

“What… else did he say about us?” 

Dawn was about to launch into the tirade, but stopped. The girl didn’t know what happened after she died. It would be cruel for her to tell Charlotte about her parents' deaths instead of her brother. “I- your mom was allergic to cats, but put up with it cuz your dad loved them. That your dad showered her with flowers, all the time, cuz he wanted her to never forget how much he loved her. That you were all the best parts of them. He said you beat him at every game of chess-”

“Not every game. I let him win a few. Can’t have a brother who hates you when you want a chaperone to the market.”

“Yeah, the market!” She snapped, remembering. “He told me how he used to take you every week, and how your mom had a big flower garden in Norfolk, and he writes poetry, and-”

“Still?! He still…” she giggled, joy lighting up on her face. “He still writes?”

“Yeah,” Dawn shrugged. “He wrote this super romantic one for my sister on Valentine’s Day. I think she framed it. Or mom did. Oh! He wrote a beautiful one for my mom when she was in the hospital. She had brain cancer.”

“Oh my. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“Huh? Oh! No, she’s okay now, she had surgery and they fixed it. Got the whole tumour out. He actually-”

“But… how?

“Oh, right. Sorry. I forgot you’re from, like, the Victorian age. Um, healthcare has… evolved.”

“Quite. I should say if they could exchange my lungs to save my life, I’d wager a tumour removal to be a pinch.”

“Exact- exchange your lungs? Okay, maybe we should have this conversation somewhere more… sitting down kinda conversation-y.”

Back on the defensive, Charlotte stood again, hands clenched into fists next to her. “Not until you tell me something that only he and I would know.”

“Well, I guess he wouldn’t tell me then, would he?”

“Oh, I suppose not,” Charlotte agreed dejectedly. “Well then if you can’t tell me then I’ll just-”

“Wait! Pidge! He called you Pidge.” Dawn remembered the little pigeon he made her when they were on the run from Glory. She still had it, knowing now that he made it for her so she would have a piece of Charlotte with her. To remind her that he cared for the girl like she was his own sister. “Pigeon. He only called you that at home. When you guys were out, he would call you Bit or Nibblet because that’s what he calls me now. Your mom would call you Lottie sometimes, but he would always call you Pidge. No one else. I told him he could call me that if he wanted to, but he said it was only for you. Like, it’d be wrong to your memory if he did.” 

Charlotte sat back down on the boxes heavily, looking at her hands. “He- he told you that?”

“Ye- well, yeah.”

“You two must be close.”

“Well he’s been dating Buffy for-”

“But I thought this character ‘Spike’ was in love with her? Is she besotted with two different men? Assuming William is a man.” She looked at the reflective surface of the old projector in the corner, a survivor of the two school boards merging the public and private schools in the district. “But I suppose that my waking up at an advanced age means he would be older too, since we clearly jumped into this time period together.” Oh crap. She doesn’t know anything , does she? “How old is he now?”

“Uh….” That was a great question, honestly. She had just thought about that herself. And if he wasn’t 100% passed out in bed right now, she’d call and go ‘hey, guess what? Your baby sister is alive and looks to be my age now, come and tell her the things I can’t’ , she would. Maybe. “At least 20?” Oh yeah, very convincing, Dawn. “I’m not good with birthdates.” Better . “But, um, it’s the same person. Spike’s just a nickname.”

“I see…” But she probably didn’t ‘see’ anything. Unless it was that Dawn was cuckoo for cocoa puffs, but she seemed determined to learn more. “Well, I suppose… where is this sitting down place for talking you mentioned? The library, perhaps?”

“Good, God , no.” Dawn would only go if the librarian would know more about- Giles. She needed Giles. Thank God he still has a green card , she thought. “I know someone who would know more about this whole time travel thing. He’s a family friend.”

“Alright. We shall go after school. If we hurry, we can simply say we got lost on our way to the last class of the day.”

“You don’t wanna skip?” She asked. “This is pretty life changing news, you know.”

Charlotte was very quiet but firm when she responded. “Girls of my generation did not have the opportunities to attend classes past the age of ten in many regions. I refuse to skip any class time if I can help it.”

Dawn’s face went slack. When Spike had told her about life back then, he talked about all kinds of things. Food, culture, music, furniture, horses, fashion, carriages, medicine, inventions - but that was from the perspective of a guy. She never bothered to ask about what the difference of school was like for boys and girls. She knew of a governess - part nanny, part teacher, part life coach - but assumed that was something on top of regular school. Like, that Charlotte would come back after algebra and go to tea lessons, or something. Not as a means to supplement regular school altogether. “Oh. He, uh, he didn’t really- he told me about the governess thing, but I just thought that was kinda like, extra. Like tutoring after school.”

Charlotte shook her head, ringlets dancing in the incandescent light. “No. If I were home now, in my own time, the governess would be both teacher and-”

“Society life coach,” she finished. “Yeah. Geez, that’s bleak.” Charlotte hummed, standing. “Okay. Class, then Giles.”

“Yes.” She followed Dawn out of the closet, both girls avoiding any teachers roaming the halls until they got closer to their classroom. “Quick question: What’s a Giles?” 

 

———-

 

Rupert Giles was dusting the fingerprints off the latest acquisition to the Magic Box on a shelf - a replica statue of the Goddess Thespia - while Anya worked on filling backorders on the floor nearby. “There seems to be a lot of demand for Solomon's Seal Root this month,” he noted, his assistant placing the plastic encased granules into several boxes. “We should put in a new order-”

“Already done,” Anya replied, not bothering to look up from where she was hunched over the list in her hands. “It’ll be here tomorrow. These orders are for some witches in Oregon. Apparently, their local shop stopped selling a lot of their usual ingredients, so they switched to buying their stuff here. Look!” She pointed to the ground cloven hooves that Giles had accidentally over ordered yet again. “No one sells it ground where they are, so they bought four. Each!” He looked up at the sound of the bell chiming at the front door, a group of college aged young men walking through, followed by Dawn and another teenage girl. “They were only gonna buy one or two, but I upsold them, and they cleared the old stock out!” 

Blinking, he really shouldn’t have been surprised. Anya had taken to her newer responsibilities as assistant manager with gusto. He’d have to reconsider her offer in being co-owners together officially. Her head for business and numbers was staggering. “Fantastic news. Be sure to add extra business cards to each of their packages, in case-”

“Someone they know wants to order from us,” she finished, showing the cards in her opposite hand. “Already on it.”

Nodding, he left her to it, walking the last few steps to greet the teenage girls who just walked in. “Hello girls. How was the first day of classes?”

“Hey, Giles. Uh, can we talk?”

“Of course, Dawn, and uh,” he looked to the blonde girl expectantly, hoping for a proper introduction. “Dawn’s new friend.” Apparently, he wasn’t going to get one just yet.

“In your office. Alone. J- just the three of us. I uh, I have some very hush hush teen girl stuff to ask you.” She gestured covertly to the two frat guys by the counter. 

Anya bounded up, looking offended. “Hey! Unlike Giles, I was a teenage girl, and-”

“No offence, Anya,” Dawn rushed, pushing Giles into the office. “But uh, oh, look! Customers, and they look like they have deep wallets.” 

Anya still seemed hurt, but never could resist a sale. Sighing, she toddled on over to the guys, smiling widely as she greeted them. Dawn used the distraction to pull the blonde along to the office, Giles on their heels. It had been fixed up since Glory had torn the back out, the shopkeeper insisting the new office be bigger for his chaise lounge chair, and the ridiculously large globe that Dawn was 97% sure was also secretly a mini bar. 

“Dawn, ouch!” Charlotte complained as she let go of her hand inside the office. Giles closed the door behind himself. “That hurt.”

“Sorry, just,” she flicked on the radio on low in the corner, not wanting anyone eavesdropping. “Uh, so funny story,” Dawn started. “You know our friend William.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “William?”

“Yeah, about yay tall,” she gestured with a hand. “Used to be your roomie a few years back, eats a boat load of Weetabix and Lucky Charms, dating my sister, currently lives in our house.”

“Dating your- Spike?!” His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “What did he do now?”

“Spike,” Charlotte huffed. “What a horrible moniker. And he chooses to go about using this name still? Why?

“Shut up, Giles.”

“Dawn,” Charlotte hissed, grabbing her arm. “You cannot talk to an elder in such a manner.”

“It’s cool. He’s like my dad. But you know, reliable and without a beer belly.”

“I can still hear you, you know.”

Dawn sighed, rolling her eyes. “You’re gonna want to sit down for this.” 

He rolled his own eyes, sitting and offering them chairs of their own. “So what’s this really about? The projections in the basement Buffy told me about today? I know of it, yes. They’re gone though, right?”

“Right. Yeah. Here’s the thing,” she drummed her nails on the desk before stopping. “What books do you have on time travel and ageing spells?”

Chapter 4

Summary:

The rest of the Scoobies (minus Joyce and Spike) find out about Charlotte’s current not being dead anymore, but also still very much human at the Magic Box

Chapter Text

Monday, September 2nd, 2002 - Part D

 

Buffy’s classes were going fairly well, if not extensively content heavy. Already her first day in, and she had more homework than she’d ever had before in her life. Including the Slayer homework Giles still assigned her. Even though she’d managed to live longer than over two-thirds of every other Slayer in history, he still gave her homework. What a drag. “And regular slayage is going to really put a dent into my whole social calendar,” she complained as she walked with Tara. 

Tara, the miracle she’d hoped for. Tara, who had survived being mindsucked by Glory because of the wall around the Key’s identity. Tara, who had told her mom, using code words, how to stop the Hell Beast. She’d saved their lives, and had gotten her memories back via a very powerful spell that landed her in the ICU for eleven days. And who Buffy was probably boring to tears as they headed for Giles’ shop for candles. “Well, at least you can do double duty by having date night at the same time as your slayage.”

“Ugh, I guess. It’s just… last year was, well, not easier, but less stressful,” she huffed. “The course load was manageable, and so was his work schedule. It’s just… it’s such a boring reason to be kept apart. And it’s not like he can jaunt over to have lunch in the middle of the quad.”

“Is this your not so subtle way of asking for us to take some of your patrolling?” Their heads snapped to the side at Xander’s voice, surprised to see him so nearby. They expected him much later, but they weren’t altogether displeased. He’d been trying to make a bigger effort to leave work on time lately. And be a better friend overall to all the Scoobies. The year prior may have been less overwhelming for Buffy to go out with her boyfriend, but being close to Xander had not. The Xan-man had been the opposite of supportive when the couple had finally come clean. When Buffy finally told them all. To say that Xander L. Harris was furious at the perceived betrayal of his longtime friend and Slayer was as much an understatement as it was to say that Anya had a dislike of bunnies and being treated like an idiot. It had, in fact, divided the Scoobies exactly like they’d anticipated. Anya and Tara had been their champions, while Xander and Giles nearly drank themselves blind. Willow, curiously, maintained herself as Switzerland. It hadn’t been until Spike had shown up at her dorm with chicken soup and cold medicine when she’d had the flu that she finally leaned towards accepting the relationship. He hadn’t even been told to. Just heard from Tara of her massively congested state, gotten in the car, dropped it off, came back home, no one the wiser. Now, Xander and Giles were trying. “Cuz while I’m not a big fan of the evil un-dead, if you desperately need a few hours to go binge drinking, or whatever it is you two do on date night-”

“I steal some whiskey one time, and I’m labelled a binge drinker,” she shook her head. Well, Giles was trying a little more than Xander was. “Unbelievable. I went back and paid for it! Not full price, but still.”

Tara chuckled, remembering Anya telling them about how drunk!Buffy wanted to eat every single dairy product in the house. Including the dehydrated coffee creamer. “What do you usually do on date nights, recently? Keeping in mind that I’m a lesbian, and don’t want to know sex details.”

Buffy shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “Wings, The Bronze, pool, normal couple stuff. Ooh!” She walked backwards, facing them, telling them about their last out of town date. “He took me to this county fair an hour east of here, to that lumberjack thing last week, and he’s taking me to the San Diego cheese festival next month. Man! It was so fun, I got first prize for the most accurate axe throw. Mom was so proud!” 

“Cuz whose mother doesn’t love coming home to a big ole axe trophy in the middle of their living room?” Xander joked. 

“Ha, ha,” Buffy stuck her tongue out at her old friend. “Someone’s just jealous we didn’t bring him back a funnel cake.”

“You could have wrapped it!”

“It would have just disintegrated!” 

Tara shook her head, pushing open the door to the Magic Box. “I promise I’ll get you a funnel cake at the fall fair when they come in- into town, Xander. Oh, hey guys! Hey Dawn.”

Buffy stopped, seeing her sister and the blonde girl she’d helped save earlier in the magic shop. That was… odd. “Hey, uh.. what are you doing here?”

“Scooby meeting.”

Wrinkling her nose, she walked in further, seeing Willow and Anya already sitting at their research table. The rest of the store looked cleared out. “We don’t have a Scooby meeting.” Did we? she pondered. I would have written it down, or something. Mom got me that new day planner for the school year. I know it’s in here… somewhere…

“I just called one,” Dawn retorted. 

“You did?” Buffy folded her arms. “And Sheila is here because…?”

Dawn shook her head, motioning that they should sit down. “Not Sheila. Her name’s Charlotte. Now, go sit.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Dawn. And what are you doing bringing Charlotte to a-” she stopped talking as Dawn held her chin, motioning her to look at the girl. 

She waited a moment, knowing Charlotte was uncomfortable before asking, “do you see the family resemblance yet, or do I really need to spell it out for you?” 

Buffy furrowed her brows, but carefully looked. Blue eyes on long thick lashes blinked back at her, hands twitching on her corduroy dress, chin and forehead resembling his own. But those curls! Oh, those curls. The colour wasn’t an exact match to his current do, but she’d recognize those curls anywhere. But it couldn’t be… could it? She was dead. “Charlotte,” she breathed, collapsing into the stool. “But you’re… you… how are you… what the hell is going on?”

Willow raised her hand, repeating, “I’d also like to ask what is going on, cuz I’m very lost.”

Buffy turned sharply to Tara. “Tara,” the witch turned her attention to the Slayer. “Can you still read auras?”

The blonde nodded, looking back at Charlotte. “It- it definitely shows she’s n-n-not of this time,” she started, the pale colour pulsing from the girl interspersed with speckles of another colour, both cool tones. But she knew this face. He’d mentioned it to her when he had watched over her one night, when she’d been mindsucked. Willow hadn’t been able to sleep, worried about Glory, so he’d stayed for a few hours, watching over the witches while they slept. He didn’t think the witch was awake, that she’d remember any of it. But she was, and she did. She remembered it all as clearly as she did her own name. Those ringlets were unmistakable, a match for his own. “An- an- and you’re older, aren’t you?”

“Yes, how did you-? Witch.” Charlotte nodded, swallowing subtly. “Yes, of course. Dawn mentioned you.”

“Y- yeah. But, how are you…?” Tara shifted around, trying to find the answer to her question by staring at the girl. “I- we thought you were dead. It’s been too long for you to not be….”

“So did I,” Charlotte sat heavily down across from them. Dawn gave Tara her seat to sit near her friend, squeezing her good hand in comfort. “Then I awakened in something called a ‘paediatric intensive care unit’, and they informed me that I no longer have consumption- tuberculosis as you call it. Then they simply… handed me to people who are not my parents, but seem to have all this proof that they are, and I’m stuck in this time, in this hell of a country, and my ‘parents’ moved me to Sunnydale less than a fortnight prior. I find myself hiding in the girls lavatory to avoid gym class, then the floor swallows me up, and Dawn is there with a boy named Thomas, a coloured boy-”

“African American,” Dawn corrected her. 

The blonde winced, regret at using the outdated term filling her whole face. “Yes, apologies,” Charlotte nodded. “An African American boy named Thomas. And then Miss Buffy arrives to save us from ghosts that are not ghosts, and Dawn says she knows my brother, and all these intimate details no one in this time period should know, and I am extremely vexed! I just want to see my brother, and go home!”

“Your brother?” Anya asked, brow furrowed. “How would we know your- oh. No, but he never had a sister… did he?”

Buffy nodded simply. “He did. Didn’t tell anyone ‘cept Dawn, mom, and I.” And Tara, but the Slayer didn’t know that. No one knew. Tara was a steel vault when it came to secrets. “It’s why he promised he’d die for Dawn if the time ever came in the showdown with Glory.”

“The what with whom?” 

Xander stood to grab a glass of water for the hyperventilating Victorian. “Here, you’ll need this.” She took it from him graciously, dipping her head in thanks before sipping it.

“Okay,” Willow added. “But how do we know your brother?”

Anya scoffed, listing the reasons. “Let’s see: he’s British, has the same eye colour, the same chin, nearly the same forehead - honestly, yours is so much more proportionate - is a royal pain in our asses, and, oh yeah, was alive during the Victorian period?” The other three’s faces were a mix of shock, surprise, and bemusement.

“William,” Charlotte asked, turning to Buffy. “Where is he? Dawn said you two often work side by side. Why is he not here?”

“Uh….” Buffy looked to Dawn and Giles for guidance. She had a feeling blurting out ‘cuz he didn’t want to show up as a big pile of dust, on account of the sun still being up’ wasn’t gonna cut it. “What exactly did Dawn tell you?” 

“That you and William- Spike, as he apparently calls himself now. Why such a horrid moniker, I haven’t the foggiest. She says you two are in a courtship, that you work side by side, and that he lives in your home. Though you are not engaged, which I must say, is rather… progressive of you.”

Did Spike’s sister just call me a slut? she wondered. Charlotte. Sister of the vampire who’s last two girlfriends - and only other two girlfriends, apparently - were both massive hoes, just called ME a slut?! Unreal. “Uh, thanks? But it didn’t start out like that. He was staying in a platonic way. Well, more like a home health aid kinda way.”

“A… what?”

“Long story. Um… why don’t you come to our house for dinner. We can talk more about it then,” she offered. “He can tell you all about it.” And then he can’t get all grumpy gus about me saying secrets he doesn’t want me spilling, she added silently.

Charlotte seemed to agree with the bob of her head, standing gracefully. Handing the now empty glass back to Xander, she situated herself between table and counter. “Perhaps tomorrow? I have to get back to my home and prepare homework before I get ‘grounded’.” Buffy found the air quotes the girl used to be adorably similar to that of said girl’s brother. “But I shall call upon you tomorrow at school, Dawn. Could I obtain your home telephone number and address to leave with my ‘parents’ for tomorrow evening?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dawn said. “Want me to walk you home? It’s getting kinda late.”

“I’ll drive,” Xander offered, clearly still shell shocked.

“Oh, no thank you, sir. I get rather nauseous in moving vehicles.”

She’s gonna hate riding in Spike’s car. 

“I’ll walk with you,” Tara offered. “I need the extra steps. Gotta get my heart pumping.” The girls agreed, Willow promising to bring the candles she needed later. Tara agreed, then waved to the rest of the Scoobies as she went. 

On the whole, Tara had undergone the most amount of hell over the months since Glory’s demise. She’d lost a lot of musculature from being kept in confinement for a month, as well as a torn ligament in her knee from being used as a weapon, thrown against Anya by a minion in their battle against the hell god - sans the Summers household. But Willow got her mind fixed up fairly well in that battle, also weakening Glory as a result. If things hadn’t gone down as they had, there was no telling the number of casualties they’d have on their hands. 

Once they were gone, Xander sank down to a chair heavily. “So.. Spike has a sister.”

“Yep.”

“And you were gonna tell us…?”

“Never!” she scoffed, folding her arms on the table top. “As far as any of us knew, she died when she was nine and he was fourteen. It’s not like it was my story to share, and it didn’t seem like life or death stuff, so…” She sighed, a much heavier thought filling her head. “She shouldn’t be alive right now, whether she died then or not cuz that? That’s not a hundred and forty five year old lady. Giles, how is she alive? I mean, even with time travel, her tuberculosis, it was fatal. Their mom died slowly over nearly five years, but Charlotte was gone in like, four- five months.”

He shook his head, unsure himself. “Dawn said Charlotte showed her scars on her chest, here,” he motioned on himself. “They’re consistent with a double lung transplant. The rest of her body may have been left uninfected, and they considered her cured when they transplanted the lungs.”

“That doesn’t explain her age.”

“No, it does not.” He tapped the table with his ringed finger, making a clacking noise. “Unless she- we’ll have to do a spell. The- the French one- Oh, but that didn’t work last time.”

“Uh,” Buffy raised her hand, sheepishly looking at them. “It did, remember? But it told me Dawn wasn’t really supposed to be there, so I freaked and lied.”

Giles sat further back in his chair, feeling himself sink into the wood itself. “Ah, yes. Alright. We’ll do the spell and-”

“How?” Willow asked. “She’s freaked out enough as it is, I don’t think she’d be too happy about the thought of having magic done on her.”

“Good point,” Xander agreed. “Bigger point: what are you gonna tell your boy?”

Buffy groaned, letting her head fall forward to smack on the table. Sometimes, she really hated her job.

Chapter 5

Summary:

Spike the model and Buffy the vampire slayer have a rendezvous in his car, then a comforting cuddle as he finds out about Charlotte.

TW: gratuitous car sex and fluff

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Monday, September 2nd, 2002 - Part E



Spike loved his job. Not a thing he thought he’d ever imagine. But the Summers women had infected him with being all the facets that a boring human man seemed to hold. Sorta. Just with this part, mostly. He got to stand around while people took photos of his arms, his chest, his back, his legs, maybe even his arse, and got paid for it. He stayed anonymous, artsy types fawned all over him, and he got a big check at the end. Well, Joyce did. Then she cashed it and gave him his share, but still. He had dosh to blow on whatever he wanted. And one of things he liked blowing cash on (besides ciggies and booze) was things for his girl. 

Buffy didn’t like the thought of him spending money on everything at first, insisting they ‘go Dutch’ on nearly every date. Then he’d gotten her a plug in seat warmer for the DeSoto last fall, and she’d practically melted at the gesture. The California winter was mild, but when they drove with the windows down, Slayer blood or not, her teeth clacked. She allowed small doses of luxury from him, but being together for a whole 513 days meant he was allowed to get her whatever her heart desired. Even if that ‘whatever’ was a cheese festival they’d need to take a 300 mile drive to get to. He’d already decided on a hotel in town, reasoning that if they stopped at a motel halfway there and back, they’d have to add two extra days on each end, giving them a whole lot of time to spend without anyone listening in to their… escapades. 

“And turn a little le- perfect, don’t move.” Arturo snapped several shots in succession, making sure to get the lighting just right. “And I think we’re done. Want to see them?”

Do I?” Spike flashed a grin, dropping the hat he was holding over his naked groyne to check out the shot. Arturo didn’t care one way or the other about nudity, unlike other shutter nutters he’d worked with. “Oh, Buffy’s gonna love this one. What’s it for again?”

“Romance novel,” Arturo waved off. “A couple in a series.”

Spike grunted. “Means I get paid multiple times, then?”

“No, it’s for the whole set, cuz that’s how they pay me,” Arturo sighed. “Buncha cheese shakes if you ask me”

“Cheapskates.”

“No, cheese shakes. Cuz they’re always so sweaty, and their hands all smell like mouldy cheese when I shake them,” he grinned, just as annoyed as Spike was at the idiots, enjoying poking fun of them. Not for the first time, Spike thought Arturo would make a great vampire. So long as the man could cope without his garlic obsession and love of Jesus. “But they always choose what I give them and they pay fast, so I’ll give Joyce a call when it comes in. What are you planning on surprising your lady with this time?”

Arturo knew. He had his own lady friends he spoiled. “Cheese festival, but she knows already. Nosey chit went through my papers. Can’t keep anything in that house separate.”

“And you still haven’t gotten your own place because…?”

“She wants to be close to her mum. ‘Specially after everythin’ that’s happened.”

“But a whole year?” Arturo prodded, unsure. “I would wonder if she’s got cold feet, friend.”

“Nah,” he shrugged, getting dressed. “Back home, I’d probably be moving the whole fam into my own house, if my family wasn’t all dead. And the house wasn’t dust. Not like I mind, ‘sides, she’s happy,” and we shag in the DeSoto so often, I had to get a new suspension for the ole girl, on account of our sex life refusing to give up the ghost , he mentally added. 

If anything, them being official had upped their sex life. Now she didn’t feel bad when she told her pals she was calling it an early night at The Bronze , or asking her mum to please host book club elsewhere on the same night Dawn had a sleepover. They also found adventurous new places for it. He could now safely say that he’d gotten a handy at both the baseball diamond and the movie theatre, the attendants none the wiser. They even had a romp at the train yards after a particularly strenuous demon slaying, and no one warned him how hard it was to get rust off of leather. She still wouldn’t have graveyard sex, so the crypt was out. Pity, that. 

“Ah yes, keeping my ladies happy is the best.”

“How do you have two of them? My head's near burst with finding things with just the one.” He also couldn’t find anyone else to ever make him stray. He wasn’t a cheater, neither was Buffy. Even if their sex life ever got boring - unlikely to happen for the next thirty years if the way she marked different positions in that Karma Sutra book she bought on Valentine’s Day had anything to say about it - neither of them would stray. Monogamy might be holy water for most vamps, not him. They both seemed to get off on it, in fact. Her best singin’ wrung from her throat whenever he whispered naughty little things in her ear, ‘bout how no other woman would ever touch him like she did, how she’d ruined him in the best ways possible, how he’d worship the ground she walked on if she let him. What bliss. Who’d wanna go mucking all that up by throwin’ a random bint into the mix?

“We’re a thrupple.”

“A what’ll?”

“Thrupple. We all date each other.”

“Uh… huh,” he said unsure. “And no one gets jealous?” 

“No. Do you two?”

“Oh, yeah,” he reminisced, sighing happily at the look of pure hatred his lady had on her face at anyone who tried to snuggle up with her man. “Buffy nearly clocked a broad for insinuating herself in between us at a bar once.” And then shagged him six ways to Sunday in the alley behind said bar, riding him into the sunrise till his legs gave out. “Bloody brilliant.” 

Shaking his head, Arturo waved him off. They lived two separate lives, but they worked well together. Sixteen shoots he’d done since Joyce’s little fib turned true, and nine of them had been with the heavily tanned photographer. The human wasn’t pushy or overly critical of his models, didn’t question why Spike could only work after the sun had already set, and didn’t make him stay to clean up the studio after. Or try to make a pass at him or Buffy, for that matter. Ugh, if he ever saw ‘Candy’ again, he was gonna key her car for the prattle she’d spewed about his love.

Getting into his ride, he huffed. Bloody bitch thought she was cute, he scoffed as he pulled out of the tiny studio’s four car parking lot. Insulting my girl like that. ‘Oh, is this your assistant? Your girlfriend? I thought a handsome guy would be with a… better looking lady’. Slag thinks she’s a better choice than my Slayer? HA! He cranked his tunes as he passed through midtown, excited to see said Slayer for a bit of the rough and tumble. The only lady he had eyes for. Take my right hand bathed in paraffin faster than I’d touch that minging scrubber. 

Driving home always felt like a joy, now. Before, heading to the crypt after raising hell - aka mugging a townie by The Bronze - was just routine. Now, he got to come home to a house, without a draft, to a woman who loved him nearly as much as he loved her. Whipped, he’d call it in the past, but like he gave a toss about that now. She was happy to see him, would greet him when he got in, even when she was brassed off at him for some gobshite he may or may not have done. But she was there. She and her family and he had a place there. With her. Driving to her was always worth whatever poncey words his mates called him on off nights. Pulling into the driveway at last, he parked, seeing his lady on the back steps, already showered with her hair wet. Sliping from his seat, he twirled his keys in one hand as he swaggered up to her. Christ, but she looked a right treat, hair still damp, smelling like their soap. “Musta clicked my heels together, but don’t remember puttin’ on my red shoes,” he drawled, looping his thumbs into his belt loops, framing himself in that way she denied up and down the town that didn’t get her hot and bothered. He knew. He always knew. Buffy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, already knowing what he’d say next. Rocking on his heels where he stopped on the grass in front of her, he smirked. “Ain’t no place like home. Back from patrol already?” 

She shook her head, fidgeting. “Uh, no. Just waiting for you. Hey,” she opened her arms, Spike powerless to leave her without an embrace. She always stood up a step so she could nuzzle into his neck the way he liked to do with her. “Missed you.”

“Mmm, how much?” He asked, hands drifting to her ass.

Def initely at least that much,” she breathed into his ear, nibbling on the lobe carefully. “Wanna go for… a drive?”

He groaned, picking her up and walking her to the car immediately. It was a well practised dance, one they both loved, no matter what they said. She giggled, already wrapping her legs around his ass. “You minx, you scrubbed yourself raw and pink just for me? What do you think you’re playing at?”

“I had a long day and I missed my man; sue me.”

“I’d rather screw you,” he countered, pinning her to the passenger side door to snog her. She moaned against him, so alive under him. He loved how she writhed, so unlike any other woman he’d ever been with. She was so powerful, couldn’t just match him in stamina, but had nearly left him behind once or twice in that department. And oh, when she brought out the nipple clamps… if he hadn’t already been arse over elbows in love with her before, the glint in her eyes when she put them on him would have cemented the feeling right then and there. Well matched in all the ways that mattered, in his book. “Want that tonight, pet?”

She panted against him, sliding herself down his body, hands gripping the collar of his button down. “I wanna go for a drive. Figure I can save a horse and ride a cowboy.”

“Arturo calls fast, don’t he?”

She shook her head. “No, but I figured since mom said ‘romance books’….”

“Ye haw,” he added, slapping her ass as she sauntered back. 

“Spike!” She slapped his ass back harder, which was unfair. He’d been careful not to hurt her so his chip wouldn’t fire and here she was, playing with fire. 

“Oi! That hurt!”

“Sorry,” her mouth said the words, but the rest of her didn’t catch on.

Glint of passion in his azure blues, he tilted his head, letting out a predatory growl. “No, but you’re gonna be.” Making for her, he sucked his teeth when she managed to not only slip into her preferred seat next to his, but also shut and locked her door in one smooth move. “What’re you paying at, Slayer?”

Shaking her head, she gestured to his seat. “Come get this engine revving so we can have our... pit stop… and the..”

“Uh huh,” he nodded along, pretending he didn’t have a sodding clue what she was alluding to. Her seduction around car idioms was lacking, but she tried. And dammit if he didn’t find her flouderin adorable. “Go on.”

“There’s a spot with… and the- just- shut up, and let’s go!”

Snorting, he relented. Starting up the engine, he barely made it out of their driveway before she was messing with the radio. Static filled the cabin, along with some interspersed bits of dreaded talk radio, and some fiesta music that grated on his ear drums. “Best not mess with the tape deck, or someone’s gettin’ spanked.”

Buffy rolled her eyes as she flicked on a station playing something moody, but not altogether unpleasant. Sliding closer to her man, she sighed as he wrapped his right arm around her, keeping her tight to his side. “Oh, drat! And here I forgot the riding crop.” He groaned into her hair as he kissed her forehead, the red light providing them the opportunity for a little intimacy. Short lived, at that, but still. They’d take what they’d get. “Relax, I’m not touching your precious tape collection.”

“Mmm, maybe if you do me real good tonight, I’ll- ow!” He hissed, shaking her fingers off where she’d pinched his nipple. Hard. “You’re gonna make the bloody thing fall off if you don’t gentle those claws of yours.” She glared daggers at him, but he was unphased. Even when they fought, their shagging was spectacular. Her brilliance and his brassness collided in a shower of sparks rivalling Guy Fawkes Night. “Just for that, you ain’t gettin’ your gift.”

“Presents? You never said anything about presents!” She perked up, sitting straighter next to him as he got them closer to their secret shagging spot. “It’s not even my birthday. Or…”

“Not our anniversary, no,” he finished for her. “But you know I like spoiling my woman.”

Grinning, Buffy snuggled into his side more firmly. Kissing his chin, she whispered into his skin, “I promise to keep your nipples attached if you tell me what it is.”

Shaking his head, Spike continued with his faux-annoyed act. It riled her up, so. He loved how much she vibrated with energy over the teasing, like her skin was too tight and the only way to relax was to expend it all. Usually on top of him. Or under him. Or between a wall and him. Or- “I dunno, luv. Turnabout’s fair play. Might have to give one of yours a little look-see with my own digits.”

“Or,” she sighed, lifting his arm off her, and sliding back to the opposite side of the car. “Maybe I’ll just sit all the way over here, all alone, without- eep!” She yelped as he dragged her back to him, the vampire pulling into the gas station between their house and the woods where they often banged, flipping the brakes on as soon as he got a spot. “Or…” Lips slid against lips, neither knowing who initiated a kiss half the time, caressing one another. Even chaste presses of lips were passionate with them. Intensity was their specialty, and this dance of lips and tongues was no different. 

“Public,” she muttered against his mouth, his fingers kneading a tense knot in her neck near the base of her skull. “Oh, God, right there- no, no, no.” Pushing him back, she frowned as she panted. “We’re in public, Spike.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes, caressing her cheek as her frown deepened. “Fine, you win. ‘S in the glovebox. I gotta get some petrol. Want anything?” She opened her mouth, her boyfriend knowing her all too well. “Besides a diet soda, pretzels, and a Hershey bar?”

Amused, she leaned in for a quick smack on the lips, pulling away before he could deepen it. “Surprise me.” 

With that, he left to go inside. The attendant - Daryl? Darren? Diangelo? - nodded as he sauntered in. They’d been seeing each other at least once a week for a year, and they had a shorthand with each other. Spike would get fuel for his wheels and sweets for his lady, and Darreylgelo kept his gob shut about whatever sticky substance the vamp may or may not be covered in whenever he popped by. This way, the man got his business relatively un-mucked with by other demons, and the vampire got his shopping done in peace. Already grabbing the pretzels, he was pleased to find Diryn had the chocolate and pop sitting on the counter, probably grabbing them the second he heard the vintage motor pull up. “We just got these in,” the middle aged man drawled in his Minnesotan lilt. “They’re real popular with the girls.”

Sniffing as he pulled his cash out, he frowned at the Dulce de Leche M&M's, the green candy lady smirking at him as she lounged in her white boots. Mmmm, Buffy had boots like those. Hadn’t worn them in a while. Maybe… “Alright. And a pack of- good man,” he put his bills on the counter, pocketing the cigarettes as soon as they hit the counter. It paid off to be the big bad, even chipped. D-man was happy he wasn’t being looted every week by demons, Spike was happy that he always had a bit of violence lined up if the mood struck, and his ladies were happy to have a gas station in working order. Buffy thankfully didn’t question how her boyfriend managed to find so many vampires and demons for them to hunt on the way back from filling up his ride, and Joyce didn’t seem to fuss as long as she got her Jeep filled up without incident. After she’d admonished him for essentially being the Sunnydale equivalent of a Don. But he wasn’t taking the gas station’s dosh, just getting his lady’s mum a discount on her weekly tank fill. And his own. “The Drexlins come back? Oh, and I need to fill up-”

“Pump two, and no. They haven’t.”

“Pleasure.” Nodding, he left, purchases in tow, heading back for his ride. Opening the door to hand her the pop, he found his lady melted in a figurative puddle as she gazed at the tape in her hands. “Found it, then?”

Gazing up through her lashes, the grassy greens practically sparkled in the overbearing lights illuminating the station. “You- you made me a mixtape?”

“I did.”

“No one’s ever- turn on the car, I wanna play it.” 

Grinning, Spike tossed her the keys, busying himself with filling up the tank. He spent an awful lot of time working on the gift when she’d been asleep earlier the week before. With all her worries about going back to classes after her year and a half sabbatical, she’d been a wrecking ball of stress, tossing and turning in their bed each night for nigh on a month. There were only so many ways to shag her to relax enough to catch some kip, and he only had the one cock. He figured the tape would help, remind her that while she had to go put the ole Brave Face School Girl Buffy outfit on during the day, at night, she was still the Slayer. Still his lady. And her giddiness to play the tunes he’d picked out for her made his insides sing out for her. 

 

           I don't care if Monday's blue

          Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too

          Thursday, I don't care about you

          It's Friday, I'm in love

 

Grinning, he leaned down to peek in at his sweetheart, her own lovely smile meeting his as she bounced lightly in place to the music. Hugging herself as the music played, thankfully she’d remembered to only turn over enough to keep only the radio on, lest he shock himself when filling up the gas tank. And fill up the gas tank he did. As quickly as his impatience got him. 

She tossed him the pack of wet wipes when he got in, a clear sign to wash his grubby mitts before he got to touch her, still bopping along with the one punk song they could both agree on. 

 

          It's such a gorgeous sight

          To see you eat in the middle of the night

          You can never get enough

          Enough of this stuff

          It's Friday, I'm in love

 

They laughed, pulling away from their impromptu stop, Buffy plastered to his side, sighing happily as they burnt rubber on their way to their spot. Not that they had ownership of the hidden clearing in between a copse of trees and a boulder near the woods. It was just one no one else seemed to frequent, if the lack of trash and tracks had anything to say about it. Found at random, in the dead of night when they’d been interrupted at both the hidden spot at Saunders Field and Lover’s Lane near the Bluffs, needing somewhere, anywhere to blow off steam in the cabin - FAST. Now, it was their own little hideaway.

One Buffy loved. Quiet. Away from most people, yet still close enough to home to be there in case she was needed. He barely shut off the engine, parked under the branches of the big oak overhang when she was on him. She slid into his lap grinning like the wildcat she pretended not to be. “Hi.”

“Hey, yourself,” he grinned back, pulling her as close as he could get her, hands on her ass. “Mmm, need something, sweetheart?”

“I dunno,” she breathed, leaning back to rip her own shirt off before moving closer again. “You tell me?”

“Bloody hell, luv,” he hissed, hands spreading up her body to thumb at the red lace bra he’d never seen before. “New number?”

“You know it is.”

“And all for me to unwrap?”

Buffy chuckled, grinding down onto him, the saucy minx igniting a fire in his loins. “Only for you, baby. You know that.”

Spike grinned, leaning forwards to lick into her mouth. “Yeah, all mine, ain’t you?”

“No doy- yyyes!” She moaned against him, his fingers finding her nipple through the sheer lace. “Oh, God . Yes, baby,” she hissed, head thrown back. “You’re my man, aren’t you?” Always knew what to say to get his engine revving. 

“Yours,” he agreed, desire igniting his nerve endings. Didn’t need a heartbeat to get hard around her. “All yours. God , Buffy,” he hissed as her hot little hand found his cock through his pants. “Only ever yours, I’d do anything for you.”

“Anything?” 

“You know I would. Have I- Christ , woman. You’re gonna make this last only four minutes if you ke- keep this up, Buffy!”  

She grinned, letting her hands trail up his sides, leaning in for another kiss. “That’s my name, baby, don’t wear it out.”

Spike pulled her closer, attacking her mouth with kisses. “Buffy,” he moaned, a hand on her hip, another in her soft blonde hair. “Buffy.” 

“Spike,” she moaned, her own fingernails breaking up the gel of his hair at the base of his skull. “Want you.”

“Always want you, kitte- ah !” He hissed, holding the side of his head where she’d swiped his head. “What gives?!”

“What did we say about that particular pet name?”

“We didn’t- oh. Sorry, my tiger lady ,” he raised his hands up, letting them drag down her arms, pouting just a bit to show her how much he still wanted her. “Gonna punish me for that, Mistress?”

Her eyes went dark, hands gripping his belt. “Later. Right now, I was promised a cowboy to ride.”

“Fuck, I love you.” 

“Mmmhmm? Gonna show me just how much you love me, baby?”

Hell , yes,” he groaned, letting her take his belt out his Jeans, throwing it into the backseat. “What do you want, luv? Wanna be my tiger lady?”

“Wanna ride you, if I can.”

“Hell yes!” She laughed at his quick tone. So excitable, her horny boyfriend. “God forbid I want to have my lady ride me in the front seat of- okay, now that’s just cheating,” he moaned, her fingers pinching his nipples with just the right amount of pressure to give him that perfect balance of pleasure and pain. “Fuck, luv, let me get my kit off first.”

“Better hurry then, bunbury, or I’m going to have to do this performance without you,” she moaned, leaning back to play with her nipples while her back rested on the dash, a vision. “Oh, Spike ! You-”

He growled, pulling her closer, lowering her down to the bench seat, hovering over her. She yelped as he did, giggling as he ripped his shirt off to start kissing down her torso. “Tease. Driving me wild, you do. Know how much I want you?”

“Tell me.”

“Want you so much, my body shakes. Feel how hard you make me?”

“Yes. Oh, baby, you’re so hard ,” she groaned as he pressed into her thigh, sucking on her nipples through the sheer lace. Her head spun, feeling his desire. Making a man hard was a rush, feminine pride bursting forwards. But no guy ever got hard around her as fast as Spike did, like his little Oscar Wilde was hardwired to her kiss. Her smell. Her touch. God, feeling it thicken as it filled out against her made her so wet. Only way she’d be wetter without him touching her down there would be feeling it harden right against the bare of said thigh itself. Skin to skin. She needed skin to skin. Pronto. “Oh, you make me feel so good. But I wanna see you. Let me see your hard, thick cock, baby.” She wasn’t a dirty talker with any of her past lovers, but he brought it out of her in spades. He was always so talk-y during sex, and she found she really loved that. So much so that she did the same with him now more often than not. It felt liberating, in a way. Like getting a driver’s licence. She now had a licence to be a sexpot whenever they were intimate, if she wanted. And tonight, she wanted. “Show me.”

“Yeah? Can’t hardly wait till I’m buried in your sweet cunny, can you?”

She whimpered as his fingers rubbed at her core through her own jeans. “M- mouth. Want your mouth f- first. Lick me up, get me so wet for you.” God, that felt so good! How did he know how to make it feel so good? It was just his fingers against denim and cotton, it shouldn’t feel- oooooh, okay, he was massaging both her triangle of pleasure, and her left boob, and he was sucking and leaving hickies everywhere on her right boob, and his member was hardening against her thigh, and her jeans had to come off. Right away. Or she was going to implode, then explode, all KABOOM! all over his seats. “Off. Jeans… off… need… Spike!”

Growling, he did as the lady commanded, leaning back enough to help her out of the denim, smirking as he saw the little patch of curls peeking out of her knickers. Doing it with the lights off was not his scene. He liked being able to see, got off on it. And while they were supposed to be hidden away from others, he still kept one small light on. The glow was faint from the battery powered torch he flicked on, opening the glovebox to stick it there so he could see his prize but no peeping toms could, he kissed his way down her body. He hissed as he peeled her panties off, the smell of her hitting him hard. The cotton was already nearly soaked through, sticking to her lower lips as he pulled them off. “Christ, but you're already so wet.”

“All for you, baby. Feel how wet you make me? No one else could ever make me so wet like you can.”

“Even-”

“Don’t you dare bring him up right now.”

“Your toys?” 

“Oh. No, not even our toys.”

He bit his lip, groaning as he leaned his forehead on her belly button. “You’re a Goddess.”

“Gonna worship my tight, little cunny, now? William? ” She always made sure to use his given name when they made love. It made him feel seen, cherished. And it always gave their orgasms a little extra punch.

Nodding, he sniffed at the smell of her so strong on the hair here. “Yes, luv, gonna give me all your cream?”

“Less talky, more licky.”

“Mmm, yes Mistress.” without preamble, he lifted her up, legs over the crooks of his elbows and licked her. Hard.  

It was intoxicating, the way he lapped at her like an ice cream cone, getting her juices smeared all over his face. His tongue breached her all too quickly, corkscrewing her with the force, wrenching stars from behind her eyes. She wasn’t kidding when she said no man would ever make her wetter than he could. Spike was trying to wrench every micro-ounce of moisture from her body via her vagina, and by God, what a way to go. 

But not tonight. Tonight she had a plan that involved more than him making her cum so hard she was knocked unconscious. That was reserved for her birthday or their anniversary. “Off,” she insisted, pulling his head up by his hair. 

“Why? Wasn’t it good, Mistress?”

She groaned, shaking her head. “Very, baby. You know that. But it’s time for that ride.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, pushing him up and off her, hovering over his lap. “Wanna cum on your thick cock, baby. Gonna let me? Gonna let me ride you?”

He whimpered as she slipped her wet pussy over his hard cock, slipping over her folds. “Buffy, please . Need you. Need to be inside you. Gonna let me? Gonna let me cu- bloody buggering fuck!” 

They moaned as she slid him inside, her tight, wet heat strangling his cock exactly how he loved most. 

Slowly, she started to rock against him, feeling him slide an inch in and out of her, slowly pulling and pushing. “Oh, God . So big.”

“Yeah, you like that? Like how big I am?”

She nodded, pulling his mouth towards her own. “ Love how you stretch me.”

“Ah, ah, yes ,” he panted, kissing down her neck to leave love bites on her clavicle. “Could spend hours buried here. Love you, God, nothing compares to this. Being with- fuck. Being with you…” he slipped a hand between them, fingers tracing her clit to bring her to move faster. “Yes, yes , my tigress. Move so good, just like that, just like that, oh!”

“Feel good, baby? Tell me what you like.”

“All of it. All of you. Everything you do,” he panted, kissing every inch of her he could reach. “You’re everything. My everything. Love you, lov- yes, God .”

“‘M close,” she whimpered, one hand gripping his neck as they stared into each other’s eyes. “I’m so- love you,” she choked out. “Gonna-” her other hand slipped down to fondle his balls behind her. His eyes widened at the pressure, her own frantic as she kept bouncing in his lap. “Want you to- gonna? Spike! You gonna- oh, William , I’m-”

“Yeah, Buffy. Cum,” he urged her along, fingers swiping over her clit over and over again, like he could rub gold out of her cunt if he was patient enough. His other hand worked her on his cock, too close to cumming himself, but working her body so she’d reach her peak first. Had to get her over the cliffs so he could- God. There it was. There she was. “Cum for me, Buffy. Let go. I’ve got you, I’ve got you. ‘M not gonna let you fall. I’ve got ya, I’ve got ya. Cum for me.”

With her eyes rolling up into her head, she moved faster, nails biting into his scalp as she shook apart, her tight channel gripping him, strangling his cock beautifully. Her other hand squeezed his balls, and he was a goner, holding her close as he came inside her. It only made her moan louder, collapsing against him as it extended her orgasm, arms coming up to pull his face closer to her neck, panting as she whimpered. He tried to kiss the skin beneath his lips but his eyes might have leaked from his skull, so he wasn’t too sure he was doing it. 

“God, that was… you… oh,” she kissed his shoulder, pulling back to pepper kisses up to his mouth. “Mmm, love how you… you okay?” She pulled back, watching him pant as his head lolled back. “Baby? Did I hurt you?” He shook his head, lifting it to look at her. “Oh! I feel you dripping out of me.”

He groaned, hands on her ass, slipping down to feel their combined spendings indeed dribbling out of her where he was still connected. “You’re so perfect, luv. Made me cum like a freight train.” Pulling himself from his petite mort, he gazed at her lovingly. “Always so brilliant.”

“Mmm,” she kissed his lips languidly, feeling all loose limbed and satiated. “Love feeling you cum inside me like that.” He groaned against her, hardening slowly again. “Oh? Already, bunbury? Gotta be some kind of record.”

He chuckled, licking into her mouth with a moan. “Wanna break our old record? See how many rounds we can go before sun-up?”

“Mm-mm,” she breathed, lifting herself off him so he slipped out of her. “Wanna lick our cream outta me?”

“Yes, God yes.”

“Lie back, and I’ll-” she giggled at how quickly he obeyed, pulling her to sit on his face. “Wait,” she pulled his hands off her hips, struggling to turn around. 

“Luv?”

“I wanna… okay, better.” She lowered her cunt onto his mouth, leaning down to lick his cock. “Gonna make you scream, now, okay?” He moaned into her folds, her sensitive flesh trembling as he started to lick into her with long strokes of his tongue. “You like that plan?” He nodded against her, his chin hitting her clit. “Ooh! Okay, settle down.” She lapped at his cock, moaning herself at the salty-bitter-savoury-sweet headedness that hit her tongue. “ Love tasting us together,” he moaned against her as she spoke, as she licked their combined cum off of him. She really really hoped no one would interrupt them right now, or else they’d get an eyeful. Plus, she liked having him like this. So spread open to her, vulnerable and trusting, while he tongue fucked the cum out of her. No one was allowed to see this, witness this, but them. “Mmm, so good, baby. You do that so- fuuuuuck,” she ground herself more insistently against his mouth, his fingers playing with her clit and her nipple. Damn his longer arms. She gripped the base of his cock, licking long strips of cum off him, making sure he didn’t have any left before she’d take him down her throat. Not yet, though, first, she needed to play with the foreskin covering his slit. “Tongue me, baby. Wanna cum on your mouth.”

Slipping a finger inside her, tapping his tongue against her clit, he wondered if heaven felt like this. Like love and lust and all that other sodding romantic crap. Pulling some of their spendings out of her, he sucked on his finger, knowing the sound of the squelch would earn him a moan around his prick. Like clockwork, her moans increased, raising in volume once his breath ghosted back over her swollen, soaked, lower lips, before she let out a scream as he scooped his tongue inside her again in earnest. She tried to clench to keep him inside, but he knew her all too well now. Knew if he sucked while he dragged his tongue in and out of her, she’d collapse forwards, boneless. Holding her arse cheeks firmly, he did just that. Not needing to breathe had its perks. Buffy came on his tongue, crying out around his prick where it was lodged in her mouth, and he drank her down, down, down, refusing to let up until she flopped, and she wasn’t flopping yet, why wasn’t she flopping yet? Fine, then. He surmised, redoubling his efforts. Right, what’s a little lockjaw betwixt lovers? And continued his assault, kneading her arse with his hands now, helping guide her undulations, and yes, yes, there was that climax to end climaxes, she was- oh, OH, GOD! She was swallowing him whole! Christ, he wasn’t going out like this, wasn’t going to let her win. Spike wasn’t going to cum before she did, cuz then she’d win. And competitive as they were in slaying, bowling, and the occasional trivia night they may or may not attend in order to get free wings, they were as competitive as their town was full of demons in the sack. Not yet, not yet, not- oh sodding bollocking hell! She’d used her secret weapon, fingering the space between balls and- Oh, two can play at that game, he thought, his own dry finger circling her back hole, and taking one last long, hungry suck at her slobbering wet cunny, and she came a second time on his face that night. 

Shaking while she screamed around his cock, he sucked down her juices just as she sucked down his own, coming hard down her throat, and dripping out of her mouth. A hundred years could go by, and he’d never tire of this. Never tire of her. Arturo was a single nut short of a squirrel’s winter stash if he thought otherwise. 

“That- phew!” She panted, rolling off him and nearly braining herself on the dash. “Woah! Jelly legs.” He huffed a laugh, trying to help her upright, and failing spectacularly at that. He wasn’t sweaty, but she was. And a sweaty Buffy was a slippery Buffy, the woman damn near slipping from his grasp to the floor mats down below. Gaining a bit of leverage, they got her upright, sitting next to him on top of his duster on the seat. Grimacing, she felt around for the box of tissues she insisted he start driving around with. “That was…” she trailed off, laughing lightly as she attempted to tidy herself up.

Humming, Spike kissed her shoulder and neck, pulling aside her locks to do so without interruption. “Mmmm, yes it was.”

“You totally cheated with the… finger thing.”

“Same could be said for where your hot little hand was going to.”

Scoffing, she mumbled something under her breath, her boyfriend pretending he couldn't hear her so she’d be forced to repeat it. “I saw it in a magazine, okay!” His perplexed expression wss illuminated by the soft light of the dying light. “It was- it doesn’t matter.”

“Mmmm, sounds like it might be,” he prodded, nibbling at her earlobe. “Might get me to start readin’ magazines if you do.”

“It… it said that… some guys… an- an- and we tried the harness! You like the harness! So…”

“So you thought you'd shove a dry finger, give it a go?”

Her face of disgust made him want to shove the words back into his mouth, swallow them, and never bring up any kind of hole again. “No… massage.”

“Massage…?”

“Well, I don’t have oil, or anything, but… yeah. You hated it, didn’t you?”

“Luv… I liked it. SO much, in fact, that I had to ‘cheat’ in order to keep from breaking any one of your perfect pearly whites with how hard I nearly thrusted into your hot little mouth.”

“So… I can try that again, some time?”

Bloody hell. How could a woman look equal parts deadly, adorable, and sexy saying a thing like that in a tone like she did? Unfair, that. “My Lady Buffy,” he whispered, leaving wet trails of kisses over her skin. “I’d block out a whole evenin’ just for that.”

She moaned, pulling him against her mouth, kissing him languidly. Soulless, sure, but Spike definitely excelled in the loving boyfriend column as far as sweet talk and sexy times were concerned. And gift giving. And making an effort with her family. The making good choices and being nice to Xander would hopefully catch up with him, but beggars couldn’t be choosers in a town like theirs. Besides, she sometimes got a thrill with his bad choices, though she’d never dare to repeat that out loud. She still wasn’t going to hear the end of the incident under the pier from the security around the area. Honestly, had they never had a single ‘thank God that demon of the week didn’t end our existence; let’s bang’ moment after all the years working in Sunnydale? Ugh! And she was the prude? It was two AM! No one would have seen them if that Rent-A-Cop kept his flashlight to himself.

But even though she definitely could have gone another two or three rounds before collapsing from exhaustion, there was still the matter of a discussion she’d intended on that needed doing with. “I have something to tell you,” she said, pulling her panties back up. 

“Uh-oh. Sounds bad,” he joked before a pit opened up in his stomach with a terrible thought. “This- this wasn’t a goodbye fuck, was it?”

“What? No! Are you crazy?! Why the hell would I want to leave?! Do you want-” 

“No! Just Arturo got in my head about me not having a place-”

“You have one with us!”

“I know!”

Insecurity crept in, her orgasm high ruined as a bad, bad thought trickled in. “Is- is it not enough?”

God , of course it is.” He pulled her face closer to his, kissing her thoroughly, making sure she was well and truly relaxed before he kept talking. “Bloody ponce insulated that I may not be enough for you cuz I don’t have a place-”

“He’s got two girlfriends who rather spend time with each other instead of him. Meanwhile, your girlfriend pawned off her Sacred Duty for a night to have great, athletic sex with you in the middle of the woods, so-”

He leaned his head the rest of the way, kissing her languidly, pulling her to sit in his lap. “Sorry, luv. Insecurity police leavin’ the building in a mo’.”

“Good.” 

“So this news, good or bad? Another apocalypse already rearing its head at us?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t know, but it’s good news.. I hope.”

“You hope? Okay, now you’re the one being cryptic.”

“I know I’m being all cryptic girl, but,” she slid off him, gripping his hand in hers. “I wanted to tell you before you went to your shoot, but then I knew you’d just cancel it.”

Sometimes, she was so easy to figure out. It was kind of laughable how other blokes could prattle on about how they never knew what she was thinking when he saw the open book of Buffy laid out before him. She was raising her eyebrows while arms crossed and foot tapping? Sleeping on the couch for a week cuz he said something minging to one of her little Scoobies. Leaning her head on his shoulder with hand on his thigh? She was ready for bed. Head on shoulder with no hand on thigh? Bed, but hold the sex. Scowling at the dishes? Girl needed ice cream and some music. Not bloody rocket science. But this… this was different. Something big, he’d wager, with the way she looked ready to chew all her fingernails down to the quick if he wasn’t holding one of ‘em. “Okay, what is it? You know you can just tell me.”

“Yeah but I need to give you some backstory. Okay?” He rolled his eyes but nodded. Eventually. “Okay, school basement, trapped with Dawn and two other kids this morning, remember?” 

“Yeah. It go okay?”

“Yep! ‘Cept one of the kids, this girl,” she started slowly, like he was an invalid. “She… well, she looked kinda familiar, which is weird cuz there’s no way I met her before.”

“Okay….”

“And I had to go so I didn’t think much on it, but Dawn did. And she did. Talk to the girl. And the girl was all ‘how do you know that? You shouldn’t know that! Witch!’ on her, which, fair.”

“...huh?”

“An- and so she tells Dawn about it, everything she remembered, an- and then Dawn called a Scooby meeting-”

“Wow, thanks for the invite, Bit.”

“And I get why, cuz it’s her! It’s gotta be! Cuz it’s- wow! But it’s also like woah , cuz this shouldn’t be happening, especially with the whole,” she waved her hand in a swirling pattern. “Ageing thing but like, we dealt with a hell god so what’s a little thing like ageing and time travel spells, ya know?”

“Woman, have you gone all carrot top on me?” He held her by the arms, seconds from shaking her, chip be damned. Babbling on like she was, he might have shagged her too hard, knocking something loose. “What on earth are you saying?”

“Charlotte.” She was quiet as she said each word carefully, lest he spook and run off into the night. “ Your Charlotte. She’s… I don’t know how or why, but she’s alive. Here. In Sunnydale. She was one of the kids I saved from the basement today. We saved,” she cupped his open jaw on her hands. His own hands had fallen to his lap uselessly, shock setting in. “ We saved. You saved your sister. You didn’t fail. She’s here and I don’t know what it means, or how it happened, but Tara read her aura. Charlotte’s human. And she doesn’t have tuberculosis anymore, and she remembers you, and… she’s fifteen. And in Dawn’s history class. Which is kinda ironic, but like, totally for another time.”

“She-” his throat clicked, trying to make sense of it all. His sister. Here. Alive and here. You didn’t fail. Oh God. “She’s here?” She nodded solemnly. “But we buried her in the ground! I- I remember! Sh- she- she was so cold, an- and we put her in her Sunday best, an- I don’t-”

“Hey, hey, hey, baby,” she brought his eyes back to her. “You’re not alone, okay. I’ll do everything I can- we, all of us will do all we can to find out how and why and what’s going on. You’re not alone. Do you hear me? You’re not going to do this alone.”

He nodded, falling into her arms and weeping like a poncy arsehole. But he couldn’t help it. The news was earth shattering. He’d been the one to find the little Bit when she had expired. He’d snuck into the kitchens early to sneak away some cups of hot cocoa for the two of them, wanting to surprise her. She’d been in poor spirits that week, crying herself to sleep the night before in pain. Teenage William was always a bit of a pushover when it came to family and their happiness. Sneaking in to surprise her with hot cocoa was thwarted by finding her cold, dead body on the floor of her bedroom floor. Her tongue had already swelled, his sharp cry of anguish alerting the cook who’d been on her way to chew him out for messing about in the kitchen. She’d taken him out of the room when she saw, shutting the door, and ushering him to his room. 

But she wasn’t dead anymore. She was… alive? Alive and no longer ill? Christ, and a teenage hormone bomb?! The emotions that washed over him were a tidal wave, a tsunami knocking him clear on his arse. If he was still alive, the excess of sobbing would leave him with catarrh, instead of all the useless salt all over his lady’s shoulder. But she was a damn fine bird, a hell of a woman. And Buffy wasn’t cooing at how strong he was the way Harm would have, or carving his back up like Dru would. Instead, she held him, one hand rubbing his back, the other scratching through his hair in the back of his head. No words were needed. Only feelings. She kissed the parts of his head she could reach, making him feel so loved, which made him cry more. Because his sister was back, and he had his woman, and his family was going to meet his… family. Bollocks. He was gonna need a cicerone to help navigate through the plethora of emotions he was swimming through. 

Eventually he sat upright, all cried out, wiping at his eyes with the tissue she offered and asked, “ho- how’d she seem? How did you know- how-”

She smiled, kissing him gently on his lips.“Good. Healthy. She had a double lung transplant last year. I think tuberculosis’s the last thing she’s worried about. Pretty,” she added, petting his face, wiping away the tears rolling down his cheeks that missed the tissue. “She has your eyes and your chin and her hair was exactly how you described. She’s about fifteen so no chubby cheeks anymore.”

He laughed breathlessly. “Figures. She always hated when I pinched those cheeks.”

“She’s,” Buffy huffed her own laugh, pulling her shirt back on, chill running through her now that they weren’t creating that extra friction. “She was transferred here when her ‘family’ moved here- how long’s a fortnight again?”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks ago.”

“She- she’s been here two weeks?!?”

“Yeah, but we only knew about it today and- wait. Your Charlotte dreams. They started happening more and more the past two weeks, haven’t they?”

He nodded. Ever since Ben-Glory Glory-Ben died, he would have a Charlotte related dream once a week. Now, “every night. Since she got here, probably. Right bizarre, that.”

“But also not. Cuz…”

“Hellmouth” they finished in tandem. 

“Wh- where is she now?”

“She’s at her place. With her parents. Well, not her actual parents, who are also your parents, but you know what I mean. Legal guardians.”

A bolt of terror gripped Spike’s heart making him jolt up and search for more clothes. “Buffy, they can’t be trusted, they’re not-”

“I know. I know .” The Slayer reassured him with a hand on his knee, stopping the jerking of the car from yanking his jeans over his hips. “I won’t let anything happen to her if I can help it. She’s coming to dinner tomorrow night at our place. Dawn told her about us. That we’re… ‘courting’. I think she called me a slut.”

“What?!” That took him by surprise. “What did she say?”

“Surprised that we’re not engaged but living together for a year, that we used to hate each other, and that you helped mom with her recovery before you and I officially got together. Didn’t tell her anything else. Oh, Dawn mentioned you still write poetry”

“Bloody hell,” he let his head fall to his hands. “The world’s going to start spinning round the wrong way now, I can feel it.”

“No, Spike, she’s pleased. She was happy you didn’t give it up, William.”

Tentatively, he pulled his head up enough to look at her shyly. He was so rarely shy around her, but when he was, it felt like magic. The good kind, not the ‘Willow going on a powertrip’ kind. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But we uh, we gotta call you William at the house. She thinks Spike is a… crude moniker. Her words not mine. Oh! And she was the president at her school’s chess club at the old place in L.A.”

“L.A.” He scoffed. “Why am I not surprised? Nothing good can come from there.”

“Except me and mom and Dawn and Charlotte. And curly fries.”

He groaned, letting his hands drop. “Yeah I do love… curly fries.”

She pinched his side in retaliation, getting scooped onto his lap and raspberries blown into her clavicle. He couldn’t hurt her with the chip, so he found creative ways of getting under her skin. Plus, he got her to laugh, which was always a good thing. Her laughter was one of his favourite sounds. Second to her orgasmic, earth shaking, apocalyptic level moans. 

Buffy pulled his face down and kissed him, effectively stopping the raspberries. God, he was lucky. 

Once her lips were bruised and she needed to breathe, he pulled away to pepper kisses over her face. A thought just overtook him. Chess. Did the Slayer mention chess? “Wait. She still plays?”

“Yeah, she still plays chess. You could play with her on our board. And you can make your cottage pie, and I’ll buy dessert.”

“You just don’t want to make pie again,” he countered. 

“Yeah, so? Did you want me to make a good second impression on your sister or not? Or, I guess third, cuz the school basement was first, then Magic Box , then our place. Damn.”

Moving to mouth at her throat again - finally letting him leave hickies - before his mind went back to her earlier bit of news. “Wait. You said she called you a slut. I can’t imagine her calling you that. You’re a classy lady. What did she say?”

“That Dawn said we work and live together, something something oh! ‘Though you are not engaged, which I must say, is rather… progressive of you’ .” She recalled. 

“Oh. Yeah, she did, ow!” He hissed as he rubbed the sore spot in his arm. “Oi! I’m just tryin’ to translate Victorian English for ya!”

“But she’s your sister .”

“Who hasn’t been alive for over a century, luv. She’s bound to mess up here and there.”

“But I’m not a slut,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. Damned that long sleeve she pulled on blocking his view. “It was mean.”

“I know Luv. I’ll have a chat with her and- oh bollocks .”

“What?”

He sighed, letting his head hit the back of the seat. “We need another meetin’ with the Scoobies,” he blew out, regrettably. 

“Why’s everyone else calling them but me? I’m the Slayer.”

“Then call ‘em,” he gestured. “Ask them the best way to break to a fifteen year old girl, with the memories of a dead nine year old Victorian, that her brother, boyfriend of the Vampire Slayer, was once a notorious master vampire who drove spikes in the heads of his victims known as William the Bloody, cuz I can’t seem to come up with one!”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, oh, that .”

He had a point. Damn. Why didn’t she think of that? Oh, yeah. The Plan. “Crap. Okay, I’m calling. But… you do want to see her, right? I mean, if it were Dawn…”

“Yeah, I wanna see her. I just,” he sighed. “I’m gonna let her down.”

“Rot,” she repeated, sliding back into his lap. She knew the best way to get in to see reason was to use one of his own words. And it worked 89% of the time. Her naked breasts worked better, but she was still a bit chilly. “She’ll get used to it. First thing is… telling her about your parents.”

“Oh, bollocks.”

“Sorry, Dawn didn’t think that was cool coming from her.”

“No, it’s good just… I can’t tell her about turning mum and staking her cuz….” She kissed his neck, leaving presses of lips to soothe him. “You know. It would destroy her.”

“Then tell her that she died in your arms, loved. It’s not a lie, just highly edited.”

He nodded, pulling her to kiss him. “Good of you to allow me some action before bringing my world down.”

“Figured you’d want it that way.”

“Know me very well, Slayer.”

“Also added some near expired O neg in the freezer in case your ‘big O’ didn’t give you what you needed. “

He growled as he nipped her lips. “Oh, it always gives me what I need most,” he licked into her, grabbing her ass to grind on her again. “One more for the road?”

“Le- oooohhh!” She whined as his fingers found her swollen clit, tapping it like Morse code of sex. “Stop that.”

“Make me,” he challenged.

God, she didn’t want to. It felt soooo good. But she had to call. “I gotta call them first to give them a heads up, and then,” she extracted herself off his lap, one hand cupping her sex lest he try anything. “ Then , I’m gonna do that thing you like where I slide all over you in the backseat.”

He groaned, looking for his pants. “Minx,” he grabbed them to slide on, finding his lighter and smokes there. “You’ve got one cigarette before I take you up on that play, ay?” And he slipped out of the car, shutting the door so she didn’t have to deal with his stinky cigarette smoke. 

Reluctantly flipping open her cell, she called Giles first. “Fire up the kettle, Giles. Two Scooby meetings in one day.”

Her Watcher’s sigh on the other line was heavy and almost foreboding. “You told Spike?”

“Yep.”

“Magic Box in thirty minutes?”

“Yeeeep.”

“I’ll hide the scotch.”

Notes:

My first sex scene witout a beta, I hope it was decent

Chapter 6

Summary:

So a slayer, a former key, a chipped vampire, time traveller, and Joyce Summers sit down around a table. It’s not the set up for a bad joke - she knew. She checked.

AKA, Charlotte comes over to the Summers house for dinner, and turns out to be just as judge-y as her brother. More, if possible

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Tuesday, September 3rd, 2002 - Part A

 

Gemini yowled from his perch on the couch, stretching and turning back into his dog form to bark at the window. Excitedly, he wagged his tail, a fast whip going back and forth as he barked, to let his human friend Dawn know that she had a visitor. Gemini liked human friend Dawn. Human friend Dawn always gave him chin scratches and ear scritches and took him for walkies and let him snuggle with her in her bed at night and sometimes even brought him food from the kitchen that human friend Buffy said was ‘off limits’. 

Alerted by her loyal buddy, Dawn ran down the stairs, yelling to the other occupants of the house, “I’ll get it! Thanks Gemini,” she cooed, giving him scritches behind the ears like he liked, smacking her lips on his face the way her mother human Joyce Mom gave her. He’d been trying to show her how to do kissies properly, the way he licked her face, but she wasn’t a good learner. Not like human friend Buffy and vampire friend Spike did. They gave kissies and lip smackies all the times! He figured they were just incapable of knowing which they wanted in the moment, so they did them at the same time. 

Gemini wagged his tail to follow Dawn, sniffing wildly around to see who was there. A human! A human friend! A girl human friend! What fun!

“Easy, Gemini, easy!” Dawn said, pulling him back by his brand new collar, trying to get him away from Charlotte. “Sorry, he’s really excitable,” she apologised to new girl human friend. “And we’ve only had him a few days so he’s - down! - not totally housebroken yet.”

Girl human friend Charlotte looked uneasy at him, but he could tell, could just tell she was good. Had a good soul. And smelled nice. Nice like a friend. Nice like… Hmmm. Interesting. He paused, sitting down as he tilted his head. She smelled like human friend Dawn a bit, but also a little bit like vampire friend Spike. That didn’t make sense. Oh! Unless the smell of vampire friend Spike rubbed off onto human friend Dawn when they watched the Tee-Vee last night, and then the smell of them rubbed off onto new human friend Charlotte during ‘school times’. He didn’t like ‘school times’. ‘School times’ meant human friend Dawn left for hours and hours and hours, and vampire friend Spike sometimes sat with him, but sometimes he didn’t. It wasn’t fair, but maybe new human friend Charlotte will come over for playtimes more after now. 

Charlotte smiled awkwardly, gripping the box of chocolates to her chest, clearly frightened. But she didn’t need to be a scaredy-girl because of him. Gem was friend! Gem didn’t want to hurt her. Human friend Dawn smelled happy that her human friend Charlotte was here, so he was happy she was there, too. Human friend Dawn wouldn’t let him get hurt. She was a good people. “Ge- Gemini you say? Are you a big fan of Greek mythology?”

“Uh… no. Horoscopes.”

“Ah.”

“Gemini, up!” Dawn commanded, Gemini tilting his head curiously at her request. “Upstairs. Time for upstairs!”

Oh, yes! Upstairs! Up the stairs to human friend Buffy and vampire friend Spike’s room! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! He had to tell them about new human friend Charlotte! Ooooh they was gonna love her!

 

----------

 

Gemini’s barks were unmistakable as they echoed in the house, alerting them before the door knocking did. “Oh bollocks… she’s here,” he breathed, feeling his stomach bottom out. Spiralling. He was starting to spiral.   

But his lady love was his rock, and refused to let him end up going on a bender, wiping imaginary dust off of his shoulder, before smoothing out his attire. “It’s going to be fine, Spike. William,” she corrected herself, smiling softly at the use of his human name. It was soft moments like this that reminded them to slow down, soak the moment in. Not an easy thing for the Slayer to do on a normal day, but some things needed to be embraced even if it was hard to do. “She already saw us kill ghosts. She’s living on the Hellmouth. It’ll take time but it’ll be fine. She’s your sister, ya know,” she added. “If she has that hard headed mentality-”

“Hard headed?! ME?”

But she was unphased by his interruption. “-Like you do, she’ll be fine,” she silenced him with a kiss, loving how quickly he melted with the brush of her lips. “And you’ll be fine, too. You’ve got me- us backing you.”

Unable to resist her charms, he sighed happily, wrapping her up in his arms, and pulling her closer. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Saved my mom,” she listed casually, grinning. “Cleaned her puke out of her hair-”

“And my jeans.”

“And your jeans, sacrificed yourself to a neurotic hell god to protect Dawn,” she continued, fixing his collar to lay flat. “Attacked my Watcher when he was considering killing said sister, despite getting an awful headache for your trouble. Then there was the whole,” she waved one hand absently. “Running from said hellbitch with me and my kid sister, while my mother came up with a Hail Mary suicide mission. To name a few.”

He huffed a fond laugh, just as Gemini pushed the cracked door open the rest of the way with his doggie nose. “Hell of a road trip,” he reminisced as she pressed her lips forwards against his own, fondly remembering the impromptu dance party on the side of the road Buffy forced them to do before they emotionally imploded. God, he loved her. All the bollocks he’d been through from here and her blasted Slayerettes was worth it for moments like those. And this one, too. Druscilla would never have agreed to such a plan to bring the siblings back together, let alone come up with one. Harmony… honestly, he hadn’t thought much of her in so long, he doubted she was still alive. Alive-ish. Not like the two ever really knew one another past their physical connection. Didn’t wish her ill will though. Love made him soft, even when his lady was trying to get other parts of him firm. “Though I prefer the one after,” he leered at her, deepening the peck, and licking into her mouth. 

God, no one kissed like they did. But then Buffy pulled away all too soon, huffing. “Yeah, but your sister’s downstairs. If we don’t get down there, they’re just gonna come up here.” She righted her clothing with a scowl, noting her cardigan needed to be changed now that he’d wrinkled it to high heaven.

“Educational, that.”

“Pretty sure you cleaned my puke off your boots, too,” she added casually, putting a bucket of ice over them both, while Gemini nosed at their legs, trying to get between and in on the cuddle. “Inside them, squishy puke covered toesie-woesies.”

He scowled, groaning. “Why you gotta bring up boak so much?”

“Gets me to shut you up when we’re not supposed to be fornica- stop that!” She pulled his hands off her ass, admonishing him for his impromptu groping. 

“Make me,” he countered, tongue licking over his teeth. 

“I’ll throw out the harness if you don’t stop.”

And by the fierceness in her eyes, she wasn’t joking. Bollocks. He immediately straightened, adjusting himself in his slacks to hide anything from his baby - no, now a teen - sister’s eyes. Blimey, it was going to take a lot of getting used to. Best got on with it so it’d be easier as time went on, yeah? “Right. Time to face the inquisition.”

 

----------

 

The way Charlotte stared at him as he landed on the ground floor, he felt like an utter fool. She looked so much like how he’d always pictured she’d look at this age, but he must have looked so different. Because of course he did! A century of change did that to all. 

“Charlotte, hello.” He tried for his original accent, which naturally made the Summers women baulk. “It’s been too long since we saw each other last. Miss Dawn and Miss Buffy informed me that your consumption is no longer affecting you. May I just say, the change is-”

“What on earth did you do to your hair?!” she screamed back. His eyes went wide, eyebrows shot into his hairline at her heated tone. “What did you do to your precious curls? Father’s curls!” 

“Always thought it was from his mom,” Dawn whispered. 

“Me too,” Buffy added. 

“And that colour?! It’s ghastly!” she continued, none the wiser. “Your eyebrow- did you do that on purpose? A fashion statement to match the rest of your,” she gestured to his clothing, and he knew he should have gone with the slacks Buffy made him buy for that artist mixer Joyce made him go to. At least he left the duster in the hall, so she wouldn’t be ragging on him for that. “And my God, where are your glasses?! How can you even tell it’s me you’re looking at without them?”

“Sp- William wore glasses?” Dawn asked, incredulous. “I didn’t know you wore glasses. Did you?”

Buffy wanted to shake her head because no, she didn’t. But she just rolled with the first lie she could think of. “He’s got contacts. Even, you know, colour contacts. Right, honey?”

He looked at her queerly, Buffy making a gesture to show him that she meant when he was bumpy while his sister still gazed at him. “Oh. Yes! See contacts are these-”

“I know what they are, William,” Charlotte offered in a bored tone. “My guardians use them. The ‘father’ at any case.”

“Ah. And how are they, uh, how are they treating you?”

She rolled her eyes in a trademarked teenager response. “How are the Summers women treating you?” she countered, avoiding the question entirely. That didn’t raise any red flags amongst the others. Nope. Not one bit. Unless one counted a small armada as ‘not one bit’. “Are you planning on living in sin with Ms. Buffy forever or do you plan to make an honest woman out of her?”

“Honest…?”

“I mean,” Charlotte scoffed, as petulant as Dawn was on a crappy day, maybe even more. “You cannot expect to continue on like this, can you? Her reputation alone-”

“Okay!” Joyce clapped her hands, breaking them up, but it didn’t seem to phase their guest one bit. “How about we all take a seat at the dining table? Hmm? Charlotte, you can sit next to your brother, if you-”

But while she was smart as a whip, Charlotte was still stuck in a younger mentality, with a much shorter fuse. “No. I think I shall sit next to Dawn,” she declared, and turned on her heel to go straight into the dining room, leaving them all gathered awkwardly at the foot of the stairs.

Okay, so that… well, that just happened, Buffy thought as she wrung her hands in worry. The night wasn’t starting off how she’d hoped. At least Gemini wasn’t flip-flopping. That would be a pretty wiggy sight for a newbie. Charlotte might actually pass out in shock if she saw that now. “So… dinner?”

Sighing, her boyfriend shook his head. “I’ll grab it.” Exiting stage left, he left the Summers women three to handle their own shock.

Poor Joyce. She normally could handle most family problems if she just put herself into the other person’s shoes. But this was one issue she just had no way of knowing how to handle. Grass stains? Bit of a soak in some Oxiclean, then right into the wash. Hellgod on their heels? Fix that easy-peasy with a weapon she feared and hated in equal measure. Time travelling resurrected sister of her friend, a chipped vampire in a long term monogamous relationship with her daughter, slayer of vampires, currently acting like a spoiled brat? Blank. Nothingness. Giant gaping void of nada. “Well, that went…”

“About as well as I said it would, huh?” Dawn sighed, clasping her hands in front of herself. It sucked when she was more insightful than the other two. Made them feel out of touch. Old. 

And while Buffy hated to agree, she had to give credit where credit was due; Dawn did warn them as soon as she got home today. And yet…. “Let’s just go in there before they kill each other.”

“Or she bolts,” her sister agreed, heading for a beeline next to her new friend. Gosh, she hoped they could turn this night around, fast. “So.. um, oh! William made your mom’s old cottage pie recipe!” She exclaimed as she sank into the chair next to her, both their backs to the window.

The blonde teen just nodded simply, slightly bored as she took in the modern decor. “As you’ve said twice before. You have great taste in... picture frames, Mrs. Summers,” Charlotte settled on, clearly unimpressed with the rest of their decor. Ouch! And after all the time Joyce put into choosing all the pieces.

Spike finally came in with the dinner, not a second too soon, placing the casserole dish not nearly as gently as either of them would have, right onto the trivet Dawn had put out on the table when she set it. “She has great taste in everything,” he insisted, anger rising at his sister’s disrespect at his friend. “Except for choices in mechanics,” he winked, hoping to break the ice.

Thawed, at least. Maybe. “Ah. Is he an incompetent man?”

Shaking her head, Joyce poured the kids their pops as Buffy uncorked the sparkling wine. They were going to need some of that liquid courage if this was going to continue, after all. “No, but your brother thinks I’m being overcharged, when-”

“You are!” Spike insisted. 

“Those are the going rates! Forty dollars for an oil change is completely reasonable-”

“Two words, J: Highway. Robbery.” He was always so smug when he counted his fingers down at that. 

“Erm…” They all looked at Charlotte expectantly, her hand raised slightly. “I have to reluctantly agree with my brother. My ‘mother’,” there again with the air quotes, same as she was at even five. “Visits a mechanic who gives her the ‘platinum package’, and even at the premium with the sales tax, she only pays six-and-thirty dollars. It does seem as if you are overpaying.”

Gesturing to his sister, he looked triumphantly at his friend, feeling somewhat on better footing with the girl again. “See?! Not playing the heavy on the bloke, Joyce. Tryin’ ta keep ya from going bloody bankrupt keepin’ your Jeep clunking away.”

Joyce scowled, a look saved special for him whenever he pushed her buttons. “It’s a solid car,” she muttered, serving their guest first before portioning out some for Dawn, then herself. “It takes everything I throw at it, and the insurance is decent.”

“And is a total geek machine,” Dawn added, angling her head towards the side of the house where it was parked. Buffy nearly choked on her wine at the memory that comment invoked. Ugh, stupid band candy. Stupid Ethan Rayne. Stupid Snyder. 

“You know,” Joyce offered instead, trying to get control of the situation. No one needed reminders of her one night of reliving her youth, especially not when she had an actual boyfriend now (who wasn’t her eldest daughter’s Watcher). “It’s good you came here this year instead of last. Last year around this time, we had an unnatural cold snap, and it snowed for two days straight!”

“What? No…”

Spike tilted his head in agreement. “‘S true. Some blokes tried to play FitzRoy, created a weather machine, messed with the entirety of Sunnyhell. Nearly lost a finger shovelling all that snow out the driveway, just for it to blanket it all over again. Butcher used the opportunity to store the little squealer outside, only for the sun to pop out the next day, leaving the rancid carcass smell lingering for weeks. Can sometimes smell it if you pass by on a scorcher.”

“With those gas pipes, I doubt it!” she laughed, utterly disgusted. “Make a stuffed bird laugh with those.”

Uh… “Huh?” Dawn asked. 

Inside, he felt himself light up at hearing a phrase he'd completely forgotten about. “Says my pants are telling a different story,” he explained, no longer trying to keep up the stiff accent. “Thinks I’m havin’ her on.”

“And your accent!" she barrelled on as if she hadn't heard her brother. "Gone is the posh way mother spent all that time with you on perfecting, gone to the way of the stevedores!”

“Woah!” Buffy stood, hands up. “Alright, listen, you can rag on your brother for his hair and his fashion sense all you want-”

“Oi!” 

“Cuz that’s what little sisters do. Rag on their older sibling until the cows come home,” she continued. “But I draw the line at you calling him a stevedore! How do you even know that word?!”

“What do you mean?” Charlotte turned the question on her. “How do you not?”

She turned to Spike expectedly, waiting for an explanation. “Is a dockworker, pet.”

“Oh,” she replied sitting. “Ooh…” she turned to her mother, who was now suddenly very interested in her wine.“Eeeewwwwwww!!!!” 

“Never. Again!” Joyce retorted, index finger stern as she pointed at her eldest. “We discussed that we’d never bring it up again. Never, ever.” 

“How would you even know what-?”  

“Never!” 

Buffy relented, shuddering at the memory of catching her mom and Watcher playing tonsil hockey. “Fine. But still. Has anyone ever told you you’re a rude little girl?” It was Spike's turn to choke on his drink, sputtering next to his lady as she reamed out his sister.

Charlotte gasped, putting her hand to her chest. “I beg your pardon? You’ve had my brother on the leash for a year with no plans of engagement! Do you know what they’d say of this back home? They’d call him a gal sneaking, ne’er do well! Of ill repute! And then I will never find a respectable man to marry, our good name forever sullied!”

Buffy looked at Spike for his input, her eyes exhausted. What the hell were either of them supposed to say to that?! She was seconds from tossing her water into the girl’s face and heading to Patrol with Giles, Anya, and Xander at this rate.

Knowing he had to do something, Spike sighed heavily, wishing the floor would swallow him whole. “Pidge, you know that times have changed. Women’s liberation, it’s happened, yeah? Your ‘good name’ is still good. Mostly.”

“What do you mean, mostly?!” She looked at Buffy’s stomach, gasping. “An unwed mother, William?!” 

“Woah!”  “Excuse me?!”  “A what-n-what?” 

Dawn choked on her food, coughing as the adults at the table quickly backpedalled that crazy notion. Could vampires even have..? No, right? If they could, she’d have heard about it, read about it in one of the books. The one good perk of your father figure threatening to sacrifice you for the sake of the world was that Giles, in his attempt to apologise and make things right, was letting her research more of the supernatural. But he’d have said something about it if it were true, right?

“No, Pidge, listen,” he grabbed her hands, her warmth to his cold not lost on him. He could hear her heartbeat when she came in. Knew she was human. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be fixated on the difference in temperature being one another’s fingers, because another rapid fire question round wasn’t something he was ready to go through a second time. “Calling Buffy ‘progressive’ ain’t right, Bit. It can be like a cruelty, and you know it.” Firm, but fair. That was the mantra prattle Joyce had drilled into his thick noggin. Fine! He was hard headed! So was his sister. Firm, but fair. FIRM, but fair. Shame "fair" for a vamp wasn’t the same as for a human, but his friend had coached him through this. As did H’Lenna and her books. “She ain't like that. She’s a classy lady, just like her mum. Her mum who cheated death twice. It’s an insult to both her and her mother that you call her daughter that.”

To effectively swat a fly, an object hurled in the direction of said fly must achieve the average speed of 0.2501 metres per second. The fastest snap of one’s plastic fly swatter to the beast, that was how quickly a wave of icy regret hit Charlotte when he spoke about her actions. “Oh. Oh, Mrs. Summers,” she turned to the matriarch, head bowed in guilt as she apologized to the lady. “I’m terribly sorry. I had no intention of- I’m terribly sorry, Miss Buffy. I- I should have minded my tongue. I have to admit, I have been a bit quick to anger since my moon times started.”

The Slayer, ever in her compassion despite her lack of patience, simply quirked the corner of mouth in acceptance of the apology. She could be a good role model to Charlotte, right? Right. “Just like your bro- moon times?” Oh, God. Was Charlie... was she a werewolf?! 

“The menzies?” the girl offered, trying to find out which turn of phrase the modern girls used. “Once a month a visitor arrives dressed in red?”

Rolling his eyes at the Summers' girls' confused looks, he jumped in. “Your period,” Spike finished helpfully, seeing his sister's grateful expression. No, not grateful.

Horror. Charlotte looked horrified. “William!”

“Pidge, you can’t possibly be scandalized by the word ‘period’ after being here for a year!”

“It is still impolite to discuss at the dinner table!”

“Why is his accent bad?” Dawn frowned, wanting to switch the topic so badly. Talking about a period was bad enough in front of her sister’s boyfriend, even worse when said boyfriend was a vampire. And at the dinner table? So unmixy it might as well have been water and oil. “What’s wrong with dock workers? They earn a decent salary here.”

Raising her chin, Charlotte explained, “because both father and mother come from superior stock,” she sniffed, like she was better than half the neighbourhood. 

“Mother’s family owned a laundry,” he asserted. “Mum was a laundress before she married father, and you know it.”

“No!” she argued, smacking her little palm on the surface of the table, like a petulant brat. “They told me she left her fan at a soirée, and he held onto it for her for months before running into her at the opera!”

“She was delivering linens, Pidge!”

“Wait,” Buffy put her hand on his chest, cooling him. “You grew up with, like, money? Going to balls and the opera, money?”

Charlotte’s anger fizzled into confusion. “You did not tell her?” she asked. Looking between them, she saw that he had not, leaving her to believe their connection to be good. Despite living in sin, perhaps Miss Buffy could be a good match for her brother yet. She was rather lovely, and she had come fairly swiftly to dispatch the not-ghosts that had attacked them in the basement of the high school. Her quick wit would keep William on his toes, she mused. And a college educated woman would mean smarter children in the future. “Oh. She must really love you if she does not want your fortune.”

“Fortune?” Dawn perked up. “There’s a fortune?”

“No!” Spike yelled, way too close to slipping into game face. “It’s…” he steadied at the hand Buffy had gripped on his knee like a vice. She gripped hard enough to dislocate if she jerked her wrist, keeping him in check. It comforted him. Grounding. “There was a war. A war to end all wars in 1914. It wiped out everything. Father sold the Norfolk estate after your passing, couldn’t bear to walk the halls without your laughter.” He looked at his plate, cottage pie mocking him. “Moved to London full time. After… The wars wiped it out. The banks, the house, the whole neighbourhood went tits up- er, destroyed.”

Her fork fell onto her plate in a clatter at the very thought. The once beloved dish felt like a punch to the gut. Charlotte hadn’t let herself hope too much about getting back to her time after being away for a year. Convincing her ‘family’ that she wasn’t from this time had landed her in a sanitarium. It wasn’t until she pretended things were going the way they wanted that she had been let out, allowed to be out in the confusing and overwhelming modern society. She had hoped, however, that her brother would be able to help, upon hearing he was somehow in the same time and place as she had been. But knowing that everything was gone, ripped from them in a war, perhaps more than one, it opened a fresh wound unlike any other. “Mother’s rings? Fa- father’s overcoat? Did you… could you save anything?

He winced. He’d pawned the jewels first, above everything else of value. He couldn’t bear the burden of seeing any of them on Druscilla. She was his dark princess, not mother. Now he wished desperately to have kept one single piece for Pidge. He had his old books, but just a few that she would have no interest in. It felt near pathetic. Home, abandoned when he'd dusted his mum, no dosh left, let alone their late father's beloved overcoat. “No,” he croaked. “Only… only survived cuz I wasn’t in the country when the first bomb-” his tongue clicked, swallowing a mouthful of wine. He really could use some whiskey right now. Dammit if they weren't out, he'd be knocking it back right about then.

“It was rather devastating,” Joyce helped, pouring herself another glass, needing the liquid courage herself. “I went there for my ho- college exchange program,” she corrected. They’d ease Charlotte into the 'divorced mom of two' part later on. Maybe when she finally asked. “They rebuilt, but it was pretty horrible. A lot of people died, entire blocks were leveled. It's a good thing you and your brother were no where near it when it hit.”

Charlotte nodded, drinking her soda slowly. Numbly. Gone. Everything just... gone! “My dowry?” she asked, hopefully. 

“Sorry, Pidge, no one does those anymore.”

She looked mortified at the very mention. “My trussaue. The dresses mother promised me and- do you have anything left of them? A photograph?”

He shook his head. 

God, Buffy thought with a pang, looking at her mother and sister. If I didn’t have any photos of them, I’d- “Wait,” she breathed, everyone’s eyes on her. “What about your sketches? We could show her those!”

Spike’s eyes widened before his whole face melted in utter devotion. God, he was a lucky bloke to have such a quick witted and caring lady by his side. He nodded at her suggestion, throat clicking. He moved to stand, but Buffy placed a hand to his shoulder, letting him sit. “Thanks, luv.”

She nodded tersely, sad smile on her face warming the long dead cockles of his heart. “I’ll be right back.” Without another word, she flew up the stairs to their room to wrench it off the wall.

“You’ve taken up sketching?” the youngest Pratt asked curiously. “I thought you hated it when we were younger.”

His shrug was telling. As if embarrassed by it. “Wasn’t good at it then. But suppose no teacher like practice to make ya halfway decent.”

“Is it true your mom used to drag you two to the museum every other weekend?”

Charlotte grinned as Buffy came back down, picture frame in hand. “Oh, yes. She would bring a blanket and sandwiches, and we would sit in a different section each time, talking about the artists of the room, the stories told on the canvas and in sculpture. We’d bring pencils and notebooks to recreate what we liked most, but we often rushed through. She had hoped we would have a modicum of artistic touch, but my art form leans towards chess, and William’s…” She stopped as the picture frame came into view, her hand reaching out for it. “Could I…?”

“Of course,” Buffy hastened, passing the facsimile of the girl’s parents to the young girl who hadn’t seen hide nor hair of them in ages. They had been the girl’s parents just as much as her boyfriend’s  

And as Charlotte touched the framed sketches with reverent fingertips, her face was awash in awe. “You drew these?”

“Well, yeah. Couldn’t go back in time to save the photos, so…”

“No, I suppose we can only be moved forwards through time,” she mused, a quirk of her mouth lifted as she brushed her finger over their father’s brow. “You got father’s eyes right, and his brow. But his curls were a touch more errant than ours ever were.”

“It’s still weird that he had curly hair,” Dawn murmured, looking at the sketches over her friend’s shoulder. “I just thought that was the shading.”

Charlotte laughed breathlessly. “No, he had very tightly coiled hair. Mother said she could pinpoint him in a crowd because of them. Oh, mother,” she looked so pained as she gazed on the long gone visage of the woman she loved dearly. “How I do so wish you were here.”

Joyce and Buffy shared a pained look, both turning to Spike to try and gauge his reaction. He only looked at his sister with that kind of familial affection twinged with the pain of the past. Buffy found his knee under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She knew what had happened to Anne Pratt, how painful that part of his past was. How he still blamed himself for it, trying to hide the shame with smoking and drinking and snide remarks. He covered her hand with his own, flicking a gaze of devotion to her before looking back at the miracle of the girl in front of him. 

Dawn seemed too engrossed in the trip down memory lane her new friend was taking her on to notice the rest of the table’s silent conversation. “Did he draw them accurately?” Charlotte nodded. “So, your mom actually had-”

“Yes,” Charlotte chuckled, carefully touching their mother’s earrings through the glass frame. “It was the trend to have clip-on earrings, though mother always was losing hers, so she had father pierce them for her.”

“Wait,” Joyce said, turning back to the teenagers in shock. “Your father pierced them? Himself?!”

Charlotte nodded, looking up in surprise. “Of course! He adored her, do anything for her. She’d only need to hint at it, and he’d be jumping to the occasion.”

“You don’t say,” Dawn drawled, smirking at the couple across the table. “Hmmmm… sounds familiar.”

Her sister had the common sense to look at her boyfriend with a raised brow, fully aware of where he learned the art of being a devoted lover from. “Your father loved her,” she breathed, pulling his hand to her mouth to press a careful kiss where his pulse point used to be. She wasn’t one for PDA, especially in front of her mother, but there were some exceptions. Knowing he was trying to make her as happy as his father did his own family warmed her heart in a way she could used to. “The way you love me?”

Charlotte’s eyes popped up, looking at her brother’s sheepish smile, eyes downcast on his plate. “Only if he knows what’s good for him.”

“Charlotte!” Dawn snorted, guffawing at her friend’s brashness. “No, duh!”

“Oi!”

“Oi, yourself,” Dawn threw back at him. “I dunno how your father loved, but your brother’s a giant sap when it comes to Buffy. You know he-”

“That’s enough, Dawn,” her mother warned, face stern. “Charlotte doesn’t need to know everything all at once. Got to ease her into things or she’ll get overwhelmed.”

“I was gonna say… ugh, nevermind.” She rolled her eyes, slouching in her chair as Charlotte handed the frame back to Buffy. Instead of taking it back all the way upstairs, her big sis propped it up on the side table behind her, giving Charlotte the best view of her actual parents while they ate. “Treats her better than her exes at least,” she muttered. “Not that the bar wasn’t in hell with- oh!” She snapped her head up, looking at her friend before her sister kicked her under the table. “We have a chess board set up in the living room," she exclaimed, thoughts all bubbling up together in a mass of bubbles, like how humpback whales hunted. She was hunting, kinda. Hunting for ways to salvage the night. "Will and I play together every week. Wanna play after dinner?” 

Charlotte beamed, nodding her head. “Of course!” She turned to look at her brother again, searching his eyes. “And besides playing chess with Dawn and helping Miss Buffy with fighting evil, what do you do now, exactly?” Poop. Well, the calm was nice when it lasted.

“Uh… do?”

“For a living, brother,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. Honestly, he could be so dense sometimes. “I do hope you do not allow Mrs. Summers to shoulder the financial burden of running a household alone. Especially now with our estates in tatters.”

That time, Buffy did choke on her drink. “Estates? Estates… plural?”

Charlotte, in her childlike innocence, was completely unaware of the mental gymnastics the slayer was currently dealing with across from her. “Well, yes. The home in Norfolk, and London," she counted on her fingers, "father’s businesses, a few rental properties...”

“Oh my God,” Dawn breathed, looking at Spike with a new sense of understanding about just how far he’d fallen. “You guys were like… rich rich, huh?”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” he scoffed, pushing his peas to the side of his plate. He felt on the spot, brassed off at how two teenage girls could push his buttons so easily and quickly. And for Pidge to “I, uh, model. Not my face, mind you, but mostly hands. Photographs for print, a couple of book covers.”

“A model?” Charlotte grimaced, poking around the food. “And you… cook. And use an obscene amount of hair product. No glasses, any other changes I should know about? Are you also covered in tattoos under this ridiculous get up?”

He laughed awkwardly, wishing Buffy would hurry her ass up and jump in any time! Buffer like she claimed she would. But it seemed she was fightin’ the cat that had her own tongue. “Um, a few.” Surprise sis! I’m a vampire, bleh! “Changes, that is. No tattoos. Yet,” she frowned at him, unamused by the very thought. “Uh… I have an auto,” he offered pathetically. 

“Oh!” That perked her up. “My adoptive mother’s sister collects something called ‘vintage muscle cars’. Do you know much about the subject?”

A broad grin swept across his face, relief flooding him. “Do I!”

Notes:

I have never written from the POV of a dog before, so apologies if it's rather bizarre.

Edited July 10/25 for readability

Chapter 7

Summary:

After a rocky start, Charlotte reluctantly approves of her brother being Miss Buffy A. Summers’ beau. And first order of Lottie’s: spill ALL the details of the drama she remembered from her and Willam’s childhood.

btw: ‘pork pies’ aka ‘telling porkies’ used to be British slang for lies, if my gran's telling the truth

Edited for formatting and readability Aug 23, 2025

Chapter Text

Tuesday, September 3rd, 2002 - Part B

 

Dinner turned out to be a bit of alright, as far as Spike was concerned. They’d talked loads, new family and old, played a few rounds of chess, even laughed a few times, almost like the past thirteen decades never happened. His sister seemed to get on with Dawnie, which was a boon. If Niblet weren’t here, then Pidge- no. Couldn’t think like that. What was it H’Lenna rattled on about? Oh, right. Catastrophizing led to catastrophes. Ugh, but she sounded like a bloody bumper sticker half the time. Still, he’d met her wife, entirely by accident as they bumped into one another at the bowling alley. The pair of them looked damn happy, holding hands, er, paws, gigglin’ and sippin’ their drinks like they were two teenage dorks sneakin’ out for a first date. She knew what she was on about, even if it sounded shite. Everytime he listened to her advice, it worked out aces for him, even if he got tossed around a couple times by some beastie first. So he shut down that line of thinking and moved on to trying to reacquaint himself with his sister.

Charlotte. His baby sister. Pidge. Three days stood out to him wherever he used to think of her: the day she was born, the day she died, and the day she was buried. Yeah, there were good memories interspersed, he hadn’t gone barmy. Though he bloody well felt like he had, what with his dead kid sister being alive! And older! And… cured? Bloody L.A. Bunch of tossing wanking scum, keepin’ her from him for who knows how bloody long. Despite it all, he had a chance. She had a chance. A second chance to live her life, and in a far superior time, if he did say so himself. He had no dowry or land or dosh of that kind to give her, but he could swing something. Make sure she’s covered, somehow. Best ask demon-girl, he concluded, sitting on the back porch with said sister, the Summers women giving them a modicum of privacy. Gotta be somethin’ worth doin’ for her. Anya would know. Bloody Fáfnir with the investin’ racket, thank Christ. “So….” he broached cautiously as she finished her ice cream. The chocolates she’d brought for dessert had been all dark chocolate, some heathy crap the woman moonlighting as her adoptive mum picked up in some health apothecary for the occasion. One look at it, and Buffy had been reaching for the freezer for the ice cream cones she’d purchased at the Piggly Wiggly earlier that afternoon. 

Based on how quick she’d been to scarf it down, it was clear to them all that Pidge had been deprived of sugar by the ‘Smiths’ for quite some time. Some of it was on her chin, but he was loathe to tell her. She looked so sodding innocent like that, like no time had passed at all. But she was older, so was he, and she was already climbin’ the beanstalk faster than he did at that age. Soon enough, she’d be taller than Nibblet. “Know you’re itchin’ to say it, so spit it out already.”

Charlotte bit into the sugar cone part of her dessert, nearly three-quarters of the way through, a look of contemplation on her face. “Definitely a less than traditional courtship, though I suppose there’s a great lack of anything traditional in this town.” He shrugged in response, knowing that she could tell on some level that he was no longer a traditional man. Neither was his lady traditional by Pidge’s standards. “She’s rather a bit of raspberry, though, Buffy.”

He grinned, looking down at his hands, feeling like the blushing school boy he once was. “Yeah, she’s rather perfect, I wager. Don’t know what she sees in a bloke like me, but,” he shrugged. “Sees somethin’ worth keepin’ around.”

Charlotte hummed. “She does seem loyal, if that outburst at dinner has anything to say about that.”

“Pidge-“

“Dawn, she says you call her Nibblet,” she continued, ignoring the face he was making. If there was one thing Pidge knew how to do, it was interrupting others, completely unaware of the other person’s confusion or irritation. “Now, when did we say that was alright to do, Pug?” 

Eyes widening, he bridged the gap between them, keeping his voice low. “You keep your trap shut!” He hissed, earning him a chuckle. “They don’t know that shite and they won’t, you hear me?!”

“Or what?!” she laughed. “You’ll tell Mrs. Summers on me? Our parents are dead, Pug,” she turned serious, “and we’re not young children anymore. I’m practically a woman.”

“Like hell!” he disagreed, just as stern. Pratt stubbornly attitude, through and through. “You’re only… fifteen. You’re… I missed six years of your life,” his shoulders slumped, deflating. The reality of her life had been coming on in waves since Buffy’d told him, and now was one of those melancholic swings down. “I missed so much, I- your birthday,” he breathed. “It’s not long, now. ‘Bout fifteen weeks now, I reckon.”

She grinned, knocking shoulders against his. “You remembered.”

He scoffed back. “Like I could ever forget. Lit a candle for you here last year.”

Blinking in shock, she asked, “You did?” He nodded. “At church?”

“No, God no. I uh, I don’t go to church anymore.”

She rolled her eyes, exactly the way she did as a child. “What a shock.”

“There… was a fire,” alright, ‘edited truth time’, as the Slayer would say. “I was trapped. Almost dus- didn’t make it. Was wheelchair bound for months after the fact. Can’t go inside ‘em anymore.”

“Oh. I had no idea. Did it scar?”

He shrugged. There was still a scar where Buffy had thrown the Frankincense holder at the organ, the point of which left a barely noticeable dot near his spine that she kissed in apology every time she saw it. He didn’t need her apology, but it always made him putty in her hands. “Healed up well, all things considered. More interested to hear about this double lung transplant you had. Did you see your old lungs after they took ‘em out?”

“That’s disgusting, William!” Her face was twisted in horror before schooling herself. “But yes, I did.”

He laughed, an uplifting bark of a sound. “Course you did.” Always so keen to learn anatomy, add to that her love of chess, and her friends had been rather few back then. But their da hadn’t found it odd, fostering that love inside her by learning side by side in the study, pouring over medical textbooks they’d bought from the university bookstore their uncle worked at. Dear old pops had damn near turned green reading those books, but not their Pidge. Spike wagered that in another life, she’d have become a nurse or something of the like. Maybe she’d become one now. Or a doctor, if they were lucky. “And how were they?”

Her face twisted into a dark grimace. “Do you remember the beef kidney uncle Phillip brought over to make steak and kidney pie with? And how the structures were all made wrong?”

“Somewhat. I remember the steak having fur.”

“My lungs had fur,” she added numbly. “Fur and holes where they shouldn’t have been. I understand now why breathing was torture.”

Hand twitching before it landed on her shoulder, feather light, trying to comfort her like he used to. But nothing was like what it used to be. They sure weren’t. Not by a long shot. “Pidge, I’m so sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t give me consumption, did you?”

No, but he always felt like it had been. He’d been tasked with taking her straight home after church services like the dutiful big brother he was meant to be, but he let her go with her mates to grab sweeties. One of those mates passed it along - unknowingly - to the girl. A regret he kept in his heart ever since, rebloomed when Glory tortured him for information on their Dawn. God, he was a sap. “Shouldn’t have let you go, wouldn’t have gotten it if-”

Charlotte interrupted him before he could go down the winding path of guilt and shame she was sure he’d be going down. “Mrs. Summers said you saved her life,” he nodded, numb himself. “And I know those two young ladies in there would have been beyond devastated without their mother around.” She hesitantly cupped his face, seeing the tortured expression she saw so often on their father mimicked on her brother’s visage. The look of a man terrified that he let down the ladies in his life. “You’re not the same William I left in Norfolk those years ago, but you still have his heart. And you needn’t concern yourself with what you didn’t do then, and worry about what you do do now.”

He smiled, soft and pained. “You said doo-doo.”

“I did-did,” she replied, their teasing game back again in full swing, a century since it was last played.  

“I don’t care how you got here, I’m just so glad you’re here now, Pidge. I- I’ve missed you.”

“How long has it been for you?” she asked. 

“What?”

“You’ve aged more than just five years, Pug.” She noted the higher ridge of his forehead with her finger. “It’s been at least a decade, hasn’t it?”

He huffed, eyes sliding shut. “At least.” You have no bloody idea, Bit, churned in his head. 

“And Miss Buffy, she has adjusted well to dating an English gentleman?”

He grimaced, eyes opening. “I.. haven’t exactly been the most… gentlemanly to her.”

Which was entirely the wrong thing to say, truth or not, her face growing slack with surprised. “What?”

“It’s complicated beyond words, Pidge.”

Charlotte crossed her arms over herself, face resolute. “Try,” she demanded.

“I can’t.”

“Then start,” she stood, looking at him with all the intensity of both their parents combined. He’d blinked, and she had the rititous stubbornness of a woman quitesmimally older. “Start by being a gentleman to her now. I did not see a single bouquet in that entire house! What kind of man of letters does not romance his love with bouquets every week? Hmm? How many did father give mother over the decades? Countless! And even now, I see many men buy them for their lady friends, so do not tell me it is a modern rarity.”

A puff of amused air escaped him, leaning back to rest his weight on the wall next to him. “More like a ‘Buffy can’t keep flowers alive’ thing, Pidge.”

“Hey!”

Twin heads whipped around, catching both Summers sister’s eavesdropping by the back door. Their ducking didn’t hide them from either Pratt, who chuckled at the sight of two deer in headlights. 

“Shoulda noticed you two lurkin’ over there,” he said, watching them stand up through the glass. 

Buffy scoffed, opening the back door. “Not lurking. Just standing about.”

Dawn nodded. “It’s a whole other thing.”

He turned slowly to Charlotte sharing a look before they burst out into laughter. 

“What?” Dawn asked. “What did I say?”

Charlotte wiped the tears from her eyes, waving them off. Her chuckles made her cough, but not enough to make her reach for her puffer. “That is word for word the exchange William and I would say, hee hee hee, whenever our parents caught us eavesdropping!” She didn’t see the slight glint of worry in her brother’s eyes at the orchestra of wheezing, before it evened out to her giggled once more. New lungs, he reminded himself. Not dying. Just gigglemuggin’ it. She’s alright.  

“Oh,” Buffy answered, shrugging briefly. “Your brother used to say it, and now it’s stuck.”

Blonde ringlets bounced despite the pins attempts to keep them neat as she shook her head side to side. “William always did fancy having catchphrases. Made him feel butter upon bacon.”

Buffy snorted, rolling her eyes. “Any more butter on that bacon, and the cardiology department’s gonna have a field day.”

“Oi! You lot just about done with your whinging?”

The Slayer simply grinned, lifting a shoulder in a casual shrug. “And where would the fun in that be?”

“Brother,” Charlotte agreed, slapping his shoulder. “I do believe you’ve met your match in Miss Summers, and I know if you wish to keep her, you’ll attempt to bring her more flowers, whether she kills them or not.”

“I think that’s a swell idea, Charlotte,” Buffy agreed, smirking at her boyfriend. “Any other Victorian gentlemanlike things he should be doing?”

“Well, your next outing should be chaperoned,” Charlotte added, looking thoughtful, missing how fast the Slayer paled at the thought. “You are both unmarried, single people. I hope you’ve been chaperoned thus far.”

Oh, crap. Chaperoned? Like, Giles and her mom hovering around, ‘armlength apart at the middle school dance’ chaperoned?! “Uh…” she could see Spike’s ‘should’ve kept your mouth shut’ smirk behind Charlotte, who was looking right at the other blonde. She hated when he was right. She really should have kept her trap shut, but it was way late for that now, not with how Charlotte was staring her down. “Technically our first date was.” His eyebrows knit together, not remembering what she was on about. “Willow and Tara were there, remember.”

He shot her an incredulous look before schooling it as Pidge turned to look at him. “Oh, mini golfing!” he realized, bloody relieved. There she was, buffering again. He’d have to remember to pick her up some more smoke Gouda later as thanks. “Yeah, nearly forgot the little wager we made.”

“You gambled?!” Charlotte spun on her heel. “William James Pratt! As I live and breathe, have you become a complete lout?!”

Well, yeah, he thought. And that’s not the half of it. Not even close to poker of demons at the back of Dave’s bar that Clem runs, using currency of the feline variety. 

“Didn’t your mom organise a betting ring for your chess tournament?” Dawn asked. 

Charlotte’s face thundered. “She did no such…. William?”

He avoided her gaze, the wood grain of the back steps suddenly extremely interesting. “Hmm?”

“William, look at me, no, not my forehead, look at me!” His eyes snapped to hers. “Is she telling the truth?”

“No…”

“Oh dear God in heaven,” she fell to the stairs. “You’re a horrible liar.” Good thing that hasn’t changed, Buffy thought amusingly. “Mother didn’t… oh, of course she did!” She chuckled darkly, shaking her head. “Anything to get Mrs. Millicent Dooley to shut her gob.”

“Who’s Mrs. Millicent Dooley?” Joyce asked, now joining the rest of the dinner party outside, dishes sitting in the new dishwasher they’d splurged on. 

“You haven’t told them about Mrs. Millicent Dooley’s pork pies?” she asked, surprised with him. She had half expected the Summers women to be experts in the drama that unfolded itself in their neighbourhood by now.

He shrugged, standing to drag some patio chairs over. “You’re gonna wanna sit for this one.”

“Oh, let me tell you about the Dooley family,” Charlotte set the metaphorical stage, standing on the grass as her brother set the physical one. “William, if you please.” She presented her arm for him to hold, and the Slayer and the Former Key watched as their mother, God Killer - thank you Xander for the best and wiggliest nickname Joyce could ever get - sat between them, William the Bloody being dragged around during a pantomime. “Millicent married Elias Dooley the year before father proposed to mother. He was a lout, older by nearly forty YEARS with a hump, no, William,” she tried to arrange him to stand with a slouch, her brother grumbling as he relented. Total sap. “He was more- yes, like that.”

Dawn snickered at the expression on Spike’s face, one eye squinted with his tongue out a bit. “Did he have a stroke?”

“No, kicked in the face by a sheep,” Charlotte clarified. “With whom it is said he tried to have,” she shuddered, “intercourse with.”

A trip of voices exclaimed from the porch steps synchronized only of one was slow of hearing. “Eeewwww!”

“Exactly. Well, Mrs. Millicent Dooley was a horrid, wretched thing who thought she was the belle of the ball,” she pulled two strands of hair from her updo to cross over her lips as a moustache. “But a beast truly lay in her face. And heart.” She gestured to her brother and they pretended to waltz around, utterly useless together. “And she danced like so,” they looked like two wooden cutouts more than people. A child playing with their paper dolls named Charlotte and Spike. The Summers women laughed in amusement at the spectacle, Dawn laughing so hard her face was turning red. “Oh, and her breath! So rancid that you’d have thought her tongue had died in there several moons ago. Though Mr. Dooley did not seem to care, what with his nearly demented need to shove his tongue down her oesophagus at every ball they attended.” 

Spike hobbled over to Buffy, his fingers pinching his nose. “I lost me sense o’ smell when me first wife Sheeply done kicked me in me face!”

She barked out a peel of laughter, flush creeping up her face and down her neck. He always tried to make her laugh, no matter what went on around them. Wouldn’t matter if she smiled in return, just did it because she ‘deserved a spot of happiness’. She loved him just a tiny bit more each time. 

He hobbled back to Charlotte, still in character to appease his sister. “And then they had five rotten little children, with rotten little faces,” she continued narrating for her captive audience. “The youngest was Euthenasia.”

It was Spike’s turn to laugh, breaking character as he leaned back. “Anastasia! You were also so crude to her, and she was your friend!”

“No friend of mine would do that to my favourite pink fascinator!”

Dawn scrunched up her nose in confusion. “Fascinator?” 

“Hat.”

“What did she do to it?” Buffy asked. 

“She weed all over it!”

“Wait, like, pee?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know! Doubt I’ll ever know, now. But she was horrid.” Charlotte manoeuvred herself to sit on one of the patio chairs, taking off her cardigan to affix it on backwards in an attempt at an older fashion era with limited time. “William, come now,” she snapped and pointed to the other chair, getting an eye roll from her brother. “You play mother, I’ll play Dooley.”

“But you always got to play her!”

“I’m your guest!” 

“And I’m your elder!”

“Mrs. Summers outranks you!” Dawn snorted, covering her mouth, pretending to smother a cough. The fact that someone often mistook her mom for his own was absolutely hilarious sometimes. Spike was way older than even Mr. Giles, and the ex-librarian was practically ancient. “Mrs. Summers, could I please have your blessing to play the role of Mrs. Millicent Dooley?”

Joyce chuckled, putting her hands up. “Oh, no, I’m not getting between a sibling squabble. I’ve learned my lesson from these two,” she hooked her thumbs to her daughters, one on either side of her on the steps, “over the years.”

“Hey!”  “Rude!” 

“Fine,” he ground out. “Just this one time, I’ll play mother.” 

Nodding once, she slipped into character. “Ooh, Anne, tell me,” Charlotte as Millicent drawled in a rather unexpected deep bravado voice. “Is your son ever going to grow out of his ugly duckling phase like his cousin Edmund did, or will he be seeking a wife overseas in the throngs of the lame?”

“The lame?” Dawn asked. “Cuz if you ask me, Harmony was prett- ow! Mom!” She rubbed where her mother pinched the tender flesh of her arm. So not fair. 

“She means suffering from leprosy,” Joyce clarified, earning her a spot of confusion before understanding awashed her youngest. “Continue.”

Spike rolled his eyes, putting on a falsetto tone that Buffy knew he was going to gripe about for weeks if she laughed. “Oh, William?” He drolled, pretending to stir a spoon in his imaginary tea. “He’s quite a handsome boy-”

“With pustules over his face,” Millicent-Charlotte retorted. 

Spike laughed, replying in the same falsetto, “far better than the pustules your dear Elias has earned on his manhood from the barn, do you not agree?”

Buffy barked a laugh, no longer trying to hide her jubilation. “Oh, snap!” 

He grinned, happy he made his lady love laugh so hard she was turning red. “And at only three and ten years of age, my, he might have to turn potential suitors away!”

“This angered Millicent,” Charlotte foretold, her hands over her lap like a witch would a cauldron. “For her own son, George Alaistair Dooley, had turned away a potential suitor early on in his introduction into society, thus making enemies with the young lady’s family.”

“Wait,” Joyce asked, turning to her friend. “Not the same George that…”

He nodded, knowing the conversation well. “The same.”

“Well, no wonder Milli was pissed,” she added, downing the rest of her wine. The other girls looked at her in confusion. “What?”

“What did George do?” Charlotte asked. 

Spike rolled his eyes, his whole head following. “Became a drunk.” No need to add in all the other idiocintracies the git had done before Druscilla had plucked his eyes out with her thumbnails. 

“Well, like father and mother, like son,” she shrugged, missing the look between her brother and his boop. “But she assumed dear sweet Anne Pratt,” she poked his tummy, getting him to pay attention. “That dear sweet Anne Pratt,” he sighed, moving back into the previous position. “Was the source of the rumours surrounding Mr. Elias Dooley, and their son.”

Dawn sobered, asking, “then who was?”

“None other than that harpy-”

“William!” she chastised. “Cecily Underwood is no harpy!” 

“Ha!” Buffy laughed, gaining their attention. “Charlotte, you and I are going to have so many stories to share together because, ooooh boy! You don’t know the half of it.” 

“I look forward to that day, Miss Sum- Buffy.” 

Warming at the use of her own name instead of going all formal on her again, Buffy grinned back at the girl, ready to hear more. She was getting an in, and the slayer wasn’t going to let it go so easily. “So what about these pork pies? Were they super salty or something?”

“The most rancid of all!” the girl exclaimed. “My, dear Anne,” Millicent-Charlotte sneered back. “You know the Petersons down the way are expecting their third child, come April. Whatever shall we get them for the big day?”

Anne-Spike’s expression crinkled between the brows, frowning slightly. “But did she not claim to be left barren from little Georgina’s birth? The complexities of which left her bed boun?”

“Oh, no!” Charlotte turned back to the audience with her voice slipping back through, past the imitation. “Porkie pie number one, for the Lady Peterson did in fact lose her womb to her last born, but nearly lost her life, as well.”

Joyce gasped, feeling like she was watching an episode of DOUL unfold in front of her. “She lied to your mom about that? Oh, no.”

“Oh yes!” Spike responded, warning him a pinch from his sister to quit stealing her thunder. “That’s nothin’. Tell ‘em of the Anderson wedding fiasco.”

Settling into their seats, they watched eagerly as Charlotte and her brother relayed the drama back to their hosts, the girl a natural storyteller, exhuberant in her acting as she spoke and mimed along with him. She missed the fond expressions he sent her the rest of the evening, except when she hugged him goodbye when she got a ride home from Joyce. 

“I had a lovely time,” she admitted, a little shy at the door. “Thank you.” And before anyone could say another word, she fled inside her house, the two friends sitting next to one another in the jeep, perplexed.

Joyce placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, mouth opening to ask if he was okay that died on her tongue. 

“Never a dull moment, huh J?”

She snapped her mouth shut, chuckling dryly as she gunned the engine. “Not a one, S. Not one.”

Chapter 8

Summary:

It was their own fault, really. Buffy and Spike HAD agreed to train not only Dawn, but her mini trio of Scoobies to fight vampires. They just thought they’d be able to do so without a certain SOMEONE’S kid sister hearing about it….

Chapter Text

Friday, September 6th, 2002

 

Dawn felt eyes on the back of her head, tiny little hairs on the backs of her forearms raising. She breathed in slowly, holding it as she listened around her, crouching low. Just to the left, around ten o’clock and two feet away, she heard the shuffle. Running in front of the grave, she dropped to a squat, stake raised as the hands broke through. 

Hold… ’ she heard the voice in her head - Willow’s voice - say. Willow’s projection skills had gotten very good lately. Scary good. ‘ Hold…

She waited. Waited until the head was through before staking them. His head popped up, snarl on his face as his shoulders broke free.

“Hey!” She called out, the face turning up to look at her, surprised. “Later!” Down her arm went, stabbing at his heart, then quickly pulling the stake out completely. He dusted before she stood. 

Buffy grinned at her as she walked from the shadows, keeping herself whisper quiet. “Think someone beat her old record,” she threw to the shadow on her left. 

“I reckon so,” Spike nodded, Kit and Carlos trailing after them like lost puppies. They often were, the stark reminder of what Willow and Xander were like when they first joined up against the evils of Sunnydale. “What time we got, Bits?”

Carlos stumbled, holding onto Kit’s shoulder, trying to steady himself - and maybe sling an arm over her shoulders. “From the time of her run, 58.67 seconds,” he read from the palm sized spiral notebook he’d been keeping since they’d started. The jock was obsessed with metrics to his competition, and he and Dawn were very competitive. Holy shit, chica! You beat all our times!” And still in awe of how incredible the former Key was when it came to her improvement over the past three weeks.

“Not all our times,” Buffy mumbled, frowning when she felt a chuckle in her head via her connection with Willow. ‘Hey, stop that!’ She shot back, annoyed at the intrusion. 

“Well, except Buffy, of course,” Kit added, unaware of the argument the Slayer was having with the witch. “Any more out there, Willow?”

One by the north side is due to rise now. If we leave now we can make it. As long as Dawnie leaves us some of him.’

“Yeah,” Dawn looked to her sister, getting pulled into said sister’s embrace, firm kiss pressed to her cheek, outgrowing Buffy’s ability to give forehead kisses without stepping on her tiptoes. “Come on, Dawnie. Let’s give someone else a chance.”

“A chance!” Carlos laughed, “please! He was barely out of the ground before she shanked him!” Dawn pulled away to argue with the boy, hearing her other friend say something belatedly next to him as she did. “Shishka Rob,” Kit joked, pointing at the headstone, trying to ease the tension. 

Unperturbed by the kiddies, Spike slung an arm around Buffy’s shoulders, getting a curious look back. “Got one of those for me, pet?”

She scoffed, pulling his arm off, spinning so they were holding hands instead. She hated when he put all his weight on her like that. Sure, she could handle it, but she was his girlfriend , not a freaking passenger seat. “If you’re a good boy,” she whispered, low enough only he could hear. “I’ll bring out that outfit you got me in the spring.”

The shivers of anticipation filled him at her promise. “Bloody hell,” he breathed, pupil blown out in lust as he turned his head towards her. “You and I are gonna have a seriously long conversation about that later, missy.”

Buffy winked, ducking under the low hanging branch of a nearby tree, knowing she’d won. 

He was about to say something smarmy back to her, but he couldn’t think of anything with the bloody racket Los was making up ahead. Honestly, it was an unyielding wonder the lost little puppy dog hadn’t been eaten yet. Tiny shred better than Xander was at that age, he reckoned only on account of his football training. Meanwhile Kit, well, he could see her becoming a Watcher one day. If she lost the emo look and gave up every sense of joy she had to start wearing tweed full time. Though it was unlikely the council would ever hire her with the constant questions she had about them and general lack of respect for traditional authority figures. After twelve foster homes in sixteen years, Buffy said the girl had a right to question things, but it was a bloody relief that the girl at least paid them any mind. He was about to scold Los for tripping over an epitaph when Kit beat him to the punch. Quite literally, mind, by gripping Los’ arm and hauling him back, keepin’ the kid from braining himself on the headstone not three feet in front of him. He could hear her whispered admonishment when the hairs on the back of his hands rose up. “Slayer,” he ground out.

“I know. Up ahead.”

“Park’s on that side.”

Dawn stopped walking, turning around with a questioning look. Holding up her index and middle fingers on her right hand, she held them crooked in front of her mouth to indicate their hand sign from the summer. Vampire? she silently asked.

Nodding, the couple both gestured to her friends ahead, then released their clasped hands to head off in different directions. Buffy to the left, him to the right. Dawn held her stake firmly as she went forwards. They’d been doing this song and dance all summer. Dawn would go to the front, attracting the vampire to come forwards, and the couple would take it up the sides, cornering it in for Dawn’s kill. Sometimes, it didn’t work so well, ending up in Buffy and/or Spike dusting it side by side, with Dawn just pouting as she nursed a bruise. But if she got really lucky, she’d be able to get one before the other two were in striking distance. She once got one with a bolt from the crossbow before either Spike or Buffy saw him. If Kit and Carlos weren’t actively watching it go down, no one would have believed her. Now, though, now was not going to be an easy night. For the one raised that Willow mentioned wasn’t a loner. Oh, no. It had a family. And a family that has planned a rather large reunion. 

“When’s Ricki gonna stop pussyfooting around and join us, already?” A female vampire in ripped leggings and a Rolling Stones t-shirt griped, stopping Kit and Carlos cold where they were standing. 

Peeking around the side of the crypt they were hiding behind, their eyes widened in shock. “He’ll rise when he’s ready,” a bored looking male vampire replied, sitting on top of a headstone. Five vampires in total, ranging in different states of dress - or in lounging guy’s case, un dress - all waiting for their newest family member to rise. “I took a good five hours after sunset to rise, didn’t I, boss?” He scratched his bare chest absently, the bolo tie hanging from his neck a massive question mark to the teens. 

Nearing closer, the other three hunting for the undead could hear the conversation now, Dawn carefully taking up the rear to see what was happening. “That’s because your idiot pew-lickers buried you upside down,” a hulking male vampire scoffed, pulling on something below their view. The row of headstones between them and the vamps made it hard to see at first, the ‘boss’ yanking harder. “Come on now, sugar,” he drawled, his arm jerking the thing up higher. “Why don’t you come sit in daddy’s lap, hmm? Best seat in the house, second to my face.” The other vamps snickered, their hyena calls into the night attracting every available Scooby around, as the item came into view. No, not some thing, some body. As in a body . A live one. 

Covering her mouth with her hand, Kit bit back a whimper at the sight before them. ‘Boss’ held a woman, maybe a few years older than Buffy, bound and gagged, to sit in his lap. She looked understandably terrified, a few puncture marks on her bare arms and neck to show she’d been fed on, more than a few times, in various states of healing. If she had to guess, she’d think the woman had been their captive for at least a few days. She was the snack they’d been savouring, like a sick, twisted version of a jawbreaker. Oh, God, she thought. She’s the pie cooling in the windowsill for ‘Ricki’. Oh, man. Their victim cried, her voice muffled by the gag, her movements a little sluggish as she tried to break free.

“Now, now,” they all turned sharply to their right, the Scoobies’ left, as the youngest looking vampire jumped up on the nearby headstone, their gender up in the air. The kid must have been turned young, what with them looking no older than the teens looking on in horror, their stakes raised. “There’s no use fightin’, darling,” their southern accent shone through. Georgian, if Kit had to guess. “You’re not gonna make it through the night anyhow. Strugglin’ just gets us all hot and bothered. Well, not hot, cuz we’re dead.” Hyenas, the pack of them, chortling away at the piss poor excuse for a joke. “Ah! And here’s the man of the hour now, so hold tight, sugar tits, main event’s ready to start.”

Rumbling emitted from the grave they’d been staring at, the prognostication of limbs breaking forth followed the cheers of the family members. Leggings vamp clapped her hands and shimmied her hips as Ricki’s shoulders burst through, howling in triumph as he got his hips out. Shaking the dirt off himself, Ricki greeted her with a leer. “What’s this?”

Leggings girl giggled, clapping her hands before stretching her arms pit to him. “Your birthday party, baby. Boss said I get to keep ya. Only if you want to be kept, of course.”

Sniffing the air, he shut his eyes on bliss. “What’s that heavenly smell?” He inquired, unaware of Buffy creeping on his tail, downwind of him. “It smells… scrumdilliumptious.”

“Scrum….” Her shoulders fell, looking back at their boss exasperating. “No fair, I want a do-over!”  Pointing to Ricki accusedly, she spat back, “he’s busted! No one talks like that unless they’re nuts.”

Ricki took full offense to that, growling at her. “Hey! You’re no best in show either! Didn’t know being a vampire meant dressing like a skank fished outta the sewage dump after being a floater for a weekend!” She gasped, hand to her rather lopsided bosom. “Labour Day weekend!”

Arguing back and forth, the other vampires were distracted as they neared their target, Kit and Carlos already planning on how to best distract the enemy long enough to let the victim run away. Careful of their steps, they advanced, keeping as far out of sight ay they could get. They couldn’t see Dawn or Buffy from their vantage point, only getting a glimpse of Spike’s location where his bleached hair glinted in the moonlight for a split second. They were nearly there, just another dozen feet or so, then-

“What was that?” Knockoff Vincent Vega stood up, fists raised as he prepared himself for a brawl. “I smell a cookout comin’ on, from up high,” holding his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans, he turned to the crypt the teenagers were just hiding behind, a new figure glaring back down on the scene. “Well, well. If it ain’t little Pebbles!” 

They turned sharply to see the redheaded witch standing on the roof of the Vandergunn family crypt, her skin a sharp relief of alabaster against the night sky. Willow’s accidental appearance had attracted them when her boot slipped on the leaf covered top, leaving her vulnerable to the nest. “Lookie, lookie,” another vamp hissed, their full-length stretched to well over seven feet as they stood. “Got ourselves a little dessert for after our cheese plate.”

“Or,” the witch countered. “I- I make you a deal. A different one. Wi- without dessert. Like that. Cuz you? So not my type.”

Jeers from the cheap seats landed the others a swift kick to the shins before the boss of the operation made them cease. “What’s a Jessie like you doin’ in a place like this? And so late at night?” Dropping the victim like a capri sun after two sips, they stalked forwards, bollo tie and last decade’s prom dress following closely behind. “Some might just reckon you’re in for a rough ride? That what you like, huh, Dorothy?” Flashing some fang, they jumped up to stand in front of her, right up on top of the roof not two feet away. “Awww… your heart’s a tickin’ away. Unless you got a bomb in your pocket for me, darlin.”

“A bomb?” She asked, tiling her head in confusion. “You mean… like this one?”

Barey giving them a chance to blink, she threw the small glass vial at the vamp’s head, shattering on impact as holy water sprayed with the glass. Howling in pain, the vampire brushed off as much as possible, the causing liquid covering whatever it could cling to, making it damn near impossible. Without waiting for a response, she plunged her stake to his heart, giving silent instruction to the Scoobies to roll out. ‘Showtime.’

Descending on the biped mosquitoes, Buffy was silent as she ran, arm swinging out to stake the closest one to her, dust on her boots before the others could notice. Ricki did pick-y the worst night to rise. Turning to see if her lover was ready to rumble, leggings vampire hissed as she saw the short blonde in his place. “Slayer!”

“Skank,” Buffy offered back. “Wanna do this the easy way, or the-” she ducked as a fist went spiraling for her mouth. Bobbing back up, she sucked her teeth at the gall the vampiress had. “Hard was it is.”

A flurry of movement descended on the corner of the cemetery, Dawn and Carlos getting one down as Kit freed the woman, the other three each held up by a different adult Scooby. The goth teen tried to calmly tell the human victim that she was safe now, that they were here to help, but she was way too freaked out, bolting as soon as she could manage. Dusting their vampire, Carlos and Dawn headed to help Spike with his, which was unnecessary as his was dusted. The little matter of Willow’s vampire who’s socked her in the face before ditching her to run amok elsewhere. 

The fight spilled into the park across the street, Buffy shouting to her lover to go after the hulking mass trying to give them the slip. Legging and tshirt vampiress was stronger than she looked, giving Buffy a run for her money, but she let up her form. Vampiress or not, Buffy was the Slayer. 

Seeing she had her own handled, Spike didn’t need telling twice. Breaking out into a sprint, he followed the tacky dressed undead leech to the park, where it was antagonising what looked like two nummy treats, if a bit young and lean. Easy pickin’s, being out at this hour, but a ten year veteran was nothing to a master vamp of twelve times that. With only the flapping of his coat, Spike rushed it, still in game face before it could take out the two teenagers near the swings. The damned bugger was slippery, but distracted like it was, it didn’t even have a chance. Tackling it to the ground, he put a hand on either side of the vampire’s head, twisting to the left so hard the neck snapped. Before either he or the other vampire could trade quips, the pathetic git was hourglass fodder. He barely remembered to slip back into his human face before he turned to regard the two kids. 

And his jaw fell right open as his kid sister stared back at him with unbridled terror in her eyes. Spike blinked, Charlotte’s own jaw tight with tension, her eyes looked upon him in horror, heart racing a staccato in her chest. The tall, lanky boy next to her looked frantically around, braces illuminated in the light bouncing against the metal.  

“Yooooo!” Carlos called, coming around the bend. “That was so sick , bro! When you grabbed… the…” he trailed off, looking at the teenagers he didn’t have an angle to see before. “Uh…” But Charlotte and William Pratt didn’t pay him any mind, locked in an epic staring contest. 

Dawn ran towards them, Buffy and Kit dusting the last vampire behind them. “Thomas?”

“Dawn?!” He waved at her, trying to get her attention. “Uh… this guy here-”

“Spike,” she clarified. “And your friend here? Oh, Charlotte!” She tugged on the cuff of her denim jacket awkwardly. “Hi….”

That seemed to knock the spell out of Charlotte’s eyes, looking to her friend for some sort of explanation that would make even a lick of sense. “What… is happening here? Have I gone stark raving mad?! Because I do believe I just watched my brother - who had yellow glowing eyes not but a moment ago - rip a man’s head off so forcefully that all there’s left is dust!” She laughed hysterically, feeling lightheaded, trembling from top to tail. Her face paled, eyes going all fuzzy and glazed over. “Thomas, I do believe I’m about to-” she wavered, Spike just fast enough to catch his sister before her eyes rolled all the way back into her skull, as she fainted to the ground. 

Dawn rushed behind her, back from where she’d come, waving her sister down. “Buffy! ” She hissed, cognizant of her volume, lest she alert the entire town. One fainting Victorian was more than enough collateral damage for one night. Thank God that woman got away before they did any more damage to her. 

Buffy ran at a breakneck speed, Willow jumping down from the top of the crypt she was on so Kit wouldn't be alone. 

Slayer Rule #2: never go it alone. 

Slayer Rule #1 just went out the window: keep being a Slayer a secret. And vampires. And demons. Basically anything Hellmouth-y in general. 

Buffy rounded the corner, eyes wide. “What did- ? Thomas? Charlotte?! What are you two doing out here?”

“Uh… we uh,” Thomas floundered, pointing back towards where they had been sitting on the swings. “We just came that way, and then… poof! We’re here, ya know!” He chuckled awkwardly, avoiding Spike’s wary eyes as he hiked up his sister into a bridal carry. “And that- that guy went poof too! How did that… and his face…” he scrambled to hide behind Buffy. “Uh, Dawn’s sister? What’s going on?”

Kit coughed, huffing and puffing as she and Willow caught up with them. “I think I inhaled about 15% of that last vampire we dusted and- Thomas! And… who’s that?”

“Charlotte,” Dawn answered, stretching her hands above her head to release the tension between her shoulders. “ Magic Box ?” 

Buffy nodded. “Yeah, Magic Box . Mom said Giles has to fill in new Scoobies 2.0 since the whole…” she waved her hand about. “Thing happened.”

Carlos nodded, blurting out, “cuz he threatened to kill Dawn.” What the heck was the point in her being vague if he was going to blab like that?!

“He what?! ” Dawn cuffed the back of Carlos’ head at blabbing the news so early into Slayer 101, while Thomas looked ready to faint. “Oh, my mother was right: hanging out with white kids is gonna get me killed!

“Hey, man!” Carlos scoffed, affronted, rubbing the back of his head absently. “I’m not white!”

Rolling his eyes, he shook his head to the teens. “Come on,” Spike growled, readjusting his grip on Pidge so she was cradled more comfortably in his arms. Head rolling to rest on his collarbone, her weight was closer to sack of spuds than Dawn’s own. Shouldn’t she weight more than this? He frowned, making note to ask her about it when her initial shocks were at bay. “Before we attract more eyes.”

Buffy nodded, motioning him first. “Kit and I’ll take the rear. Dawn, go with Spike. Willow, Carlos, keep Thomas from… doing too much of that.” She looked at the tall boy in concern, noting his pallour along with his quickened breath. “Do you need a paper bag?”

“Nope!” He squeaked in the highest pitch she could have guessed he possessed. “I’m fine!”

She didn’t believe him, but pushing it on him would only make it worse, no doubt. “Alright,” she nodded, guiding them to the shop. “Move out.”

 

----------

 

Few things Rupert Giles regretted as much as he regretted his association with Ethan Rayne he had in his past. Smoking cigarettes like they were going out of style in his youth was one. Purchasing the extended boxed set of Murder She Wrote was another. Not because it was a bad show, oh no. He regretted that purchase solely because the business who sold it to him refused to stop sending flyers about television programs that were similar. He didn’t even watch it! It was a gift for a friend! 

But nothing he regretted more in his life than when he threatened to kill Dawn Summers over a year ago. 

Especially when he was ready to leave his shop, sighing at the late hour, only to have a gaggle of teenagers, his red headed magical protege, his Slayer, and said Slayer’s vampire boyfriend storm in.  

“Closing time typically indicates- what did you do?!” He hissed, noticing Charlotte Anne Pratt passed out in said vampire’s arms. “Did the chip fail?”

“Chip?” Thomas squeaked. “There’s chips now, too?!” 

“She fainted.” Spike swept her in and laid her down on the chair Tara had favoured when her mind was sucked out. She still favoured it now that her mind was righted, and he figured it’d be the most comfortable for his sister to wake up in. Sitting as comfortably as he could get her, he barely noticed the others as he brushed her hair from her face carefully. Lovingly. He’d already bollocked it up, and not even week in. 

Buffy locked the door behind her, Kit already closing the blinds, a real pro. “She and Thomas were on a walkabout near the cemetery - none of us knew - and she saw Spike in game face kill a vamp.”

“Ah. Thus the fainting,” he nodded, turning the light above the table on. “That and given her new lungs… this was closer, I take it.”

“Very.” Willow grabbed a paper bag from behind the counter, handing it to Thomas. “Here, looks like you’ll need this.”

Giles took it out of the boy’s hand, pointing Carlos towards the tea kettle. “Ah, I do believe your friend would do better with a chamomile mint blend, don’t you?”

“On it.” Carlos had come to love tea, something he refused to let anyone on the football team mock him for. He and Giles often talked about blends with Tara whenever he didn’t have practice. He had even created a few blends himself, but Giles refused to stock them in the shop until the boy got his grades up. “Honey?”

“Yes, sweetie?” Thomas asked, confused. 

“No, do you want honey in your tea?” 

Embarrassed, he looked away. “Oh. Y-yeah. Okay.”

Uninterested in everyone else’s inane natterings, Spike gently patted Charlotte’s face, failing to rouse her. “Pidge, come on. Wakey, wakey, Bit,” he called to her, trying to shaker her shoulders next. “Come on, Bit. Up and attem.”

Dawn pulled him away from her, seeing the desperation in his eyes, gesturing for Giles. “Maybe try the smelling salts.”

Resolute, the older (looking) Brit grabbed them from the first aid kit off the wall, breaking the vial and waved it in front of young Charlotte’s nose without delay. Dawn knew first hand how fast those suckers worked. And how nasty they were. 

A moment or two passed, the girl’s eyes bugged open as she yelled, “Cadbury’s cocoa guaranteed pure!” She jolted upright, slamming into the table ahead of her, tummy first. “Blimey! Ow!”

“Charlotte?” Buffy asked, running to the girl’s side hands before her gentle. “Are you alright?”

“Oh Miss Buffy! It was horrible! ” She panted, scampering towards the woman. “Thomas was walking me home an- an- and then this demon showed up an- and almost attacked us! But then… oh Buffy! I’m so terribly sorry, but I think Will- Will- William… William’s a demon!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And he-” she turned around, looking at said brother, noting how Dawn gripped his arm protectively. That… no. Could she really allow her sister to hold onto a demon like that? And willingly?! There had to be some grave mistake. “Y- y- y- you know? What do you mean you know? ” 

Buffy sighed, sitting her down. “Spike - William - is a vampire. And I’m the Vampire Slayer. It’s how we met.”

“Wha- what?!” 

“Tried to kill her.”

“Mom bashed him in the head with an axe.”

“Then we fell in love,” he said dreamily. “Remember the time when we-'' he stopped at his girlfriend’s facial expression, knowing he’d be sleeping in the basement for a month if he didn’t stop talking immediately. “Uh, Rupert, wanna give Charlotte and uh…” he snapped his fingers repeatedly towards the other boy. “Tommy boy here the rundown?”

Giles rolled his eyes but inevitably started, much as he had with Kit and Carlos:

“In every generation there is a chosen one. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.”

Chapter 9

Summary:

Charlotte has iced them out, and what does Spike do when he’s being iced out other than binge drinking? Get yelled at by Dawn, of course!

tw: alcohol & hangover mention

Chapter Text

September 12th, 2002 - Part A

 

“So... she’s still ignoring you, huh?” Tara asked, sharpening her pencils in the quickly filling lecture hall. It was always best to have backups, especially this one, where the professor wrote fast and rarely left enough time to copy things down before wiping the board clean. 

Buffy blew out a breath to fan her new bangs. “Yep. Spike’s a big mess over it. I think he got drunker last night than I’ve ever seen him before. Just ‘right plastered’.” Her poor attempt at the vampire’s accent was meant to lighten the mood, but it only lead to sour bitter acid to fill her mouth. 

Tara frowned, upset with his behaviour. But she had a brother, knew what it was like. Then again, Spike wasn’t Donny. Donny wasn’t one of the most prominent vampires in recent history, slaughtering more victims that he could count. Nor did Donny have a leash â la Initiative chip. On the other, other hand, he didn’t work as hard to reform himself the way Spike had. 

She pretended like she hadn’t been aware of her surroundings when her brain had been restored after Glory’s mindsucking, but she had been. When she had retreated to that tiny room in her mind, she could feel every sensation around her, but speaking? Seeing? She was at the bottom of a very deep well, watching a screen play the images a couple hundred feet above her. She felt more like an observer, like she was the one woman audience in an improv show of her life. 

She remembered Spike calming her, letting her play with his rings, letting her know she had hurt Willow, and giving her meds and juice. She hadn’t even registered that it was Willow she had slapped when it happened, and she’d been so ashamed. But her love knew that it wasn’t intentional. And the fact that Spike had helped her because it was how he helped his father through his own troubles after Charlotte died, well… she didn’t hate him nearly as much. Kinda… kinda could stand him about 50% of the time, now. They had an odd friendship, but he wasn’t the worst company to keep when he was behaving. And he had really taken to trying to build a decent life for himself in Sunnydale. If Donny had tried even a tenth of what Spike had been attempting with his own sister, maybe Tara wouldn’t have nightmares of the Macklay man coming after her with various threats. And his succession in a lot of them. She still couldn’t be in root cellars without her heart threatening to burst out of her ribcage in terror. Instead of greiving their mother’s death together, he’d taken out his rage in her, even with the soul. 

And as awful as Spike had been in the past - because there was no denying the horrors he’d inflicted far before the chip and falling for their Slayer - Tara found herself feeling… not pity, but not quite pride either at his change. Companionship? Compassion, maybe? He had kept her company in the week between her being mindsucked and taking the Summers girls away from Glory, had watched over her one night so Willow could get some much needed sleep. She remembered the way he spoke of his sister that night, and the devotion for the girl long dead that no one could have expected from him had been intertwined in every letter. But she knew. She knew it was that same girl the second she’d seen the blonde’s face. And the odd friendship between the vampire and witch had strengthened when Buffy and he had come back from their mini road trip after the hellish one, Spike even helping her and Willow move out of the dorms with Buffy and Dawn once term officially ended. He helped her with her physiotherapy once she had the cast off, to ‘make sure the weak link could fight’. He even bought her birthday gift last year. Not stolen, bought. With money he earned. The book bag was even nice, not some castoff in a bargain bin. He’d made efforts, even through grumbles and pouts, and that was way more than Tara could have ever hoped or dreamed she had with Donald Maclay. And it was in this reflection that made the bottle blonde feel a pang of pain for both the chipped vampire and his time-travelling little sister. The relationship William and Charlotte had was far different now than it was back then, and he was drowning in it. 

Tara also hated to see Buffy struggle with this. Her family. Family who loved her. Whose mother told her - Tara Maclay - to call her ‘mom’. The woman who stood up for her to the biological kin who had twisted her mind, beaten her down, and left her in such a state, that she couldn’t so much as go to the grocers without looking over her shoulder. This woman, standing up in front of Tara’s father, saying in no uncertain terms that Tara always had a place in her family, was now feeling sidelined. Seeing their leader so beat down broke her heart. “Did you try getting Dawn to talk to her?”

“She’s ignoring Dawn, too,” Buffy sighed, cracking open her notebook to take notes once their Business Econ 302 class would start. “And Carlos, and Kit. Not Tom, though. I think the two of them are still pretty freaked.”

“I’ll bet,” she agreed. “I remember when the G- Gentlemen tried to come after us, ugh!” She shivered at the memory. “They’ll come around. It’s always better to b- be a Scooby than go it alone.”

“Yeah, maybe. I just gotta get my boyfriend to lay off the bourbon before mom flamées him.”

Tara smiled sadly at that. While she would have delighted in the joke years ago, she just felt melancholic now. “How about another double date?” She offered. Willow wasn’t a huge fan of doubling with the vamp in tow, but definitely preferred it to the awkward stilted nights with the newly cohabitating couple of Anya and Xander. “We could hit up The Bronze. You and me VS Willow and Spike in a friendly game of pool?”

Buffy smiled, side hugging her friend in relief. The young witch might not have had the confidence to admit it, but she really did know what to say when a friend was hurting. “You’re too good to me, Tara. I’ll ask him. Or drag him out by his ears if it comes to it.”



 ———

 

“Get up.”

Spike groaned, feeling the kick to his boot-covered foot where it hung over the bed in the basement, the sound of a skittering glass bottle causing a split in his head. “Oi, bugger off. I’ll clean it later.”

“You’re pathetic,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “Get up and take a shower. You reek.”

He grumbled as he sat up, his hair a right mess, if the hand running through the locks had anything to say about it. He cracked an eye at his interrupter, wondering where his pillow went. He could’ve sworn it was on the matress somewhere. “Don’t you have anything better than to harass me? They cancel your classes today on account of that attitude?”

“Yeah, I do, and it’s nearly four in the afternoon, Spike,” Dawn countered, thunderous expression colouring her features in the dim basement. “And I so don’t wanna be here, reminding you to get your act together, especially when I have a history project to start on the comparison of both the French and American revolutions that’s gonna take me the better part of the next two weeks. Clean this up, drink some blood, and go shower. My sister deserves to come home to a boyfriend who isn’t a complete alcoholic.” Especially since said sister told him he was sleeping in the basement if he was gonna be drinking so heavily. He’d been sulking there ever since. Pathetic. 

“ ‘M not an-”

“She’s not talking to me either, if it’s any consolation,” she added, cutting him off. “She’s not talking to anyone but Thomas. Think Giles spooked her more than anything else.”

He scoffed, picking up the empty glass bottle. “Bloody shopkeeper. ‘S not that. She’s-” he twiddled bottle in his hands, seeming so dejected. “God, she must hate me.”

Dawn sighed, that annoyed, long suffering teenie girl sigh she did, that let him know he was in a world of trouble ahead of him. “Look, she’s having a hard time with it, but who wouldn’t? I mean, there’s a lot already on her, and then on top of that she moves to the Hellmouth, which is already its own whole thing, and then her brother just happens to be… it’ll be okay,” she switched gears, seeing his pitiful expression and relenting. Even if he weren’t her sister’s boyfriend, he was still her friend. As much as she wanted to yell at him, part of her wanted to not be a jerk to a friend in pain. “Eventually. It always seems to be for us, at least.”

He groaned. “You and your sister and your mum. Yeah, but me?” he scoffed, higher pitched and frustrated. “I doubt it.”

“You’re a part of this family too, you know,” she levelled him with a look. It shook him up sometimes, how much she’d grown in the past year. Three whole inches taller than her big sis, and had also grown into the patented ‘don’t mess with me’ Summers’ stare. He was kinda regretting teaching her how to throw a knife now. Just a little. Maybe. “And I know Charlotte made a lot of comments about how it wigs her out that you and Buffy aren’t married, or whatever, but you know you don’t need to be married to be a part of this family, right? I mean, I’m not even sure if she’s the marrying kind.”

He sighed, looking at his hands. “I just want as much time with her as I can get. Forever, if she’d allow it,” he spoke softly. He had barely allowed himself to think about it the past four months. Their last near-apocalypse had left him fairly reliant on his lady after the lesser known demon Rex - who resembled one of those freakazoid dinosaur creatures on that godawful children’s program Dawn insisted they watch in a motel room on their flight from Glory - had taken out a chunk of his shoulder. He hadn’t been able to move it for a whole week, relying on Buffy to help him dress and bathe like an invalid. He’d felt so broken, like half a man again, but she didn’t complain unless it was to him about something else. During those weeks of healing, her gentle caresses and soft words had made him feel cherished. When she’d admitted her love for him a month later on the beach, trying to make an already perfect moment spectacular with that little key, he felt the undeniable tug at his long dead heart to sink to his knees, and pledge his undying love to her. Un-deadening love? No, eternal love. Yeah, that was the one. But pushing his girlfriend to marriage…? He doubted it would go over well at this stage. ‘Specially with him drunk in the basement like a regular Tony Harris. “Maybe when I was human, sure, marriage was the goal, but now? A century of ups and downs with a woman who strayed more than she stayed loyal? No, marriage isn’t on the forefront of my mind presently, nor is it on the Slayer’s, but Pidge…” he clenched his fingers in agony. “Her happiness, her safety… it's there. All the time. Like the barmy little feeling I had with you when we evaded Glory for nigh a year. But doubled.”

“Doubled?”

He nodded tersely. “Cuz now there’s the baseline worry for Platelet,” he held one fist up. “And the other for Pidge.” Then the other one raised. “Like they’re in my lungs, making breathin’ impossible without pain. Which is mad, what with the being undead and all.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she agreed. “Or maybe that’s your humanity. I know you don’t have a soul-”

“Not this bloody thing again-”

“But,” she continued firmly, Summers spitfire a genetic trait. “You still have your humanity. You try. And that counts for something. It’s gotta. You think Buffy would have stayed with you this long if you didn’t?”

He thought about it, and she was right. Buffy had said many times that she’d only allowed herself to feel the big emotions about him when he’d been vulnerable with her, showing his humanity. She even melted in his arms like butter every time he was gentle and recited the poetry he’d written about her in bed, terrible as it’d been. “You think that’ll be enough for Charlotte?”

“Might have to be. Now clean up.” She stood up, clapping him on the shoulder. “Buffy’ll be home soon, and you’re going to offer to take her out tonight. She needs it and I think you do too.”

“Uh.. huh. And this has nothing at all to do with wanting your mini Slayerettes over for a movie marathon?”

“Do you want to be on my sister’s bad side?”

“No. Already on my own sister’s shite list.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “If you want a sympathy hug, clean, shower, get changed. I’m not hugging a distillery.” With a final sweep of the state he’d left the basement in, she stomped her way upstairs. 

 

----------

 

Taking Charlotte’s advice, he bought a bouquet of flowers from the place next to the gallery, calling and putting it on the credit card Joyce had created in a fake name for him to use. Dawn was right, drinking was pathetic. Actions spoke louder than words. He didn’t know if his sis would accept anything from him now, but he could at least spoil the Summers women. ‘Specially since he’d been an arse the past six days. 

Thankfully, Buffy arrived when the flowers did. 

“Miss Buffy Summers?” The delivery driver asked, Buffy recognizing him from Fiona’s flower shop next to her mother’s gallery. “I have a delivery here for you to sign.”

She blinked, looking at the purple hyacinths and honeysuckles with trepidation. She knew they had to mean something, but she wasn’t sure what exactly. There were two more bouquets, one for Dawn and one for mom, and she smiled as she knew exactly whom they were from. 

She closed the door with her foot, placing them on the dining room table as Spike walked in from the kitchen. “Honey, I’m home, or should I say, honeysuckle I’m here?” 

He grinned, wrapping her in a hug while planting a hell of a passionate kiss upon her lips. By the time he lifted off her, they were panting, Buffy feeling her knees go all goopy and melty. “I’m sorry, luv. Been a right bastard lately.”

“I know, Spike,” she hummed against him, thankful he woke the hell up from his stupor before she dumped him in the tub with the shower on boiling, telling him to snap out of it. And that he’d had the common sense to brush his damn teeth before kissing her. Boozy blood breath was so not with the hotness. “What do the hyacinths mean again?”

“Apology. Asking for forgiveness.” He sighed against her mouth, pulling away. “Let me take you out, try to make up for it. I promise not to go near a drop of bourbon-”

“Or whiskey or brandy-”

“I’ll be away from all but beer,” he reassured her, something that didn’t mean much considering he could chug beer just as fast as other booze. “And even leave the coat at home.”

“Woah!” Her eyebrows shot into her hairline. “Then I guess I gotta wear a different top,” she reasoned. He only left the coat off a few times a year, one of which was not the anniversary of their not-date. He did, however, leave it off on Valentine’s Day. He left a lot off on that date. Him leaving the coat at home to go out was a big deal. MAJOR. “Oh, uh…” she winced, knowing he was gonna be a grumpy Gus at the next bit of news. “I already promised Tara and Willow we’d double tonight.”

He groaned in surrender. Sure, outta the other potential couple they could double date with in her band of merry misfit slayerettes, the lovers wicca were the better option. But he just wanted some alone time together. Maybe after…. “Ugh! Make it the lavender one and you have a deal.”

She grinned, a wicked glimmer in her eye. He was so weak when it came to seeing her in that blouse, he ended up whimpering the first time she did a strip tease wearing it, unwrapping it so slowly she thought his eyes would pop. Now she wore it whenever she wanted to get her way, and it worked like a charm. “Will you dance with me?”

“Always.”

Chapter 10

Summary:

Walking arm in arm, Buffy and Spike loved going out together, the power couple of Sunnydale. Until Buffy runs into another blonde and curly haired Pratt who ruins her good mood

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

September 12th, 2002 - Part B

The Bronze was happenin’ tonight, and the music was pumping loudly through the speakers as the latest band took the stage, the thrumming beat thumping along with the beat of her heart. It wasn’t anything she thought she could dance to, but Spike would dance with her to the sound of a car backfiring, if he had his way. As it stood, she needed at least two rounds of pool and three drinks before she danced to this. Maybe three rounds of pool and two drinks. And some wings. Especially now that they switched mozzarella stick vendors. Eugh! The new ones totally tasted like breadcrumb flavoured rubber. No thank you!

“You get us a table, I’ll grab you that drink,” he breathed into her ear, already trying to grope her. He had a thing with voyeurism, and she kinda did a little, too. They definitely had a lot of fun in a variety of semi-public places, including the diner on the outskirts of town. They were lucky no one called the cops on them after they broke the sink in the gender neutral bathroom with their… adventures. But not tonight. Not with Tara and Willow somewhere in the club. Especially not on ‘all ages’ night. She wasn’t going to let some teenager get traumatized by the pair of them. Buffy moved his hands back up, crossing them at his chest and folded up like she was laying him back in his coffin. It was their unspoken gesture of ‘save it for later’ that had his grin turning all pouty. “Fine, fine. You want a Jack and Coke or rum tonight, sweetheart?”

“Rum,” she repeated, kissing his cheek lest he get any ideas. “No whiskey. Wings after?”

“And cheesy bread. Just wash your mouth out with the Coke after; don’t want any garlic breath.”

She stuck her tongue out at her boyfriend playfully, before pushing off him to grab a pool table as soon as someone made it free. 

Buffy had been apprehensive about having date nights with him at first, especially at the local watering hole where everyone she knew would frequent. They’d kept them to mini golf and the Lucky Pint for a while, until Buffy remembered that Giles frequented the Lucky Pint. With him walking in there with his own girlfriend Olivia one night. Buffy had just been leaving the bathroom when they arrived, backing right back into the facilities when she saw them, and crawling out the window. She caught their server on her smoke break, and had to bribe the woman with a crisp $20 bill to get Spike to get the hell out of there before he got roped into some conversation with Giles. Which was pointless as she had come up to their booth where Olivia and Rupert were standing in front of, and said ‘your girlfriend, the cute blonde one about yay high, she wants a word with you out back’, basically foiling Buffy’s plans and stealing the Slayer’s money by failing the one task she’d been begged - with cash - to do. 

Because Giles being Giles - freaking librarian brain never giving a rest - he had already suspected that Spike and Buffy were closer than they let on, and outran Spike to the alley by sheer dumb luck, where she floundered with a lie about how they were hunting down some type of chimichanga demon that was fooling no one. He’d given her a disappointing look, and a long lecture to them both about how wrong it all was. How she was reckless for even entertaining the idea, among other insults she didn’t appreciate. 

Buffy had enough after being called ‘irresponsible’, throwing the potential idea of murdering her sister he had thrown on the table when Glory had been gunning for them into his face, asking if she was ever allowed to do what made sense to her for a change. That it was rich coming from a man who called himself her family, yet was so ready to snuff out Dawn’s life, while the vampire she considered her lover had no soul, yet was ready to die more than once to keep a hell god for so much as breathing in the air around her sister. 

That had shut him up, as did Spike’s promise - cough threat cough - to tell Olivia about Ripper’s actions regarding Dawn if he didn’t keep his opinions to himself. Giles had just walked back in after giving them stony looks, the supernatural couple paying for their meal - minus the $20 cuz, come on - and stopped caring where they went for their dates. Someone would always spot them, some demon would try to use one against the other, and she had no shortage of acquaintances who were ready to give her the stink eye over her ‘slightly older’ leather clad boyfriend. 

She just didn’t expect one of those acquaintances to be his recently revived kid sister. “Charlotte!” she exclaimed as the girl stopped in front of her. She didn’t have her curls loose like she had last they saw her, but pinned up off her neck. It looked simple, yet elegant, the high neck collar blocking any skin from showing save for her face. And her hands. Actually, she looked kind of overdressed for The Bronze. Like, way overdressed. Almost like she was headed to church and got lost along the way. “What are you doing here? Are you here with friends?” She looked around for Dawn and her crew, or maybe even Thomas, but found no one. Huh. That wasn’t like Charlotte to just wander around alone. At least, that’s what she’d been told. 

“No, I’m waiting for…” it was then that Buffy realised how she must look in comparison. With her low cut lavender top, how it tied up at the sides for ‘easy access’ without a bra, cuz a bra so did not go with this outfit. And then there was the pleather skirt. Not a mini skirt, but still pretty short by Charlotte’s standards as it showed the Slayer’s ankles. And her knees. Her gaze snapped back to Buffy’s face, schooling her features from shock to that patented blank Pratt stare. “I’m meeting someone. I take it that my brother is with you this evening.”

Buffy nodded, suddenly wishing for the foresight to have brought a sweater. Or a burka. “Uh, yeah. An- and Tara and Willow,” she added, remembering the Victorian’s stuffy recommendation for their dates to be chaperoned. It was a stupid thing to utter out loud, she knew, but she did it anyway. Dammit! If Spike had brought his duster, she could have wrapped herself up in it. UGH! Just her friggin’ luck.

Charlie was important to her boyfriend, and he was important to her. She would make an effort. Especially since she’d never met any of her past boyfriend’s family before. Technically, Spike is Angel’s family, the tiny traitor in the back of her mind piped up, unhelpfully. She could’ve sworn she evicted that voice out around Dawn’s birthday. So what gives? And Darla and Dru, and you met them! Oh! And the Master, too! Remember when your ex’s grand sire nearly wiped you out? But Charlie wasn’t here to kill her. She was waiting for a friend. 

“That’s great!” she exclaimed a bit too forcefully, knowing she looked slightly crazed in her optimism. “You totally should!”

“Should… what, exactly?”

“Meet people! Make friends, have friends meet you here,” she was babbling. Why wasn’t Charlotte stopping her? Why didn’t anyone she knew pop in at that exact moment to stop her? “Or- or anywhere, really. Cept bars, or- or the shooting range, or anywhere else super dangerous,” oh God, she couldn’t stop. Did she get hit with a clucking curse, was it just a special thrall only Pratt family members had that made her word vomit when she couldn’t form coherent thoughts? “There’s that arcade in town! And the Espresso Pump- that one’s a classic. Or- or mini golf! Have you tried mini golf? Your brother loves mini golf. There’s a glow in the dark one on-”

“Hey!” Oh thank goodness! They turned to see Thomas flopping his lanky self over to them, accidentally knocking into a couple making out in the middle of the dance floor. Perfect timing. “Hey, sorry I’m late, but… Buffy! He- hey girl, uh, what’s- uh, what’s shakin’?”

She smiled politely at the boy, noticing his reluctance to speak to her. It was clear from the radio silence Dawn reported on that C. A. Pratt had laid down some ground rules with them. No Slayer contact of any sort seemed to be the main one. “Hi Thomas, just checking in with Charlotte. You two have a fun night planned?”

“Uh… y- yeah, loads! But not like too- too much fun. Or anything bad, just like, good old fashioned, safe Bronzey fun,” he stammered himself. “I uh, oh! Kristy and Fran got us a table, if you wanna…” he gestured from behind where he came, two girls waving at Charlotte to come over. 

Buffy instantly recognized Kristy’s name from the list of mean girls Dawn seemed to add to weekly. She wasn’t sure which one was the poophead who spread rumours about Dawn’s spazy behaviour in the months following their mother’s cancer diagnosis - completely cancer free for over a whole year, baby! - so she took to glaring at the one with far too much lip gloss on as a precaution. She knew mean girls globbed it on these days. 

Charlotte cleared her throat, gaining Buffy’s attention. “I should go. Have a pleasant evening… Miss. Summers.”

Oooh. Ouch! From ‘May I call you Buffy?’ to ‘Miss. Summers’ in just a little over a week? That stung It stung real bad. “You too, Charlotte. Tom.” She waved the kids off before slumping into a nearby seat, glaring at the band who had switched to a melancholic melody that made her want to throw up. 

Spike found her there, Tara on his heels chatting up some kind of historical fact she’d been itching to talk about with the only guy she knew lived through it. They did that a lot. She’d ask him about something from the past, and he’d happily talk her ear off about it until someone interrupted them. Tara didn’t mind the info dump, so long as he wasn’t a complete pig about whatever of was they were talking about. “And there wasn’t anything they could do about it,” he agreed, sitting down next to his lady. “But they were always a bunch of namby-pamby idiots, tryin’ to outdo one another like-”

“Like Abbot and Castello!” Tara nodded. “I just don’t get why-” she paused, tilting her head at Buffy’s slouched form, and the way her arms were crossed over her chest like she was trying to hide from the world. “Buffy? Are you okay?”

Spike put their drinks down, turning his full attention on her. “Pet? Did something happen?” He looked around, trying to find the wanker who hurt his girl. “Did someone steal the table you were huntin’ down for us? Tell me who and I’ll pummel ‘em.”

“Yep,” she sighed. “Took it from me with her perfectly manicured hands.”

He scoffed, caressing her arm gently to her more out of her other than sullen slayer. Sitting on the arm of the couch where she sat, he looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “And what all powerful bint decided to play you like the chump we all know you’re not?”

“I’ll give you a hint: she’s got tawny curls, super judgy, thinks I’m a slut, hates both our guts, and her last name rhymes with Drat.” 

His eyes bugged out of his skull, standing and looking around a second time. “Charlotte? You saw…” They knew the second his eyes landed on her, his mouth dropping open as she stood by some girls, laughing as they played. “She-” he looked back between his lady and his sister, torn on what to do. Tara gave him a pointed look - ah, his Jiminy Cricket - to sit his arse down, and he obliged, pulling Buffy closer into his side. “Did she say somethin’ to you? Do you wanna go?”

She blinked up at him with her big doe eyes, the ones she turned to him so long ago in that alley and begged him to tell her why she wasn’t enough for all the tossers before him. “You- you’d really go? Leave with me while your sister’s here on a date? Unchaperoned.”

“I told you, my love, I’ll go to the ends of the- date?!” His head swivelled around trying to find the lanky kid. “What do you mean ‘date’? I thought she was with those girls!?”

“Her and Thomas are just friends,” Tara replied. “I saw him when we walked in,” she added, when the twin wiggy looks she was getting. “I- I asked, you know, j- j- just to… you know…”

Spike blinked at her blankly, his mouth quirking into a ghost of a smile. “And what did he say, Glinda?”

She hummed, tipping her cup to her lips to sip her drink carefully. “You know, made up an excuse to leave, and then I- I maybe- you know…”

“Threatened him?” he finished for her. 

Buffy gasped, shocked. “You didn’t!”

“I- I might have - hypothetically - suggested that lying to a witch, e- especially a level five one, resulted in the sudden ab- absence of teeth.” Tara grinned herself, feeling a little proud at her own ingenuity. “It’s surprising how easily that threat works on teenage boys.”

Spike barked a laugh, earning an eye roll from Buffy. God, he’s such a bad example on her. “Sang like a canary, did he?”

“Like a whole orchestra of Tweety Birds,” she confirmed. Tara tapped her glass with his own extended one, the two taking a hearty sip each. “There’s nothing there. I’m also getting… a bit of a gay vibe off him, but I’m not sure.”

“Ah, that’s alright then,” he reasoned, turning to kiss Buffy’s temple. “Wanna pick up another table or feel like dancin’ after your libation?”

But she just kept on frowning, arms still crossed. “Take off your shirt.”

“Uh, still right here,” Tara exclaimed, eyes a little wild. 

Buffy rolled her eyes. Seriously? Did everyone think she was a massive ho? “No, I just mean- can I please have your overshirt? I feel underdressed.”

Spike looked like she’d told him something in fluent Mandarin the way his eyebrows try to knit themselves into a table runner. “Underdressed? But it’s The Bronze! That’s the entire-” his face fell, gazing back at the tables as his own super sharp senses went into overdrive. “She said something, didn’t she?” He turned back to her, concern colouring his eyes a lovely shade of azure. “She made you feel-”

“She managed enough with a look,” she clarified. “I swear to God, that look runs in your family or something, cuz there’s no other explanation for the,” she mimicked the single eyebrow raise, slow up and down of judgement that was adopted by the Pratt family. “You two manage to act, like, a true copy of one another.” 

“Buffy….”

“No, it’s fine. Just… shirt, please?” She practically begged, not actually, cuz that would be crazy. “I just… I don’t want to-”

He nodded, already taking the short leather jacket he’d gotten last Christmas off so he could get to the blue button down underneath. Thankfully the long sleeved one, which she’d have to roll up, but at least covered most of her. Couldn’t do anything about her calves. “Course, luv. I’m sorry, you know.” 

“Yeah, I know. Just…” she slipped it on as he offered it, looking absolutely delicious with his biceps hugging the sleeves of his tee. She’d be amenable if he kept the jacket she’d picked out for him off the rest of the night. “I don’t think I made a lot of good impressions in front of her.”

“Doesn’t change how I feel about you, pet.”

“Yeah, but…” she floundered, looking to Tara for help. 

From which she found none. “Hey, don’t look at me. My family’s crazy! They made me believe I was part demon my whole life til chipped bo- Spike here,” she corrected herself just a hair too short. “Proved them wr- wrong.”

She had a point. 

“What did Spike prove wrong?” 

They turned their attentions to Willow, out of breath as she probably ran from the Magic Box - or tried to - to get there in time. “Sorry... I- wow, I’m out of shape!” She panted, downing the rest of Tara’s drink before gasping out. “I- I thought we were- we were meeting later, you know, after patrol? And then Anya said- oh.” She straightened, head turning over to see Charlotte’s head tilted back, laughing with her group of friends. “Charlotte’s here. With friends. Friends who aren’t Dawn. Or the other mini Scoobies. Did you guys-?” The redhead stopped when she saw Buffy adjusting Spike’s shirt to fit her better and got her answer. “Course you did. Okay, so,” she clapped her hands. “Are we staying or going? Cuz there’s always mini golf!” 

“No,” Buffy stood, tucking the blue material into her skirt and making herself look as presentable as possible in the slightly too big shirt. “We have just as much of a right to be here as she does. More, in fact, cuz we’re the adults here, not her.” She sipped the drink he brought her, turning it into a chug once some tall guy blocked their view. Charlie didn’t need to think Buffy was an alcoholic on top of being a slut. Leaving some of the drink still in the glass, she pulled Spike up after her. “There’s a table freeing up. Let’s play.”

God , I love you,” he growled in her ear as he followed her. 

She felt a spark of feminine pride flare up at his easy praise. He was always showering her in it. It’s like the floodgates had opened the second she took him out on that first date, constantly peppering in praises in between kisses. No one ever reminded her of how awesome she was like he did. Despite his less than ideal timing of said praises in conjunction of a wandering hand. “Not now,” she hissed back, setting her drink on the edge while Tara racked up the balls. The witch’s hand slipped a lot on the smooth surfaces, but she was gaining better grip since she’d first had every finger snapped like a cracker by the beast formally known as Glory. Her physical therapy was working, finally. “After. When we’re alone, baby.”

He sneaked a kiss on the exposed cheek before she could grumble on it. He had to admit that no woman had ever looked so tasty wearing one of his shirts before, especially with the new short hair she had surprised him with. She hadn’t planned on going so short, but a mishap on the way to the salon earlier that week resulted in her hair catching fire, the left side of her once Rapunzel worthy locks gone in a puff of disgusting smelling smoke. He liked it longer, truth be told, but God, the new short do was very 1930’s Bette Davis. If Bette Davis ever straightened her hair and killed demons. 

He was clearly a lovesick fool gazing after her if he couldn’t tell his sister was right next to him until she spoke. “Interesting outfit change there on your Ms. Summers, don’t you think?”

He whipped his head to the right, looking at Charlotte with an incredulous look. “Charlotte, what are you doing here?”

“Enjoying an evening with my friends. Much the same as you,” she motioned, frowning at the beer he’d nearly completely demolished. “Well, except for the inebriation. Up the pole and only,” she checked her rather one size too big watch, humming displeased. “9:17 in the evening. Shame. That,” she said, pointing to his beer. “I shall leave to you and your lady friend,” she pushed off the table she was leaving, but didn’t get very far. 

“Come here,” he grabbed her sleeve, careful not to hurt her for more than one reason, dragging her away from the others. “You have beef with me, that’s one thing-”

“Beef?”

“Ugh!” Damned colonies and their ever changing slang. “If you have any issues,  you take them up with me, not turn them around on my lady.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms in defiance. “You’re not my keeper, you don’t have any authority to tell me what I can or cannot do.”

“Like hell! I’m your brother!”

“Maybe once upon a time,” she threw back in his face, the same level of acid he’d see from his own mother directed at their extended family whenever they judged her children. “But that was before you died, and a demon rested its head betwixt your brow.”

Anger flared in his head. To be treated like that from the humans around him was one thing, from his baby sister was another. It burned a hot righteous path of anger like nothing he ever experienced before. “I may have a bit of demon in me now, but I’m still your brother. I’m still just as much William as I am Spike.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow, looking up and down his form the way Buffy imitated, and that? Yeah, that was the face he was certain he pulled on the Slayer a time or two. And absolutely about as fun as a cigarette burn to the eye. Ow! Owe the bird an apology shag, I wager. Maybe twelve. “William would never debase himself to such lows. William would never allow himself to be turned-”

He barked a laugh, madman in a nightclub laughing at a teenage girl while onlookers stared worriedly. “You think I wanted this? I asked for this?” She frowned. “I was tricked, Pidge,” he hissed, making sure they didn’t have anyone looking to be smacked around by a vamp. “I was twenty six, and heartbroken, and leaving a soirée like the poncey, blubbering mess that I’ve never stopped being cuz Cecily Adams stomped my heart into the carpet with her brand new dancing shoes,” he rambled. He wanted to ease her into it, to not say too much too fast, but he wasn’t a patient enough guy to wait after she snubbed him for days. “And I was thralled into seeking comfort from a vampiress, who, until a few years ago I thought I was the one never good enough for, despite her runnin’ around on me more than she stayed loyal to,” that got him a double raised eyebrow of shock. “Despite all the loyalty I gave her, the trust I instilled in her, how much I cared for her when she got sick-” 

He shuddered in a breath. There weren’t any wooden crates to smash here. Wasn’t the time. Not the place. If he needed to vent, Buffy would take him on patrol, find him something to kill, the way she had a dozen times before. Like he had for her. It was strange to everyone but them. But Charlotte wasn’t them. She hadn’t lived long enough to witness what they had. He had to calm down before he went into game face and ruined the entire evening. “Look,” he rephrased, looking down at her shining eyes and hoping his face showed how much he cared. “I know you must think me a lout-”

“Crossed my mind a time or two,” she muttered. 

He scoffed, knowing she’d figure out the vampire hearing bit soon enough without him telling her yet. “But Buffy? Despite your… proclivities of fashion and expectations of a woman’s actions or behaviours regardless of the modern era, she is a lady. The finest one I have ever met, let alone have the privilege to walk into a room with. She’s-” he took a deep breath, utterly necessary only for him to ground himself back to earth. “She’s the only woman who’s ever seen me, every part of me, and accepted it all. Even the parts she hates, which I know she does, cuz that chit never shuts up about it.”

“Your harsh language of the woman you claim to love sounds absolutely wonderful,” she spat back sarcastically. 

His scowl was noted but not mentioned. “Listen good and close, Bit. She’s the best woman I’ve ever met. Do I wish we’d met when I was human? Absolutely. But I wouldn’t have been a blip on her radar if we had. She’s glorious, and intelligent, and far stronger mentally as she is physically. She’s thrown me against a building and for a loop more times than I can count, and I would go to hell and back for her again. Insulting her won’t do you any good, ‘specially not in this town.”

Charlotte frowned, looking at her hands in sorrowful contemplation. “Glad to know you’d do that for someone.”

“Pidge,” he took her hands in his own. “Look at me,” she did, sad, hopeless eyes of the girl he’d held the hand of as she got sicker and sicker a century ago staring back at him. “I’ll always go to hell and back for you, hasn’t changed in all these decades. You’re my sister, even if you’re acting’ like a right git to the woman I love.”

“Hey!” She smacked him, back of hand whacking his bicep in frustration. “I am no git, sir. And I shan’t take any more tongue lashing about it.” She smoothed her hands on the floor length skirt she had on, still uncomfortable with modern trends. “However, I shall attempt to be kinder to Ms. Summers from now on. My ‘cow’ as it were, lies with you, not her.”

“Beef.”

“I don’t care,” she retorted. “Either way, I shall apologise. Even though you should be a gentleman and are yourself a great fool-”

“Watch it.”

“For keeping a Brobdingnagian detail of your life secreted away from me,” oh. That. “I shan’t hold it above her head. I shall however-” 

“Hold it over mine for the rest of all time?”

“Do you ever shut your gob?!” She stomped her foot, that little bit of Lottie fire in her like she had as a wee girl. “My goodness! Buffy must be part saint to put up with the likes of you!”

“Ta, pet.” 

She rolled her eyes, continuing as if her brother hadn’t been a right arse. “As I was saying… I shall however hold you up to the standard of a semi-modern gentleman, and if you expect to have me in your life, hell or no hell, you shall reach them or I shan’t stick around.”

His heart felt like it could start to beat at any moment, with the promise of a fast and painful heart attack seconds later. “Meaning…?”

“You wish me in your life?” He nodded. “Then I shall draw up a list for you to follow.” 

And with that, she turned on her heel and left. Buffy had seen the end two sentences of that conversation, holding two shots of whiskey as he turned to her. “A list?” she asked, offering him a glass. “What kind of list?” 

He downed the shot, wishing he had another. “A good brother/Buffy’s boyfriend list, I wager. Hey, that second one yours, or…?”

Buffy pushed it into his hands, grinning as she watched him down it. “Like I’m ever drinking whiskey again.” She led him deeper into the club, trying to get a little more out of him before they rejoined the Wiccas Two. “So a list; that’s good, right? She’s willing to meet you halfway and be in your life. Have you in hers. Sounds like good news to me.”

“Oh yeah. Peachy.”

She sighed, dragging him back. “Come on, you big grump, you I’ll buy you another beer. How bad could it be?”

Notes:

Edited July 10th, 2025 for spelling errors and readability

Chapter 11

Summary:

Buffy eats her words, planning a fun night out with her boyfriend and their sisters to the carnival. Turns out: Charlotte and carnivals are as mixy as Buffy and long haul trucking.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Saturday, September 14th, 2002 - Part A

 

How bad could it be? How bad could it BE?! Why the hell did she ever open her big mouth?!

She thought it would be a few things, maybe stuff like ‘don’t drink blood in front of me,’ and ‘no keeping secrets that could result in my safety being threatened,’ or maybe even ‘ you may only address me as Charlotte or Miss Pratt .’ But not the ridiculously extensive three pages - stapled! - of requirements up the wazoo! 

Some were completely reasonable, like ‘#5: wear only clean clothing when around me/in public.’ Then there were some that really straddled the fence like ‘#17: no gambling, of any sort’ that Buffy doubted would help anyone, not really. Not as if anyone could enforce that. Then there was the downright bizarre like ‘#32: if you wish to visit, you must leave the calling card by the front door no less than 24 hours prior, to make arrangements.’ What the heck even was a calling card? Where were they supposed to get those? Were they like business cards? Or like birthday cards? If they weren’t pretty enough, would Charlotte… tell them to leave? Why couldn’t they just pick up the phone and call?! The Smith house had a telephone! Argh! 

Buffy’s mouth had popped open when Dawn handed them the list Charlie gave the teen to share with her family, feeling all the oxygen sucked out of the room as he read aloud, further and further into the seemingly never ending list of requirements. There were a plethora of requirements. Oodles.

One of which, insisted that until Charlotte approved of their union, she required a major stipulation that could not be negotiated:

“Chaperoned?” Xander asked, chuckling at the table as he wrote in his notebook. “She wants her and Dawn to chaperone the two of you? From what? You taking each others’ virginities?” He snorted, chortling now like a rather annoying little piggy. And not a cute piggy like Mr. Gordo, or a sexy one like Spi- and he was still laughing at her! “She knows the ship sailed away a loooong time ago via Vampire Express, right?”

Buffy gaped openly at her friend of nearly seven years, and if she were close enough to him, she might have even slapped him. Her hand was sure as heck itching to do just that. “Hey! Now’s not the time to throw Angel back into my face.”

“What? Oh, God, no! I meant with him an- and Druscilla! Not you! Anya?!”

“Save yourself from this one, darling. I have back orders to fill,” the ex-demon wove him off with an errant hand, passing him by as she headed towards the office. “Enjoy talking yourself out of insulting our friends and their sex life!” she added bluntly, the door snicking shut behind her. 

He dropped his head onto the table top, utterly shattered. “I’m sorry,” he muttered genuinely into the well worn wooden surface.

Their relationship had been rocky since their truce earlier that year. After the man had found out about Buffy and Spike’s new development relationship wise, they’d had a huge fight over it. Buffy had never expected Xander of all people to punch her in the face, but the demon that had terrorised them last winter and spring had put the screws to them all. Rex. The reject Barney looking demon that had poisoned the water supply in a weak attempt to make the town of Sunnydale’s human population do his bidding. Stupid dino-dummy forgot about human’s intestinal systems, and ended up with a mass exodus of - ahem - bowels, not brains. And that was before the nerd brigade of minions sent to mess with the electric grid. More importantly, it was right after the Piss-a-saurus Rex mailed DVDs of Buffy and Spike having a makeout sesh, at the end of a date, on her back porch, to EVERY. SINGLE. SCOOBY. 

Giles had taken up drinking heavily when they’d gotten back from the Ben/Glory fiasco, but after Spike saved his life from a demon trying to chomp on him and his girlfriend Olivia, he’d taken to being less surly. Slightly. Most of the time. He hid it better, at the very least, and while he threatened Spike with a slow and painful end if he ever hurt his Slayer, he’d stopped his daily whining about it. Willow had been shocked at how Buffy could hide it so well, then smacked herself for not realising the putt-putt double date was… an actual double date. She made the connections, went for a very long walk alone - seriously, Buffy was ready to set up the search parties after hour six - then came back to ask if there were any more of the slow cooked ribs Spike had made. She and him had a very long conversation about it later, Tara and Buffy unaware of it, until they found the redheaded witch and bleach blond vampire at The Bronze, arguing literature over a big basket of onion rings. Anya had laughed when she saw the video, completely unsurprised, saying ‘why else do you think he still lives here?! I mean, it’s so obvious!’ Her easy acceptance was a relief. But Xander?

 

‘A souled bloodsucker is one thing,’ Xander sneered. ‘But am I the only one who remembers him kidnapping me and Willow in high school? And how Cordelia ended up getting shish kabobed by that corroded rebar shank cuz of it? Or Willow being attacked by fang-face in your dorm? Or all the other crap he’s pulled over the years? Trying to kill you, the assassins, the Judge…. Druscilla?!’

‘Saving my life means so little to you, Xander?’ Joyce had spat back, joining the argument uninvited. ‘He’s better than before and-’

‘Joyce, I didn’t mean-’

‘And it’s not like your girlfriend’s never killed anyone, oh wait…’ Dawn sneered back, folding her arms over her chest. Maybe if Xander had some common sense, he wouldn’t have picked the fight in the Summers’ backyard.

But his common sense was on hiatus that day, fishing in the middle of the big river, just west of Aswan. ‘Th- that’s different,’ he sputtered. ‘Sh- she’s human now!’

Dawn nodded, fury not deflated in the slightest. Summers girls had that in spades. And clubs. And dia- the whole dang Go Fish deck. ‘And I love Anya, even when she’s pissing me off-’

‘Language!’

‘But Anya’s been around a lot longer,’ she continued, not paying her mother’s scolding any mind. It’d be worth the grounding. ‘She’s cursed more men than he’s hurt, and still talks about it like she misses it. And she loves me just like Spike does: as my own person, and not just an extension of Buffy. Can you say the same? That you could care about me if… if Buffy wasn’t around?’

 

And his hesitation - even minute as it had been before his answer - had caused the rift. One that ended in Xander punching Buffy in an act of rage days later, horrified at what he’d done seconds after the fact. Anya had stopped talking to him for weeks because of it, sleeping in the Summers’ basement, or at Willow and Tara’s dorm. She’d considered ending their whole relationship over it, Joyce and her having tense conversations about boundaries and worth and expectations so many times, Buffy was surprised they weren’t sewn at the hip. Was kinda half expecting the ex-demon to buy them both matching outfits and take up power walking like a couple of retirees. Anya had laid down the law with the man, just before they’d all defeated Rex and his minions, having a tentative recoupling immediately after. They’d all been slowly working their way back from that rift since, all these months later. 

At least Anya had taken him back after he’d grovelled to her. And he had grovelled. The grovelliest. King Grovelston of Grovelville. Their makeup sex had gotten Anya out of their house, leaving the Slayer able to enjoy her days without the bottle blonde’s shower singing. She loved the ex-demon as a friend now, even when she said or did something faux pas, but good GOD , what the hell did she sing in the shower?!? It was so guttural and in what she assumed was some kind of Swedish…? …Norse? Something from one of those Northern European flower growing countries where she’d grown up in, the one with all those bicycles now, or something. She could have been cursing about webbed feet having hamsters, and no one in the house would ever know. It was unsettling.

Buffy rolled her eyes, looking at the books spread onto the table, back in the Magic Box across the man. “Whacha doin’?”

“Research,” his muffled voice responded. Ah. So back to ‘ grovelling, trying to not be an ass, helpful friend Xander’ today. At least, for now. 

“Is there a new creature feature I don’t know about?”

He lifted his face, clearly burning the candle at both ends. Damn, he didn’t look like he got much sleep the night before. At least he didn’t work on site today, or someone would've had to call those OSHA guys. “No. Trying to learn more about what’s happened with our own Encino gal. What DeLorean she got here in, is there a Doc Brown, and stuff. The ageing thing seems separate from the time travel stuff, so…”

“We’re playing Jeopardy in Archaic Latin,” she finished for him. Too many variables, too much riding on this. She hated to see him so tortured. Despite the fallout, they were still friends. She still cared about the man, even if he was being a jerky-turkey. “Making any headways? Got a theory or two?”

He winced, lifting the notebook. “Yeah, a few.” 

Eyes widening at the long list of possibilities written down on the lined page, nearly three-quarters of the way through, and whistled. “Yowza,” she exclaimed. “That’s a long list.” 

“That’s just…” he carefully flipped back three pages, to the first one titled ‘ Reasons CAP Is All Wonky’ . Buffy appreciated him shortening her name, Charlotte having enough enemies if anyone found out who’s sister she was. Only the PTB could know what horrors would lie if any of those potential future enemies found said list, and used it to their own advantage. She shuddered to even think about it. “It’s… we’re narrowing it down. Giles just keeps pulling books, Willow’s found not a heck of a lot online, and Anya thinks it wasn’t a demon or witch getting back at her in some way from back in the day, so there’s that.”

“Great. I’ll uh,” she stood, feeling numb. She hadn’t even thought about someone trying to get back at them through another Scooby. How many enemies had they all made over the years? What if someone was coming after the Slayer? Using an innocent teenager for nefarious ways yet again; it made her sick. Not a teenager, she reminded herself for the upteenth time. Charlotte’s technically only ten. Mentally, at least. A child, like Dawn. And yet… not. “I’ll save my questions for when things aren’t all… long with the list making,” her nod ended the long meandering possibilities swirled her into a tornado of rumination. Later. She’d be Break Down Buffy later. Right now, Resolute Strong Leader Buffy was in the driver’s seat, regardless of what the rest of her wanted. 

He grimaced, going back to his research, opening up a new, thick spined, dusty looking encyclopaedia of suck. “I am sorry, you know,” he repeated. “About the-”

“I know you are. Lucky for you, I’m in a charitable mood,” her frown deepened. “Unlike later when I’m probably gonna be stuck between Dawn’s whining, and Charlotte’s pouting at horrible modern things for, like, four hours. Ugh!” It was her time to flop on her face via table. Unlike Xander, she didn’t have a book to soften the blow. “Ow.”

“Want a cold, refreshing tomb to lay on?” he offered, her eyes bugged out as she looked at the book he held. “The book, not your current boyfriend’s ex-digs. Oh, God. You two didn’t… at his crypt, did you?”

“You’re disgusting,” she gagged. “No. Not that it’s any of your business, but… we might have over…” she let her finger wave around the magic shop as she pointed to separate surfaces. “Uh, no, that was a dream, ah! Nope, Giles walked in before we could-”

“Ah la la la! I can’t hear you!” he cried, plugging his ears. 

Buffy laughed as she left, leaving Xander to think Spike and her had desecrated the sanctity of the Magic Box. She had promised Anya to manage to convince Xander to help her with a deep cleaning. He didn’t have to know that she made up the little white lie. 

“Pffft!” she told herself as she walked back towards her mom’s gallery to take the lady out to lunch. “Like we’d ever have sex there when the gallery office has chairs that go all the way back. No windows or tweed-men to interrupt, either.”

 

----------

 

Spike spent far too long cleaning his ride the night before, obsessively so. He didn’t care that it made him look like a ponce, he needed to make things right with her. He was a touch desperate to make things right with the lot of them, and seeing as how he was going to be driving them to whatever it was his lady had planned, he had to make it right. 

Blimey, but he hadn’t even been half as worried when he’d cleaned the car the first time for Buffy. With her, he had more history of her knowing who he was, what he was. Pidge didn’t. She had no idea how different he was, yet much the same. 

When they were children, he was the doting, protective older brother, the one who kept her out of trouble so she wouldn’t get hurt, not like the ones before her. Between them, their parents had tried again and again and again for a baby, but none made it past 365 consecutive days. All but Charlotte. She was special then, even more now. She and Dawn both had so much happen against their will, he was hoping their bond would help her get over the ‘dear heavens! My brother’s a vampire!’ stage faster. Take the biscuit with her new BFF in tow. Then she iced everyone out. Brilliant. 

Bloody blister got us all Pinocchioed, the swirling cyclone of thoughts overtaking his view of the rest of the weekend. This better make Gepetto smile, cuz if not, so help me, I’ll… bloody hell. Down a line of shots and throw myself into a pointless bar brawl, I reckon. 

He sighed as he scrubbed the steering wheel with the old toothbrush Dawn was throwing out, the softened bristles getting out the caked in muck he never could get out of the crevices. Should have started using these ages ago, far more his speed than that old rag he’d run over the leather. Should’ve started a lot of things ages ago, but he hadn’t. Hadn’t had the foresight to think about prattle like trusts and trusseaus for his long dead sis, nor the way to ease her into his vampiredom. Now, all he could do was try. Try to not bollocks it all up more than it already had been. Didn’t need to be on the skids anymore than he had been since she gazed into the glowing golden hazards when he was what Nibblet coined ‘going bumpy’.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Spike,” Joyce told him when she found him still out there, twenty minutes before the sun hit their house, ushering him inside with the promise of fresh coffee. “She just needs a little time to get used to it all. You know it took me months before I got onboard with Buffy’s Slaying, and I hadn’t left my timeline at all.”

He scowled at the coffee pot in response. He rather be scowling at her, but she was his friend, his ally before any of the other Slayerettes were. Also, dating her daughter and living in her house made being angry with her a difficult task. Not that he couldn’t get angry at Joyce, just that he couldn’t let it consume him. Far too fond of her, any road. “Not a patient man, J.”

“Not necessarily true, S,” she countered, earning her a frown. “I seem to recall someone ‘you shaped’ carefully combing puked out of oats and pepperoni from my hair - more than a few times. Then there was waiting out the abuse Glory put you through,” she continued to count out the reasons on her fingers, much as Buffy did. Like he found himself doing more than he cared to bloody admit. “The running from said HellSpawn, where you kept my girls safe, and of course the biggest of all.”

“Wooing Buffy,” he finished for her, nodding seriously, a bloom of something good, right where his shrivelled up heart used to beat. 

Turning away, he didn’t see her face where a flush started to rise on her cheeks. “Huh? Oh, yeah, sure,” she agreed, waving him off. “I was totally thinking about that.”

Spike smirked, eyeing her carefully in her new designer outfit. She loved her cowl necks as much as Buffy did. But the jewellery was something Dawn picked up on Mother’s Day for her. Cheaper, more teen-girly than usual. “Oh? Then what else could you be referring to if not courting your eldest?”

Joyce poured herself a cuppa, trying very hard to keep her own smirk off of her face. “Oh, you know,” she waved him off. “The- nah, forget it.”

“No, what? Come now, Joyce,” he teased. “Not ladylike to leave a bloke in suspense like this.” 

She bit the inside of her cheek, careful not to draw blood. “The uh… feather incident.” Her face was turned away, but he could see her reflection in the glass across the kitchen. She was flushed from ear to ear. 

Embarrassed? Over feath- oh. Oooohhh… “Oh ho ho ho ho! I almost forgot about the… feather incident.” He dropped his voice a few octaves, mimicking the tone Dawn had whenever they joked about it. Finding the various pink and orange feathers all over the house had been a confusing moment for them all, having just finished with a Scooby meeting and coming home to more floating around than they could have suspected existed in all of Sunnydale. The suspected monster that had been ‘slayed’ turned out to be a rather raunchy striptease routine for Joyce’s man’s birthday. And a funeral for poor Buffy’s eyes. “Your eldest finding you was quite the challenge in patience indeed.” He’d only kept himself from laughing himself into an earlier grave by simply leaving the house whenever he thought he’d explode from chuckles. It had Buffy fuming for weeks. 

“Can I have one morning without talking about feathers,” said girlfriend shuffled in, hair stuck up on her right side where he had run his fingers through it earlier, before she drifted into her little chipmunk snores, and he forced himself to get out of bed to clean his ride. “Just one?” 

He poured a cuppa for his lady love, sugaring it well beyond what her mother would consider acceptable - or any doctor worth their salt - via chocolate sauce he’d secreted away in the back of the cupboards, too high up for Dawn to reach. “Sorry, luv. Job hazard.”

“That is so not what that- are you making me a mocha?”

“Mmhmm.”

She eyed him carefully, face blank. “What did you do?”

“Do?” he parroted back. “What do you mean? Cleaned the bloody car, is what I did.”

She didn’t seem convinced. “You usually only make with the fancy caffeinated beverages when you’re trying to make me feel better, which is usually right after you do something you shouldn’t. So, what did you do?”

He scowled at her, pushing the mug a little too hard, liquid spilling over the side as it neared her hand. Not close enough to burn her, but enough that gave him a set of raised thin brows of displeasure. “Maybe I just wanted to help you get a good start to your day, seeing as how we might end up with an evening of hell with the Bits tonight,” he bit back. 

Joyce sighed, the layered kind that told him he was going too far. It was one of ten patented Joyce Summers sighs he’d memorised. “It’ll be fine. You two are working yourselves up for nothing.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, wiping the side of her mug with a tissue. “Mom, she hates me, and-”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Spike clarified. “She hates me. Thinks I…” he mumbled something, too low for either of them to hear. 

“Thinks you… what?”

His sigh came out a grumbling exhale. “Corrupted you. Into… into loving me,” he ground out, pulling a container of ducks blood out from the fridge for his dinner/brekky. He’d come to enjoy blending different animal bloods together since he was forced to, and duck was his second favourite. First was otter, but good luck getting any of that in their podunct town. 

The mug sounded as it was set down on the counter, Buffy’s warm hands reaching around to his chest as she hugged his back. “Didn’t. Not possible. There aren’t enough drugs or magic in the world to make that happen. Let alone stick around this long.”

He snorted, closing the fridge and turning around to wrap his own arms around her. She wouldn’t allow this in public. But here? In the home he shared with her and her family? Wasn’t something he took lightly, this gift of theirs. “How’d I get so lucky to have a goddess like you by my side, then?”

Buffy hummed, kissing his chest through his T-shirt. “You- ugh, ew!” She pulled away, taking a pull of coffee before swishing it around and spat out the mouthful into the sink. “The soap you used in the car is all over your shirt! Ugh, car juice! Nasty, gross, dirty soap water!”

He shook his head, kissing her forehead, and lifting said shirt hem up torturously slow. “Should I… take it off?” 

“Upstairs, Spike!” 

They turned around to find Joyce still in the kitchen, now puttering around to start making pancakes. Oops? “Uh, right. I’m gonna… blood, then bed. Yeah?”

“Okay,” a blushing Buffy agreed, leaving him with a kiss - on his soap free cheek - and promised to be home an hour (at least) before they had to leave to pick up Charlotte, before he climbed upstairs for some kip.

That was over 500 minutes ago. Now, she was rushing through her makeup because every single hairstyle she had tried out ‘was so totally wrong’, and they were running late. 

So late, in fact, that Charlotte and her guardian were already standing there, at the garage door, waiting for them when they arrived. Charlotte’s pinched face spoke volumes, her hands tucked behind her rigid back, wearing yet another Marsha Brady-esque outfit. The cream turtleneck under the brown corduroy dress looked right out of a church donation bin, worn too many times, the girl wearing it looking miserable in the possibly itchy ensemble. The man posing as her father - Henry - was far more excited to see the three pull into the Smiths driveway. 

“Boy howdy!” The midwestern drawl matched the bushy middle aged man moustache above his lip. “A real life DeSoto. My goodness, Charlie, you didn’t tell me your friend’s sister’s boyfriend drove a 1955 DeSoto Firedome!”

“Actually ‘s a Firelight,” Spike corrected with a biting tone, sizing the man up while the man was sizing up his car. The tucked yellow polo in khaki pants were as grotesque as the white trainers on the man’s feet, looking brand new in comparison to his charge’s own kit. Fingers tightened around the steering wheel in anger at the sight. “And it’s ‘59, not ‘55. Common mistake, that. Firedome only had 185 horsepower, this gal’s got 325.”

Henry Smith whistled low and long. “Gee willikers! That’s a heck of a difference! You know, my father had a 1951 Studebaker Champion Starlight coupé when I was a boy. Gorgeous ride, and the engine, phew! Now that was a sound you’d remember anywhere. Your father into old rides too?”

“No,” Buffy interjected, seeing how uncomfortable everyone but Henry was. There was something… off about the man. Not demonic, just off. She didn’t know if he could be trusted. Willow had hacked the LA County’s Family Services office, looking up the adoption documents for Charlotte, and while that paperwork seemed above board, Ashley and Henry Smith weren’t. As in, they had not existed before exactly January 1st, 1985. They had no birth certificates, no financial history, no medical records, not even a parking ticket. Just Dr. Ashley Monica Smith’s earliest med school transcripts, and a driver’s licence under Henry Randal Smith’s name. “The love of vintage cars is solely his own. Hi, Mr. Smith, I’m Buffy, Dawn’s sister.” 

She stuck her hand out to shake his, already climbing out of the ride the second they parked. Could tell Spike was agitated, fingers drumming the bottom edge of the steering wheel the entire drive over. All six and a half tense minutes of it. The faster they skedaddled out of there, the better. 

“Henry R. Smith, but call me Henry,” he shook her hand, trying to squeeze it, grunting when she did the same. “Strong grip you have there, Bunny. You work construction or something?”

“It’s Buffy,” Spike corrected, biting it out a bit harsher than intended. He took a breath, trying to calm himself when he felt Dawn’s uneasy shifting behind him. If he didn’t shut his gob, she’d smack the back of his head, and unlike her sister’s current penchant for gentle touches, she wouldn’t pull any punches. Still didn’t regret teaching the Bit to clock a bloke, though. Well worth it to see the look on that bloody pillock Mears’ face when she broke his nose in May. “And she’s gotta be strong. Helps her mum hang all the heaviest works at the gallery.” And dusts baddies twice your size without breaking a sweat, you thunder-headed tosser. 

“Oh, geez! How silly I must be to forget about that! Oh, I’m Mr. Goofball over here! Ah, anyways, Buffy, Dawn, Will,” he regarded them all, clapping a hand on Charlotte’s back just a touch too hard, her body swaying forward from the force, a grimace letting them know she hadn’t liked it. Fingers tightened the wheel harder, the stitches threatening to split at the seams. “Have a good time with my sweet little girl, and hey!” He pointed at said ‘sweet girl’ with a cheesy sternness to rival any 90’s teen movie main character’s middle aged father. “You best be back home by curfew. Aw, heck, I’ll even extend it a half an hour, since you kids are planning on some good, clean fun. How’s that sound, Charlie?”

Charlotte nodded stiffly, forcing a dead-eyed strained smile towards the man. “Thank you, sir.” Sir? Dawn winced at the use of the phrase. Gotta talk to her about that once we get there. And why does he keep calling her Charlie? She was seconds away from slapping Los when he called her that yesterday. Something was very not right at the Smith residence. And not just the outfits they make her wear.  

“Alright, now you kids have a good time. Drive safely there, young man. You’re carrying very precious cargo.” 

Spike nodded tersely, watching Charlotte as she carefully got into the car through the rear view mirror. “I’ll drive as if my kid sis is in the back, sir.” He knew the tone was pointed, but when they were out of the Smith’s neighbourhood, and he saw her relax into the seat, he knew he made the right call. “Y’alright Pidge?”

She shrugged, looking around the car curiously. “It’s well maintained, your auto,” she said in return, avoiding the subject of her adoptive guardian entirely. The adults in the front seat shared a tense look, anger and concern in the driver and Slayer’s eyes, respectfully. “Do you… did you rent this vehicle for the evening? Or was it purchased recently? It’s exceptionally clean.”

“No,” Dawn jumped in, grabbing onto anything she could think of to talk with Charlotte about. “He’s had it for practically ever. See?” She pointed to the wear on her door handle, the repair job obvious as he didn’t have time to colour correct it quite yet. Custom colours took time, which he’d been putting off for nearly too long.“He had to fix it after it broke this past summer.”

“That’s cuz someone who shan’t remain named,” he threw over his shoulder lightly as he headed out of town limits to get to their destination of the evening. They weren’t planning on further than the border with the town north of ‘em, lest the bobbies come to collect their guest from her ‘abductors’. “Kicked her tiny little teenie feet against it to open the door like she was in Dukes, instead of just opening it like a normal girl.”

“Dukes?”

Buffy rolled her eyes, turning back to face the girl. “Dukes of Hazzard. It was a show with two guys and a car doing stupid shi- tuff. Shtuff. Shtu- stuff. Blah! I’m all tongue tied today.” It was a poor save, but her research into the era told her that Victorian ladies didn’t swear, even lower level swears like crap and shit. And she was trying to make a good impression on Charlotte. Especially after their last interaction at The Bronze.

Charlotte hummed, understanding her fine. “Is it a good show?” she asked instead. 

“Yes.”  “No.”  “Yep!” The trio answered in unison, something that Charlotte found rather amusing. 

“Oh. I see there’s quite a divide amongst the ranks,” she teased. “Miss Summers, I’m intrigued to know why you believe it to be a bad television show.”

Spike mumbled a, “cuz she ain’t got no taste,” Buffy rolling her eyes in response.

“Gee, I wonder why I don’t like a show where a pair of white guys,  who practically worship the confederacy no less, go around breaking the law, ruining people’s property, and even mess with the cops the whole time. Hmm. Must be cuz I’m such a buzzkill.”

Dawn snorted from her seat behind her sister, crossing her arms defensively. “It’s not good cuz of that, actually,” she threw back, turning to face Charlotte. “That part’s kinda lame. It’s cuz of the car! All the action shots, and the way it flies when it jumps over stuff! It’s so cool.”

“Sounds rather reckless to me,” Charlotte countered. “I would think the constant jumping of one’s motorcar would be terrible for the longevity of the machine.”

Spike whined, much like Dawn did when she didn’t get the prize from the cereal box. God, he did the same thing! Ugh! Buffy thought. They’re rubbing off on each other way too much. I gotta get us some more time away from her. And get Dawn some movie tickets for her mini Scoobies. “Not you too, Pidge?” Or, on second thought, maybe I’ll just get Charlotte on my side and drive him a little nuts for a change. 

Yeah, I think that’s a good plan. “So, Charlotte,” Buffy spoke, starting a new line of conversation. “Dawn tells us you were the president of the chess club at your old school. Do you plan on joining the chess club at Sunnydale High?”

“I already have,” Charlotte corrected a bit sternly. She saw the sliver of hurt in Buffy’s eyes before remembering her conversation with her brother. Demon or not, he was right. It was cruel to lash out at his lady love when her issues were with him, not the Slayer. “But I very much doubt that Bradley will surrender his presidential title so easily,” she continued in a kinder manner. “At present, he’s suggested I aim for club secretary, though,” she snorted. “I’d rather take a long walk off a short pier before agreeing to ever work for that utter… What did you call him the other day?”

Dawn barked a laugh next to her, nodding. “Poser. Total poser, big time. He doesn’t even need the glasses he wears, just gets the frames without the prescription lenses to make himself seem smarter. Not that it works, considering he flunked chemistry last year and had to retake it in summer school.”

Spike snorted, rolling his eyes. “Poser move, Bradley.”

Buffy grinned, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “Sounds like someone needs to dethrone the mad king. Maybe they could use a girl like you to lead them.”

“They might actually win a match,” Dawn grumbled. “Which would mean Bradley has to travel away from his precious little big boy bed, and leave his collection of Furbies behind for a night.”

“He has a collection of Furbies?” Buffy asked incredulously, shocked that anyone still collected them. Boy, was she ever glad that Dawn didn’t have one of those! They really squicked her out with their soulless eyes. Demons had to be involved in designing them, they just had to be. 

Charlotte giggled, shaking her head. “No, we just enjoy coming up with hypothetical reasons of the outlandish variety as to why he plays so poorly.”

Their vampiric driver scoffed in the front seat, utterly unimpressed in the supposed capitan’s reign. “Why’s he the sodding president, then? President can’t even win a match. Great leader there.”

“Politics,” Lottie ground out, picking at the invisible lint on her dress. “His parents are wealthy and paid for the school’s new charter bus for tournaments.” Woah. The bone of contention the youngest Pratt had for the boy must have been the size of an elephant’s femur. 

“Well,” Dawn suggested. “You know, Buffy actually ran for homecoming queen when she was in high school. Maybe… Buffy can help you with some advice on the campaign?”

I didn’t even win! she wanted to shout. I got kidnapped with Cordelia, and hunted through the woods all night! The other two girls won together, so I doubt-

“Oh, could you truly?” Charlotte asked, big puppy dog eyes that Dawn had pulled herself about a hundred times a week directed straight at the other blonde. Oh, crap. It was totally working, too. Seriously? How was she doing that so easily when Dawn could barely manage it? “I would appreciate any and all advice on the matter. It is such a boys club here, unlike in Los Angeleez,” she over pronounced the city name in her posh accent. Spike used to talk like that, the Slayer shuddered. I’ll take Wiggyness for 300, Alex. “There, our club was pretty evenly split, an- and I was respected an- and no one thought…” she looked down at her hands awkwardly. 

Dammit. How was she supposed to say no to that?! At Hemery, she was popular, a cheerleader with her pick of friends and boys and then… being called Changed everything. Becoming the Slayer put a huge kibosh on all that. Being shoved forwards into time might have just left Buffy a husk of a person. “Of course, Charlotte. We can help you make posters and cookies and everything,” she promised, just to see the young teen smile again. “You know, our friend Willow is a really good baker. Her g- ah, Tara is too.”

“Oh!” Spike agreed, excited at the prospect of having more baked goods at the house. As much as he liked spicy food, he was such a fan of sugar, Buffy joked about the ‘vampire dentist’ getting his third vacation home on her man’s non-existent cavities. “Between Red’s chocolate chip cookies with those candied macadamia nuts, and Glinda’s-”  

“You’ve had her triple chocolate nutty buddy cookies?” Buffy asked, a little hurt. “Without me?”

“Who do you think was the control group for her mad kitchen science?” he continued. “Had to make sure it was edible first. Not like Willow would make you a bad cookie,” he reasoned, stopped at a red light. He took her hand in his, kissing the back of it delicately and slowly while looking deep into her eyes. Guh. It was more intimate than either one could imagine, compared to every other thing they’d done together - in that very front seat no less - but the chaperones being right behind them must’ve been why. “But with them and Glinda’s banana bread, you’ll sway those boys. Teenage boys follow two things: their stomachs and their-” 

“Spike!”  “William!”

“Egos… what?” 



—————-

 

Charlotte eyed the strange foodstuffs her undead brother offered her with trepidation. “Do they not have pie?”

“Pie for dinner?” Dawn joked. “I’ll have the pecan, please!” she teased, chortling next to them. “What? I'm kidding. I’ve had steak and kidney pie. Which: steak, good. Kidney, yuch! No thanks.”

Charlotte blinked at her quickly, looking back at the perplexing, deep fried, golden, cattail looking… thing in her brother’s pale hand with a frown. “What… is it?”

“Like a… battered sausage and deep fried.” 

She took it from him carefully, turning it upside down, trying to figure out its secrets. “On a… stick.”

Dawn nodded, eating her own in hearty satisfaction. “It keeps the meat in place when it’s cooking; see?” She showed the inside part to her Victorian friend, reassuring her a bit. “It’s really good with mustard and chocolate sauce.”

“Chocolate sauce?”

“Dawnie fancies herself an amateur food scientist,” Spike reasoned. “But… they have got mustard and tomato ketchup, and that green condiment next to it is relish. It’s cucumber pickle mince.”

She eyed it with a bit more optimism, about to take a bite when Buffy barreled in, ride tickets acquired in her left hand. “Ooh, corn dogs! Did you get me one?”

Charlotte flung it across the grass, horrified. “Dog? Dog?! You’re trying to serve me bow-wow mutton?! Have you completely lost the plot?!” Oh, yeah. She was 100% Spike’s sister, no doubt about it. That temper was all Pratt. 

Buffy pursed her lips in regret, seeing the absolute broken hearted look in Charlotte’s face. “No. No bow-wow. Not real dog!” She took a bite out of her sister’s food to prove it. “See? It’s just pork! No Fido here!” She said with her mouth full. 

“Not helping,” Spike muttered, handing Buffy his with a frown. “How about some onion rings, Pidge? You can even watch ‘em make it.” 

“Are they made from real jewelry?”

“It’s just a name,” Dawn reassured her, hand on her forearm. “But I swear, this is just pork. Well, salt, some preservatives, I think maybe some water…? I’m not too sure about what the process is. But it’s good!”

Charlotte frowned, unconvinced. “Perhaps something not deep fried?” she offered as a compromise, trying to meet the group of them halfway. “My adoptive mother says that’s a one way trip to a double bypass.” Looking carefully at the menu on the side of the truck, her frown turned to a grimace. The look of a girl on a diet at a national hotdog eating competition. “Ah. I see. Nothing save for the pickled relish. Relished pickles?” 

“Just relish,” Dawn answered with her own half-full mouth, swallowing roughly. She was gonna need a lot of Diet Coke after this. “Oh! They have corn on the cob! That’s not deep fried, and you can ask for light butter.”

“Oh, I have grown to like corn,” Charlotte replied, a bit of the doom and gloom finally lifting. 

Spike seemed relieved, going to order his sister one with whatever toppings she desired. 

The fall fair seemed like a good idea at the time. Lots of things to do, other teens and families around to make Charlotte feel more at ease. New foods to try, mechanical rides for an adrenaline boost, even the chance for the magically charged couple to win some stuffed animals for their sisters. But it was bright, and loud, and she apparently had a phobia of clowns that no one knew about, because clowns back in Charlotte’s day? So not big on the rubber noses and thrice too big shoes, entire faces painted in bight contrasting colours kinda way. Buffy was trying really hard to make her boyfriend’s sister feel at ease, and she felt like she was majorly failing. Big ole F- on the good-brother’s-girlfriend test. Did they give pluses or minuses on failing grades? She couldn’t remember. But if they did, she figured she’d be getting an F-.

“It’s okay,” Dawn murmured, grabbing her sister’s hand and squeezing gently. “She’s just a little freaked.”

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?” Buffy replied, pointing at herself when the Pratts weren’t looking. 

Luckily for her, her sister didn’t let her stew too long in the pity party stock pot. “Her parents - the adoptive ones who pretend that she’s theirs - kinda… kept her as a shut-in for the first little bit after her surgery,” she explained. 

“What, like to keep her from rejecting the lungs?” 

Dawn shook her head, pulling Buffy closer to a loudspeaker a couple of feet away, so they’d be drowned out. Vampire superhearing was a blessing and a curse sometimes. “Like in a mental ward,” she confessed, Buffy’s eyes going wide. “Like… they thought since she was talking about being from the past, and stuff, that maybe she was losing her mind. So they had her in there for, like, a few months, thinking her brain would go all sploady. She had to start freshman year in the middle of December. It’s been a lot.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before? I would have chosen somewhere else. Literally anywhere else!”

“I didn’t know about the clown thing! And I promised her I wouldn’t tell Will- Spike about the hospital thing!”

“Dawn…” the Slayer started, hesitantly. 

“Buffy,” she continued sternly. “Everything in her life is one big question mark right now, an- and she’s scared. I thought having some cotton candy, and being on the top of the Ferris Wheel might help. She really likes sugar, an- and she’s always climbing trees when we’re walking home from school. She said she likes to feel tall. Makes her feel… I dunno. Like, she can’t control anything, not even her clothes, cuz her ‘mom’ buys ‘em for her, and if she doesn’t wear ‘em, then Ashley gets all upset, but she can control how far in the tree she gets. And on the Ferris Wheel, she can be taller than all the trees, an- and then it doesn’t feel so bad.”

Buffy felt her heart break as her eyes slipped over to Charlotte taking the corn cob hesitantly and biting into it. After a few hesitant bites, a grin broke out on her face. She and Spike were laughing together as they chatted, and though she was too far to hear them, Buffy knew it was good. He looked relieved and finally relaxed for the first time all evening, that little crinkle in his eye shining with fondness. No one knew first hand how terrifying a mental ward would be on a young person’s psyche, and how damaging. Especially when the young person was being called a liar, when all they did was spout one truth after another quite like Buffy. Her own awful past reared its ugly head, memories of the ward her own parents put her in all those years ago curling around her in sulphur smoke. No wonder the girl was so cold to her! She wasn’t being mean on purpose, just used it as a way to shield herself from more pain, like she and Dawn sometimes did. Go on the defensive to keep yourself safe. 

She was about to tell Dawn that they could cut the night short, find some trees for the girl to climb, when her cell phone rang. “Hang on, just… oh, it’s mom. Hold that thought.” She flipped the phone up to her ear, greeting their mother. “Hey there foxy lady, miss us already?”

Joyce didn’t laugh however, which was troubling. “Buffy? Are you and Dawn still out with Will and Charlotte?”

“Yeah, why? What’s wrong? Do you want us to come home?”

“No!” she answered, breath a bit shaken. “You can’t come back into Sunnydale yet.”

“Huh?" Was her mom okay? Oh God, was she getting it on with Brain right now? Her mind was going to some really bad bad BAD places. "What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Riley’s in town,” the serious response left her mother’s mouth, ripping off the bandaid. “And he’s looking for you.”

Notes:

Yes, technically “That’s cuz someone who shan’t remain named” IS a double negative, but that's on purpose as Spike would 100% insinuate that it was Dawn cuz... come on. It's his car! He bloody well loves that fossil

Edited Feb. 22nd, 2025 for formatting issues

Chapter 12

Summary:

Carnival lasts a little longer than they intended, seeing as how they were now hiding from Buffy’s military ex-boyfriend who’s in her town, and is lookin’ to beat up her current boyfriend for information on some demon eggs. Buffy and Charlotte have a heart-to-heart, while Dawn and Spike have their own hushed conversation.

Edited Feb 22nd, 2025 for formatting and readability.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

September 14th, 2002 - Part B

 

It was such a nice heart to heart she was having with her sister, and then their mom just had to butt in. Why was it that whenever Dawn actually tried to be nice to Buffy, someone always had to one up her? Or interrupt. Ugh! So annoying. 

“What do you mean Riley’s looking for me?” 

Oh. Okay, that’s definitely both interrupt-y and one upping someone else. ‘Cept not her… Wait. Did she just say, “Riley? Like, Riley Riley?” 

Buffy shot her an annoyed look back, trying to hear what her mom was saying on the other line over the clangour encircling them. “But why? Why would he be looking for me? He was pretty dang clear about us being… what? No! You know Spike wouldn’t do that! Not like he even has time to- of course I’d tell you if- I’m telling you he didn’t! He’s… oh, okay, yeah.” 

Dawn fidgeted as she looked at how Buffy’s eyes slid over to Spike’s before back to the teenager’s face. “What? What did Riley do?” This was bad, way of the bad, right? The last time one of Buffy’s ex boyfriends showed up while she was with a new guy, things got SNAFUed up the FUBAR. Or whatever it was that Xander quoted from that one movie she fell asleep halfway through.

Buffy’s eyes did that roaming thing they did whenever she talked on the phone, avoiding answering Dawn outright. “Do you think we can… yeah, no, I know. But… sunrise, mom?! Well did he check Restfield? Cuz he’ll see the crypt empty and… yeah, no, I know. But you didn’t tell him- I didn’t say you would, just… good. No, that’s good. Cuz if he had gone inside, then he would have seen the picture on the fridge, and- yeah, okay. You too. Love you!” 

Dawn watched as her sister hung up the phone, her pained expression evident. “Riley’s looking for you cuz he’s looking to stake Spike, huh?”

“No. Sorta,” she shrugged, rolling her eyes. “There’s a demon, and he thinks Spike has something to do with some demon eggs, and he’s looking to get these demon eggs back, from the guy he calls ‘the doctor’, which he thinks is Spike’s new nom de plume.” 

“Look at college girl,” Dawn teased, poking her sister’s side jokingly. “Wait. Sunrise? She wants us to steer clear of the house all night?”

“Town. Steer clear of… oh crap, they’re coming this way. Okay, Ferris wheel,” she said quickly, a plan formulating faster than she could properly sift through. “I’ll sit with Charlotte, you fill Spike in. Suppato demon. Or salvaro. I dunno. The one that lays eggs. Get a feel on it from him an- and then,” she said louder, her tone changing to jovial. “Tara said ‘that’s not an egg, that’s a pickle!’” She laughed as genuinely as a drunk aunt halfway to the end of a sobriety test. “Oh, hey guys!”

“How was the egg not pickled, Ms. Summers?” Charlotte asked, eating her corn in the most delicate way Buffy had ever seen. Seriously, was she eating each individual kernel in order of descending size? “I wish to know the joke also.”

“And I’ll tell ya,” she promised, frantically trying to come up with the start of a joke she didn’t know, pointing to the gargantuan lit up wheel. “On our way to the Ferris wheel! Come on, Charlotte, I’ll sit with you!”

 

----------

 

Spike watched as his uncharacteristically jubilant girlfriend dragged his apprehensive sister towards the Ferris wheel, despite knowing full well that Buffy and heights didn’t mix. Plus, the strangled laughter was concerning… “Why’s your sister acting all shirty? Lookin’ for a horripilation event?”

Dawn sighed, linking arms with him as she threw the corn dog stick away, done with dinner. “Yeah, okay former college boy, you’re getting me a dictionary to understand that crap later. What do you know about the Doctor?”

“Overrated BBC star or the profession?”

“Of Sunnydale. Deals in sun bolting demon eggs.”

He stopped short, Dawn forced to stop with him. “Not a suvolte demon?”

“That’s the one.”

“Christ!” He leaned his head back, groaning in exasperation, getting a few very confused and concerned looks from some passersby. And way judgemental. She gave some awkward reassuring smiles back to them, but they were weak. “What did you two get yourself into now?”

“Me?!” Dawn yanked him over to a quiet corner, hissing back at him from the relative privacy of the broken teacup ride. “Mom called Buffy. Riley’s at the house-”

“Wonderbread?!”

“Shush! Listen!” she insisted, making sure no one was close enough to eavesdrop. “Riley went to the house to ask for Buffy. The demon’s dead, so he went to the house for help. He can’t find its eggs, and he thinks you’re some guy called ‘the Doctor’, and he’s convinced you have these eggs. As far as I know, he doesn’t know about you and Buffy, but we have to stay out of Sunnydale till morning- I know, I didn’t forget about the sun.” She held up a hand to keep him from gripeing. For two seconds, at least. “I think if we can get into town an hour before sunup, we’ll be okay.”

“And what about Dick and Diana Fake Parents? Hmm? Cuz if we don’t get their ‘daughter’ into their front door by midnight like they’re expectin’, they’ll be callin’ the real coppers after us. And I don’t much feel like dealing with Sunnydale’s least finest in blue.”

She frowned, forgetting all about the Smiths. Dang it! “Uh, I’ll use Buffy’s phone and call mom to ask if she can convince the Smiths to let Lottie sleep over.”

Yeah, okay. He had to admit, that plan had the chance of working out. Point to Nibblet. Convincing Pidge to lie to them, well… “And how do you suggest we convince Pidge to stay out all night? I’m not exactly her favourite person at the mo’. Doubt she wants to spend all night around me.”

“I’ll… I’ll work on that. Damn, we need to get you a cell phone,” she muttered, walking back with him to the line of patrons waiting for the Ferris wheel. “Could have already called mom by now.”

“But then I’d have to learn to text, cuz your sister likes sending those stupid little emoticon people.”

“You’d love it.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, bumping Nibblet’s hip with his own. “Suppose I would. C’mon. Let’s go face the bloody wheel. And it’s Former University Man, thank you very much.”

“Ugh! Whatever.” 

 

----------

 

In hindsight, the Ferris wheel also seemed like a good idea at the time to Buffy. Charlotte liked heights. Charlotte liked quiet. Charlotte would like the top of the Ferris wheel where it was tall and quiet. But Buffy didn’t. Buffy hated heights, especially ones she couldn’t just jump safely down from. Ever since their showdown with Rex, suspending her over the Sunnydale dam in the spring with nothing by a rust bitten cable at the ankles, she’d been over the whole being up there in the stars scene. But she had to at least try. 

Starting with talking to Charlotte. As the wheel climbed up and around, she worked her hands to not grip the support bar too hard, lest she end up bending it. Having the girl freak out more was so not of the good. Once they stopped, about halfway between the top and where they started from, she turned her head to the girl to chat. “Listen, Charlie. Can I call you Charlie?”

Charlotte didn’t so much as turn her head, still staring straight ahead. “I’d rather you not.”

“Right,” she nodded curtly, feeling disjointed. Was it getting hot up there? She could have sworn she was getting a bit sweaty. “Okay. Listen. I never travelled through time - well, you technically didn’t, either, did you? You were ripped from your time. Against your will.”

“Yes. I was. Thanks ever so much for reminding me.”

“I’m not…” Why am I so bad at this? Buffy wondered. It didn’t make sense, she wasn’t bad with people. She was a people person, the people-iest, even when she was being awkward and… huh. Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’ve always been kinda bad at it and everyone’s just really nice about it. Or maybe I'm overthinking this again. Ahhh! Buffy, say something! The pauses are way too long. “I’m not trying to make you remember the pain, promise. Just… I know it’s not the same, but when I was Called, you know, to be the Slayer, I was pretty freaked out too. I had some old moustachioed guy show up, tell me it was my destiny, and said I had to fight this vampire. Which, hello? Crazy! But then I saw my first vampire up close. And it wasn’t like your brother at all.”

That got Charlotte’s attention, head whipped around to face her with a curious expression. “It didn’t have that demonic face with the glowing eyes?”

“Well, yeah,” Buffy continued. “They all kinda do that. But no, like, a lot of vamps kinda… they kinda live in that demon face. Like, all the time. They love it. He kinda doesn’t. He’s really… I dunno. Split down the middle. More human face nowadays, actually. Less 50/50, more, 80/20. Only really does it if he’s trying to fight a demon or another vamp. Or if we ask him too.”

Charlotte looked at her with pity, that slowly turned into a mix of pity and disgust. “You… oh, Buffy. You cannot tell me that face sends you into an… amorous mood?” 

“Huh? Amou- oh, ew! No! Gross! Charlotte! No!” Geez, how big of a slut does she think I am?! “I meant… There was this guy. He… creepy doesn’t even begin to cover it. But he did this thing, he- do you know what a robot is?”

“A mechanical automaton. Yes. I’m familiar.”

Thank goodness the Victorians had half a brain or else she’d be spending half the time being Encyclopedia Buffy. “Okay, so he made himself a robot girlfriend, and she was… honestly, we thought she was real. And then she threw Spike through a window like he weighed nothing and-”

“Good Lord.”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Buffy squealed as the Ferris wheel lurched forwards again, Spike and Dawn already in and settled into the third bucket counter clockwise from them. She gripped the bar ahead, closing her eyes to take some steadying breaths. “He was fine! He landed in some bushes and he healed in, like, a weekend. Less. But we realised she wasn’t a real girl after that, well, anyways.” She cracked an eye open, looking at Charlotte while carefully avoiding looking down. “I don’t know what Dawn told you about how William and I got together…”

“Your mother mentioned he saved her life, and he did something to save your family. I assumed at first he offered a dowery for your hand-”

That got her attention off the fear of the ride. “I really don’t need to be paid to be dating your brother.” It was kind of insulting that anyone thought that. Wasn’t she smart enough and responsible enough to choose her own dates? Choose her own boyfriends? Sure, she’d made bad calls in the past, and Spike didn’t necessarily make sense on paper, but she was capable of making the final call when it came to her love life. 

“So if not money and not simply saving your mother from an early grave, what? What was it that convinced you to share your life with the very thing you hunt and kill?”

“The guy who built April - the se- girlfriend bot - his name is Warren. Well, we had Warren build two more: a Buffy Bot and a Dawn Bot.”

“Why?”

How to even begin to describe their hell with Glory: a guide written by not Buffy, because she was up shit’s creek without a paddle. Canoe taking on water. Bucket for bailing the water out was also a hole-y mess. A pasta drainer, or a sieve or colander or something. Charlotte just finding out about vampires had her fainting before their very eyes, she was so not ready to learn about hell gods. “Because… there was something dangerous, powerful, coming after Dawn.” 

The ride lurched back, stopping again but with them on the very top now. The girl’s brows furrowed more, trying to find the end of the skein to follow along.

“Powerful? More powerful than a Slayer?”

Buffy nodded sadly. She didn’t want to spook the girl, but then she remembered requirement number 1 on Charlotte’s list: do not lie to me. “More powerful than a hundred Slayers.”

Her eyes widened in a way that would have been hilarious if it weren’t real life terror filling her senses. “Dear God.” 

“Yeah. It’s gone! The dangerous powerful thing. It’s not coming back, ever. But that’s… Anyways.” She would tell Charlotte eventually. When the girl wasn’t about six seconds from having another fainting spell. Was that a Victorian thing or a Charlotte thing? Buffy found herself pondering. Or maybe it's cuz of her health being the way it is. Does she have to have as many check-ups as mom? Or more? Note to self: ask Dawn tomorrow. Oh, crap, these pauses are getting really questionable if the looks she’s giving me are anything to go on. Quick, self, do with the talkage! “So, mom just got her cancer free card, my ex boyfriend left town after cheating on me - which, he blamed me for him cheating on me, which was just,” she scoffed, trying to avoid the swirling depths of hell that was being over thirty feet in the air. “Can you believe the nerve of that guy?”

Charlotte hummed, looking out around them. She felt at peace up there, despite all the things Buffy was saying about her past. She felt safe around the blonde woman, regardless of what was happening outside of their little seat on the wheel of Ferris. “It seems to be a common theme in Sunny- I’m sorry, go back a tic. Are you telling me that he was stepping out on you whilst your mother was fighting for her life with cancer?!?

“Yep,” Buffy confirmed. The pop of the P was way louder than she normally did, but being up this high was making her nerves a tangled mess. Rex was dead, dust. Or slime, or whatever. He couldn’t hurt her, neither could Glory, but it didn’t make her irrational fear go away. “And then she almost dies but your brother, he- he knew someone back when he was human, I don’t know who, but someone who died from a ruptured aneurysm in front of him, so he knew the signs. If he hadn’t been there… Well, I’d be visiting a nice little plot at Pine Grove cemetery with her name on it right now, instead of having hot cocoa with her. But he saved her, and she needed a lot of help. And he stepped up. He- he cooked, and cleaned the puke out of her hair, and he even grocery shopped and… he sacrificed himself for us.”

Charlotte turned so quickly in her seat, it rocked the bucket back and forth, causing her chaperone to tighten her hands on the safety bar. “What?!?”

“Yeah. I know he’s gonna be mad that I told you - angry mad, not like crazy mad - but someone should.” Dawn hated being left in the dark so much, it nearly caused a chasm between the sisters. She felt obligated in some way to make sure that didn’t happen to the Pratt siblings. It wasn’t her job to fix them, but some truths shouldn’t be hidden. Especially if it made the teenager see that things here weren’t as hopeless as she might have thought. “The thing that was after us, it got to him. Thought that it could… it could beat the information of Dawn’s… could beat it out of him. But it couldn’t. He wouldn’t break. Not once. It almost killed him. If he hadn’t thought fast, and gotten his escape when he did, he would have. He said he’d have rather died than do that to us. Cuz he knew what it was like to live without his sister, and he couldn’t bear to have us do the same.”

“He… he almost died?” To be so close and to have nothing left of her brother to greet her, but an urn of ashes? It left the corn she’d had earlier attempt a revolt in her gut. But he wasn’t dust. Was on the ride just a few seats behind them. Relatively safe. “And that’s what… that’s what did it for you? Made you fall in love?”

Buffy chuckled, feeling a little less afraid now. “Well, no. It was lots of little things. But yeah, at that point, we went from awkward housemates to friends.”

“Then… when did you fall for him?”

“Slowly, and then all at once. He- oh, I almost forgot about… I was assaulted at the gallery when I was working there. When mom was on the mend.” 

Assaulted?!”

Oops? So much for easing her into things. Damn. Maybe Giles was right, she did have a tendency to blab when things were awkward. “Yeah. I thought it was this random guy but it turned out to be a demon. Which, by the way: remind me to teach you some basic self defence moves. I know Sunnydale is dangerous from a demon perspective, but self defence is good to have in the ‘being a human’ sense, too. Us girls gotta stick together.”

And she would be taking the Slayer up on the offer. If only to surprise that horrid Lance if he dared to shove Thomas in the courtyard again. He and Peter Nicols needed a serious ‘attitude adjustment’, as Dawn put it. “Noted. So he assaulted you… sexually?”

“No. Didn’t get that far. Grabbed me, offered me cash for my body, then spat in my face when I told him in no uncertain terms to get lost.”

Charlotte shuddered at the implications. Shouldn’t the women’s liberation movement have stopped this? she hoped. But when have things ever gone according to the plan of a revolution of politics? Inoculation was meant to end the reign of disease, but if little Jeremy’s mother refuses to get his ‘booster’, then my entire immune system is compromised and- And she wasn’t in Los Angeles anymore. She didn’t have to attend her classes in a separate room, listening to her classmates’ cheerful conversation across the hall, as her own private tutor went over the lesson, keeping her new lungs safe. Chess games weren’t done with masks and the constant disinfecting of the pieces and board. She didn’t have to have lunch with the one single friend she had made with a glass divider betwixt them, and even if she did, she was sure Dawn would drag the rest of her pals to join them, too. Scary as it was, she had something she didn’t back in Los Angeles: protectors. Allies. “Then what happened?”

“I called the cops - uh, police - cuz I couldn’t tell he was a demon, I just thought: big scary man’s gonna steal me away and make me a s- mmm, nevermind.”

“Sex slave.” Buffy’s eyebrows jumped at the teenager’s blunt comment. She knew Charlotte was pretty blunt, way interrupt-y, but it was different to witness it for herself, especially when the girl said something so grown up. Shrugging, Lottie explained, “we learned about human trafficking in class this week.”

“Geez. That’s bleak. But… yeah. I was definitely worried about that. Giles sat with me when the officers questioned me, and drove me home after. Us home. Picked up Dawn first, cuz classes just let out.” The wheel lurched forwards again, Buffy nearly yelping as it brought them around before the next unload/load of passengers, heart hammering away in her chest. Once they were stopped again, she continued. “A- anyways. William, when I told him and mom and Dawn about it, he kinda, he clenched his hand too tight around a glass,” she mimicked it with her own hand, “and it shattered. But instead of drawing attention to it, he just cleaned it off in the sink, trying to keep me calm. And when he got all the glass out, I was asking him if he wanted something, if I could bandage it for him, and you know what he said?”

No thanks luv, I’ll just rub some oregano in it’?”

“Pffftt! No! Oh, does that work? No, nevermind. No, Charlotte. He said ‘it’s fine. I’ll be healed by tomorrow. Can I get you something?’ Like I was the one hurt.”

“You were,” Charlotte insisted, wondering when the other woman had considered bleeding to be the only injury worth healing. Maybe she didn’t recall herself. “That man, the demon. He hurt you. Scared you in a place that should make you feel safe. Threatened you. Physically grabbed you.” 

“Yeah. But he was the one bleeding, Will, not me. My wound was emotional. It could wait. But he just… he’s there. Taking care of us. Even when we didn’t treat him the best. Me. I didn’t.” Wow, she mused. I really do babble when I’m nervous, huh? Buffy the Babble Slayer. “But he loved me anyway. He would still do all that even if I… even if I acted like his first love. They were together for almost a whole century. Off and on cuz she kept cheating on him with Ang- another man.”

“An-Jan Otherman?”

Dammit! She was really hoping the other blonde wouldn’t notice the slip up. “Another man. Just got distracted is all. But… actually. It was… quite a few other men. A lot of other people… and things, and man! Next to her I probably look like Mother Teresa.”

“Who?” Oh man, there was going to be a whole lot of pop culture Dawn was going to have a ball teaching the girl about. 

“I’ll show you in a book later. But, yeah. He just…” It was hard for Buffy Summers to talk about the times where she felt most vulnerable. It was like a switch gone off at a nuclear power plant to let everyone know that there was a radioactive leak. That everything was gonna blow. Wee-oo! Wee-oo! Abandon all hope! But Charlotte’s face was open and empathetic, if a little overwhelmed, washing comfort over the older blonde. “When we found out my assaulter was a demon and not a human, it meant we could kill it. And after, he helped clean up, and drove us home, and even helped carry Dawn to bed cuz I was exhausted, and she was passed out in the backseat half on top of me, and I thought ‘I could see myself spending the rest of my life like this. Coming home to home cooked meals, and going out and slaying things, then coming home listening to soft rock on the ride home, curl up into bed next to someone… forever’ .”

“Except it wasn’t with any old ‘someone’. It was with William. 

Buffy couldn’t help the grin spreading across her face.  “Yeah. No one else comes close.”

A grin that was matched by the girl next to her. Buffy could see it, the parts that Spike always told her that Charlotte had. All the best parts of their parents. And she knew that with their matching smiles, he got some of the best parts of the Pratt couple, too. “I still don’t understand how the robots have anything to do with it,” she added quickly, “but I’m glad he treats you well. Maybe he does have a soul, after all.”

“No, he doesn’t.” It was a sad fact that Buffy had beaten herself up over countless times, even before that first kiss. But she wanted to level with Charlotte, be real and not just feed her candy coated lies. The parental imposters of hers were already doing that job for everyone else, she wasn’t going to do the same. It wasn’t just about the list. It was about building trust with the girl. “But he has his humanity, and soul or not, that’s not easy for a vampire to hold onto.”

“Oh? Do you have experience in dealing with souled vampires?”

“Oh, Charlotte. You have no idea. But our ride’s done,” she motioned to the attendant who was standing by the gate to open their bucket as the wheel slowly halted, relief of being back on solid ground palpable to the pair of them. “How about I tell you about that another time?” That other time being hopefully never.

“Alright.” 

“But, what I wanted to say before all that,” she motioned to the small picnic table to the side where they could wait while Spike and Dawn were finished. From their vantage point, she could see Dawn making him rock the carriage back and forth, getting an angry shout from the operator, and a squeal of glee from the teen. Shaking her head, she reminded herself to have a talk with the pair of them about the definition of caution. AGAIN. “When I told my parents about the first vampire I killed, my father had me institutionalised.” She turned to Charlotte, face deathly serious. “Mom didn’t know it was all real until years after the fact, thanks to your brother’s help with stopping the end of the world, actually. But… no one besides my parents knows about it. Not William, not Dawn, not a single one of my friends or allies. Just my mom, me… and now you.”

Charlotte’s eyes had widened bit by bit as Buffy went on, revealing pieces of herself and the love story that encompassed both families. The picture became clearer, like one of those optical illusion paintings in the book she’d borrowed from the library just the week prior. “And your father… he- he ran around on your mother, didn’t he? That's why there are no photographs of him in the house.”

“Yeah. Don’t know how much Dawn knows about that either, but what I’m saying is,” she turned to face the girl fully, rough wood on her jeans uncomfy, but way better than being Jessica Lange to that giant gorilla. “No matter what happened to you or happens from here on out, I promise to always believe you, and to keep you safe. I won’t let anything bad happen to you if I can help it. If anyone gets how scary it is to be thrown into a situation you have no control over, it’s me. Dawn, too. But I’ve lived a little longer than her, and she’s always had us to protect her. I… I only had me, for a while. I had a Watcher, back in L.A., but… After he died and I left that mental ward, it was me against the forces of evil. Me, myself, and I: the ultimate trio. Until I had Giles, and Willow, and Xander.”

“And so the Scooby social experiment grew,” Charlotte added, a genuine quirk of her mouth in a smile lit up her whole face. Buffy got why he said she could chase away all the sorrow with a twitch of her lip. Her smile was blinding, even bigger than his own, sometimes. Pure. “Thank you. For sharing all that with me. And for not telling William about... I know Dawn must have told you about my own time in the psychiatric ward of L.A. Children’s Hospital.”

“She didn’t mean to,” she insisted, right on the defensive. “She just was worried that the carnival was too much and alluded to it. Vaguely. Super vaguely.”

“I have every intention of telling him,” Charlotte reassured the woman, thankful to have an ally in her. “Just… not yet. When I am ready.”

Buffy nodded, turning her head when she heard Dawn’s excited scream. They watched in amusement as a blind man’s service dog knocked her down on the ground, lapping at her face. If Dawn had to ever die, being attacked with doggie kisses would have been her preferred method of expiring, she’s told them once.

“Is Dawn wearing some sort of - hee hee hee - dog attracting face cream?”

Buffy snorted, laughing as she watched Spike try to lift her own sister away from the over-excitable Saint Bernard, his own peels of laughter keeping him from getting much done. “No, he probably smells Gemini on her. Or maybe corn dog instead of real dog.”

“Why do they call them hot dogs anyways?”

“Oh, I think I remember this from trivia night-”

Charlotte turned back to Buffy, with an incredulous look. “Trivia night? What on God's green earth is a trivia night?”

“It’s where they make you guess stuff,” Dawn said, a little out of breath now in front of them, and using the back of her cardigan sleeve to wipe off the drool left behind. Spike was still grinning smugly next to her, enjoying her disgust like a big brother would. “Like…. ‘for ten points, what percentage of fat is in heavy cream?’ And if you guess it right, you get the point. William and Buffy go there once in a while for date night, cuz the winners get free wings. Hey,” she turned, hands on her hips. “I don’t have to go to Trivia with you two to chaperone, do I? Cuz they usually host it the same night as Dawson’s, and I’m not waiting for a rerun.”

“Oh! Dawson's Creek?” Lottie piped up excitably. “I do rather enjoy that programme. Only seen a few select episodes, though, as I’m limited ‘screen time’ for my ‘eyesight’ at ‘home’.” The air quotes were kinda getting out of control, but she read the girl loud and clear: Ashley and Henry Smith were stricter with TV time than Giles had been when Spike was chained up in his bathtub. 

Focusing on the good instead of the annoyance in her friend’s tone, Dawn’s entire body lit up, her legs doing her little happy dance. “Ooh! You have to come watch with us sometime! Will makes this really good popcorn mix with, like, way too many M&Ms, and this kinda spicy powder stuff, and he paints my nails, look!” She proudly showed off her latest manicure, light blue sparkles matching the sweater she decided on that evening. 

“Oh! You… you did this?” She held up Dawn’s hand accusatory to her brother, face utterly blank, leaving him unsure if he ought to answer. 

“Yeah, had a few decades practising on these,” he countered, showing off his own black painted ones. “Why? Want me to do yours next time, Pidge?”

She looked at Dawn’s immaculately done hands, and then her brothers. It was clear that his left hand was rather mucked up, having to use his non-dominant hand to make it match. But the right hand looked nearly as good as Dawn’s did. There was some slight chipping, she figured from demon hunting, but overall… Could she dare? The ladies back home would call her a Harlot. A sinful Jezebel. But she was in Sunnydale, 2002. If her soulless vampire brother could sacrifice his life to protect the sister of the woman who did not reciprocate his love back then, she could dare to have nail polish cake on her fingers now. “Something muted, perhaps,” she offered, letting Dawn link arms with her. “Maybe a pale pink, or a French tip like Mrs. Summers?”

“You got it, Pidge.”

Notes:

there's a part 3 coming your way

Chapter 13

Summary:

With the night winding down, Charlotte learns why no one is rushing to have her brought back to the Smith residence in time for her 'curfew', and learns more about Miss Summers' former than she intended. Once back under the care of the Smith 'parents', we get a glimpse into just how evil they really are. Featuring Lottie's new froggie friend: Mr. Toad

Edited Feb. 24th 2025 for formatting and readability

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

September 14th, 2002 - Part C

 

The carnival was a great deal of fun, Charlotte decided as she squeezed her new stuffed frog Mr. Toad, but getting back home before curfew was becoming more and more difficult. It was nearing midnight already, and they were still at least five-and-twenty minutes of safe driving away from her ‘home’. And yet, the other three seemed to be dragging their feet. 

“What is going on?” she asked, gripping the soft plush animal her brother had won for her in the balloon dart game tightly, levelling the vampire with a stern expression. “It’s getting awfully close to curfew, yet we’ve quite a ways to go. I do not wish to be grounded, William.”

“You won’t be.”

“You cannot possibly know that! Not for certain, in any case.” 

Spike sighed, gesturing to Buffy in lieu of answering. 

His Slayer rolled her eyes but relented, moving closer to Charlotte. Coward, leaving it to her to- yeah, fine! Her ex boyfriend, her mess to clean up. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. “Our mom called,” she offered empathetically. “It… isn’t safe for us to go back into Sunnydale, just yet. Don’t worry! She called your parents- guardians, and said you were sleeping over with Dawn at our place.”

“And if they ask to speak with me, am I to lie to them?”

“I-”

“And what is so unsafe that you cannot bring me home?” she continued on, interrupt-y, just like her brother. But worse, somehow. “You are the Slayer, and he,” pointing to her brother, “a vampire,” she mouthed. 

Fine. Rip the bandaid off, Buffy muttered to herself. Not like I haven’t been doing that all night!  “You know the ex-boyfriend I just told you about?”

“The one who ran around on you?”

William’s tight shoulders were noticed by them all, clearly having his own ‘steer’ with the mystery former of the Slayer’s. “Yeah. Well, he works for the military and... well, the military and I don’t… get along.”

“The people who he worked for tried to have her killed,” Dawn nodded, gripping her own stuffed otter friend her sister had won her, unperturbed by the blunt tone she was giving her friend. “First they recruited her, but she asked too many questions, so they were gonna kill her and experiment on her dead body.”

“Dawn!” “Bit!”

“What?! It’s true! She should know it,” the girl insisted. She was so sick of everyone dancing around the very real fear that professor Walsh had sent those demons to kill the Slayer, just because the old biotch was threatened. Fishwife, Giles had called her. And even though Dawn and the Watcher weren’t exactly hunkydory after Glory - aha, she snorted internally, hunkydory after Glory - that was one thing the two could agree on: Walsh and the Initiative equaled bad news. And Riley being in their town now? Yeah, double yikes. “Half the reason Buffy was so done with Riley was cuz he was way too loyal to everyone but her.”

“Nibblet, stop before you make a fool of yourself.”

“Eat me,” she bit back, knowing damned well he had no response. He could try, but Buffy would just smack the back of his head, and make him sleep in the basement for a week. Maybe two. “Riley was always about the Initiative first, everyone else second.”

“Initiative?” Charlotte worried Mr. Toad’s webbed foot in her hand. What on earth would they be initiating?

“Military, like, division or whatever it’s called that specialises in demon fighting.” Oh, okay. That. Lord Almighty. “But then he was all gung ho about the army, inviting the entire freaking team into not only our town after they nearly ended the world, like, six months before, but also our house, when this demon alien thing tried to kill mom the day before her tumour removal surgery.” Buffy sighed as she covered her face next to her little sister. 

Oh, am I embarrassing her? Dawn’s amused thoughts swirled through her head. A ha ha ha, GOOD. 

“Did… did they kill it at least?” the Victorian broached. 

Spike snorted, letting Dawn finish the praise he knew she’d be giving him in a moment. “Buffy and Spike did. William. The Army showed up only once the thing was dead. And Riley had this, like, complex or something, cuz he was all ‘I’m doing this for you’ and crap, cuz like, he thought she wasn’t strong enough or something. Like he wanted to ‘take care of it’, so we could spend time with mom.”

“I don’t see how that could be unreasonable.”

“Cuz he knew about the demon and how it could go after cra- mentally unstable people,” Dawn corrected herself, remembering the unit on mental health they just had at the end of her ninth grade health class. She didn’t want to be a bigot, so she’d have to change some of her wordage, no big. “And mom was mentally unstable, cuz of the whole,” she did the same motion Buffy did whether they talked about the tumour, like their index fingers were little worms burrowing into the skull via a temple. “Tumour thing, and it did. He could have called a bunch of different times, you know, to warn us, but he didn’t. Not once! And Will didn’t know either, so it was super lucky that he was nearby when it- hey, why were you around that night? No one ever told me that.”

Spike looked from Dawn and Charlotte to his girlfriend, waiting for Buffy to talk. “Told him he could come pick up that old lamp mom wanted to get rid of for his crypt,” she lied stiffly. 

“Crypt?!”

“Crib,” Buffy clarified, really hating that she had to lie to the teenager. But this was already way more than she wanted to unload on the girl. “Crib, it’s how kids your age talk about their home. Like ‘let’s go back to Brian’s crib, he’s got a new XBox and surround sound, yo.’ And stuff.”

Her eyes narrowed at the butchering of the queen’s English, but stayed her tongue. Americans were so protective of their slang. “I cannot tell if you’re having me on or telling me the truth,” Charlotte sighed, shaking her head. “No matter. Your mother was safe after, then? After you killed the demon of alien origin?”

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded. “Spike took the body out so the army wouldn’t have it, and patrolled for me the rest of the week, without me having to ask or tell him.”

“Unlike when she had asked-slash-told Riley to,” Dawn continued. “Cuz instead of helping out the Scoobies, he decided-”

“Dawn,” Buffy warned.

Dawn rolled her eyes, continuing. “He went out drinking and cheated on her instead,” she finished simply, omitting the whole suckhouse parts of the story. “And don’t think I didn’t know about that, cuz Anya told me everything.” 

I’m going to kill Anya. Except no, I can’t. Buffy’s mind flip flopped at the anger she had flaring in there at the ex-demon spilling the beans to her little sister. She’s human and we’re kinda good friends now. Mostly. But I’m SO gonna yell at her about all that later. At least it came from Anya, and not her boyfriend. She shuddered to think what Xander would have told Dawn. 

“He was a tosser,” Spike agreed, snaking an arm around her back, pulling Buffy flush to his side. “He never made you feel strong and appreciated, powerful like you are,” he carefully kissed her temple, making sure Charlotte saw where his hands were so she’d lay off the name calling. His little sis could call him every name in the book for all he cared, but when it came to his lady? God, he hated seeing her so downtrodden. “You need a bloke who can hold his own, remind you of your strength and beauty, help how he can, how you need him to, not how he feels like you should want him to. A second in command, not promenadin’ around, tryin’ to fix things- fix you.”  

“And that’s you?” she joked, smiling at him softly. 

“Damn right,” he smirked back. “And not gonna stop that anytime soon, gorgeous.”

Buffy grinned, turning back to Dawn who was smirking, and Charlotte’s frown. “Charlotte? Is everything alright?”

“But this… Riley. He’s a man, yes? As in… human?”

“Yeah, what’s your point, Pidge?”

She wrung her hands together, unsure of how to phrase her words. “How… I know this sounds incredibly naive, but against a vampire and the vampire Slayer, how dangerous can he be?”

“Bloody lethal,” Spike warned. Face set serious, eyes awash in memories of past pains, agonies he didn’t know if she could handle. “Military’s got some right advanced weapons and other techie piffle that can drop an elephant like that,” he snapped the fingers on his other hand, voice stony. “Human doesn’t always mean safe, Pidge. Or did you forget about Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary?”

“The nursery rhyme?” Dawn baulked. “Like ‘With silver bells, and cockle shells, And pretty maids all in a row’ ?”

Charlotte and Spike stared at her, confused. “No,” Spike slowly replied. “It’s ‘With Harold’s eyes, And Robert’s thighs, And Ray’s ribs buried all in a row’.”

Dawn wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Eeew-uh! Why are all Victorian nursery rhymes so disgusting?”

Charlotte snorted, rolling her own eyes. “We lived in a time of exceptionally high child mortality rates. Cholera and measles and typhus. Had to find some way to deal with the bleakness of death at every turn.” 

Buffy grimaced, noticing they weren’t getting anywhere like this. “Okay, this is a very interesting and disturbing topic, and all, but yeah. Riley’s dangerous. And I don’t want him anywhere near you Charlotte. Cuz if he finds out you’re from the past, well…”

The gears in everyone’s heads turned, Charlotte stepping back a bit to get her bearings about her. “You- you think they’ll… experiment on me? T- turn me in- into a weapon?”

“Didn’t stop them from doin’ it to me,” William confessed. It made his sister’s blood run cold. They experimented on him? she thought, picking at the skin around her fingernails. What kind of Mary Shelley-esque horrors did they put William through? Do I even wish to know? Perhaps ignorance truly is blissful, but it sure isn’t helpful. “Wouldn’t stop from goin’ after Buffy, and they don’t know anything about Dawn’s… Dawn-ness, special that she is, being the Slayer’s sister, and all,” he corrected. He took keeping Nibblet’s Key secret seriously. Unless told by every Summers otherwise, he wasn’t going to say a thing about it to Pidge. “I mean, has there ever been a recorded Slayer with a sister before you two? Cuz I’m thinkin’ not.”

The Summers girls looked at each other, unsure. “Doubt it,” Buffy agreed, thankful that Spike kept his mouth shut on the whole Key business. Sure, Dawn wasn’t the interdimensional can opener anymore, but still, who knew what kinda beasties were around, capable of hearing them. Or even the army, who might want to experiment on the teen. Hell, Riley wanted to experiment on the Xanders when the man’s two halves split like they did. She didn’t want to even think about what Riley might want to do with her now. “But we still like to keep the army at a distance. The things they did there…” she shuddered, letting Spike pull her in closer. “Some of the stuff I saw at the Initiative was… God, Charlotte. It was- do you know who Mary Shelley is? Was? Wait,” she turned to Spike, eyebrow raised. “Is Mary quite Contrary about her?”

He shook his head. “Nah, think it’s ‘bout Bloody Mary.”

“Like the mirror thing?” Dawn asked

“What ‘mirror thing’?” Charlotte raised her own eyebrows in confusion. “Bloody Mary was a queen, of the 16th century. A Tudor, was she not?”

“Yeah, Pidge. Her big sis became queen Lizzie the first,” he nodded. “‘Course Pidge knows Frankenstein. Always loved anatomy, even the twisted ones.”

Buffy nodded, trying to not be grossed out with a ten year old’s fascination with corpses. Well, fifteen year old. Sorta. “O- oh. Okay,” she stammered. “Y- yeah. They, uh, they made a demon like Frankenstein: part human, part demon, part machine. They were experimenting on whatever they could get their hands on. So, yeah, I don’t know what the army that Riley’s a part of now does exactly, but I’m not trusting it with a twenty mile pole.”

Charlotte’s jaw clenched as she snapped it shut, looking away from them for a long moment as she hugged her froggy friend. To have all this dropped on her was overwhelming, to say the least. But for a vampire of near master, and the strongest human woman on the planet to be both wary of the organisation and the man who worked for it… it left her suddenly missing coughing up blood in a non-supernatural fashion. Which was utter madness, but so was everything else in her life at present. And she had told them she wanted to know the truth. “Alright.” She nodded as she looked back at them. At least they tell me truths, not the pork pies from the imposters of Ashley and Henry. Which was rather refreshing, in a terrifying fashion, but still. She may still be a child, but she hated being treated as if she were too mutton headed to understand concepts of such a calibre. Even if she was sure Buffy meant Frankenstein’s monster, not the mad scientist who stitched him together. “We should… we shall make ourselves scarce while Mr. ‘I Know Better Than The Slayer’ is in town.”

“I prefer Captain Cardboard, meself,” Spike joked. “Cuz his personality is about as flavourful.”

Dawn snorted, shaking her head. “He wasn’t so bad, he took me for ice cream that one.. time… but Buffy made him to…. Hey,” she looked between Spike and Buffy multiple times, trying to suss out their own agendas. “Did you ever do that with me?” Her eyes narrowed in concentration. “Make Sp- William take me places to like, bond?” She gasped, pointing an accusatory finger at him, the vamp looking away briefly to indicate he was hiding something from her. Again. “You totally did! The go-karting thing!”

Buffy pulled away from her boyfriend, feeling unsettled. “You took her go-karting?!

“Oh. Guess not,” Dawn laughed awkwardly. “Oops?”

Spike glared at the girl, feeling betrayal flare in his throat. “Et tu, Brutus?”

But it didn’t help the matter, Buffy was fully upset, leaning towards anger if he didn’t simmer it down. “Are you out of your mind? She could have crashed and split her head open! Like a- a- pumpkin! Or a cantaloupe!” 

“Make ‘em wear helmets, don’t they?” he reasoned, jaw set. “And your mum gave the all clear!”

Aaaaand there it was. Fury. Oh bugger. He just sunk himself, epically “Mom said you could?!? Are you- when was this? Hmm? Date, time, I need answers.”

“Relax, sweetheart, it-”

“Don’t you sweetheart me, pal,” she warned, finger raised. “Tell me now.”

“God, you’re the most annoying-”

“Brother!” Charlotte snapped back, striding forwards and inserting herself between the two. “Control yourself!”

“She started it!”

Charlotte huffed, crossing her arms at her brother’s impatient immaturity. “And what? You’re acting like a petulant child to… end it? Please, I know damn well that mother and father didn’t raise you in a barn by the glue factory. Act like the gentleman I know you were raised to be. You owe her and us that much.”

He sighed, deflating in seconds. How these barmy women managed to do that to him time and time again, he’d never know. Must have some magic up their sleeves or some such rot. “Yeah, alright,” he turned to Buffy. “Sorry, pet,” he pleaded. “Thought since your mum gave the all clear that you’d be okay with it. Sides, kept my promise and didn’t let Nibblet behind the wheel of the DeSoto.”

“Which is dumb if you ask me,” Dawn huffed. “What if you need me to be the getaway driver?”

“Never gonna happen.”  “Unlikely.”

The brunette huffed as she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over one another, feeling dejected. “You say that now, but-”

“No!” the couple yelled in tandem, annoyed by her pushy nature. There was only so much of that they could take in a week. 

She threw her hands up in the air, her otter still gripped tightly lest he fly away, turning around to walk back to the car. “Fine, geez.” She mumbled something about stupid relationships before turning around to yell to them, “So are we going to get ice cream and do something fun, or are we gonna stand around with our metaphorical sticks in our hands, and argue for the rest of the night?!?”

“God, she’s so annoying,” Buffy muttered, smothering her smile to yell back at her sister to, “hold your horses!”

 

----------

 

“Why trivia? It seems… an odd choice for a… ‘date’.”

“Didn’t know what we were walkin’ into,” her brother offered, handing her the frozen treat he’d gotten them at the petrol station. “Thought since it was dinner time, and I like my lady fed and happy, that we could do with a spot of nosh.”

“And there weren’t many options for food elsewhere,” Buffy added, ripping the top of the popsicle bag with her teeth. “So we thought we’d just sit in the corner, eat our food, and vamoose, but then we saw that the winning team got forty bucks knocked off their tab, and, well…”

Dawn snorted, rolling her eyes at the couple’s inability to just come out and say it. “These two are the single most competitive people I know.”

“Hey!”  “Hey!”

Ignoring their tandem complaint, she opened her own fudge pop. “And it was music trivia, so they obviously dominated the competition,” she continued, happy to sit between her sister and her new friend, their siblings flanking them on the curb where they sat, watching the late night baseball game on the opposite side of the road. The teams looked to be raising money for some illness, their outfits ridiculous as both men and women donned tutus and cheap children’s costume jewellery. It looked pretty fun, actually, but she so didn’t want a flyball hitting her in the face, so across the street they sat. “The second time was also an accident, but they lost, and there was a guy on the winning team who just showboated the whole time after, so they went back to try again.”

Charlotte nodded, listening in rapt fascination. “To put him in his place, I wager.”

“Oh, yeah. Took mom and Brian with them, won by a landslide.”

“Brian?”

Dawn winced, Buffy rolling her eyes at her sister’s big mouth. “He’s a- he’s a family friend. Like Giles!” she quickly covered. “Any way, they won, and that shut that guy up-”

“For one entire evening,” Spike added, getting his sister’s attention onto him. “Then started up all over again, catching Buffy in the street and callin’ her a cheat as he drove on by.”

“That fiend!” she exclaimed, immersed in this part of her brother’s life. Far more interesting were the stories of mundanity for her than the horrors of the hellmouth. 

Buffy’s responding chuckle showed her agreement. “Yep! So William and I just had to keep coming back.”

“Maintain our victory.”

“And eat their weight in free wings,” Dawn added, under her breath.

Which was pointless with the freaking vampire and his supersonic hearing right there. “Oi! We earned those,” he insisted. “Keepin’ the fine folk of Sunnydale safe-”

The Slayer faced him, indigent. “It’s my job-”

“And our winnings of the deep fried variety were fair and square against those Nutters, so don’t be getting all high horse-like about it.”

“Those nutters,” Charlotte tsked as she looked at her brother with disappointment. Though she didn’t mean any malice behind it. “Really, William? You were that hard pressed to think of any other name for your opponents?”

Buffy laughed, coming to her boyfriend’s defence. “Their team name is the Peanut Butter Nutters,” she explained through chuckles. “They chose it, not us.”

Which only seemed to confuse Lottie even more. “Why on earth for?”

“No clue,” Dawn giggled. “We have some working theories.”

“What is your team name, then?” Charlotte asked, licking her ice cream less daintily than she did the corn. “Come now, let’s hear it?

Rolling his eyes, he muttered, “Bennie and her Jets”.

Face screwed up in confusion, she blinked at him rapidly. “What on earth is a Jet? And I thought Buffy was already a shortened version of your name.”

“No nickname, just my name. There’s a song ca- hold on,” Buffy stopped, pulling her buzzing phone out of her pocket. “Oh, it’s Giles. Hey, Watcher mine,” she greeted jovially on the other side. “Oh, are you sure?” Spike tried to move in closer to eavesdrop on whatever the ex-librarian was sharing, but Charlotte’s shiver had him taking the spare sweater Dawn kept out of the boot of his car for her. “He’s wha- for how long? Geez, he sure moves fast. In the relationship cate- oh, okay. Thanks Giles, seriously. I don’t think I would have been as nice to him if I was… you’re kidding! Yeah, yeah, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks, bye.” 

“What? What is it? Is it Riley? Is he gone?” Dawn asked anxiously 

“Yep. And you’ll never guess who his new demon hunting partner is.”

 

----------

 

Trudging up the back steps into the Summers’ house, Charlotte was greeted by a lovely little cat rubbing his body against her legs. He purred loudly as he left his fur on her nylons. “A kitten as well?” she asked, chuckling as she bent down to scratch beneath his chin. “Hello, little one. Doesn’t he remind you of the cat father had when we were…. Gem?” She noted the collar under his chin, the tag saying his name clearly. “You named both creatures Gemini?”

Dawn shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. “Um… remember when I, uh, when I told you yesterday that Gemini was special? But like… you know, kinda Hellmouth-y without being a demon?”

“Vaguel- oh my WORD!” She gasped as the scene unfolded before her very eyes. Shaking his fur, he transformed into his dog form, sniffing her face where she’d fallen over in shock, slathering her face in dog kisses. “Eee hee hee hee hee! Stop! Argh! G- Gemini! Hee hee hee, that tickles!” Giggling, she pushed him off, the dog-cat trotting over to Dawn to greet her properly. “Oh my goodness! He- he’s- how- wh- my LORD!”

“He- um, he was kinda a science experiment, we think,” Buffy reassured the girl, letting Spike close the door behind himself as they filed into the kitchen, their mom probably passed out upstairs. She’d had a long night of her own. “S- William and I found him around the college, and we checked. 100% demon and flea free. And a pain in my butt,” she added under her breath. “Okay, you two: bed. And me too. I’m ready to hit the hay.” She led them upstairs, showing Lottie the bathroom and giving her extra pillows, like the good girlfriend of the girl’s brother she was. Dawn’s bed would be a tough squeeze, but she was too tired to hear her mom’s annoyance at being woken up as they carried the spare bed in the basement up the stairs. And there was no way they were letting the girl sleep on the floor. Uh-uh. Not a chance. The sisters would walk her over after a little sleep, still way too early for either girl on a Sunday, so she could take her scheduled medication. In the meantime, Dawn had PJs for her to borrow, there was a spare toothbrush that hadn’t been opened yet for her to use, and her hair could survive one night without her combs and salves.

But there was something neither Summers expected to be an issue, until she opened her mouth and asked her brother, “where exactly do you think you’re going?”

Freezing with his hand on the doorknob to the room he shared with his lady, Spike turned to regard her with a cocked eyebrow. “To beddie-bye, same as you. Sun’s almost up, after all.”

“I was well aware of that, yes,” she huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder, loosened so she’d be comfortable sleeping. “But why are you sleeping in Miss Buffy’s room? Do you not sleep in the basement?”

Dawn’s brows furrowed, making a thin line appear between them. “What’s going on?”

“William is under the impression that he was going to sleep in your sister’s room,” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. “Honestly. An unmarried couple? Sharing a domicile is one thing. But a bed? Brother, please. Be not a lout.”

Sighing, he felt his jaw clench. Course he’d bloody well forgotten his sister’s outdated views. He was tired, he wanted to catch some kip in his sweetie’s arms, like he did practically every day the past year and change. This is a sodding shame, he sighed, nodding. Gonna have to set her straight. But he took one look at her face, and folded. Later, he’d explain his true place was upstairs, in their bed - not just Buffy’s alone any longer - but for now, he’d play along. For Pidge. Bloody ponce-y Pratt yet again. Fantastic. “Caught me. Uh, night ladies,” he gestured to the trio, shooting Buffy a look to drop it. 

She shot one of apology back, trying to figure out how weird it would be if she followed him down after Charlotte fell asleep. But it was already four A.M. and they had to drop her off at Shadow Lane no later than 7:30 so she could take her anti-rejection meds on time. She’d just slip into bed next to him when she and Dawn got back after. “Night,” she answered pathetically, heading to her - their - room after he’d disappeared from view. “It’s gonna be a long one,” she muttered once the door snicked shut.

 

----------

 

Despite the lack of sleep, Charlotte was not as lethargic as she feared, keeping good time with both Dawn and Buffy as they walked from their home to her own domicile. She would never call that place ‘home’, sweet or sour. Breakfast was a noisy affair, even with just cereal and tea, Mrs. Summers giving them the basics of what happened with Mr. Finn and his new partner- his wife. A wife who was surprisingly lovely, according to what Miss Willow had begrudgingly regaled to Mrs. Summers, despite the redhead’s wish to hate the other woman. A wife whom Mister Riley Finn, son of dairy farmers of Iowa, former flame of one Miss Buffy Anne Summers, had married not nine months after leaving Sunnydale. It did not seem entirely fast to Charlotte, what with her own time being what it was with its shorter engagements, but it did given the circumstances. If Joyce Summers had passed on, and then this Agent Finn - what a condescending title for the ignoramus - would have flaunted his new wife in front of a grieving Slayer, his ex-girlfriend. The one he ran around on, while said mother fought for her life. In addition to the fears of that entire year where some massive big beastie hunted for Dawn’s head. It sickened the Victorian. 

After breakfast, she listened to Dawn natter on about some argument she had with Carlos over something that seemed rather menial in the terms of all that had transpired of late. She was barely paying attention, absorbed in her own thoughts about souls. Riley Finn had a soul. He still ran out on Miss Buffy after cheating on her. Multiple times, if the Slayer’s face said anything of that nature. And then gave her an ultimatum. He would choose her or the army, but she had to give him a reason to stay. As if it were her fault for his cheating. As if he hadn’t chosen to snog another woman, perhaps more. Yet William, no longer in possession of his soul, had chosen to save the life of his friend, simply because he did not wish his friend to go. Had risked bursting into flames for her life, simply because he might have a shred of a chance in prolonging her life. He’d risked his own existence, more than once, for the women of 1630 Revello Drive, soul or not, because he felt compelled to. He had changed his very nature for love, had even - my God - learned to cook for them, only so that Miss Buffy would not be overworked betwixt the gallery and regular ‘slayage’. Soul or no soul, what was the true nature of a being? Was Sunday school wasted on her? Was the pastor mistaken?  

“Want us to walk you in?” Buffy pulled her from her thoughts, gesturing to the front door of her domicile when they reached it. She had barely noticed the street, let alone the house looming ahead of them. “I can-”

She shook her head, but assured them she was safe. Hugging Dawn awkwardly and quickly, she waved them off, walking away from the girls she desperately wanted to stay with, and towards the imposing door of the prison that was her ‘adoptive’ parents’ home. 

“Have a good time?” Dr. Smith asked, standing next to the open door as she gazed at the Summers girls leaving the end of the driveway. Charlotte nodded, eyes cast down. “But not too much fun, I hope.”

Shaking her head, she shuffled her way in, sitting on the bench in the entranceway, her guardian closing the door behind them both. “No, ma’am.” She took her shoes off, Mr. Toad tucked protectively under one arm lest he be taken. She never was sure with the doctor. “I made good choices, like you always taught me to.” Which was a lie neither believed, but hoped the other one did. Charlotte needed to not anger her jailo- keepers, lest they refuse her from seeing William and the Summers again. And ‘Dr. Ashley Smith’ needed the teenager to be kept in the dark of their true purpose in Sunnydale. “May I work on my studies before doing the washing up? I was hoping to get a head start on that assignment for social studies due at the end of the month. I intend to beat my last top marks from the previous semester.”

Ashley nodded, thankful that her ward had finally become as obedient as her bosses said she’d be once she got onto the hellmouth. It was supposed to be an easy assignment, but after six long years of this crap, she was starting to wonder if she should’ve taken that post in Rome instead of L.A. Still, it helped that the girl was finally well enough for chores. ‘Henry’ was useless with the dishes, and neither of them liked doing laundry. Was it ethical to use their charge to get some stuff done around the house? Probably not, but neither was working for an evil organisation who was planning on using her for their own gain. Still, bills needed paying, and she had a love of silk that wasn’t going away anytime soon. Birds, meet stone. “I think that’s a great idea, Charlie,” she nodded, walking away in time to miss the flinch of the use of the nickname the girl wouldn’t say why she hated. “Remember to submit the paper to me a week before it’s due. Wouldn’t want any spelling errors like the last time, now, would we?”

Charlotte blinked hard against the tears fighting against her eyes. Tomorrow, she would have her reprieve when she left the house for classes. She would be safe sitting with Dawn and her friends to eat lunch, the brunette officially inviting her and Thomas into the fold. Until then, she just had to survive as best as she could. “Yes, ma’am. We wouldn’t want that.” And if she pictured the Slayer throwing both Smith wardens into a windowless prison cell of their own, that was between her, Mr. Toad, and God.

Notes:

I’m going back to edit a bunch of chapters, because for some unknown reason, there are a bunch of extra spaces and capitalizations then there were when I first uploaded them.

Chapter 14

Summary:

Mini Scoobies have themselves a movie night, while the adults of 1630 Revello Drive go to a fancy schmancy party, but things rarely go as planned, do they?

Apologies if the Spanish is incorrect. I’m very rusty and had to use a translating app.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Friday, September 20th, 2002 - Part A

 

“Do you think it’s a poltergeist or just a hoax?” Carlos asked, shoving popcorn into his mouth. 

Kit scowled where she was petting Gemini, his dog face smooshed to her thigh where he lay, half his body on the floor next to her. He was the biggest suck up, especially after a long day of sniffing every inch of the neighbourhood on his walks. “Hey! Quit hogging all the snacks, Los!”

He threw a pack of Twizzlers at her to shut her bellyaching. She ate two-thirds of that vegetarian pizza, after all. “So I vote hoax. Kit votes…”

“Poltergeist. It’s literally the whole plot of the movie.” 

“Dawn?”

She contemplated it, only half watching the movie anyway. Charlotte had been very quiet since the movie started, far quieter than she’d ever been, and it was making her worried. They’d spent a lot more time together that week, both her and Thomas fitting into the Scoobies 2.0 way better than Dawn could have dreamed. Charlotte had actually laughed so hard that past Tuesday, that she shot pop out of her nose in the middle of the lunch room. It left them all riding high the rest of the day. Even after Carlos got in trouble for accidentally knocking into a lunch lady, sending the tray of mac n cheese to the floor in an arc. Totally worth it for the look on Thomas’ face, the boy in such a fit of laughter, Lottie offered him a pump of her inhaler in concern. But now, in the living room of 1630 Revello Drive, Dawn kept waiting for the girl to wig out over the fact that her brother was upstairs, in the bedroom he shared with his - gasp! - unmarried girlfriend, getting ready for a model-slash-artist party he was going with said girlfriend to. But she was just… silent since he went upstairs. A half an hour ago. When the movie started. And the pizza arrived. Oh, boy. It was gonna be a long night. 

“Earth to Dawn!” 

“Huh?” 

“What’s wrong with you, chica? You’ve been staring at Lottie for, like, five minutes. You two have something we don’t know about?” Carlos grinned at the girls suggestively, no doubt picturing things of the NC-17 variety.

Dawn shook her head at her friend’s gross insinuations, Charlotte looking at her with her own confused expression, in hopes of an explanation. Which she wouldn’t get. “I was just thinking about how, ya know, maybe this movie isn’t such a good idea.”

“B- but it’s a classic!” Thomas argued, a little upset that his pick was being argued with. “It’ll be loved for generations!”

“Yeah, but… I was, um, just telling Charlotte the other day how all these monster movies.. it’s hard to watch, you know?” She looked to Charlotte hoping for an out. “Wouldn’t we rather be watching a movie with, I dunno, a happy ending for a change?”

Sitting straighter, Carlos glared at his friend seriously. “Do not bring up Princess Bride again.” 

Princess Bride?” Charlotte inquired, sitting upright, suddenly more interested in the evening’s activity than before. “A bride who becomes a princess through marriage? Or a princess who was always a princess, and then marries?” 

He groaned, tilting his head back to watch the ceiling. “Not you too! Gah! We’re never going to spend a single movie night without you,” he pointed at Dawn, “making us watch some goddamn movie, about some goddamn guy, going through hell for some goddamn girl!”

“Language,” Kit chastised dryly, before shoving a Twizzler into her mouth. She personally didn’t care, but she liked to rile him up. 

“And what is so wrong with that?” Charlotte countered, sitting straighter. “Why shouldn’t a man show a woman all he can be, to prove he is worthy of her? Even in the modern era, where a girl must kiss a thousand frogs before she finds her prince, where the prince could one day become a mad king, and strangle their baby in her cribs.” She spoke so evenly, it felt like she was discussing the weather, not something dark and twisted. It made her friends begin to wonder what the heck Lottie actually had witnessed in her ten or so years of consciousness, both in their time period, and her original one. But how the hell did a bunch of teenagers even begin to broach a subject like that? “I’d very much prefer watching that, than… this,” she gestured to the screen, wincing as one of the characters lost a finger. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I cannot fathom why he’s trying to save the digit at this point. It is most definitely a lost cause to even consider reattaching the digit in such a state now. It’s far too mangled. He’d be better off simply cauterising the wound, and moving on.”

Staring at her cavalier manner, the other three blinked in shock, while her first Sunnydale friend - who was practically an old hand at it now - cleared his throat. “She’s never seen it,” Thomas reasoned. “O- o- one time wouldn’t, ya know, kill us.”

Kit sighed, reluctantly agreeing. “And she’d stop commenting on all the medical inaccuracies. Not that I don’t love the educational, uh, context,” she backpedalled sheepishly to keep from hurting the other girl’s feelings. “It’s just…”

Charlotte hummed in acceptance. “A bit too much like watching how the sausage is stuffed, I wager. I understand.”

Carlos looked at the other teenagers who he thought were his friends, hoping for someone to suggest literally anything else outside of the movie that their host had made them watch so often, they were two weeks away from being able to perform it on stage, out of sheer memory alone! “I thought bringing another guy into the group would mean I had backup, dude,” he hissed to Tom in irritation.

The boy fidgeted in place, offering a strangled apologetic grimace. Carlos should have known by now that Thomas was a bit of a pushover where it came to the girls. What with his own home being outnumbered by women, too. Three sisters, two aunties, and his cousin Emma. Not to mention his strong mother, Iris. But also, Lottie was kinda the first friend the boy had made in town, so it shouldn’t have been surprising to anyone. Throwing his hands up in defeat, he stood. “FINE! Ugh, I swear to God, I’m leaving here with that VHS under my arm the next time one of you pulls this crap. And I’ll find a bank vault for it, or somethin’.”

Spike entered the living room just as the trio that kidnaped the princess in the next act were travelling by boat. 

Inigo asked, “you're sure nobody's following us?” on the screen, earning an eye roll from Carlos, who seemed seconds away from ringing up Reiner personally, just to cuss him out for his part in the film’s production. 

Having seen Dawn’s favourite movie with her more times than he dared to count, he already knew the next line by heart. “‘As I told you, it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways, inconceivable. No one in Guilder knows what we've done’,” he quoted, surprising everyone but Dawn, who only snorted amusingly. “And how did the Scoobies 2.0 get roped into watching this one again this time?” 

Carlos snorted, rolling his eyes. “Lottie‘s never seen it. She thought it would be, like, romantic and stuff to see the farm boy go above and beyond for his girl, who isn’t really his girl yet, and- oh, my God!” He turned an accusatory finger to Dawn, his mouth opened on a silent scream. “¡Te recuerda a tu hermana y su novio muerto!

¡Y solo quieres ver películas de fantasmas porque tienes el rango emocional de una zapatilla de Barbie!” Dawn snapped back, if a bit haltingly. Taking two years of Spanish was really coming in handy.

“Did you understand any of that?” Spike asked his sister. 

Charlotte shrugged, looking up at him from her perch on the armchair. “Y means ‘and’, and Barbie is the same in both languages, but not really.”

Spike turned to the other two, Thomas covering his mouth, avoiding his gaze. Kit smirked on the floor, where Gemini had fallen asleep, his big dog head resting on her thigh as he snoozed. “Kit? Mind sharing with the class?”

“Uh-uh,” she shook her head, biting into the gummy candy off the table. “I’m not getting stuck between those two. Not again.”

“Rude.” 

She shrugged, eating a bear, head first. “I’ll live.” 

“L- looking good Mr. Pratt,” Thomas stammered awkwardly, still unnerved by the vampire. “Black on black: t- total classic. Th- the other artists won’t kn- know what hit ‘em!”

Carlos reached over him to grab the remote out of Dawn’s hands, pausing the movie. “What did you just call him?”

Everyone looked at the tallest teenager, who seemed extremely confused, and a touch apprehensive at being asked to repeat himself. “Uh… Mr. Pratt? Ch- Charlotte said that was th- their last name way back in the day!” He looked towards Charlotte with genuine fear in his eyes. “Oh, God. Were you messing with me? Did I just call him a- a bad thing?” He turned to Spike with horror in his eyes, shrinking in on himself. “I’m so sorry! Please don’t kill me!”

Dawn rolled her eyes, standing to grab the cuff links off the drawing table pushed up against the wall. Spike would need to wear them if he wanted to get paid. The gifter had insisted upon it, showing off his new jewellery line at the event his sister was throwing at her gallery. Or was it his wife? Geez, it was hard to follow the connections in that world. She guessed her mom had a flow chart, or something, maybe one of those giant cork boards in her gallery office, like detectives in the movies had. “Relax, Tom. He’s not gonna kill you. Especially not over that.”

“Oh, thank God,” he breathed out, feeling lightheaded. “I- I am sorry, Mr. Pr-  Mr. Vampire. Mr. Buffy’s Boyfriend, sir.”

Charlotte snorted this time, shaking her head as she grinned. “He answers to Spike of all things these days, Thomas. Though I refuse to call him such a ridiculous moniker when William is such a strong, elegant name.”

William Pratt?!” Carlos asked, dumbfounded. “That sounds like a rich guy who drives Ferraris would be called!” 

“We weren’t rich,” Charlotte countered. “But we were rather comfortable, up until William died. Or became undead, rather.”

Kit huffed, turning to face her squarely. Gemini rolled his body towards the warmth, his good eye blinking slowly awake at the interruption to naptime. “Yeah, comfortable is what rich people say to sound down to earth. Where’d you guys live in London again?”

“Around the Royal Academy of Arts, about a stone’s throw away from Hyde Park. Why?”

Kit gaped at both Pratt’s, her head swivelling back and forth, as Dawn helped Spike put his cufflinks on. She was floundering, trying to remember the plot details from the last historical war movie they watched in history class. “Mayfair?! You lived in Mayfair?!” She turned to Dawn, gaping as Buffy started down the stairs. “Did you know this?”

Dawn to her credit simply shrugged. “Kinda? Just recently, though. When Lottie came over for dinner the first time. Doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

Buffy didn’t know what she was walking herself into as she tugged her shoes on at the foot of the stairs. “What doesn’t matter n- Princess Bride again?! Geez, Dawn, do you ever let anyone else decide the movie?”

“Charlotte chose it.”

“Oh. Good choice, Charlotte,” she quickly changed her tune, trying to butter the blonde up. Dawn would be pissed if it wasn’t so obvious. And funny. Okay, it wasn’t that funny, but totally worth mocking her sister over it later. And she was totally gonna make fun of her sister’s flip-flopping later. “I think you’ll really like the part with Magic Max.”

“‘You rush a miracle man,’” Spike and Dawn quoted to each other. “‘You get rotten miracles.’

Spike chuckled as he turned around, mouth falling open as he gazed at his lady love. She always looked lovely, but when she spent the extra time, oh! She was a vision in the low cut dress, bright sequinned fabric hanging to her ankles, making his pants tighten. “You look incredible, luv.” 

Buffy smirked back at him, eyes roving over the all black ensemble he wore at her request. She made him change in their room while she dressed in the bathroom, keeping her dress a surprise till the last minute. His black dress shirt was hugging every single inch of him, it was almost indecent. The dress pants weren’t helping. “Looking good yourself.” She reached out for him to take her hand, intercepted by her mother grabbing both of their wrists. “Hey!”

“Uh-uh, you’re not going in the same car there,” Joyce chastised, shaking her head in frustration. “Not doing that again. Spike and I are heading out now, and Buffy, Arturo will be here to pick you up soon. He’s just running a little late with his last shoot of the day.”

Buffy frowned, folding her arms over her chest, the sequins on her halter dress digging into her delicate forearm skin, right through the thin cotton of the long sleeved shirt underneath. Being hoisted off to another person felt a lot like being shunted off to a babysitter. “Arturo? I’m not gonna be a fourth wheel on that tricycle?”

“I am so confused,” Thomas admitted. “Wouldn’t that just make it a car?”

Dawn shook her head, sitting back down next to him. “Tell you later.”

“No,” Joyce continued, ignoring the kids. “Arturo is coming to grab you with Phillip, everyone else is going to meet up there.” Hearing the name of the latest toff paying him to walk around looking sexy as sin, he frowned. He didn’t like Phil being near his girl so much. The man reeked of cheap cologne and one sad wanking session too many, not that Joyce paid him any mind. She turned to the kids to lecture them on the rules, as she often did before heading out to one of the frou-frou events. “Remember: no pay-per-view, no-”

“Letting anyone in, even if we know them without the secret password after dark,” Dawn finished. 

“And under no circumstances invite in any vampires, even as a joke,” Carlos added. “But if there are vampires outside, turn on the sprinklers, and call Giles.”

She nodded, thankful that she got through to them, missing Thomas whispering to Kit about what sprinklers would do to a vampire. “Come on, S. Let’s take your car,” Joyce said, taking Spike’s elbow impatiently.

Wanting to argue, he kept his mouth shut. J was a force of nature, with or without a weapon, and he wasn’t going to make her cross if he could help it. Spike nodded, leaning over to kiss his girlfriend’s forehead, despite desperately wanting a snog. Charlotte’s laser focused eyes tracked the movement to make sure it was chaste. “Miss you already.”

Buffy grinned right back, knowing he’d be putty in her hands once she took the long sleeve undershirt off in the venue’s bathroom later. “Sap.”

Joyce turned back around, looking directly at her youngest. “And behave for Willow and Tara when they get here.”

“What?!?” Dawn stood up, fists hanging by her sides. “Yo- babysitters? You can’t be serious! You never got Buffy a sitter at my age!”

“That’s because I wasn’t aware of how bad the Hellmouth was back then,” Joyce countered, adjusting the shawl she had over her arms. “Now, behave, or I’ll be cancelling next week’s movie night. Let’s go, William, before they run out of parking spots in front of the venue, and we have to park down past the taqueria. Love you!” 

 

----------

 

Dawn frowned at the hand she was dealt, wondering if it was too late to change the game to Go Fish. “Hit me.”

“How many?” Tara asked. 

“One.”

They’d been playing for hours, but after the other mini Scoobies left, Dawn had to find some other way of entertaining Charlotte and their two witch sitters. Charlotte had been allowed to sleep over every other weekend, Joyce too worried about Dawn sleeping over at the Smiths’ house without backup. Not that either girl was complaining. Dawn and Kit had been invited over for after school studying at 1394 Shadow Lane a few times, and each time had left the girls feeling rubbed raw, both emotionally and in their very souls. Kit wondered aloud a few times away from the Victorian era girl if the Smiths were a part of some kind of Mormon sect or something, because their house was so sparsely decorated. But Dr. Smith’s lack of long skirts and constant caffeine intake made that way with the improbable. Still, it was just plain creepy over there. Not just Hellmouth creepy. ‘Adults hiding big news, of the life changing variety’ levels of creep-dom. Plus, neither friend liked seeing how the blonde was being treated over there.

Lottie never wore brand new anything, except shoes, but those weren’t her style, either. It was way squicky, seeing Dr. Smith come in after a supposed day at the hospital, her Manolo Blahnik’s clacking on the tile floor, decked in Chanel and Dior, and her supposed daughter wearing… second hand GAP. Not that there was anything wrong with second hand. Tara wore it well, after all. But it definitely wigged both girls out. When the boys heard, Thomas and Carlos asked if the four of ‘em should pool their allowances together, to get their blondie a gift card to the mall. Which was a moot point, as Kit wasn’t getting an allowance from her foster parents, and Dawn still owed Anya for a pair of earrings the teenager ‘borrowed’, and subsequently lost (on a date she had no business going on). They decided on saving the convo for another time, especially after Bradley had bumped into their history teacher in the hallway in front of the whole team after chess club, chuckling at the scene as they waited for Lottie to catch up with them.

“Maybe we should retire to bed,” Charlotte offered, clearly bored. “The night has run its course, has it not?”

“No, no, no!” Willow exclaimed. Like Buffy, she was trying a bit too hard to get the Victorian to like her. “We- we can do other things! L- like board games, an- and music. We could have a dance party. Or, Ooh! How about some magic?”

“Ooh! Yeah!” Dawn bounced in her seat, excited. Her mom never let her do magic. “Can we do a spell?”

Tara frowned at the mere suggestion, turning to her girlfriend with trepidation. “Willow… we talked about this.”

“It’s fine! We can just do a baby spell,” the redhead waved her off, too casual for her liking. She’d made a bad habit of that lately, dismissing her girlfriend. “Just some basic telekinesis.”

Charlotte looked as enthused about the idea as Tara was. “I must side with Miss Tara on this matter. I don’t think Mrs. Summers would appreciate-”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she waved off her concerns, even easier than she had with her own girlfriend. Willow thought she was skilled enough to handle simple spells. She shoved Angel’s soul back into his body, for goodness sake. And that was years ago! She was way better now than then. Everyone else needed to just take a chill pill. “Animatis et dilata!” With a flourish of her wrist, she let blue sparks of light leave her fingers towards the deck of playing cards. “See?” The cards stood upright, all on the table like they were alive. “No biggie.”

Until they started getting bigger, and bigger, the face cards scowled at all four of the humans. “Oh, cucumber sandwiches and clotted cream,” Lottie breathed, gobsmacked at the sight before her. “We’ve really fallen into the Underland now.”

 

----------

 

“Take them by force if you must!” the queen of spades insisted, waddling side to side like the cards in that movie had done, Willow noticed as she peered up from the basement steps. “I will not allow that good for nothing harlot steal this queendom from me! Not a second time!”

Her king cowered in front of her, half the spades shredded when they faced the diamond court. The hearts had been the first to go, the king of clubs seducing the queen to an early grave outside in the cold. Through careful recon, they found the second a playing card exited the house, it turned back into a harmless piece of cardboard, and the spades refused to let that happen to them. Having a monopoly on the kitchen and dining room, they didn’t have the high ground as the diamonds did, but they were closer to weapons than the clubs. That would have to be enough. “R- right away, my queen.”

“And tell my good for nothing trollop of a sister,” she added, missing the beast inching his way towards her from the coat closet. “That if she wishes to steal my husband again, you shall both find yourselves in a world of pain!”

“My darling, I- I never- you must know,” the king of spades cowered. “I- I- I didn’t! I would never!”

Cupping her hands to her mouth, Willow did her best to project her voice, playing the role of Alice as best as she could. “OFF WITH HIS HEAD!”

Like a shot, Gemini ran at the cards, growling and tearing into them with his dog fangs, dragging the king around the first floor, inadvertently starting the battle to end the war. 

Groaning on the basement steps next to her, Dawn whispered, “I knew I should’ve just brought out the Uno deck.”

 

----------

 

The ivy leaves soothed her, reminding her of the wallpaper in her cousin Eunice’s house, though she only was there once. Right after Eunnie married the dullest man on the planet, for tea and sandwiches, like proper ladies. Cousin Eunnie was her favourite, always making her laugh, and treating her to books on hats and anatomy alike, despite both their mothers’ protestations. Snuggled up in Joyce’s bed next to Dawn now, she knew she was safe.  

It had taken them two hours to get the playing cards down to size, another twenty minutes to clean up all the glass the queen of clubs had broken in her effort to usurp the diamonds. After all that, and tossing the deck into the fireplace, the threat may have been neutralised, but Charlotte was still too scared to sleep on her lonesome. Dawn had offered her the cat-dog companion to keep her calm, but it wasn’t enough. She needed both Gem, and her best friend, of quartz.

Gemini yawned, curling his cat body around her, earning him a smile from his latest human friend. She had to admit, as queer as he was, it was rather economical to have a pet that was both dog and cat. Though, there was one thing that confused her about him. 

“It’s interesting,” she sighed, scratching under his little chin. “Both dogs and cats have rather specific smells, but he does not smell of either.”

“He totally smells of wet dog when he’s caught in the neighbour’s sprinkler,’ Dawn offered, petting his back gently. “Why? What does he smell like?”

Pulling him further up her chest, she took a deep inhale. “Hmm… like freshly made butter and…” another deep breath, “rhubarb preserves. Hmm. Interesting.”

“Huh. You really are one of a kind, huh Gem?” 

The pet blinked at them in confusion, yawning widely before settling to sleep in the space between both girls. Charlotte stared at him for a very long time before finally voicing the thought plaguing her mind. “I have a queer question for you,” she started. 

“Uh… oh-Kay,” Dawn answered hesitantly. “Shoot.”

Fiddling with her hands, Charlotte bit her cheek before asking, “Willow and Tara? They are… more than friends…?”

Ooh boy. Okay, it was fine. She could handle this. Could answer it without freaking her out, right? Right. “Uh… What makes you say that?”

“They’re currently sharing Buffy’s bed,” she said blunt as ever, “when you have a perfectly well made one in your room.”

Scoffing, Dawn rolled her eyes. “We’re sharing a bed right now, Lottie.”

“Because I am too frightened to sleep alone at present!” the blonde exclaimed, bottom lip trembling slightly. “I very much doubt Willow is the kind to be frightened so easily.”

Damn. The girl had a point there… “Well, I mean, she might be. You-”

“I see the way they look at one another,” the blonde interrupted. “My lungs may have been compromised by consumption, but my eyes are still as functioning as ever. Unlike William, I have never required spectacles. And their whispering in the kitchen was very telling.”

“Wh- why? What’d they say?”

“I don’t know, they were whispering, Dawn!” Huffing, she flopped back to stare at the popcorn ceiling. “I just… I don’t know.”

The clock ticked away in the corner of the room, Gemini’s purrs filling the air briefly before his little wafting breaths took their place. He never could sleep completely silently, the poor thing. “They’re… dating,” Dawn offered when the silence got way with the awkward. “Does that… bother you?”

“I… am uncertain. I worry…”

“They’re lesbians, not predators,” her friend insisted. “They’re not going to, like, bad touch you or whatever. And if they did, you know Buffy would kick their butts.” She paused for a second, before adding, “after mom and I would, obvi.”

Turning on her side, she strained to see her friend in the low light, Dawn turning to face her. “Lesbians? Saphists, you mean?”

Saph- huh? she thought. Is Lottie losing it? “Uh… what?” 

“Women who enjoy the company of other women. Romantically.”

“Oh. Oh!” Not losing it, just outdated British-isms. Phew! “Yeah, we call ‘em lesbians now. Or gay. Gay is like… an umbrella term.”

“Ah. Oh!” Her Victorian friend started chortling, earning her a concerned look from Dawn. “That’s rather clever.”

“Um… make with the explaining?”

“Your butchering of the queen's English is rather unnerving. Lesbian; noun. Meaning: From the island of Lesbos? Do you understand now?”

“Mmm… no..?”

“Ugh! What passes for literature in this country’s educational system is grossly lacking,” she muttered to Gem’s sleeping form, before redirecting the rest to her friend. “Sappho, the rather famous Greek poetess from the island of Lesbos? A woman who loved other women? Sappho… saph-ist. Lesbos... les-bi-an?”

Like a lightswitch flicked over her head, she finally picked up what the Victorian was putting down. “Oooooh. Yeah, that’s- how come I never knew that?!”

“Again, your literature-”

“Is lacking, yeah, yeah,” the brunette waved her off. Lottie had a lot of gripes with the education system, ya know, for a girl who wouldn’t have had the same opportunities back home like she had here. Must be a Spike and Lottie thing, she figured. Complaining for the sake of complaining. “So, Sappho. Her stuff any good?”

“Oh yes.

 

            Some say an army of horsemen,

            some of footsoldiers, some of ships,

            is the fairest thing on the black earth,

            but I say it is what one loves.”

“Wow,” Dawn blinked, unsure of what to say. “Did… did you just quote that from memory?”

Lottie shrugged back, one shouldered as she got comfortable. Spring mattresses usually dug into her spine, but Mrs. Summers’ mattress was topped with something plush, negating the discomfort. Still, the creaking made her irrationally irked. “It’s the only line I remember. Father used to be rather rubbish with writing prose, so he asked William and I to bring home some poetry books one day, in hopes that he could find something worthy enough to write into the postcards mother collected. That was my second favourite.”

“It’s beautiful. Really romantic without being super flowery.” Charlotte hummed next to her. “Which one’s your top pick?”

“Mmm…

 

            The fountains mingle with the river
            And the rivers with the ocean,
            The winds of heaven mix for ever
            With a sweet emotion;
            Nothing in the world is single;
            All things by a law divine
            In one spirit meet and mingle.
            Why not I with thine?—

            See the mountains kiss high heaven
            And the waves clasp one another;
            No sister-flower would be forgiven
            If it disdained its brother;
            And the sunlight clasps the earth
            And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
            What is all this sweet work worth
            If thou kiss not me?”

“Woah. You just… memorised all that?” Dang, she could only remember the latest Britney song from memory, and sometimes she didn’t even get the pacing right. 

Charlotte chuckled next to her, mirthfully. "Of course. I loved it so much as a young girl - in London, I mean - that father had a caligrapher pen it for me in the most beautiful fashion, illustrated and hung in my bedroom, with such delicate gold leaf ornamentation." She sighed happily at the comforting memory. "When I awoke in the modern age, I found solace in an anthology from a beloved teacher of mine in Los Angeleez. It was a boon to find that poem nestled in those pages, along with other works of Mr. Shelley, and-”

"Woah! Like... Mary Shelley?"  

"Of course! She married him and took his name."  

"I wasn't expecting that." At her friend's confusion, Dawn continued, "cuz like, she wrote doom and gloom, and he's writing a beautiful love poem, and all."

"Oh, he was a rather troubled man, that is for certain. But even the barmiest of gentlemen can have moments of sweetness inside them, even with their rage. Though, I do confess," she yawned, snuggling deeper into the inviting down comforter. "I much rather marry a sweet man, who n'er did pen a single work of prose, than to be with a raging gunpowder enthusiast." Brow creased in a frown, she remembered who her brother was. Or rather, had been in the years betwixt her death, and subsequent resurrection. Goodness, being out of place in time was rather cumbersome. "I already have a brother with violent tendencies, I do not wish to repeat the same in my romantic entanglements. Not as if I yearn for romance as of late."

"So... no crushing on any of the guys at school?" 

"Crushing?" 

"Uh.... you don't fancy anyone?" 

"Oh! Good heavens, no! Have you seen the boys at our school? Pickings would only be slimmer if half transferred into an out of district campus!" The girls giggled, bonding like Dawn had hoped they would the second she'd met the blonde. Better late than never, at least. And maybe with some more sleepovers - with Kit this time, when she wasn’t stuck babysitting her foster brothers - she’d be comfy enough to be more open about whatever was happening at ‘home’. Lately, Lottie just kinda… shut down whenever they talked about it. It sucked. "Besides, I intend to beat the all time record for exams in the state, and I cannot do as such if I am daydreaming of some immature boy, who chooses to use cheap cologne perfumery instead of regular bathing. I cannot wrap my head around it! Hot water comes from the tap- directly! There's no need to warm it on the stove! There really should be no excuse."

“Ugh! Tell me about it!” the brunette agreed, adjusting the covers so Gem was warm. “I have geography second period, right next to the boy's gym, and the smell coming out of those doors is ripe. I complained to principal Wood, but he just..."

"Wanted to speak about your sister?" 

"Yeah! Like, what's that all about?!"  

"I believe he fancies her. Er, crushes her. 

"Has a crush on her."

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes, completely unamused. 

“Uh-oh, Lottie. Look out,” the brunette teased back, causing her friend to look around apprehensively. “You’re almost sounding like a real American!”

Gasping, Charlotte sat upright, grasping her pillow. “You take that back, this instance!”

“Nope!” 

“I warned you,” she shrugged, thumping her friend in the face with her pillow. 

Gasping, Dawn sat up straight, flicking the light on and turning to look at her friend with a gaping mouth. “You so did not just whack me in the face with your pillow!” She held her own between her fingers, brow furrowed in frustration.

Mimicking her brother unconsciously, Charlotte grinned mischievously. “Oh, didn't I?” Gasping as the other pillow caught her in the side of the head, she accused, “you best not try that again!”

“Yeah?” Dawn offered, grasping the fluffy weapon as she stood, Gemini huffing as he trotted off the bed. “And what are you gonna do about it if I do?”

 

----------

 

Down the hall, the lovers Wicca overheard the pillow fight between the pair, grinning as they snuggled into bed. “We’re not going to break up their little party, are we?” Willow asked, yawning as she shook out her hands. Magic always made them so stiff after, for some reason. 

“No,” Tara sighed, happiness blooming in her heart to hear Charlotte finally allowing herself to have fun. She knew there was more happening at the Smith house than any of them were told, and it made her worried. Worried because of how familiar it felt to her own upbringing. But tonight, the girls were safe. “Childhood is happening.”

There was a pause, the two just listening to the two girls laughing as they seemed to have tuckered themselves out, before Gemini’s meows led the teens into another chuckle fest. “Hey, you changed the sheets, right?” the redhead asked cautiously. “Cuz…”

“Yes, Willow,” she replied, letting her eyes slip shut. “And you-” a large yawn escaped her mouth without permission. “Need to start wearing socks to bed. Your toes are freezing!” 

The redhead chuckled, snuggling down with her girl, the other witch unaware of the crushed bramble she slipped under her pillow. Maybe she should be a bit more cautious with her magic, but for now, things were okay. And freezing toes or not, she’d handle it in the morning. If it became a problem.

Notes:

Was ‘of quartz’ a pun on ‘of course’? To quote an American term I use more than I should: duh! 😄

Chapter 15

Summary:

While the kids were at home, Buffy and Spike’s plans went awry as well, with an osedax demon invasion at the mixer. But after? Well, aftercare isn’t just about sex. Although there is sex to be had for our couple, just morning sex. Not covered-in-monster-goop sex. And Spike takes them on an adventure. An ice skating adventure.

(Also, I just wrote the ‘and they had sex’ kind of scene, instead of an actual sex scene, cuz I’m not feeling well, and my Beta is MIA, so mleh! Hate to disappoint my audience, but as Lottie would say: ‘needs must’. )

TW: briefly mentions Drusilla and Spike going at it in nasty ways. literally one line, but worth the warning, I think.

Chapter Text

Friday, September 20th, 2002 - Part B



Buffy panted, exhausted, her lovely dress ruined by monster goo. Again. Was no outfit of hers safe from demon bodily fluids? Ugh! And she was having such a nice time! 

Schmoozing was at the bottom of her list o’ fun, but whenever her mom had one of these fancy-shmancy deals up her sleeve, it was better that they had Buffy nearby. Not because Joyce Summers was incapable of holding her own, but cuz Spike’s hot headedness was best extinguished by the younger blonde. He’d yet to be arrested - thank God - but whenever someone said or did anything to bristle Joyce’s hackles, the vamp had some aggressive growls in response. And a master vampire needed a Slayer to hold him back sometimes. Besides, he always made a big show of sweeping her off her high-heeled feet, dancing up a storm whenever there was a reprieve. And she really liked dancing at the new event space. The music was a bit different than what she pictured, very moody, but it was perfect for slow dancing with her man, avoiding the rest of the crowd in the corner where they slipped away to make out. And slowdance. And make out some more. But then one of the guests started vomiting pink slime that grew legs, and, well… 

“That’s it, I’m calling it. Time of death: 11:56 PM,” Buffy sighed, pulling the duffle of spare clothes out of the trunk. “I swear, one of these days, I’m gonna show up to an event wearing a dress made from stain resistant Kevlar, cuz this is getting ridiculous.”

Spike grunted next to her, his own outfit speckled with dead pink goo and fur and whatever else was mixed into it all. It reeked, but he wasn’t eager to chuck it. Not with the way his lady ravished him with her eyes in it. Sans goo, of course. “Least you got the frock with the split up the side. Very fetching flash of thigh.”

“No, I didn’t. I had to rip it myself. Look!” She pouted as she showed him the jagged edge of the ruined dress before gasping. “Oh, eww! I got goop on my outer thigh. That’s it! No more dresses. I’m going to events in slacks and a blouse. I don’t care if it says black tie, I’m gonna show up wearing a tie myself!”

He chuckled, undoing the clip at the nape of her neck. Fingers grazed her skin, practised digits grasping the fabric delicately, causing a delicious shiver to run through her. “Marlene Dietrich will be rolling over in her grave,” he breathed, lowering the straps slowly, letting his fingers graze over the cleaner bits of exposed flesh. “God, you’re gorgeous, even covered in goo.”

Buffy chuckled, thwarting his efforts with a hastily pulled on T-shirt. “Not till we’re clean. I don’t want this stuff sinking into my skin anymore than it already has.” She turned around to see his adorable pouty face, and nudged his chin with her own. “Hey,” he looked down at her smiling eyes, deflating. Her heels were high enough that she gained a few inches, but he was still taller. “We can get all physical soon. Just need a shower first before the naked touchies.”

“Could save water and shower together,” he offered, leering at her. 

She scoffed, pushing him away so she could grab herself some clean-ish pants. It was still a while until they got somewhere they could shower, and she wasn’t about to sit back in the car sticky. Especially after she and Spike had just finished scrubbing the nasties off the seats. “Not doing that again. It was way too slippery, and you dropped me!”

“Almost! I almost dropped you, I wouldn’t- yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, taking the clothes she threw at him to change into. If he kept up the argument, he wasn’t gonna get shagged at all this weekend. “Still, you have to admit: that was one of the better nights we spent on our little road trip of love last year.”

“Road trip of love?” Buffy repeated, incredulously. “Is that what you’ve been calling it?”

He stiffened, fingers stilling on his buttons. “Yeah… that a problem?” he asked haltingly.

She shook her head, wiggling out of the ruined dress before jumping into her sweatpants. “Just felt more like Buffy and Spike’s ‘Thank God We Didn’t Die Roadtrip of Sex’, is all. The ‘Road Trip of Love’ for me was the one we went on this summer.”

Rejection dissolved, he smiled softly at her, remembering the trip fondly. Only six days, sure, but he’d be able to take her up the entirety of the California coastline. Her mother insisted, what with Joyce sick of their mugs. And their bickering. And, his brain supplied. She did say ‘I love you’ for the first time after we got back from that trip. A trip he had put a great deal of thought into, and despite Buffy getting food poisoning on their first night, the rest of the trip had been a dream. Celebrating the end of yet another thwarted apocalypse, this time by the hand of some lesser dino-demon known as Rex. But she was right. He’d been too quick to try the move after his shoulder injury had barely healed, and he pulled at it in the steamy air. Now she put a moratorium on all bathroom related activities of the shagging variety- indefinitely. “Yeah, alright. Just you wait for the next one, pet. Gonna knock your boots right off ya.”

She grinned, grabbing a hoodie to pull over against the chill from the wind. “Come on, lover boy, hurry up and change,” she whispered as she walked behind him to get to her door. “The faster we get to the- eep! Spike!” She squirmed away from his teasing fingers, avoiding his assault of her sides where he was tickling her. “Stop it! I wanna- hee hee - wanna get back and shower!”

They had a system now, what with her mom insisting goop in the house be at a minimum. There was a campground on the opposite side of the street where the motel was, with a building of showers that locked from the inside. They cost $1.25 for five minutes of hot water, but it was way better than entering their home head to toe in Osedax demon goop. Thank goodness the demon’s biggest weakness was found in no short supply at a party for a bunch of stuffy models and artists: alcohol. Their hosts were pissed that their top shelf spirits were being poured out onto people, not just in glasses, though it hardly mattered. It killed the spores, stopped anyone dying, and the owner of a medium sized magazine company was relieved, introducing herself to Joyce. The older woman insisted that if her ‘clients’ - Buffy and Spike - were interested, they had some sort of artist profile for each issue, and to call her. Not that they would. Not for that. Spike’s ‘modelling career’ only worked because he never slowed his face. 

Not that it stopped him from getting his ego stroked in person. Heck, the amount of free swag he got alone made him rethink that stipulation more than a few times. Several other models ended up buying both he and Buffy drinks before things went sideways, making him full of smiles (and whiskey). But even though said liquor killed the spore wormy thingies, a shower was so needed to get the dead yuck off their bodies.  

And she had a whole roll of quarters to plug through, scrubbing every single inch of her body, washing herself twice. Thank God they didn’t get in her hair like they did Spike’s. He looked like an extra in a punk pride parade, ready to toss out condoms and plastic beads. Still, she washed that twice, too. 

Surprisingly, she finished before him, resting on the worn but dry wood of the picnic table’s bench just outside the building. Clean, she felt the extent of how exhausted she was, falling asleep right where she sat. She’d been doing too much again that week, but she could hardly see any other way to get through the endless bombardment of assignments and tests she’d had at the college. Kinesiology was no joke, the caseload way heavier than the professors had alluded to, when she’d had her first week. Her elective classes alone were starting to weigh her down, but she refused to give them up. They were the few classes she had with either Willow or Tara. Buffy was social butterfly girl, and needed to see her friends, at least once in a while. Besides, her Econ class was actually pretty useful, and she was doing way better in it than expected, what with her handling the gallery the year prior. Plus, Anya was a master at money - at least out of the rest of the Scoobies - and had helped both her, and Tara with homework a few times. Provided she was fed. Anya had very little patience in front of a stove. Thankfully, despite the exhaustion, she didn’t sleep deeply, just resting her eyes. Being the Slayer meant she was always on high alert, even asleep. And her vampire senses tingled.  When Spike was done with his own shower, she snorted awake, blinking sleep away. “All done?”

He carefully swept her up into his arms, warm from his shower. She liked warm. Warm was way of the good for snuggles. “Sleepy, sweetheart?” 

“Mmm, a little,” she nodded, yawning. “Guess you’re carrying me to bed, then?”

“Mmhmm. Can’t have my best girl fallin’ asleep on a picnic table outside the camp showers, now can I?”

“Gonna make love tonight?”

“Gonna sleep tonight,” he countered, loving her pout of disappointment. It was rare for him to deny her any kind of lovemaking. But having your lady fall asleep mid-coitus was not as fun as pornos made it out to be. It actually felt very insulting to his prowess, thank you very much. “Gonna have ourselves a morning romp, when you wake up after.”

“Yuuuusss!” She made him laugh as she pumped her fist. “Hey,” she gently touched his cheek, causing him to halt in his steps, eyes on hers. “Love you.”

It never got boring, never got old hearing her say those words. She was so jaded that she’d barely said them once a week, but when she did… Oh, he’d been writing a heck of a lot of poetry of late. “I love you too, my Lady Buffy. Till the end of the world and back.”

“And back. ‘And back’ is good.”

 

----------

 

Saturday, September 21st, 2002



Morning sex turned into afternoon sex very quickly, and while it wasn’t the first time they’d made love with the sun filtering mutely through thick curtains, it was definitely better when no one they knew could be eavesdropping. Not that her mom or sister lurked around, waiting to hear, but some of the neighbours were super nosey. Like Mrs. Glen across the street, who started a rumour that Spike was secretly Billy Idol’s nephew, twice removed, and that he dealt drugs in the back alley of April Fool’s. Which was super dumb, considering the bus depot was a way better place to score some coke, according to Hos, who had been offered it no less than seven times, in the past year alone. Hos, of course, denied taking any. Not because drugs were bad, m’kay, but because, and she quoted, ‘they dinnae make it cracker enough no more’ for the demon, whatever that meant. She had wondered aloud if they worked in his body the way they did in regular humans, which led the demon into a rather lengthy discussion on the metabolism of his mixed species parentage, and a prompt groan from her boyfriend at having their date night interrupted by the conversation on demon intestines.

But this time felt more special. Maybe because Spike had taken his damn sweet time getting her over the edge, while wearing leather gloves- which were thoroughly washed before and after use, cuz ain’t no room for more germs on top of those gross motel sheets. Uh-uh. No ma’am. Maybe it was something else, deep in his eyes, as he pet her spine, after their last bask in the post-coital haze. She wasn’t sure. All Buffy knew was that she wasn’t ready to put her big girl clothes back on and head home just yet. But they had plans, and she wasn’t gonna break them, no matter how much she wanted to.

“Hey, have you seen my- thanks,” she sighed as he held her hair tie in his outstretched fingers, taking it from him graciously to tie her hair up as best she could. The short do made it difficult with just one hair tie, but she managed. “Good. I think I’m ready to join the rest of society now.” 

Spike chuckled, backing her slowly up against the nearest wall. “That so?” Fingers playing with her shirt hem, he relished in her shiver of arousal. “I bet society doesn’t mind you taking some more time away, frankly. Say… another hour?”

Buffy snorted, gently scratching her nails into the base of his skull, ruffling the curls there. She loved when he wore them loose, but he felt more confident with the slicked back look. Still, he allowed the ruffling. On occasion. “We promised to take Charlotte and Dawn out tonight, remember? I gotta drop her off at the Smiths tomorrow morning at ten AM, sharp.”

He groaned, dropping his head onto her shoulders like a petulant little shit. “As if I didn’t know that. Find myself wishin’ we could freeze time. Spend some more of it, just you and I, right here.”

“Mmm, I prefer our bed, but I get what you mean.”

He grinned at the mention of their bed. Joyce hadn’t much liked the thought of them sharing a room at first, but she knew that if she didn’t relent, she’d be walking in on them in the basement more often than not, and once was plenty. They at least had been mostly clothed, thankfully, but still. Seeing your daughter and her boyfriend shirtless wasn’t on the fun-o-metre, even if your daughter was wearing a bra. 

He loved their room. Buffy had argued about his choice of decor more than she didn’t, but the fact that she let him paint one wall of their room a dark colour had made him feel so seen. She refused any posters, however. Even took down all of her old ones. The walls were instead full of photos he’d insisted on framing, with her mum. A gallery of their own on the walls. Photos of them together, of Dawn, with the Scoobies, some of the places they’d been to, even one of him, Joyce, Clem, and some demon Buffy assumed was Mer, thought the demon was always so blurry in photos. And in real life. The latest one was of the three girls he’d snapped at the fair, Charlotte and Dawn holding their prizes, Buffy with her candy floss. It was more than he’d ever hoped for. The room they’d stayed in the night before paled in comparison to the one at home. “Miss it, too. I’ll bloody well miss sleeping in it tonight, that’s for sure.”

“Why would you- right. Charlotte.” She sighed sadly when she remembered, kissing his cheek before slipping out of his embrace. “Sometimes I forget she’s from a different time. That you’re from a different time.”

He didn’t let her go far, wrapping his arms around her middle, kissing her neck from behind. “But we are. In different ways, though…”

She sighed, far more contentedly than she had a moment ago, letting him pepper kisses down her neck to her shoulder. “I know. Just… I’m glad she’s here, you know that, right?” Turning in his arms, she grasped his face so he couldn’t turn away. Not that he’d want to, but still. “I love having her here, having her and Dawn becoming friends, hearing stories of you two as kids. And… you have family again,” she croaked, the weight of that realisation heavy on her shoulders in ways she rarely let on. Brave Face Buffy was working overtime, lately. Slipping a bit more than she thought, in that motel room. “We’re your family, mom, Dawn, and me. But Charlotte? Having her here? It’s like a piece of the map we didn’t know was missing until that first dinner. It… it’s everything, isn’t it?”

He grinned at her, that soft, adoring, devoted, lovelorn look he had only for her lighting his face up. “You’re my everything, Buffy,” his own voice was wavering with emotions he couldn’t resist, even if he wanted to. “Having her here, you accepting her… it’s more than I ever thought I’d get. It’s everything plus.”

“Plus?” 

“Yeah. Reckon… if you’re my everything, and having her means everything to the lot of us, then it’s everything plus.”

Buffy nodded, misty eyed as she leaned forwards to kiss him softly. “Then when you’re back in our bed tomorrow night, you can tell me how we can get to ‘everything plus plus’.”

“Oh? What will that entail?”

“You tell me.” He opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he thought about that, his lady stopping him with a finger to his lips. “Ah, ah, ah. Tomorrow night. We gotta get home for dinner, and then we gotta take the girls out.” He groaned, Buffy placating him with a thumb rubbing soothing circles on his cheek. He was too weak to deny her. “Where are we going tonight again?”

“Didn’t say.”

“Yeah, I know,” she rolled her eyes, unamused. “Are you gonna tell me?”

Shaking his head, he winked, gathering the rest of their things before she could. It was a new game of theirs, who could grab stuff before the other could. Stupid, sure, but Dawn wasn’t joking about their competitive nature. The Slayer had been winning lately, distracting him with something - cough snogging cough - before swooping in to grab their crap, and heading out the door. He figured he could swipe a few wins before she caught on. “I told you: surprise.”

“But then how am I supposed to dress for- oh, God, it’s not bowling, is it?” She had fun a few times going with him to the old alley under the Fish Tank, but she couldn’t justify bringing the girls there. No matter how good the mozzarella sticks were. Although, since The Bronze stopped serving them, she wouldn’t be opposed to going just the two of them. “Cuz we agreed that Dawn-”

“Not taking you bloody bowling, pet.” He shook his head, following her out of the room. “Having the Slayer on my arm is one thing, but bringing minors? I’d rather keep my limbs on my sexy body, thank you.”

“Fair. I like having your limbs on your sexy body, too,” she winked, blowing him a kiss before locking her door as she slid in. He shook his head, being thwarted the kiss he wanted. Again. Minx. “Get in, we’ve got places to be!” she shouted through the glass, knowing damn well he could hear her just fine. 

 

----------

 

“Skating.” Dawn blinked at Spike, wondering what on earth he was thinking, renting out the ice rink for the evening. This ice rink. Didn’t he remember what happened the last time Buffy had-? No. He didn’t, did he? Cuz she had been with Angel then, not him. And Spike was kinda the one who had planned the hit on her back then. Which was something Buffy seemed to remember quite well from her sour look between her boyfriend and the rink in front of them. “And uh, why exactly are we here?”

“To skate, Bit,” he answered simply, tightening the laces on his rented skates, before pushing himself up. “Big sis and Pidge love skatin’. Don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes, dragging him closer to hiss at him. Thankfully, no one paid them much attention, Joyce and Charlotte tightening their own skates, as Brian did some light stretching. Well, except Buffy. The Slayer was stabbing them with her eyes. Hard. “The last time Buffy was here, she was avoiding being Hamburger Helper by that one eyed guy you sent after her. You know, the Order of Taraka you hired?” 

Understanding settled on his face, looking up at his lady’s sour expression, newfound regret for yet another wrongdoing of his past. “Oh. Crap.” If the Slayer didn’t dust him, Joyce and H’Lenna were gonna take turns flogging him in the middle of town. With holy water soaked whips. Crap!

“Yeah, crap is right,” Dawn scoffed, standing on her skates, walking carefully towards the opening of the ice. Skating towards the end, she arched herself closer to the rest of their little group, leaning over the half-wall to stand next to her sister, who was glaring daggers at the peroxide wonder. “He didn’t know, or remember, apparently.”

Buffy huffed, face unchanging where she glared at the man she loved. The man with a very good memory. The man who seemed to be very good at selecting only specific details of their past. “Apparently.”

Spike stood, wobbling over to her, nearly careening into the wall. “Sorry, luv. Genuinely thought I- that is to say- oh, bugger.”

“Mmm, so eloquent,” she sighed, bypassing him to skate with her sister. Damnit, but she really was as graceful on the ice as she was off it.

Joyce and Charlotte gave him twin expressions of confusion, coming up behind them with Brian. “Did something happen?” the man asked, helping the girls to the ice. “Buffy and Dawn seem… I wanna say… upset?” He’d been with Joyce long enough to know they were peeved, but was loath to make things worse. Especially after the… ‘feather incident’. 

Joyce looked towards her girls, the way they skated close to one another, Dawn chattering away as Buffy ignored her long time boyfriend, despite the work he did to arrange the evening. “I think Buffy’s definitely- oh, no. Spi- William, you didn’t.” She looked at her friend in disappointment, confirming that yep. Her suspicions were right. This was the same exact rink that she’d found out Spike had sent an assassin after her eldest, all those years ago. It’s a wonder Buffy can find it in her heart to forgive him of all his past mistakes, Joyce shook her head, musing. I’d be doing way more than the silent treatment right now, if I were her. “The same exact rink?!” she hissed. 

“I didn’t bloody well know it had been a rink, now, did I?” he hissed back. “Let alone this one!” He tried to follow them onto the ice, gripping the half-wall for all his might, lest he be swept up, and accidentally slice off his own fingers on his knife-shoes. “Bugger.”

“Why? What happened here?” Charlotte asked, snickering at her brother’s inability to stand upright. “Honestly, brother. I’m starting to worry about your memory.”

The Summers daughters stopped just a few feet away, watching his pinched expression with bemusement, before Dawn gasped out, “oh, my God, do you not know how to stake?!

Charlotte snorted, giggling as she gracefully skated closer to them. With all her lack of coordination in the sparring she had attempted with Dawn, she was always so graceful on the ice. Not as graceful as the Slayer, but still pretty dang good. “No, he cannot.”

“Can too!” Though his slipping hands on the half-wall said otherwise. His feet had minds of their own, going every which way but where he wanted them to. “Just gotta… bollocks!” 

The girls laughed at him as he slipped, his head hitting the ice with a thunk as he went down. It hurt, but not half as bad as other blows to his skull. His humiliation only grew larger as his leather duster made him slide further away from them, Brian skating up to offer him a hand up. “You okay, son?”

Son. A man who could easily be Spike’s grandchild, or great- grandchild calling him ‘son’. Humiliation was tenfold. Lovely. “Peachy. Always fancied what it was like to be a block of ice, yeah?”

Joyce smiled, just a quirk of her mouth, before dragging Brian away to skate together. Buffy invaded his eye space moments later. Her own grin was smugger than her mother’s, but he figured he’d earned half that. “You booked us a private skate when you don’t know how?”

“Make you and Pidge happy,” he grumbled, struggling to stand. She took pity on him at least, helping him up to lean against the half-wall. Heightened reflexes were worth nothing if he couldn’t keep himself upright. “Just wanted you to bond, is all. Figured with the vamp skills…” he shrugged. “Hoped it’d be enough. But now that I know Peaches brought you here…” he grumbled. He looked pained, hoping Dawn had the common sense to not tell his own sister about all that crap. “Plus the Order of Taraka mess… I’m gunnin’ for worst boyfriend of the year tonight, I reckon.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, grabbing his other side to help support him. “No, you’re not,” she sighed, exasperated at the situation, not as much at him anymore. Normally, they’d have an all out fight about it, make up sex following on its heels. But she’d lost her appetite for the argument. He really pulled a lot of strings for them lately. The dead sequoia in the backyard had been ripped out for free, by a friend of a friend of Clem’s. Her mom’s gallery lights were replaced by him with a softer glow as well. Now, this. It had been a long week of him stepping up so she could focus on classes an hour extra a day, and this slip up felt like a genuine mistake. “But this is why the surprise angle doesn’t work. If we’d had the chance to talk it out…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he grumbled, watching Dawn copying moves Charlotte was teaching her, further up the ice. “Thought it’d be a good surprise, s’all. What with your love of ice dancin’, and her old obsession with it.”

“Yeah, but next time?”

“Talk to you about it, yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes, feeling very small. “Got my balls in your handbag already, luv. Don’t need to remind me.” 

Buffy stopped, sliding so she blocked him from going anywhere either. In front of him now, he felt her anger flare. “Stop that,” she chastised. “Now you listen here, Mr. Pratt.” 

His eyebrows climbed his forehead, disbelieving the turn they’d made in the conversation. A little aroused, in fact. Not that he’d say. Not on the ice. “Mister-”

“You heard me! I didn’t take your balls anywhere, okay? You and I are together. And we’re partners, aren’t we?” He nodded, knowing full well what they were. She treated him better than any other woman ever had, besides his mother. She’d opened her life to him in ways he didn’t dare dream of, let alone hope for. Buffy Anne Summers had given him hope when she helped him after he’d been chipped, had given him purpose when he needed it, her family giving him everything he wanted or needed, despite how horribly he’d mucked up in the past. He knew they weren’t equals, that she would always be better than he could be in every way, but she treated him like a man. They all did. Man before monster. The Summers clan was devoted to treating him as such. “And partners talk things out first. When I wanted to set that Vinny demon on fire last year, you stopped me cuz fire only powers them up, right?”

“Vin-key,” he corrected. 

“Whatever.” She brushed some snow off his jacket, though he doubted there was any on him at all. They’d not been on the ice long enough for that, being an indoor rink. “What I’m saying is that we talked it out. Like partners do. Are you saying you have my ovaries in your pocket?”

He snorted at the damned notion. “Obviously not-”

“No. So I don’t have your balls either. Those I much prefer having attached to you,” she whispered. And if he had a heartbeat, his face would be flushed right about now. “So let’s talk about how monumentally stupid this decision was later.” She smiled, turning her head to look at the others. “Besides, look at them.” 

He followed her gaze, seeing Dawn and Charlotte laughing as they skated, Joyce grinning as Brian took out a disposable camera to snap a picture of her on the ice, just a few feet away. “Yeah. Look happy, don’t they?”

“They do. And that’s cuz of you,” he looked back at his lady, her gentle smile lighting him up from the inside in gooey ways. “Night doesn’t have to end on crap, even if it started out that way.”

“Gonna make me sleep in the doghouse the rest of the week?”

She snorted, sliding back to keep him upright at his side. “And have a whole seven days of restless nights without you? Yeah, right.” He grinned, letting her take the lead for a change. She really slept better in his arms. Couldn’t deny it just as much as he couldn’t deny that he slept better in hers. “Might make you do something else as punishment.”

“Oh, trust me luv, that is never punishment for me,” he winked. 

Tsk. Pig.”

“Oink, oink, bab- oh bugger,” he hissed as he accidentally kicked himself, trying to push off the wall before he was ready. “Bloody hell, that hurt.”

“Almost like you’ve got knives on your feet or something,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “No, I meant more chore related stuff.”

“I’ll do whatever you want, so long as I get back in your good graces.”

“Anything, huh?” She raised a brow, looking rather smug at that. “Ooh, I’m gonna have to make lists.”

“Bossy bint.”

“Annoying vampire,” she countered, kissing his cheek. “Still love me?”

“Always,” he breathed, kissing hers back, hyper aware of his sister’s presence as they got closer. Had she been scarce, he’d have snogged his lady more thoroughly. Holding his girl’s waist tightly, plunging his tongue into her mouth, wrenching moans from her throat till Nibblet shouted at him to knock it off. As it were, he hated the very idea that Pidge ever thought Buffy were anything other than a lady, and made concessions to keep up appearances in front of the little squirt. Though, once she turned eighteen, he wouldn’t have to worry about her judgmental looks of discomfort at snogging his woman. She’d have the time to mature enough to know it wasn’t worth arguing over. For now, he relented. “A bit more every day.”

“A bit more what?” Charlotte asked, the girls stopping gracefully in front of them. 

“Loving her,” he said simply. “Only a saint like Buffy could put up with a mess like your brother.”

Looking almost bored, she replied, “mmm. True.”

“Oi! You’re not supposed to agree with me so damned quickly!”

“Then stop acting a mess, brother.”

“I should ground you.” 

“Can’t,” she said cheekily, smirking at him. “At the Summers house, you’re not the head of the household.”

He fumed, Buffy laughing next to him. “‘S not funny.”

Buffy shook her head, kissing his cheek. It was hilarious, and he was just a sore loser over it. Still... “Just reminded me of something.”

“What’s that?” Dawn asked.

“Remember when the gallery wasn’t doing so hot after mom’s hospital stays, and William here offered to uh, ‘supplement our income’? Like you were the ‘man of the house’ or something?” 

“God forbid I wanted to not see my woman sleep deprived trying to put food on the table.”

“She wasn’t your woman then, though,” Dawn argued. “Plus, she was, like, totally insulted by your offer. Like she wasn’t good enough at her job to-”

“That’s why you wouldn’t take it?! I just thought you were on your bloody girl power trip or somethin’. God, Summers! I just didn’t want you keeling over during patrol, not insinuatin’ myself into family arguments and the like.”

“But I didn’t keel over, because while I was at the gallery, you were at home, taking care of mom. Of all of us,” she insisted, trying to drive the point through his thick skull. “Do you know how relieved I was that first day? To come home, after being yelled at by some random woman for her sculpture showing up a day late, the power company cutting off the lights, putting out metaphorical fires all day long, to the house still in one piece? To the smell of dinner cooking?” She felt like she’d start crying if her anger broke for a single second. The way he loved her, even when she had given him nothing back. Barely a crumb. No man loved her the way he did. Sometimes, it was a shock that a soulless vampire was a better boyfriend than the souled guys she had in the past: combined! Okay, okay, often. But he had been. Even with his temper, with his pigheaded ways, he made effort after effort for her. For them all. Homework with Dawn, housework with Joyce, Patrolling with her… the list just kept growing. Maybe Clem or Mer were giving the vamp advice - or more likely her mom and Tara - on how to be a better boyfriend. Either way, it threw her for a loop-de-loop. “Food in the fridge I didn’t have to go out to grab, Dawn’s homework done, the dishes from that morning already washed-”

“Hey,” Dawn pouted. “I washed those!”

“Dawn washed dishes!” Buffy pointed out, trying to get him to see. “You know how hard it was to get her to wash dishes then!”

“You are not coming across as the picture of domestic help here,” Lottie tittered amusingly, to her friend’s exasperated eye roll. 

Buffy simply continued, ignoring them both. “I didn’t need you to fix our finances, didn’t want some… some man taking care of me, like a damsel in distress. But you saw me drowning, and you offered a life line,” she held his cheek in her hand, hoping he saw her love for him, despite her anger at his pigheaded ways. “You gave more than I could give you back,” she whispered. “You showed your love every day, just by lightening the load. No one asked you. They didn’t need to. You just offered.”

“Cuz I love you,” he choked back. Damn. She might not have his balls, but she always had him by the short and curlies, especially looking at him like that. “Then and now. Always, luv.”

She grinned back at him, touching her forehead to his. 

“You helped Dawn with her homework?” They broke apart to see his sister’s curious expression, head tilted in the Pratt family fashion.

“Yeah,” her friend agreed easily. “He never helped you with yours?”

Charlotte grinned, shaking her head. “No, but father used to. No matter how exhausted he was, he’d always find time after dinner to spend an hour with us in his study, going over whatever was assigned for that day. If we didn’t have any, he would assign us some readings, and we’d discuss them together.”

“Oh, like a book club?”

“Hmm, I suppose so,” Charlotte nodded. “Mother was in charge of raising us to be a part of society, the way her governess did. Though, mother hadn’t grown up with the title of lady the way father had been raised with his own title.”

Dawn scrunched her nose in confusion. “I'm confused. I thought he left home cuz your grandpa was a big abusive bully. And wasn’t your mom the daughter of laundry owners? How’d she get a governess?”

“Something like that,” Spike nodded. “Mother was the second youngest, and by that point, our grandparents on that side did have some dosh to their name, so mum and her younger sister had more chances than their older siblings had. By the time she was your age, she had a governess, trying to play catch-up with her peers.”

“Though you’d never know it,” Lottie continued, grinning. “Mother knew exactly how to conduct herself to get her way with the ladies of the neighbourhood, despite them being ‘better bred’. Do you remember the tiff between Mrs. Huxley and Mrs. Dresden?”

“Can’t say I do,” he furrowed his brow in confusion. “Was this about that tosser Finley Dresden?”

Charlotte laughed, shaking her head. “No! They left mother out of their weekly bridge game, said it was because they couldn’t ‘justify a laundress in their circle’. So mother sent a live piglet covered in mud to the Huxley household, a note around its neck-”

“Oh, God!” Spike laughed, trying to keep upright. “I bloody well forgot about that!”

Buffy couldn’t believe it. “She didn’t!” Mrs. Anne Pratt, a lady of the upper crust of London-town, wife of a respectable gentleman, sending a live piglet into a fancy house, covered in muck? No way that happened. 

Charlotte laughed with the other three, remembering their mother’s poker face at the insinuation of the other ladies at their front door, a few hours after the incident. “She claimed to not have sent it, but the note said-”

‘Care to the Laundress’!” the Pratt siblings said in tandem, laughing so loudly, it echoed off the walls around them. 

“Oh, my God!” Dawn chortled at the picture it painted. If their own mom did that… “Please tell me that little piggy left their house in a total muddy disaster!”

“It ate Mr. Huxley’s favourite slippers,” her friend chuckled. “She denied it, of course, and since she’d been with the two of us at the market all morning, no one could prove it had been her.”

“But it couldn’t not have been,” Spike finished, laughing at the memory of six ladies of their aristocratic neighbourhood, all bent out of shape with their outfits covered in mud and squished cakes, spilling into the street as they ran from a squealing piglet. He and Pidge had been making their way home with mother and aunt Lydia when they’d come upon the scene, utterly flabbergasted. “Those hens clucked up and down that street about how mum had tricked father into marrying her, so her family could get outta the poor house, when in reality, several of those ladies had been working at flophouses when their husbands first spied on their fat heads.”

“What?!” Charlotte looked scandalised at that tidbit of information. And as much as she denied it, she freaking loved gossiping about those old crones. “Which ones?!”

“Huxley, for one. You didn’t- no, course not. Only know myself cuz I found out snooping in mother’s diary after…” he didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to. He’d had the hard conversation about how both parents were long gone before he even left London, though details were kept at a minimum. “Oh! Mrs. Walters?” he pushed, trying to keep on track. “Her and her ‘sister’ Midge were both corner girls, before they joined that family.”

“Midge Fenn was a dollymop?!” Charlotte could have caught flies with how gaping her mouth was. “That little- she was always so rude! But in a sweet way, like… what’s the term you used yesterday?”

Dawn hummed, thinking about which one it was that Lottie needed tonight. “Frenemy…?” she guessed. 

“Yes!” Oh, cool. Got it in one. “Ugh! And to think she insinuated- ha! Katherine really thought she was going to get George to marry her, turning her nose up at you. And after all this time, she was the one who- oh, the nerve of her!”

“I only followed about half of that. What happened?” Buffy asked, head tilting in confusion. She hadn’t heard of all the people in his past - she’d need a freaking card catalogue for that - but she had hoped she would have recognized at least one of the names his sister dropped.

“So, mother had some ladies over for tea-”

“Let’s not tell this one, Pidge. Please.”

“No, no,” she shook her head, pointing her finger at her brother. “I don’t think you want me to not tell this one.”

“No, seriously. Don’t.”

“But she was so rude! Mother asked Midge if she thought about whom she’d have Katherine socialising with since she was to entrée into society as a lady-”

“Pidge,” he warned again hotly. 

But like every kid sister with her big brother, Lottie didn’t care. “And suggested that William be her chaperone if she need an escort to the music hall.”

“Music hall?” Dawn scrunched her face in confusion. 

Charlotte was more than happy for a history lesson, the gossiper loving how she painted pictures for her friend. “Before boomboxes, we listened to live music at the music hall. Not quite the symphony, but still not quite affordable for all. Live acts, typically with singers, but not exactly like The Bronze. But Katherine, the great dunce and chinwagger she was, insulted William, saying she’d find better company at the butcher’s in the form of tripe, than to show up on his arm, which,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “If only she could see you now, brother. She’d be despondent at the least, and furious that Miss Summers has you by the hand at the most.”

“Ooooh, sounds like Katherine Fenn got her ass handed to her a hundred and twenty something years later!” Dawn joked. 

Rolling her eyes, she chastised her younger sister with a warning of, “language.” Wait… she knew that name, didn’t she? Oh, yeah. She did. Craaaaaaaaap.

“Why didn’t you want me to say that, William?” Charlotte asked, hands on her hips. “You don’t actually believe her to have been right, do you?”

And of course the girl didn’t know, but Buffy knew. Knew that Katherine Fenn would be eating her words a decade and a half later when she did in fact marry a butcher, Druscilla and Spike massacring them both in said shop, before having dirty sex on top of the butchered animal parts next to their corpses. Something he had admitted that he’d probably shouldn’t have done, but did disclose to her when she asked what he’d done after he’d turned. His anger at the humiliation the Fenns had put him through had felt useless now, especially since he wanted to keep his Slayer around and happy. He’d definitely made progress since he started those weekly poker games, long as they were. Clem was definitely coaching him into being a good demon, or someone else at the games did, she could tell. “He doesn’t,” she reassured them both. She knew he didn’t want to bring it up, in case it’d make Buffy more ‘brassed off’ with him than she already had been that evening. And while it happened so long ago, part of her knew that it still wasn’t enough time for her to forget the monster he used to be. “He just doesn’t like making me jealous.”

“That’s not true,” Dawn said, remembering their conversation about the waitresses at several of their diner pop-ins on their run from Glory. “He just likes it when…” but then understanding lit her face up as to why her sister was steering the conversation away from it. That maybe Spike had done something to the people they were talking about, once he got his fangs. So she changed topics. “When they’re still, you know, around. Weird to be jealous of someone from the past, right?” she recovered quickly, hoping it was believable. 

Charlotte hummed. “I suppose so… Although I hope the jealousy you speak of is only fleeting, and not maddening.”

Spike laughed, feeling himself relax slightly at his sister’s assumption. He didn’t even realise they’d skated halfway around the rink until he added, “only enough that we remember we’re partners together. A lil’ jealousy’s alright, so long as it leads her back into my arms. Reignites the passion.”

Buffy snorted, rolling her eyes. “Is that what you call all the cheap shots at guys complimenting me over the years? You being jealous?”

“Duh!” Dawn all but shouted, exhausted with her sister's inability to see what was right in front of her dumb stinkin’ face. “Why else do you think he came up with like a million and five different nicknames for the cardboard wonder of toy soldier?”

“To be a pig?”

Spike snorted, rolling his eyes. “Meh, a tad. Mostly, felt right brassed that he had you, and never appreciated you. Didn’t rightly know it was jealously till… well, till I knew, yeah?”

“That you loved me?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, loving that she gazed up at him with as much love as he did her. “Knew he wasn’t gonna give you what you really needed-”

Charlotte and Dawn both cut him off in tandem, faces pinched in disgust. “Ewww.”

“Not that!” He shook his head, wishing everyone would bloody well be on the same page, for once. Although, yeah. He knew Finn was too craven for not getting his woman off every time he had the privilege to bed her. “Someone who could fight alongside ya,” he gentled a hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing in maddening circles. “Wasn’t insecure in his standing with you to know you’re the better fighter, stronger than any other woman out there.”

“Except mom,” Buffy smiled, the four of them looking over to see the matriarch do a little spin on the ice, catching the half-wall with a soft laugh when it made her dizzy. “Mom’s stronger in ways I never thought existed before her.”

Dawn hummed, remembering all they’d been through in the past three years. “Cancer, aneurysm, and Glory. Any more butts she kicks from here on out is just showboating.”

“Indeed,” Charlotte nodded, unsure what any glory had to do with anything. “Surviving on the Hellmouth is challenging enough. It’s a wonder the three of you aren’t more…”

Buffy arched her brow, curious to hear the rest of the girl’s sentence. “More… crazy?”

“Jaded,” she finished. “Knackered. I understand the need to be more doom and gloom like William here the more time I spend in this wretched town-”

“Oi!”

“Though I must admit,” she continued, skating a bit faster as she arched around them. “Finding the fun has been a great adventure with the Summers clan.”

Grinning, Dawn led her away to skate further down, so they could actually hang out without having to be all captain chaperones for the couple. “Come on, Lottie. I’ll race ya to the other side.”

“Nibblet,” Spike warned, looking at the girls stances. “Think maybe Pidge’s lungs-”

“Okay!” His sister ignored him, already starting her journey, Dawn close on her heels.

Reaching out to stop her, his fingertips barely brushed her arm before he lost his balance on the ice. Trying to overcorrect, he corrected his stance too much, and hit the deck, arse first. “Bollocks!”

 

----------

 

“Did your brother really knit?”

“Everyone in our family did,” Charlotte nodded. “Knitting helps foster patience.”

Dawn scoffed, rolling her eyes as she spun lazy circles on the ice. Their private skate was almost up, but neither girl wanted to end it, even if Lottie was a bit winded. “Guess he didn’t do it enough, cuz he’s like, the least patient guy I know.”

“I heard that!”

“No, shit!” 

Her mother scowled at her from where she and Brian were ‘chaperoning’ the unmarried couple nearby, responding, “language, Dawn.” 

“Ugh!”

“He did help you with your homework, did he not?” Charlotte broached. “That takes a lot of patience.”

She hummed back. “I guess it- hey! I’m smart enough to do my homework alone!” the brunette scoffed, hands on her hips. 

“Yes, but dear friend,” the blonde continued. “I’ve read your work, and your spelling is as atrocious as Kristy’s concept of the basics of mathematics.”

“So it’s true: she failed the last unit test?”

Charlotte chuckled, sharing the gossip. “The last three tests.”

The girls continued to gossip well into the hour, and then into the night as they arrived back at the house, Brian already home without them. Despite the original snafu, the night ended up being pretty great. Charlotte had indeed bonded with Buffy when the Slayer showed her some jumps, the girl holding onto the woman’s hands as she attempted to do a one legged move, thankful for Dawn loaning her the jeans- lest it be a scandal.

As they all gathered inside, Buffy held Spike back to sit on the porch together for a quiet moment alone. “You know I still love you, right?” she asked, holding his hands in hers. “Even after… I know who you used to be. And I know you’re not him anymore. You’ve changed, and I love you. And even when I’m ‘brassed off’ at you, it doesn’t change that. Okay?”

Carefully pulling her hands to his mouth, he kissed each knuckle, staring into her eyes as he did. Luck, destiny, fate- whatever it was that decided to smile upon him, grinned widely when it allowed this woman to give him a chance. To forgive him enough to welcome him into her home. Her bed. Her life. Not a prize, a blessing. “Okay,” he grinned slyly. “Gonna let me sleep in our bed tomorrow?”

Shaking her head, she kissed his forehead softly. Reverently. “Silly little vampire, like I could say ‘no’ to that. You know I sleep better with you keeping me… well, not warm, but…”

“I could always warm you up in other ways,” he leered. 

“Mr. Pratt!” she scolded, scoffing as she stood. “To hear such preposterous things from a gentleman’s mouth, well. I never!”

He laughed, kissing her hands as he followed her up. He never liked hearing his full name, but she made it worthy, the way it rolled off her tongue. “Love you more each day, my Lady Buffy.”

“Might have forgotten,” she sniffed. “What with the lack of poetry you’ve written me lately.”

“Oi! I wrote you one just last- you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“No doy!” She grinned wickedly then, dragging him inside. “Come on. You’ve got dishes to wash. You know, to make up for earlier.”

He groaned as he followed her inside, locking the door behind him. Bossy bint that she was, she had a point. ‘Sides, he loved her too much to argue with the woman- especially over five measly mugs he had to wash and dry. 

Chapter 16

Summary:

Charlotte overthrows that awful Bradley from his throne, and goes shopping with Buffy. Later, the Slayer explains the timeline of Glory’s havoc

Special thanks to Firiare for pointing out I published the wrong chapter. Oopsie! My excuse is that I just got over having Covid and I'm doing too much at once.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Monday, September 23rd, 2002

 

Spike had every right to be proud of his younger sister, Giles agreed as he watched her in utter shock, taking his queen effortlessly. Yet again. Charlotte Anne Pratt truly was a chess prodigy, and it was a joy to be beaten by such a young master. “And yet again,” he chuckled. “It seems you maintain your victory.”

Her responding grin was just a touch too much Spike for his liking, although much softer and sweeter. Perhaps as she is still human, and in possession of her soul, he mused. Nothing suggests otherwise, after all. They still had few answers about the girl’s condition, or her place out of time. Spells the pair of witches had poured over, demon texts being on the rest to look up. And nothing definitive shone through. So, while he waited for his Slayer, they played a friendly game of chess. Several games of chess. That she was dominating at. 

“Good show, Mr. Giles,” she agreed, attempting to stay humble. “That is four to you, and I have…?”

He sighed, taking off his glasses in defeat. “Twenty three.”

“Ah, in the twenties already? My, how the day grows long.” 

Rupert Giles often missed the reminders of home. Earl Grey tea over the balcony of his London flat in the mornings, hearing the songs of the baker who sang off key across the street. The lyrical language of his neighbours as they passed one another. But Charlotte’s words, though reminiscent of home, felt less pleasing than he expected, perhaps because her tone suggested they were insults. Maybe that’s what the Pratt family was like: tongue forked devils, the lot of them. “Seems to be,” he gritted out as he reset the board. 

She blinked at him, confusion beginning to fill in her features. “Did I do something to upset you, sir? Was it something I said?”

He hesitated before going on a tirade. The girl only had the life experience of a ten year old in a fifteen year old’s body. She likely didn’t realise how much her tone mattered. “Your uh, comment on the day growing long…”

“Yes…” she slowly answered, trying to find the end of the string to the point. “Because we’ve been playing off and on for hours. I have worried that I perhaps am monopolising too much of your time. You are, after all, a rather busy man.”

Ah, he reasoned. Less Spike, more Anya, with a dash of Willow. Shuddering mentally, he shook it off. Oh, what a horrifying thought that is. “Ah. Your tone felt a tad pointed. As if you were lording your victory over my losses.”

Her eyes bugged out of her head, quickly bringing her hands up in a defensive posture. “Oh, no, no, no sir! I wouldn’t- I mean I might, if it were someone I have known for years- but not to an elder whom I admire and respect! I am not my brother in that regard, sir.”

“Well,” Giles thought. “Technically Sp- William doesn’t admire or respect me at present, and has a right to look at me with disdain. However,” he continued. “I am pleased to know you do not feel the same way.”

The furrow of her brow followed with her mouth popping open to ask the shopkeeper for clarification, when the bell of the front door dinged as it opened, interrupting her thoughts. “Buffy!” Charlotte stood, excited for the Slayer’s appearance at the shop. Over the past few days, the older blonde who had her brother’s heart had been a welcome sight. Talking together at the carnival had been a wonderful bonding experience, but ice skating over the weekend had opened the young girl’s eyes to how much the Slayer truly loved William. Dawn had mentioned briefly that her older sister had been burnt by previous suitors, some in ways only the woman herself was privy to. As such, the warrior woman held her emotions rather guarded. But where emotionally attuned people such as Mrs. Summers showed their love plainly, Buffy Anne Summers showed her love with actions. Actions she was showing Charlotte now, the bag slung over her shoulder indicating she hadn’t forgotten the promise she’d made to the girl. “You just missed a rather spirited game with Mr. Giles on the old chess board.”

The older blonde grinned, high fiving the girl awkwardly. They had not moved up to much outside of those kinds of touches, but she’d take whatever Charlotte gave her. “That so? Did ya cream him?”

“Absolutely,” Giles sighed, tidying away the pieces to make room on the table. “I see a certain ripped jean wearing vampire wasn’t putting on airs, when he mentioned Miss Charlotte here is a chess prodigy. Won twenty-three of the twenty-seven games we’ve played.”

“Oh?” She fought a grin at her Watcher’s constipated expression. He was always such a poor loser; probably why he preferred playing against Xander and Spike. “So chess time is over, and we can get to work?”

“Yes!” Charlotte cheerfully unzipped her school bag, pulling out her pencil case and notebook. “Work waits for no girl.” 

Buffy set her shoulders, riffling in her own bag. “Okay, so let’s break out the research.”

Giles nodded in turn, pulling out the compendium of notes he’d taken. “There is the chance of a wormhole,” he started, mouth snapping shut when Buffy pulled out a poster board with more mundane details. “Oh, not what we’re discussing, is it?”

“Nope,” she replied as she handed him the printouts she’d made. “Which one of these do you think would sway a teenage nerd better?”

What in the world-? His brow furrowed at the short stack of papers he was handed, reading carefully. The posters were on top, one more colourful, another, full of Star Trek quotes. “This is for… chess club president? Charlotte, you’re running for president?”

“Yes, sir.”

Flipping further, he saw statistics on another page, along with the Sunnydale High Chess Team rule booklet. “I would imagine the president plays rather well, which may pose- is something funny?” He looked at both blondes, who were trying poorly to disguise their mirth. 

“Oh, very.” Charlotte tittered. “He’s an absolute menace! A stuffed ferret could play better!” 

“Oh, in that case,” Giles looked thoroughly at her competition and their statistics with a half interested eye before pulling the page closer. “You- they’re - this is your competition?!”

“Yes, sir.”

Anya looked over his shoulder, face scrunched in confusion at the printouts on the table, ignoring the stats in his hands. “They’re not good looking at all,” she scoffed, looking at the team picture from the 2001-2002 yearbook on the poster board. “You’ll win for sure.”

“Yes, Anya, but it is not a beauty contest,” he sighed, his cashier giving Charlotte a look of encouragement where he couldn’t see her. “Your average score is twice that of your current president’s best game!”

Buffy beamed next to the girl, pride seeping from her pores. “Yep! Charlotte’s a chess playing powerhouse, but these two,” she tapped on their pictures, smug eyes staring back at the Scoobies. “Come from money. A lot of it. Like… Chase family money, times five.”

Eyebrows jumping, Giles looked back at the young girl. “I see…. Is that how the current president won? Through bribery?” Lottie nodded. “Ah. Well, normally, I’d say Buffy is the one to turn to in battle, however…”

“Hey! I know boys,” the Slayer scoffed, thoroughly insulted. “I know how she can sweeten them up to vote for her. I ran for homecoming queen.”

“And lost, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yeah, sure,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “But that was the whole school. And this is just eight boys.”

“Nine,” Charlotte sighed. “Calvin’s brother Gregory transf- wait. You lost?”

“Ah,” Giles pulled his glasses off his face when Buffy glared daggers into him. He shouldn’t have revealed that. Oops? “The- there were extenuating circumstances then,” he stuttered out a pathetic reply as he cleaned the lenses. “There were demons hunting her-”

“What?!” Nothing he was saying was putting Charlotte's mind at ease. Oh, he was in a world of eyerolls and glared daggers from the Slayer for the foreseeable future. “Oh, dear heavens.” Heart rate climbing, she rifled in her bag for her inhaler. Panic. She was panicking. “Was it because of the homecoming queen title? Oh no, is becoming the chess club president going to turn me into a walking bullseye?!”

“No, no, no,” Buffy quickly assured her. “It’s cuz I’m the Slayer. Faith and I, they were hunting us. Actually, Cordelia was with me, cuz the two of us were fighting and our friends thought the limo ride to The Bronze would help us work out some stuff, but it was-” Uh-oh. Buffy the babble fish was back! Snapping her mouth shut she shook her head. Reaching for her hand, she smiled, adding, “nevermind all that. Not the title, completely unrelated, once in a lifetime kinda thing that’s never happening again type sitch. What matters is we can help you win this.”

Charlotte nodded numbly, her head falling into her hands, not so sure herself. “But- I don’t know, I don’t want to risk anything. I’m- I’m just not as certain I should attempt it, now.”  

Looking at her Watcher disapprovingly, Buffy blew out a breath of hot air. She’d worked really hard on these spreadsheets! Even after barely getting her own school assignments done in time, she sat herself down in front of the computer, and taught herself that fancy-schmancy new photoshop program the school installed, putting mockups of posters together for the Brit with Willow. And all for what? Now Lottie didn’t believe in her brother’s beau’s help, or even believe in herself! “Great.”

“No, it’s only…” she sighed, kicking her feet up to sit on one, a nervous habit like wringing her hands. “To these boys, I’m… odd.”

The three adults in the shop looked at one another curiously. Giles sat down next to the girl, hoping to ease some distress. “What do you mean?”

“We get along like chalk and cheese,” she sighed, seeing the need for further clarification. “They all know these references, and jokes that I don’t,” she huffed, dejected. “They make these faces, and I’m the odd woman out, except I’m not a woman, not really. My mind may be sharp, but I haven’t had the time to mature the way that others my age have. That being said, these boys are not mature, but still. They’re discussing dating and sexual relationships they’ve had, an- and I’m just learning about stickers and friendship bracelets! I haven’t seen the movies they have, nor listened to the music they do, or- or have any report with them the way Bradley does! They don’t take me seriously, and I doubt any more cookies will sway them.” She huffed, reaching for her puffer for a deep inhale, settling her nerves and lungs in one go.

“You should challenge them,” Anya responded simply. “Beat them, and become the winner that way.”

Giles grunted. “Anya, that isn’t helpful.”

Anya didn’t seem to agree. “Why not?” she scoffed right back, hands on her hips. “That’s how leaders conquered for thousands of years. But this way, she doesn’t have to kill anyone!”

“No, no,” Buffy said, nodding. “Anya has a point.”

“She does?”  “I do?” the two said in unison. 

Picking up the startings of an idea, she continued. “Yeah. These guys have massive egos, right?” Lottie nodded curiously. “So, we sweeten them up with the cookies and banana bread- Tara said she can make some tomorrow, by the way.”

“She’s welcome to use my kitchen,” Giles piped up happily. “So long as she’s willing to make extra.”

“Sure, sure, sure. I’ll tell her. Then, you tell them, whoever beats you can go on a date with you.”

“What?!” The girl went paler than the page in front of her was. “No!”

“Can you beat them?”

Charlotte scoffed, insulted the Slayer would even need to ask. “Of course.”

“Great! So if they beat you, which they obviously won’t, they get a date. But if you beat them,” Buffy smirked. “You get to be president. It’s a win-win.”

“And if by some act of twisted fate, they win?”

Buffy chewed her lip in uncertainty, immediately regretting her suggestion. “Okay, maybe not a date.” God, she thought. Spike would so blow a gasket if he found out his sister had a whole MONTH worth of dates. “What do they want more than anything else?”

“Besides winning and girls? Not much.” 

And just like a snap of a finger, the plan formulated itself to Buffy in an instant, way better than her last two. Seriously, if they had awards for ‘getting your boyfriend’s sister to overthrow a jerk for chess club president/captain’, the Slayer would be winning ALL of them. “Oooh! When you vote, everyone’s vote is equally counted, right?” Lottie nodded. “No matter when you join?”

“That’s right...” she answered, trying to follow the figurative pink thread the lady before her had dropped upon the table.

“And how many people are allowed to be on the team? Like, is there a cut off or whatever?”

“Twenty, including the president. Why?”

Cheshire grin breaking across her face, Buffy pulled out the school directory she had Dawn print out for her the night before. “We need to find some more girls for your team.”

 

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Tuesday, September 24th, 2002

 

Dawn, armed with slices of banana bread and triple chocolate cookies, was more than ready. The basket had been a last minute choice, her mom giving her, Charlotte, and Kit the last three in the house not filled with odds and ends. Rolling her shoulders, she slipped a genuine grin on her face, and headed towards the group of goth girls sitting outside, shaded from the sunny morning’s deadly rays before classes started. “Hi Casey, Jill, Beth,” she said happily. “How’s the-”

But the trio rolled their eyes, their unofficial leader Casey huffing. “What’s Little Miss Prep squad want now?”

“Oh, you know,” she waved her hand dismissively. “Just came to ask if you wanted to help knock Bradley Davis off his silver pedestal, but, nah! You probably wouldn’t be interested. Nevermind. Sorry I bothered you.” Turning around, she made like she was going to head over to the artsy girls by the bike locks, just as she’d practiced. “Have a good class!”

“Hold on,” feeling victorious, she schooled her features, and turned back to face Casey head on. “What do we have to do?” Cha-ching! Jackpot!

By lunchtime, they had their needed sign ups, Dawn being one of them. Kit, reluctantly also agreed, enjoying Charlotte’s company more than either girl dared say out loud. Lottie’s sunshine personality and Kit’s moody aesthetic clashed quite a bit, but their mutual love of friendship bracelets, watercolour art, and Dawnson’s Creek made them fast friends. All they had to do now was wait for that final bell to ring, and they were ready for the final hammer.

 

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Being the head of an after school club at Sunnydale High came with its own set of privileges and challenges. One of those privileges was the respect of his fellow peers. While chess had been a ‘nerd’s game’ for most of the 20th century, the new millennia made him akin to the swim team’s captain, vis-a-vis minor celebrity status, and Bradley Davis was definitely enjoying the attention. The other players on the team feared and respected him, seeing him as ruler of their band of merry men, ushering a new age of chess greatness. But one challenge was just not going away, no matter how much he discouraged… her. 

Heading to room 105, the guys had chatted animatedly about the new club shirts, no one seeming able to decide on a colour scheme, despite his second in command, Kevin, already reminding them of the colours their leader had chosen. All of which fell on deaf ears when they stopped just inside 105, a small crowd in the room where none should be. 

Bradley scoffed, seeing the ten girls around the biggest thorn in his side in the classroom, with the rest of the chess club on his heels. “What’s all this?”

“Our newest signups,” the thorn smiled back as she breezed up to him. Handing him a clipboard, she smirked as he gaped at the list. “They all check out, and Mr. Lackley said we couldn’t possibly turn away such skilled players.”

Looking at the forms the blonde girl handed him, he felt righteous frustration boiling low in his stomach. “What is this? Is this because you want my title? Honestly, Pratt,” he sneered. “If you have to rig an election to beat me-”

“Oh, no, Bradley, you completely misunderstand.”

“Do I?” 

“Oh yes. See, this,” she gestured behind her. “Is the Sunnydale High Chess Association, girls’ league. And we don’t play the same matches as you do,” she got really close to his face, having practised her intimidation technique all night with Buffy and William. Looking him up and down with disappointment - the way her mother had done a hundred times before - she finally settled on his face. “Because you will never even come close to our potential. You don’t even qualify to join our ranks.”

“Cuz I’m not a girl?” He tittered with a few other boys. “Big heartbreak.”

“Oh, sweet, simpleminded Bradley,” she chucked. “No. Because even on your best day, you could not come close to our worst player, on their worst day. And see, for the semifinals, each school can only send one team: and it shall be ours. Either you join us, or we dust you.” 

Kevin grabbed the back of Bradley’s hoodie, pulling him closer. “She can’t leave!” he hissed, distressed. “She’s our best player!”

How dare he? Brad thought, betrayed by his own friend. His second in command was looking ready for the bottom of the food chain. Some VP HE is. “I’m not negotiating with a terrorist.”

“Not a terrorist,” Dawn claimed. “Anarchist, if you want to stretch it.” 

“Leading a coupe never looked so good,” Frances added, folding her hands under her chin.

He looked back at the sign up sheet, scoffing. “You’ve got a whole bunch of freaks on here, and you think you can beat us?!”

“Play us and see,” she countered. “That is, if you think you are,” she counted to three in her head, staring at his belt buckle the way Dawn told her to. After three, she looked into his eyes, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Man enough.”

The intended effect worked exactly how she hoped it would. Better, even. Bradley Davis was many things, and a sucker was a big one. “Fine. All your players against mine. Winner of the most points wins the title of president.”

“Fine by me.”

“Hold on,” he raised a hand, stopping her. “You have eleven players to my nine. Hardly seems fair. So we’ll have to knock off 2000 of your points to make up for it.”

Dawn stood, outraged. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” she shouted, face thunderous. “That’s totally outta line!”

“Or,” Casey offered, raising her chunky platform heel onto the desk opposite her. “You play your strongest player against our weakest.”

“Not a chance,” Bradley’s friend Douglas sneered. “For all we know, you’ve doctored these scores!”

“Tell you what,” Charlotte tucked her hands behind her as she leaned back on the desk. She missed it by a hair, landing on her hands harder than intended. She’d be icing her fingers later, no doubt, but kept herself calm and composed. “How about you take the next… ten minutes, and find two more players in the halls for your team? Then we shan’t be so at odds.”

“We’d be breaking regulation,” Bradley countered, “having twenty two players.”

“You and I will simply abstain. Come on Bradley. You’re not,” she paused like William taught her, leaning closer, “chicken, are you?”

The girls behind her started to cluck softly, gaining in volume until it was Bradley who cracked, yolk running everywhere on his face. “Fine! Go on,” he told his boys. “Fan out! Get me two guys who can play.” 

Nine minutes and forty two seconds later, two new boys joined the club, the only ones close enough that weren’t about to go into the gym for volleyball practice. “Who- who do I play?” Thomas asked, no one the wiser of Lottie’s plant.

“You play her,” Bradley pointed to the sheet. “And you, Hermano, play the goth chick here.”

“It’s Carlos,” Lottie’s other plant said. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. We get muffins after this, right? Cuz I coulda sworn I smelt muffins.”

 

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Buffy chewed her fingernails, leg bouncing where she sat on the front porch, waiting for the girls to show up. She had no idea what the outcome would be, but she hoped she hadn’t let either of them astray. Her nap had suffered as a result, but she was so wired. Getting home after class, she went straight to bed, curling up against Spike’s side, and promptly started tossing and turning as she pictured everything that could potentially go wrong with their plan. She’d gotten so bad, he actually held her by the wrists, and blearily warned her to cease her tossing, or he’d chain her to the bedpost. Pouting, she slipped from bed and puttered around the outside of the house, running through as many exercises as she could without her training room. Anything to work off the nervous energy.

In the distance, she saw them, standing once the trio got closer. “Hey, ladies!” she called, waving them closer as they climbed up the walkway. Tara smiled, Dawn and Charlotte dragging their feet. Buffy’s heart sank. “Oh, no. What happened?”

Dawn sighed, collapsing on the porch next to her. “It’s the end of the world.”

“Oh, Charlotte.” I failed her, Buffy’s thoughts raced. She trusted me, and I failed her, and now she isn’t on any chess team at all! I shouldn’t have meddled. I just wanted to help! God, she’s never gonna forgive me for this.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Yes, thank you,” Charlotte bowed her head, sighing. “Because of you, I’m going to have to sit next to Andrew Hoffstetter on the bus ride to every meet.”

“Huh?” 

Charlotte’s face split into a massive grin. “Because he’s our new vice-president.”

No, she was… was she messing with her? “Wait. You mean…?”

“I won!” Charlotte’s laughter was a beautiful glimmering thing, lighting up her whole face. “I’m the new club president!”

Clapping in excitement, she high fived the girl with a broad grin. “Charlotte! That’s awesome! Oh, you totally had me going there for a second.”

“Dawn assured me it would be most appropriate to… ‘humble-brag’ the news.

Winking, Dawn stood, the others following her as she climbed the steps, arm linked in Lottie’s.

“Course she did,” the Slayer muttered. It was, but she wasn’t going to give her sister the satisfaction by admitting that. “We should celebrate!”

Grinning, the younger blonde agreed. “With ice cream?” Perhaps Mrs. Summers purchased my favourite, she mused to herself. Or William did, when he arrived home late the evening before. 

Nodding, her brother’s sweetheart opened the door, ushering them inside. “Sh-yeah! We got strawberry shortcake in the freezer.” Oh, they had! 

William stumbled down the stairs when they walked in, eyes bleary from sleep. “Hey, Nibblet. Where’s… Pidge! Did ya get it?”

She couldn’t contain her excitement twice, exclaiming, “I did!” 

His sleep deprived state evaporated, laughing jubilantly, as he picked her up and spun her around. “You did it! Never doubted you, Pidge!” In his spinning, he missed the dining room door jamb, Charlotte's foot hitting it and she yelped in pain. The chip fired, doubling him over in agony. “Bloody buggering-” he let go of her instinctually, Buffy anticipating the inevitable, and caught the girl before she hit the ground. 

“Is he alright?” she asked, her brother’s sweetheart lowering her on a chair carefully.

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded, looking at the teen’s foot. “I think you’ll live. Does it still hurt?”

“What? I’m fine, but William-” understanding washed over her as she stood up gingerly. “Oh. That’s the chip? That’s what it does?”

William grunted as he rubbed his maxilla, trying to disapate the pain. “Yep,” he groaned, looking up at her as he rose from his hunched over position, putting on a brave face for her. “Gift courtesy of the American government.”

Charlotte didn’t see it as much of a gift, however, not when it was in the skull of her brother. “That seems cruel,” she cried out, reaching for his arm to comfort him. “It’s not as if I shall be limping forever. Can it at least allow you to defend yourself against criminals? What if you encounter a pickpocket? O- or a human holds someone at gunpoint? Is there-”

“Easy, Pidge,” he grabbed her hand and turned it over before she made herself hyperventilate. “One, no, it doesn’t. Yeah, I’ve tried to help defend Dawnie from humans in the past, didn’t make a lick of difference to the chip that it was life or death kinda stuff. Two, I don’t hold enough dosh on me to make a dent in the pickpocket scene. I usually hand it over to Buffy or Joyce to hold any road.”

“You… really?”

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded, helping Charlotte to the kitchen stool on her way to the fridge, looking for a snack. “I don’t have a chip, and no demon’s stupid enough to rob me. And if a human tries to, I just let them off with a warning.”

Dawn snorted, rolling her eyes. “Is that what we're calling ‘punching a guy so hard his nose breaks’ nowadays?”

“You broke his nose?!”

William snorted, sitting down next to his sister as his devoted girlfriend handed him a mug of coffee. Vampire or not, he liked his caffeine. “Ta, luv. The git deserved it.”

“For trying to rob her?”

“For pulling a knife the size of that,” he pointed to the cutting board sitting on the drying rack. “And threatening to peel her like an apple.”

“Good Lord. Well, I suppose, if needs must….” Charlotte looked over at the coffee her brother was sipping, frowning curiously. “Is there blood in that?”

He nearly choked. Okay, nothing nearly about it. “What? No, why? You want some coffee?”

“No…?” She eyed the drink with uncertainty. She often wondered what the American obsession of the bean was, but it smelt far too bitter to seem worth swallowing. Henry and Ashley Smith kept her on a very strict diet, consisting of everything the opposite of what the friends she’d made in Sunnydale would call ‘fun’. So what if she was curious to try all the options at her disposal? She wouldn’t keel over with a single sip of a ‘Big Gulp’.

Buffy wordlessly pushed a smaller cup towards the girl, well sugared with a dash of milk. “Try it.” So she did, sipping it with a contemplative expression before her look turned to disgust. “Yeah, it’s an acquired taste.”

Charlotte shook her head, standing to wash the taste out with some water from the sink. “So is battery acid, I wager.” The adults chittered at her joke, making her feel a bit better. Only slightly. Ugh, coffee was disgusting! Why couldn’t Americans enjoy tea in equal measure?

“Here,” Buffy handed her a wrapped packet of fruit gummy snacks, tossing Dawn one when she walked in a moment later. “This should get rid of the lingering yuckiness. Is Tara still here?”

Dawn nodded, tearing into her snack with gusto. “Bathroom.”

William leaned over and stole a grape shape out of Dawn’s packet before she could stop him, throwing it into his mouth with a smirk and a wink. “Glinda staying for dinner?” The girls nodded. “Right. That chicken defrosted?”

“Crap.” Buffy grimaced as she grabbed her keys. She knew she was forgetting something, and with their mom planning on being home in an hour… “Dawn, wanna tag along to the Piggly Wiggly for chicken with me?”

The youngest Summers girl shrugged, hopping off her stool to tag along. “Sure. So long as I can get some new Cheetos. Someone seems to have eaten them all.”

William’s look of concealed glee was about as concealed as a wart the size of a quarter on a newborn’s face. “You know, I have heard about Cheeto eating demons before, but I’ve never had- hey!” He cursed under his breath as she took a hand and mused his hair. “Only one Summers is allowed that, and it ain’t you, Bit!”

Dawn’s response of sticking her tongue out at him was answered with an eye roll. Buffy shook her head, pressing a kiss to her boyfriend’s forehead, sighing as if it were a regular occurrence. It probably was. “We’ll be back in thirty.”

“So,” he turned to his sister once his lady love left the room. “Tell me exactly how that pillock’s face soured when he realised he’d been had.”

And she did. Giving him a play-by-play of all the events leading up to Bradley’s defeat had been sweet, especially when his own friend, the old vice-president, lost to Kit, who’d only played a few times before. She went through it like the whole event was a contact sport, highlighting the triumph against the mad king Davis, who had ended up in detention when he tossed a chair out the window in anger. Shame he managed to hit Principal Wood’s car, denting the fender, and was stuck on trash picking duty for a month.

“Mr. Giles has been a great playing partner,” she continued on, her brother’s expression icing over. “And he even said I- William? Is everything alright?” 

He nodded tersely. “Yeah. Fine.”

She frowned. “No, you’re a horrible liar. What is it?”

When he clenched his jaw, clearly trying to calm down, and failing, it only make her grow more suspicious. “I don’t want you hangin’ around him alone. You hear?”

“What? Why?”

The front door opened, Buffy and Dawn announcing their presence just as the phone began to ring. “I got it!” Buffy yelled out, picking it up in the other room.

“Cuz.”

“Because?! That’s not an answer!”

“I don’t like him. Don’t trust him.”

“What? Why?”

Dawn bounded in without ceremony, interrupting them. “Mom wants to talk to you,” she handed the phone to him, unaware of the tension in the room. 

Taking the phone, he left briskly, talking to the woman on the other end in hushed tones, the clench still in his jaw. She simply stared after her brother, confused.  

Fresh chicken in the fridge, Dawn turned to see her friend. Whatever convo she’d interrupted had been heavy, and it didn’t sit well with her. “Hey, Madam President,” she handed Lottie a candy bar, grinning in hopes to shake the good mood back into the other girl. “Let’s say we celebrate?”

Charlotte grinned right back, shifting to sit more sprawled out, comfortable at the Summers residence in ways she never was at Shadow Lane. “Works for me, Madam Secretary. Just show up bright eyed and bushy tailed at our next meeting. We’re going to be very busy preparing for semi-finals.”

Dawn groaned, turning to her friend. “Does this mean I have to stay on the team?”

“Yes. We need fresh blood to get our team in ship-shape.” There was a tense pause at the poor choice of words. “You know what I mean. But you don’t have to compete in any district wide tournaments if you’re not comfortable.”

“Oh, thank God,” she sighed, letting her head rest on the counter top as Tara walked in. “I so don’t want to have to do that in front of more than twelve people.”

 

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Wednesday, September 25th, 2002



“Why does William not like Mr. Giles?” 

Buffy stopped with her mocha frappuccino straw halfway to her lips when Charlotte dropped a bomb of a question on her. “Uh… what makes you think he doesn’t? Did he say something?” 

She shrugged, playing with her own milkshake while they walked the halls of the mall. “William only… he treats Mr. Giles with contempt. Will tells me to be careful about spending too much time near him, that when the ‘chips are down’ Mr. Giles will do whatever his ‘council of wankers’ says is correct.” She looked at Buffy with a tortured frown. “Can you tell me why? Did they quarrel? Was it over your relationship with my brother?”

Oh, brother. Buffy really wished Charlotte would stop asking such big big questions when they were out in public. But knowing her, not a chance of that stopping before Spike switched to a hippy chic aesthetic, at least. Meaning never. “It’s… complicated.”

“Ugh! Everything in this town is!”

“You got me there. Definitely wiggy.”

“And a bad, cheap one at that. Made from muskrat whiskers.”

“Eeeeew! Charlotte, that’s disgusting!”

“It’s a common saying back home!”

“Never heard your brother use it. Not once.”

“Course he wouldn’t. It was idle chat with the ladies. Much as this conversation is steering. Tell me, is Mr. Giles safe to be around?”

That was a really heavy question to have answered while shopping at the Sunnydale Mall. “Mostly.”

Charlotte stopped short, face morphing in horror. “Mostly?!? That is not an answer!”

She’s got me there, Buffy thought as she pulled her aside from the main throng of passers by, trying to defuse, defuse, defuse. “Look. It’s taken a long time to figure out our problems with Giles, but he’s been really trying hard to be better,” she insisted. “To be kinder to others, to make up for what he said, to-”

“Said? Said when? And what did he say, specifically? Buffy, what are you not saying?”

She sighed. Might as well. “I’ll tell you as soon as we get home.” Leave it for later, then. Ugh. Coward. “How about we hit up that shoe store first? Everyone else likes to start shopping from the top down, but I thought we could leave the best for last: hats!”

Charlotte beamed, her head and shoulders swaying from side to side in excitement, her previous melancholic state frozen on hold. “I’m very pleased you took time off your very busy schedule to bring me here, Miss Su- Buffy.”

Buffy! Not Miss Summers, but Buffy. Finally! She smiled warmly back, feeling like she finally did something right with Lottie for a change: shopping. 

Poor girl wasn’t allowed to wear what she wanted, do what she wanted, not anything outside of what her ‘parents’ told her to. ‘Parents’ that Willow and Giles were researching extensively, the Scoobies collectively worried that they might be demonic in origin. Sadly, they were just two very controlling, boring, human beings. How they managed to get ahold of the girl was still a mystery, one they were having the hardest time cracking. But Buffy could take her shopping for clothes and shoes and hats and accessories that Charlotte liked, not what Ashley and Henry Smith approved of. Or stole out of donation bins for. Plus, with the money she earned from her commission on selling more art at two additional gallery mixers, she could afford to spoil Charlotte and bring Dawn back something, too. 

The mixers had become a bi-annual event at the gallery, the patrons looking forward to the ‘surprise live entertainment’ a bit too much. At first, Joyce wondered out loud how hard it would be to find a demon to trap, and have Buffy and Spike kill it together. Then Buffy suggested they do literally anything else, and Dawn had come up with the knife throwing act. It became a hit. Spike - the artist-slash-model courtesy of one big fat lie from Joyce Summers - stood in front of a large wooden canvas covered in paint filled balloons. Buffy made a big show of throwing each knife into the canvas, Spike making a mockery by yawning and pretending to read a book. The end result was a bunch of paint all over the floor, and $500 in each of their pockets for selling the piece once it dried. She figured if spending the rest of her half at the mall for her boyfriend’s sister brought a tiny slice of normalcy to the girl, she was doing something right. 

“We’ll hit up the shoe store first, and you can get whatever you want,” Buffy insisted. “I don’t care if you’re worried that they’re too sparkly, or someone might think they’re boring. If you like them and they’re not two hundred bucks, you get them. Then, we can go to Macy’s and find you some nice underclothes. I don’t know what underwear back then looked like, but I think you’re maybe a bit too young for Victoria’s Secret.

“Which is what?” she asked sheepishly. “That Miss Victoria will be engaging in amorous congress because of her purchases?”

“I guess…” she shrugged vaguely. The girl had questions for everything, just like Dawn, but more, somehow. “It’s just too grown up for you just yet.”

Lottie threw her depleted milkshake cup into the trash, scowling in that ‘don’t treat me like a baby’ kinda way. “Is it too grown up for Dawn?”

“Duh! She was caught there once by our neighbour who told mom… long story short: too young.”

“Alright,” she agreed. She wasn’t being shunted to the side for ‘being too young’, the woman was genuinely treating her like her own person. It was refreshing to say the least. “What else? I do believe you mentioned hats at some point...”

Buffy grinned, dragging her along, arm in arm as they chatted, excited to have something fun that was just theirs. 

 

----------

 

Shopping was exactly what Charlotte needed. She’d apparently grown three inches over the summer, and her clothes didn’t quite fit the way they were supposed to. No wonder they looked so out of place. Poor girl was so insecure in her own skin, and Buffy could relate. Her first fight with a vampire made her teeth vibrate in her gums. 

It also didn’t help that despite the Smiths making enough money to afford designer, they seemed to be dressing their ‘sweet girl’ in thrift store rejects. But seeing the fifteen year old try on piece after piece was bringing them both joy. Charlotte, at the joy of finding the perfect things to make her feel more at home, and Buffy, at seeing the teenager come out of her shell. The shoes were on BOGO, Lottie getting a ‘practical’ running shoe and a funner everyday shoe covered in glitter rainbows, much to her utter delight when they lit up with each step. She’d chosen two sets of training bras and underwear, something closer to what a granny would wear than a teenager, but Buffy didn’t dare comment. It was probably considered scandalous by Charlotte’s era’s standards. Then a pair of jeans - the very first pants she’d ever own! - and two shirts that were definitely not from the kids rack in a larger size, nope, uh-uh. Butterflies were just way in style these days. Yep, that’s what they were sticking with. The dress she picked was long sleeved, soft, and very lightweight. Buffy thought it was very pretty on the younger girl, and Charlotte was very… ’smitten’ with it. Everything she chose felt both too old or two young for her in Buffy’s humble opinion, but it didn’t matter. They were her choices. She was happy. But the hats. 

Oh my God, the HATS! Spike didn’t underestimate just how much his little sister loved hats. “Ooh! What about this one?” the girl asked, holding up the sun hat to her head. “I think they’re coming back into fashion, yes?”

“Mmmm, in the summer, sure,” Buffy shrugged. Fashion icon, sure, but hat enthusiast, Buffy was not. And after seeing the girl fawn over twelve different styles already, she had to try to redirect her towards picking something before the mall closed. “I think newsboy caps are pretty big,” she countered. “I saw a whole bunch of girls a grade or two older than you wearing them in the food court. They looked super popular.” And possibly super mean,she added in her brain. “But, you choose what you want. As long as it’s not shedding like that fuzzy one back there, and it won’t break the bank, I’m not too picky.”

“So… does that mean I could get more than one…?”

“Charlotte,” the Slayer answered seriously, hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I don’t say this often, but if I still have the cash, and the hats aren’t too expensive: go nuts. Get as many as you want. One in every colour, if you want.”

Lottie’s baby blues lit up her whole face, and the dark corner of the one specialty hat store in all of Sunnydale. “Even a beret?”

“They have berets? Where?” Her excitement wasn’t faked, something that Charlotte enjoyed very much, giggling as she dragged her pseudo older sister through to the beret section of the women’s hats. “Oooh! Try this one! You look really good in purple and pinks.” The pastel pink beret was timelessly stylish, and the little black bow with the heart shaped rhinestone was the perfect extra touch for the girl who was both a teenager, and stuck partially in fourth grade. “And if you have a day you don’t want the bow to show,” she helped Lottie adjust the hat to hide said bow in the back. “It can just hide like that. What do you think?”

The teenager didn’t say a thing, staring at herself in the mirror, touching the hat reverently. The silence was heavy, but the hug she gave Buffy was warm and full of hope. “Thank you,” she whispered into Buffy’s shoulder, nearly as tall as Dawn now. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

Buffy lifted her arms, returning the hug with her gentlest big sister squeeze, feeling like the world was pretty awesome lately. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Lottie sighed, resting her forehead on the cardigan covered shoulder, allowing her walls to slip down for a moment. “I was worried about you not being good enough for my brother,” she whispered, like it was a huge secret. Not even close. Everyone knew about Charlotte’s big expectations. “But it seems that William is a very lucky man. Perhaps you’re even too good for him.”

Buffy’s responding chuckle was strangled from emotion. Just a bit. “Remind me to remind you to tell him that from time to time. Might help with his big ego.”

“Pfft! Unlikely anything would shrink his massive head,” Charlotte chuckled, pulling back and wiping the mistiness from her eyes. “Could I… wear this out of the store?”

“Course! Want to go look at the uh, fancy nators?

“Do you mean fascinators?”

“Uh… uh-huh!” 

Two berets, a bucket hat, a newsboy cap, and two fascinators later - and a beret for Dawn in purple - they were laden down with their shopping bags, heading for the Summers’ house. 

 

----------

 

“Glory, hell god, big bad,” Buffy explained, drawing on the piece of paper between them. She had drawn a line going from corner to corner, a timeline, ticking off events as they happened. “Oh, then here was when that demon showed up at the house, and tried to... But we killed it. Then she showed up at my house….” She had been asked for a detailed list of events from the teen, as to how a vampire Slayer managed to not only fall in love with a vampire who once hunted them for sport, but also to trust him with not only her own life, but that of her entire family.

And Charlotte listened, trying to not show emotion, as the love of her brother’s unlife laid it all out on the table. They had fled, thanks to Joyce’s quick thinking, they commissioned the robot guy - who totally used his original robot for sexual congress - to make a Dawn!Bot and a Buffy!Bot as a distraction for Glory (the only two he did not make for sexual congress). How William had used his demon face as leverage to get them done so quickly. The running they’d done for weeks, trying to picture the fear of being murdered by a hell beast of Godlike power- it all left her soul feeling rather dented. Then bent nearly in half at the proposed sacrifice of Dawn’s life, from the mouth of the man whom she would consider the closest thing to an uncle she’d had in 120 or so years. 

“How- how could he?!” She cried, tears dragging the bits of mascara she let Dawn put on her lashes that morning down to her chin. “How could- he has a soul! How can he reckon with what he suggested with his soul?! William no longer had his, but was willing to die to save Dawn. But Giles couldn’t? He couldn’t even try to find another way?”

Buffy felt for the girl, she really did. The Slayer had over a year to come to terms with it, and it took a lot of time, work, and grovelling before they got to any kind of normal with Giles and the Summers clan (plus Spike). Charlotte was going to need a LOT of time before she let go of her anger the way Buffy did. “Listen,” she gently stroked Charlotte’s cheek the way she had Dawn’s in every motel room they stayed in during that horrible May. “You don’t have to know how you feel right now. Don’t have to decide if that’s what you want to feel in the first place. Just know that you’re safe here. With me, with mom, with Dawn, and-”

“William.”

“Yeah, with him t- he’s standing right behind me isn’t he?” She turned around, but didn’t see him. “Huh. Thought my vampire tinglies were- oh!” She turned back around to see him materialised, holding a single giant sunflower out to her. “Hey, is this for me?”

“No,” he joked, rolling his eyes. “It’s for the other Buffy Summers who has my heart, and my bal-inding devotion. Blinding devotion.” He flicked his eyes to his sister’s head, smiling fondly at the new purchase perched there. “Nice hat, Pidge. Very posh.” 

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” 

“Nice save,” she droned on, letting him kiss her forehead. Anything other than forehead, cheek, or back of hand usually had Charlotte clicking her tongue or clearing her throat in disapproval. It was so weird how a 10 year old girl looked like a 15 year old yet acted like a 75 year old granny from 1872. “To what do I owe the pleasure of receiving this flower, Mr. Pratt?”

His nostrils flared, eyes darkening at the formal tone. “Huh?” Aaaand straight to monosyllabic answers. Interesting. File that under: things to try in bed later. “The… right. Uh, was wondering if you’d be interested in hitting the town. Haven’t been dancing in a while.”

“Oh!” Charlotte butt in. “Is there a ball to be had? May I come along? It’s been so long since I danced the quadrille, and it should be around this age that I am introduced into society, don’t you agree, brother?”

Huh? He gaped at her, Buffy’s own brow furrowing. “What are you on about?”

“My coming out party, of course! When shall we host it?” she continued, having far too much fun to quit now. “I was picturing the Sunnydale motor lodge, although, I do suppose Restfield cemetery could do, in a pinch. It was your previous living address, was it not?”

“You- oh, okay,” he rolled his eyes, grin breaking through the scowl no matter how hard he tried. “Having me on, ay? Waiting to see if you can make big brother sweat now that he’s undead? Tsk, tsk, Pidge. Careful with words like that, else you end up at Mrs. Lovett’s bakery, via trapdoor.”

Charlotte chuckled, biting her lip to keep from it turning into a giggle fest. “Worry not, William. Neither one of us is in need of a shave any time- oh, I do think I stand corrected,” she leaned forwards to poke at the skin above his lip, just to her left. “Oh, dear. That does look troubling.”

“What?!” He turned around to look at his reflection in a spoon, before remembering he hadn’t had a reflection in a century, turning to Buffy, and demanding, “check it, check it!”

“She’s just messing with you,” Buffy reassured him with an amused twinkle in her eyes, patting his face gently. “See? Feel. Smooth, right?”

“Right. Hey!” He turned to Charlotte, the girl bursting out into giggles. “What’s the point of all that?!”

She simply continued to laugh, Buffy joining her. It was just too funny not to. 

Notes:

Edited Feb 24, 2025

The pink beret that I was picturing for Charlotte is here -

https://www.miabellebaby.com/products/pink-berets?currency=USD&variant=39823811608640&utm_medium=cpc&utm_source=google&utm_campaign=Google%20Shopping&srsltid=ASuE1wQZdvOi3fo78JrvjC-P9TuPgPZ-3vK6zzWNparw2PjcCQWeN4xV3SA

Chapter 17

Summary:

You’ve heard of vampire MLM’s, but what about demon cults? Because our Scoobies are about to break up a demon cult that’s got one of their own (HUMAN!) family members in their clutches. Featuring Joyce. Told in three parts.

TW: some cats are gonna die, but not Gemini. I am so sorry, there just wasn’t any other way.

Chapter Text

Friday, September 27th, 2002 - Part A

 

“No, don’t put me on hold, no, no, n- argh!” Joyce lifted the closest pillow and whipped it across the room in frustration, inadvertently startling her youngest. “Sorry, baby,” she winced in apology.

Dawn nodded, picking it up and walking it back to the couch, where her mom fell into the plush cushions, sitting down next to her. “Still giving you the run-around?”

She nodded, pulling Dawn into a warm side hug. “You’d think for how much money they make each year, they’d be able to afford someone in the office to answer my questions.”

“Do you think calling uncle Kevin would help? I know he wasn’t up for talking about it before, but maybe he’s changed his mind. It’s been a long time, and I know they grew apart years ago.”

Joyce just sighed dejectedly back, remembering her sister’s detachment from the husband who wouldn’t sign the divorce papers on principle alone. Nor would he transfer said sister’s healthcare directive over to the Richardson girls, probably out of spite. “I don’t know, sweetie. But I’m sure I’m gonna have to try again, whether I like it or- yes?” She perked up, sitting upright as the voice of another person greeted her on the other line, instead of the dull sounds of muzak. “No, I’m still here. Yes, this is Joyce Summers, formally Richardson. Uh huh, uh huh,” she stood, rushing to the writing desk pushed against the wall in the living room, rustling through the file folder on the desktop. “Yes I have the… oh.” Suddenly, her shoulders fell, disappointment dripping off her in big, worrying drops. “I don’t understand.”

Really worrisome. Dawn sat upright at the shift in demeanour, on red alert. “Mom? Did something happen?”

“But I saw her just this past June! She’s been living at your facility for ye- what?! But… why? Did Kevin do this? Kevin. Her husband? Who the hell is Christopher?! ” There was more muttering on the other line, Joyce starting to pace. “Well, go find out! I need to speak to whoever’s above you and I- no, do not put me on hold ag- damnit!” Sick and tired of being on hold for what felt like hours, she was seconds away from using her big girl sweats whilst demolishing the entire landline all together. 

Spike’s footsteps creaked down the stairs, shielding his eyes from the one spot in the house where a shaft of light refused to be corralled into hiding, hissing as it hit his hand with a sizzle. “What’s the racket? Under attack of a sunshine demon? Oh,” he stopped at the sight of Joyce in the living room, fuming over the phone. “Wanna fill me in, Bit?”

“Mom’s on the phone with aunt Kathy’s care facility,” Dawn said, folding her legs underneath herself. She looked mildly interested, but with an air of resignation. As if the girl was expecting bad news. “But it kinda sounds like she was moved by some guy named Christopher.” Oh, seemed he was right: bad news. 

Except- “Who the hell is Christopher?!”

Joyce pointed at him with a furious agreement rivalling a thousand suns. “That’s what I’m saying! Her husband has been- Dawn, take my cell. Call Kevin, I need to know what’s happening.”

Dawn rolled her eyes, but agreed. She was so not going to get in her mom’s warpath, especially not today. The drive-in was finally showing something from the last decade, and Spike promised them a night out. If he was in a good enough mood, he might even let her and Lottie sit up on the roof. He let her do that sometimes, when she couldn’t sleep. He’d sit out there with her, the two watching the stars, rating songs based on their levels of epicness, in the event of a battle cry. She liked sitting up there. Felt rebellious. Like hell was she giving up a chance at that tonight! Dialling from her mom’s contact list, she got dead air before it got straight to voicemail. “Hey, Kevin, it’s Dawn; your favourite niece ever,” she started, looking at her nails in a bored fashion. She had to be more careful with her manicure when Patrolling again. She nearly lost her entire pinkie nail last time. “Call mom back on her cell- this number. She’s got questions. ASAP please and carrots. Bye.” 

“Please and carrots?” Spike asked, brow raised. 

Shutting the phone, she shrugged. “That’s how he ended calls when we were kids, and-”

“Oh! Oh, is that right? Woooow!” Joyce said sarcastically into the phone, not caring if she sounded rude, unaware she had inadvertently interrupted her daughter. She was majorly upset, code level: Yikes! “Well that makes everything better!” A pause before adding, “no! Obviously not! Have the day you deserve, you yella-bellied, wanking toth!” Slamming the cordless down, she picked up the phone to press the off button, before slamming it down again. “Bastards!”

“Oooh, langua- uh, I’m gonna,” Dawn gestured to the kitchen, disappearing as soon as Joyce pulled ‘The Mom’ look on her. Definitely upgraded to code level: Scarper.

Spike handed his friend a pillow to scream into, surprising him by hitting the leather chair with it repeatedly, cursing it to high heaven. Did she always know those curses? Bloody hell, was she ever pissed off. Once she stopped, she collapsed into it, burying her face into the pillow, screaming. 

She rarely showed rage like this, ever the lady. He could count all the times he’d seen or heard her do so on one hand. “Uh… can I get you anything?” he asked awkwardly, a bit hesitant to say anything that might set her off more. 

“I wanna wring his stupid neck, an-”

“Want me to drive the getaway car?” he joked. 

She surprised him when she looked at him seriously. “Yes.” His eyebrows jumped up at her very admission. “Change your mind yet?”

“For offering? No.”

“For moving in.” He scoffed, offended. “You get pulled into drama you don’t want to be a part of.”

“Oh, yeah.” He sat down across from her, looking off. “Being a part of a family again is a rash,” he said dryly. “Shingles and the clap, all rolled into one.”

“Mmm, figures.” She sighed, knowing full well he loved it. Gave him purpose. And the warm roof above his head with the woman he loved definitely helped. “Did your group meeting get pushed to next week?”

“Uh, yeah. Group leader or whatever got somm’in else,” he muttered, embarrassed about her mentioning it. He still went, his Sunday meetings and poker games a fixture he rarely broke. It was something that H’Lenna noticed as much as the rest of the Summers household. Only thing: the sisters still assumed Spike only played Texas Hold ‘Em for hours during that time. And he rather maintained that image, thanks. It was bad enough the rest of the demons in the group knew who he really was, he didn’t need the girls knowing. He still had some pride. “But uh, yeah. No meetin’ this week. Whaddya wanna do?”

“Might have to go there in person, but that-”

“That‘ll have to wait till nightfall, lest you want to be drivin’ next to a big pile of dust,” he finished. “Where’s it at?”

“Wait, seriously? But they’ll be closed.”

“Not like it’s my first time breaking into an asylum, J.”

“Not so simple, S. They’ve got state of the art cameras and security.”

“So does UC Sunnydale, but that didn’t stop me, even with the chip.” 

Joyce raised an eyebrow at him in response, as Gemini rubbed his cat body over her legs. “Thank God you’re on our side now,” she muttered, earning her a snicker from the strong eared vamp. The cat-dog purred as he left trails of fur on the woman’s formerly pristine slacks. No pet was happier, they figured. “Then what? She’s got a record over there on their computer system, and-” The shrill bird tweeting of her cellphone interrupted her train of thought, the woman of the house automatically flipping it to see Kevin calling her back. “Here’s the supposed ex-husband calling back. Finally. Kevin,” she greeted coldly as she accepted the call. “Want to explain why my sister isn’t where she’s spent the past twelve years? And why I’m finding about it from people that aren’t you?”

“Oh, thank God Dawn called, Joyce,” the man on the other end grumbled. He sounded worse since the last time she’d heard from him, like he’d eaten a handful of gravel. “My place burned down and-”

“Woah! Slow down, start from the beginning.” 

“Okay. So. I went to go see her… two months ago… like I do on our anniversary every year,” he started, speaking haltingly. “But when I got there, she was.. different.”

Joyce stood, walking over to sit next to her eldest’s boyfriend, so he’d know he was allowed to eavesdrop on the call. He’d eavesdrop anyways, the vampire, but she still liked to keep up appearances. “How do you mean… different?”

Kevin sighed, triggering a coughing fit that sent him into a wheeze. There was beeping on the other end while he took gasping breaths, before it came back in even spaces. “A new woman, Joyce. She was wearing clothes… she’d never wear willingly before, hair… chopped nearly completely… off her head, save for the… the front few inches, and this gaudy, ugly beaded necklace, like… one of those evil eye… necklaces, but the size of a golf ball. Like those… Sanisters from Oregon.”

“Sannyasin,” Spike corrected lowly.

“Sannyasins?” she parroted. 

“Yeah, like them,” he confirmed. His breathing was laboured, heavy in ways it never had before. Whatever happened to him, he’d been through hell. “But different, a bit. Like a mishmash… of different cults. Christopher is their leader... Took her from there with some… some forged documents. My house caught fire that night… I barely made it out alive, and you… you know how terrible I am at remembering numbers… so I couldn’t call you or Arlene or anyone… phone died in any case. Got a new one… same number… no numbers saved, though.  Been in the hospital since. Woke up a week ago.”

She’d been right. Hell. He’d been through hell. “Oh, my god. Are you okay?”

Kevin’s derisive snort was reminiscent of the multitudes before. At least some things didn’t change. “I’ll live.”

“So where is she? Where’s the cult?”

“On a ranch just… just outside Laguna beach. Do you have a pen?”

Standing, she grabbed a pen and paper off the desk, writing out his instructions. And there sure were a lot of them. This cult was smart enough to hide their headquarters with a lot of caution- and hidden fire road entrances. 

“We’re going,” Spike insisted the second she hung up the phone. “As soon as it’s dark enough, we’re going. We’ll go East so the sun’ll be a non-issue and-”

“Spike, stop!” Joyce threw a hand up, forcing him to halt his pacing. “Buffy and Charlotte will be here any minute! Or did you forget you promised to take us out to the drive-in theatre after Patrol tonight?”

He shook his head, opening Buffy’s new wooden weapon’s chest Xander built for her. His own was in the basement, and he’d go there next, but all the heavy hitters were right there, any road. “No, I didn’t. But Joyce, I know that name: Christopher. And the head shaving thing with the big gaudy necklace. The cult? It’s legendary.”

“What?!” They turned to find Dawn standing there by the double doors from the main hallway, hands on her hips, anger flaring at the sight of her best demon friend holding a crossbow like he was going Patrolling without her. “Is it a demon cult?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” her breathed as her shoulders fell, hands next to her sides in defeat. “They’re going to sacrifice her, aren’t they?”

Not on their watch. “Not if we stop them. We can get there in four hours, three if I speed,” he continued, looking at the calendar on the desk. “They do a ritual on the last day of their calendar year, at a minute to midnight. That’s…” he counted the days on his fingers, double checking, trying to get the date right, flipping through the pages as he counted back. “It’s tomorrow, so we gotta get there tonight if we’re gonna stop them.”

“If you know so much about them,” the teen snarked back, “why haven’t you said anything before now?”

“Their calendar year is 3,000 days of ours, ‘sides,” he continued laying out weapons to pack on the floor. “They move around a lot, and usually stick to the western coast of Europe. Never heard of them givin’ the colonies a go. God, listen to me! I’m callin’ it the colonies like Rupe!” He shook his head in disbelief with himself, eyeing Dawn’s pet where it yawned on the comfy plush bed she’d gotten him. “We should take Gemini.”

“Why?”

“Superstitious demons. Terrified of cats.”

Demons, near her Gem?! Oh, no. “I don’t want Gemini getting hurt. I’ll pack his harness so I can-”

“No!” they shouted in unison, stopping Dawn’s pursuit. 

“But-”

“Not safe for you, Bit. Or Pidge. But we’ll keep him safe as houses, yeah?”

Stamping her foot, her fists hung next to her hips in defiance. “No! He’s not going on a mission without me! He’s never gone further than the limits of Sunnydale before!”

“I agree with Dawn.”

“Joyce!”

“Not… that’s she’s coming,” Joyce insisted, already feeling emotionally exhausted. And they hadn’t even left yet. Great. Turning to her youngest, she added, “you’re staying here, young lady. But so is Gemini. And Charlotte. We’ll call Tara and Willow to spend the night so you’re no-”

“But, mom!”

“No buts!” She held up a hand, no-nonsense mother that she was. “You’re staying here and Tara-”

“We need her, Joyce,” Spike clarified. “She’s a powerful witch, and we’re gonna need one in our back pocket to counteract the cloaking they’re bound to have on that place. Might need the Watcher, too.”

“What about Willow?” Dawn asked, head curiously tilted. Something wasn’t adding up here. Willow was way more powerful than Tara. Wasn't she? “She got Tara’s mind working again after the mindsuck thing.”

The two adults shared a painful look across the room. No one had bothered to tell her about how Red had gotten a little too souped up on magic, and hadn’t been allowed near it for a month since that little mishap with the playing cards.

“She’s gonna watch you, I think,” Joyce said instead with a smile, breezing right past the issue to avoid a painful discussion. “She’s got that new DVD you two were talking about.”

“She’s not allowed to do magic, is she?” They sighed. “I knew it, I should have known sooner, ugh!” She threw herself onto the couch, Gemini waking up to trot over and snuggle against her. Petting his head in distraction, she sighed herself. “I knew those red rings around her eyes last week had to do with either drinking, or magic withdrawals.”

“Could be both,” Spike muttered, earning him a glare from his sweetheart’s mum. 

“I just… why didn’t you guys tell me?”

Without knowing what else to do in the moment, the vampire simply shrugged. “Not our secret to tell,” he reasoned. 

“Like you’re such a steel trap,” she muttered. “Mom, why did you not tell me?”

Sitting cautiously next to the girl, she wished she knew how to handle this better. No parenting book covered ‘so your daughter’s friend is addicted to magic, and tried to do a locator spell for whomever sent your daughter’s vampire boyfriend’s long dead sister forwards through time, and is now spiralling, cuz it blew up in her face, literally charing an eyebrow clean off’. If it did, she’d be buying two copies. “Willow asked us not to. Not until she got her thirty day chip. Which she’ll probably get Tuesday, so try not to say anything until then, okay?”

“Fine. I guess that’s fair, just, ugh! I feel so dumb for not noticing sooner.”

“If it makes you feel better, big sis didn’t know till last week,” he offered. “Only came out when Red was cryin’ in the- oh, I see,” he shook his head, looking at Dawn with a calculated look. She and Buffy both had a heck of a knack at digging out the truth from the vamp. Like some sick, genetic decoder ring the pair had hidden in their Levi’s. They learned from the best, he mused. Joyce Summers is a sodding pro at it. “Nope. Not gettin’ another word outta me, Bit.”

“Rats. Thought that’d work.”

Opening the door, Charlotte’s laugh entered before she did, Buffy trailing behind her with her overnight bag before the youngest Summers could dig anymore out of the vamp. “That’s not an egg, that’s a pickle- I understand it now! That’s rather-”

“Almost did, but not the first time we’ve had this song and dance, Nibblet.”

“Dancing?” Charlotte asked. “I thought we were seeing a film this evening.”

“Change of plans, Pidge. The adults gotta go on a little road trip to spring Auntie Kathy from a cult.”

“A cult? I’ve only been gone for like…” Buffy checked her watch, grunting. “Four and half hours. She’s in a cult? When? How?

“Explain on the way,” Joyce said, standing to dial Giles on the home phone. “But we’ve got to bring Tara and Giles- in case of magic. Oh! Call Clem.”

“Clem?” Spike asked, lowering the battle axe Buffy favoured out of view of his sister. “Why would I call him into this mess? He’s a peaceful demon, J, you know he won’t fight.”

“But he’s a cat person, S,” she said pointedly. “And we need cats to distract the demons.”

“Demons?!” Charlotte squeaked. “Your aunt is a demon in a cult?”

Buffy sighed, feeling her good mood at a seemingly semi-normal night out dissolve in her fingertips. “Oh, God, I hope not.”

“No, she’s still human - we hope - but she’s in a cult run by demons,” Spike explained. “And you want me to take Clem’s cats from him?” His hurt and upset tone seemed genuine. 

“Offer to buy them off him,” she answered logically. 

“You want me to bribe my best mate?”

“What am I?” Joyce countered. “Day old egg salad?”

“My other best mate?!” 

“Well, yeah!”

His features schooled themselves automatically. “Okay.” And he instantly snapped back to himself. 

“Okay?!” Buffy demanded, hands on her hips, baffled at her man’s flippant response. “Why are you so sure he’d let go of one of his kitties for cash?” 

“Mer’s allergic,” he said offhandedly, clearly lying as he couldn’t meet her eyes. She wanted to pry, they all did. But he stepped away briskly, taking that option away from them real quick. “I’m callin’ him,” he added, doing just that.

“Do you believe him?” Buffy asked Charlotte as they watched him clumsily use the new cell phone he’d finally relented on getting. After the Summers girls needled him into it. 

The other blonde snorted, petting Gemini’s head as he shifted into his dog form, no longer pulsed by the animal’s changes. “Not a lick.”

 

----------

 

Arguing with her mother about keeping out at home while she and her backup went to get Kathy was pointless. Joyce may not have experience fighting the way her daughter did, but she was hell bent to bring her sister home. Twelve years. Years! TWELVE of them! Stuck in a facility, everyone thinking she’d lost her grip on reality. And the entire time, Katherine had been 100% right. It had been a demon that killed her little girl. And there was no chance in hell that she was leaving her sister stuck in that knowledge, lost and alone, brainwashed by a cult. 

After nearly an hour of arguing - while the sun took its sweet time setting - Buffy caved, shoving a bag of weapons into Giles’ hands, putting him responsible for her mom. With any luck, the pair of them would arrive after she, Spike, and Tara got Kathy out, and headed back home. Either way, she knew Dawn and Lottie were safe with Willow, Anya, and Xander back home, two of the three Patrolling in her and Spike’s absence. What she wasn’t sure of was arriving in one piece, what with the breakneck speed her boyfriend was driving at. 

“‘Messengers of Gleethos’, Tara read from the text she’d brought with her from the Magic Box’s restricted section (with Giles’ permission, of course). “‘Gleethos is said to be the ‘one true god’ of the Gleeb demons, although the cult has undergone many name changes over the millennia. Some include,’ it’s a very long list. Do- do you want them all?”

“One of them’s gotta be the Harbingers of the Enlightened, that’s what they called themselves in my day.”

“You’ve known about them doing this for a century?” Buffy grasped the handle above the door - appropriately coined by Dawn as the ‘slow the hell down!’ bar - as he whipped around a slower moving sedan on the motorway. 

He cursed as a pickup tried to swerve in their lane without signalling, shaking his head as if he didn’t just do the same thing. “They’ve been doing this for millennia, luv, but I didn’t know they were demons till the 60’s. Just thought they were a human cult till then.”

She wanted to argue, to chew him out over it all. Their backseat passenger was the one thing stopping her. Tara crumbled under conflict of that nature, and Joyce ‘GodKiller’ Summers had made the rest of the Scoobies take an oath to limit that in front of the woman. It was a fair stipulation, considering how the group nearly fell to pieces last year, but it only delayed the inevitable arguments, not dissolved them. “Fine, fine,” she shook her head, hand tightening on the bar as he took a sharp curve in the road. “What else, Tara?”

“Uh.” The witch flipped through the reference text quickly, landing on another page. “Mmm, okay, here, ‘Harbingers, The Diligent Children of the One Nation Under All,’ mouthful, that one. ‘The Pure Order of Atonement, Oracles of the Chosen, The Children of Christopher-’

“Christopher!” He snapped his fingers, gazing at her through the rear view mirror. He couldn’t see himself, but he could see her. “That’s what Joyce said the bloke who took your auntie called himself. What’s it say ‘bout him?”

“Uh, let’s see,” she skimmed the pages clumsily, getting through to the right bookmark as he took the right at the fork in the road. “Right here. ‘Gleethos, the one true god of the Gleeb demons, has gone by many names over the millennia, including…’ oh.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, no Christopher. Let me see that red one there, Buffy?” Riffling through the books between her and her boyfriend on the front seat, she grasped the red, leather bound book. Giles had divided out the research haphazardly, Joyce insisting they leave ASAP. Wouldn’t be the first time they did research on ther road, she doubted it would be their last. Handing it to Tara, she looked at the girl’s slipping fingers as they walked the pages of the book. “I remember it b- being here… Now where’s that.. aha! Cults. G, G, G-H, G-I, G-L, aha! Gleethos. Hmm,” she chewed on her cheek a moment as she flipped through. “Okay, h- here. ‘Gleethos is the one true god’, blah blah b- okay, oh! ‘But as he is caught behind the portal beyond our world, his sacrifices must be funnelled through one of four emissaries: Fastelawyn, D’F’ Mastelle, Rikmans, and Christof.’ That must be him!”

Buffy had not been a stranger to gross demons doing perverse sacrifices over the years. But this was the first time she was hearing about such an elaborate group. A demon God, yeah, piece of c- well, not cake. Dealing with another situation where someone was getting sacrificed for a thing in another dimension? Yeah, hard pass. “Sacrifice? How are they sacrificing them?”

“Uh, ‘Gleethos does not care for souls of his victims, nor hearts, or-’ wh- why do they never just say what they need to!” The witch huffed, barely audible, flipping to the next page as she scanned. “Okay, here, ‘what he treasures most are the… the medullas of humans who have lost loved ones in traumatic ways’. Th- that’s the- the- it’s what I’m thinking, isn’t it?”

Spike put his foot on the gas harder, face resolute. “Yeah.”

“What? Oh, God, what?!”

“B- brain stem.”

Buffy’s eyes widened, turning to her boyfriend with renewed terror. “Drive. Faster.” 

 

----------

 

The compound looked normal from the road, just a nice little slice of paradise, with a large country house - very chic - surrounded by acres upon acres of beautiful farmable land, a red roofed barn, and a breathtaking flower garden. To the unsuspecting eye, it looked like a great place to raise some kids, deal with some hard work, but overall, have a great life. But they knew better than to park out front. Around back, the barn was dilapidated, the paint chipped everywhere, and weeds overgrown on any and every square inch of the property. 

Buffy stood looking at the area with a calculating eye. She’d tried to step closer, but it had proved fruitless. Something was stopping her. And it wasn’t the mess of gravel and weeds. “Okay, what’ve we got?” 

Tara felt ahead of her, her palms facing forwards, as the invisible barrier pushed back against her. The air was charged with power even Joyce could feel rolling off it. It glowed a soft yellowy-green colour, showing off more yellow the harder she pressed. “Huh. Interesting.”

Buffy frowned at the barrier, wishing she knew what the witch sensed. “What?”

“It- it’s obviously keeping us out, an- and it shouldn’t be t- too hard to break, bu- but it’s also keeping something i- in.”

“The human prisoners?” Joyce offered, tightening the elastic around her ponytail. 

Shaking her head, she wasn’t sure. “N-no. I mean, yeah, ob- obviously. But no, some- something more pow- powerful.”

“Emissary?” Spike offered, impatiently shifting from foot to foot, axe in hand.

“Mmmmm,” she let go, digging in her pockets. Coming up with a vial of white powder, she dumped some in her hands and blew it onto the barrier. Symbols and shapes glowed where the powder stuck, in various shades of yellow and green. She wished Willow was with her. The redhead was way of the better when it came to barriers like this. Tara was better with herbs and home based magic, thrived there, not here. Fieldwork still wigged her out. But Willow was taking a much needed break from magic. It would be way of the bad to make her girlfriend come out here, especially when she was still dealing with nosebleed junction. “Can’t tell. Giles?”

He approached carefully, looking over them. Taking his glasses off, he traced a few runes without making direct contact. Studying. Assessing. Feeling for answers. “Hmm. I’ve not seen a warding quite like this since the academy. But it seems that whatever it is protecting, it’s definitely not of our dimension. So it stands to reason-”

Joyce had very little patience. What with her sister being potential demon food in T-minus twenty-two hours. “Today, please?” 

“It’s keeping Gleethos from jumping into our dimension.”

“What?!” Buffy’s eyes widened at the suggestion. She’d seen the size of the thing’s eye in the sketches. The whole demon being unleashed could wipe out all of Laguna Beach with a single belch! “But- he can’t! How?”

No one said anything for a spell, Spike offering some ‘sage’ words of wisdom. “Not sure. Once we’re inside, maybe we’ll find out.”

Which seemed as good a time as any, their leader turning to the witch with a nod. “Drop the barrier- only enough for us to get in.”

 

----------

 

Inside the compound, residents were milling about, eating late dinners on picnic benches, or cleaning up tools, or hanging laundry to dry, or generally walking around, doing stuff. All the people, whether men or women, wore baggy, heavy dresses that went down just past the knees, loose pants on their legs under the dresses, leather loafers on their feet. All adults, no one under the age of eighteen (that they could see). They all seemed content, smiling like the happy piglets before the slaughter. Two of them slipped in, undetected, rushing around the backs of buildings. Buffy and her mother snuck into the laundry, grabbing a dress and pair of pants each off the ‘clean’ bins, perched on a folding table, to blend in. The lack of shaven heads would make them stick out like sore thumbs, but thankfully, a few of the women wore scarves, their heads wrapped up, men wearing old fashioned newsboy caps. It made it easier to wear similar styles, camouflaging their true reason for being there. 

“Hmm,” Spike grunted at her with an approving glint in his eye when they slipped back, raking them over her form. “Seems I was right.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow, tucking the last bit of her hair in the scarf, before twisting it into a bun at the base of her skull, the way several of the other women had. “About what?”

He leaned in, pinning the stray piece of fabric that was threatening to fall out. “You look fetching in anything.”

She snorted, good naturedly pushing him back with a grin. 

Giles frowned at their attire. “But you’re missing something.”

“We’re not wearing the loafers, Rupert.” Joyce tried to adjust the collar of her dress, but it was no use. The linen fabric was surprisingly unyielding in the high collared yolke. She felt like she was being choked by the flax garment. Least it was clean. “I can’t run in them,” she insisted, shoving a knife in her boot.

“No, not the shoes,” he pointed to her midsection, a bit too close to her chest than she liked. “The pendant. Everyone else has one of those gaudy necklaces.”

“Oh!” Tara motioned to the necklaces the Summers women were wearing, Buffy tucking hers under her clothes. “Can we glamor the ones they have? Make it s- so the others see what we want them to?”

Fueled by the desire to get her sister home, and not her sudden comfort around magic, Joyce nodded. “Do what you gotta. Kathy comes home tonight.”  

Tara and Giles did together, before opening the slit in the barrier, their two undercover agents slipped in. 

Chapter 18

Summary:

Time for a break out, and - surprise, surprise - the Gleeb demons have more than just medulas on their mind

Chapter Text

Friday, September 27th, 2002 - Part B

Milling about wasn’t wise, so mother and daughter each picked something up to carry to another part of the compound, as the unlikeliest of trios waited for their signal. Wood seemed to be the best choice, as half the residents were moving it from where it had been chopped up earlier in the day. Geez, Buffy thought, as she and her mom followed a group of men and women, to cart it from one building to another. You’d think they haven’t heard of the fun new electric heaters or something. Which was bizarre all of its own, seeing as how the majority of the buildings had indoor lights. Fluorescent ones, like the Double Meat Palace near Xander’s parents’ place. That place felt as evil as this one. Maybe it was the lights. Attracted demons. 

“Merry meet, sister,” a bald man in muted green said brightly to them, handing Buffy some firewood, oddly dry for a supposedly recently felled tree. Hmm. “Please take these to the factory’s wood shed.” 

“Sure thing,” she nodded, pausing as he frowned a little at her response. Hadn’t she heard another woman respond before her? Oh, right. “Blessed night, brother.”

Smiling hollowly, he nodded. “Blessed night to you, sister. Merry meet, brother,” he nodded to the next person behind her, the Slayer catching up with her mom. 

Eyes scanning as they walked, Joyce tried to keep the fake smile on her face, as she hoped to catch her sister’s gaze. “This place is way bigger than I was hoping,” she grit past her bared teeth, as they passed some other residents, women taking sheets down off clothing lines, men folding them. “There’s at least…. five buildings, not to mention the sleeping cabins past the cabbage patch.” And it was a rather large cabbage patch. Football field level huge . Who even ate that much cabbage?! Was it a front? Part of the demon’s need, ya know, for the brainstem to be full of vitamin K and magnesium? It didn’t matter now, with all the hidden places Kath could be. The whole compound had to be at least a couple hundred acres, but only about two or three acres worth of building searching they could do. Unlike with hunting down Glory or Rex, they couldn’t just find a directory in a high rise, or hack into the DMV to narrow things down. They’d have to walk around, check each place one at a time. Good old fashioned door-to-door Patrolling. This was gonna take all night. “Main office is all the way up there, the barn was where we parked…”

“What’s this factory building?” she muttered back to her mom, greeting some men as they passed by. They looked no older than she was, their heads shaven, proudly showing off their scalps to the night air. “Blessed night, bros.” Once they were out of ear shot, she added, “God, do you think that’s where they, ya know, sacrifice people?”

But the strong smell of lavender permeated the air the second they walked in, making her second guess her previous comment. “I’m thinking no,” Joyce answered, gazing at the shiny equipment. Stills from one side of the room flowed to the other, pipes interconnected above their heads, the perfume of the building only interrupted by the smoky aroma of the wood burning underneath the copper kettles. Distilling. They were distilling lavender oils. “These are antiques,” she hissed, placing the wood where a bunch already lay stacked up against the closest wall. “See the maker’s mark?” she gestured with her head to the engraved plaque ahead, as soon as the coast was clear. 

Bending down, Buffy frowned at the date. “1899? That’s…” it didn’t make sense. Electric lights, wood powered stoves, kettles from the Victorian era? “What the hell is this place? Time travelling Cultist R Us?”

Leaving before they were found out, the two weaved through some raised garden beds with herbs still growing in the late autumn, trying to get the lay of the land. To the North was the country house, where the office no doubt was. Probably also where the emissaries slept. Behind it were the flower gardens, and to the East, a smaller building serving as a community kitchen, already closed for the night. On the West side of the property, the ‘factory’. Next to it was the laundry, where the residents thankfully didn’t need to wash using big old cauldrons, several industrial washers rescued from some abandoned laundromat happily clunked along, full of clothes, but no dryers. South, the barn, wherein the north side of the building was painted beautifully, the back was suffering from serious dry rot. Next to that was the recreation hall, and another, smaller building that looked like a tool shed. The outdated equipment spoke to the lack of proper maintenance, though it hardly seemed to concern anyone. Robotic, almost, the way they passed one another by, greeting one another, bright smiles with hollow eyes. It wigged them both out, but they kept on their plan.  

Gemini was a weird pet, for a number of reasons. One wigsome thing being that unlike regular cats and dogs, he had very little food intolerances. Meaning, his diet was pretty widespread with what he could eat. Almost like a goat or a pig, he’d even eat the weeds in their yard. Heck, he’d eaten no less than I of Spike’s cigarette butts - straight from the ashtray! - and was completely fine, according to the specialty vet they paid up the wazoo for. Thing was, the second Dawn brought those tiny little Pawfuls snacks, Gemini stopped eating the cheaper brands, leaving them with a surplus of tuna and chicken cat treats. Something that was handy, as the pair dropped them strategically throughout the compound as they walked. Joyce had been dropping them down her pant leg as she walked, the hole in the left pocket offering a perfect tube to covertly drop the treats every ten or so steps. Buffy wasn’t as subtle, catching the eye of one of the fellow residents, who seemed content with her answer of having a rock in her shoe, and continued to hang more laundry on the line between buildings. 

It took another thirty minutes of recon to find that everyone was heading to the rec hall for some important meeting, the pair following the rest of the crowd inside. It was pretty obvious that all was not what it appeared in Pleasantville, the cult followers not all human. Humanoid and non-humanoid demons alike populated the seats as well, of which there were hundreds. Of metal folding chairs, not demons. If Buffy’s guess was right, there were at least twenty demons sitting among the humans, but way more at the front, and outnumbered by people. The rec hall was… ooh, boy. It reminded her of the old Sunnydale High auditorium, with the stage up front, and the smell of mothballs hanging in the air. The undercurrent of demonic energy was also there, but way of the underwhelming in comparison to the Hellmouth. Still, part of her felt like she was back in highschool, the Hellmouth ready to swallow her up below the worn down wooden flooring. 

Scanning around, Joyce huffed, the pair hanging around the back left of the room, the right side already full. “They really know how to pack a house, huh?” she whispered off-handedly, hoping it would ease her nerves. It wasn’t. Her muscles refused to untense, gripping the knife Spike gifted her for Christmas last year in her jean pocket, under the linen, her smaller one from the army surplus store in her boot. No one paid them much mind, so long as they kept up the fake smile, and greeted those who greeted them. Talk about ‘grin and bear it’. Even without the demons, it was way, way creepy. Summer camp that you couldn’t leave. Outside jail retreat. Reminded her of that book Dawn and her read last year, where the boy got sent to Camp Green Lake, but with pretty flowers, instead of barren desert. “I can’t see her.”

“Me neither,” Buffy responded, her own knife tucked in her boot, stake in her other. In a pinch, there were some other things around she could use as a weapon. The wood, for one, could be handy as a projectile. The tool shed nearby would also be useful, a shovel or weed wacker maybe. Hiding weapons under the clothing here was way with the difficult, the way the linen draped. She could see the outline of pencils and keys and stuff in other people’s own pockets. 

As her eyes scanned around, she couldn’t help but notice the wide array of demographics before her. There were some around her age, different races and backgrounds. A lot of the residents, however, looked around her mom’s age, or older. At least six humans were old enough to be her grandparents, chatting happily as they sat near the front. What stuck her most was the reason they’d been chosen. 

 

‘What Gleethos treasures most are the medullas of humans who have lost loved ones in traumatic ways.’

 

Everyone who’d fallen for the shiny lie of eternal peace or whatever had lost someone. A room full of grieving lost beings, desperate for community, for solace. Relief from the pain was a very human-y thing to look for. 

Knowing these demons were also looking for it… well, she’d seen weirder. Heck, her own boyfriend had zero soul left, but he still grieved people from his past. Missed them, at the least. He’d grieved Charlotte for over a century, still having a hard time coming to grips that she was alive, and living just a few blocks away. The demons here must also be the same, cuz she knew some of them. Not like, personally, obvi. But she’d seen peaceful demons like them. Texts from Giles, material from the Watcher’s council they were now begrudgingly a part of, and living their lives in Sunnydale. She knew Hos still grieved Moira, centuries after the Loch lady croaked. As unsettling as it was that demons were also going to be sacrificed, it wasn’t her main concern. 

The trio of Kwaini demons by the front were calm, more peaceful than their ridged faces would suggest. Along with the codger demon, chatting up a human and a feathered demon Buffy couldn’t remember the species of, the demons sitting in metal chairs would be useless in a fight. She had no beef with them anyways. The demons in the front, however…

Her mom was the first to notice them, their uniforms different from their flock. Where the residents all wore the dress and baggy pants combo, the head honchos had on more form fitting attire, made from better quality fabrics, too. Like massage therapist chic. Their colour scheme was louder, reds and oranges and purples, still a bit muted from over washing. But unlike the naturally dyed blues and greens and browns of their followers, theirs screamed of chemical baths â lá West Hollywood. It left a nasty taste in their mouths, reminiscent of their little Victorian friend, and her jailors. But their faces, God! They were too far away, but even the pair of Summers women could tell something was really wrong there. Humanoid everywhere else, but not those faces. Not quite.

There had to be at least twenty of the main staff, both humans and demons alike. Neither of them could tell who Christopher was - if he was even up there to begin with - but they definitely felt the shift in energy from the audience. Respect from either fear of love. The air was thick with it, the second a not quite human stepped up to the podium. 

“Blessed night, brothers and sisters!” he called out, the gooseneck microphone carrying his voice throughout the hall. It was top of the range, the latest model that definitely didn’t make sense in such a backwards community. Then again, little there did. 

“Blessed night, brother,” the crowd responded, like one big, unified creep show. 

He grinned, his face not quite sitting correctly on his head. Not as if it were slipping, exactly. But almost like…. When Dawn and Spike tried to make that one cake recipe with Tara, for Buffy’s 21st birthday. It called for whipped icing, which meant taking down their Food Chopper 2000. Dawn forgot to put the lid on the blender, the entire contents blowing up into her face. When she’d come home, she could see the sheen of strawberry whipped topping over her daughter’s face, her features poking through. Whoever this demon was, his skin reminded her of strawberry cake icing, someone else’s face on top of his own, eyes and lips poking through. “Tomorrow, our biggest holiday shall descend upon us, and we shall ascend to enlightenment,” he cried out, the others in the room clapping joyously, oblivious to the lobotomy in store for each one. 

Come on, where are you? Joyce thought, eyes desperately scanning each person, one by one. Kathy wasn’t near them, far as she could tell, but it was hard to picture her here anyways. Where’s your two piece suit when we need it? she willed the thoughts into her sister’s head. Your big, beautiful curls, your obnoxiously large brooches? God, Kath. How the hell did we get to this point?

“But tonight, as we do every Friday evening,” he continued, “we welcome our latest recruits to come up, and shed their worldly attachments, and join our ranks- officially.” A dozen or so humans wearing scarves and hats started to make their way to the stage, the shaved headers clapping in hollow glee. “Come, brothers and sisters,” he called out. “It is time to become one.”

Watching in confusion, Joyce’s eyes widened as she recognised the blade in his hand. One her grandfather used to use, her father framing it in a shadow box, displayed in their general store. “Crap.”

Hissing back to her mom, she asked, “didn’t he say the sacrifice was tomorrow? I am so gonna ki-”

“Sweetie,” she grit back, gesturing to the line of humans wearing head coverings, all making their way to the front. “That’s a straight razor. Ya know, for shaving.”

Shaving? Why would they have that out n- oh. Oh, no. No, no, no! No freaking way. There was no chance in hell she was going to have her head shaved by- by some- some medusa sucking demon. “Signal. Now.”

“Not until we see Kathy!”

Sighing, she hesitated. She was the leader; not her mom. Being the Slayer meant being in charge, but things were so complicate-y here. If her own daughter told her to stay put, while she and her friends went to rescue Dawn? Yeah, she’d act exactly the same. Probably lock her kid and the friends in her room with some snacks, and sneak out the back. Or just the house, cuz, ya know: bathroom breaks. Reluctantly agreeing, she followed the throng with her mom, eyes scanning around frantically as she tried to find her aunt. Of all the freaking things to happen to the woman, Buffy wasn’t expecting this.  

Katherine Richardson was a level headed woman, smart as a whip, and about the last person anyone would expect to see fall for a cult. And a demon cult, to boot. She helped her parents’ with their business when they got on in years, ran her own consulting firm, and sold both when granny Jane and grandpa Joe met their tragic end. Kathy was the methodical, precise, no-nonsense kinda gal since she was five years old. Telemarketers couldn’t fool her, commercials couldn’t sell her useless crap even if they made it seem like manna from heaven. She researched shampoos for over two weeks before switching brands, for God sakes! A cult? No freaking way. 

And now they were in that very cult, looking for her in a sea of muted coloured flax sacks, as they were ushered to the front. Oh, geez. She hadn’t seen her aunt in far too long, and so many of the other women looked kinda like her. She kept trying to pick up on a mop of curly hair, like her mom’s, but jet black, only to forget that Kevin said it’d be shaved now. This sucks, she thought, watching the person ahead of them get shaved, six more between them and her, the other residents singing some freaky version of Kumbaya, My Lord that made her stomach curdle. If only she was wearing her normal blazer and slacks, we could find her in a heartbeat in this mess of burlap sacks. Geez, this dress is itchy. How do they all st-? “What?” she hissed at her mom, raising her brows at being elbowed.

“See the horny demon? The one with the horns, I mean,” Joyce whispered, trying to plaster a phoney smile on her face as she did. Not an easy feat, not when she knew what really happened in this place. “Three seats to the left, and two rows back. The one in deep blue? It’s her.”

Following her mom’s gaze, she noticed her. It looked a lot like Kathy, but she wasn’t so sure. Her aunt had been pretty doped up on meds the last time they’d seen her, and this woman looked like a smiling fool. But when she turned her head to the side, Buffy could kinda see it. The profiles of both her and her mom were always pretty similar, even if they didn’t share as much from head on. “Are you sure?”

“Yep. The scar on her neck? Under her ear, do you see it?” Straining her eyes, Buffy could see a very faint pockmark, like a little chunk of skin was missing and never grew back. “That was from when-”

“Celia climbed the bookcase,” her daughter finished for her, remembering the incident well. She’d gone with her mom to Kathy and Kevin’s house after, to play with her cousin and their new Barbies, while uncle Kevin took his wife to the ER. “The glass statue fell on her, where she was napping on the couch, right?” And was hospitalised for a week after, the scar a nasty reminder the woman became self conscious of. 

“Yeah. It’s her. I’d bet my bottom dollar.”

Cracking her neck, she pulled out the whistle from her pocket. Inconspicuous, only suspicious to those narrowing in on it. Slim, silver, and offering a pitch only dogs could hear. And cats. “Okay. Signal time.”

Coughing, Joyce turned towards Kathy’s seat, momentarily shielding her daughter from view, their leader slipping her whistle to her mouth. Bellowing it as hard as she could. The effect was immediate- demons clutching their heads in agony, as if they’d been chipped, and smacked around. A pitch dogs, cats, and demons could hear. Triple threat, cool. 

Back at the cars, the two crates of cats became restless at the sound, Spike hissing as it grated on his tympanum. “Bollocks! That stings.”

“The- the signal?” Tara asked, getting a head nod in return. “Oh- okay.” Waving her hand over the rip she’d made before, she held the powder in the other, chanting as she flung the white, gritty substance against the invisible barrier, chanting. “Caerimonia, Minerva. Fac nobis ostium. Incolumes nos serva. Aperi, aperi, aperi!” With an ebb of forest greet light, the barrier opened, offering them entrance. They ran in, finding protection on the side of the barn, the men holding the crates, while she carried the weapons. 

Placing the felines down, they waited until some residents left the rec hall, the main door now cracked open, large enough for a teen to slip out. Giles sighed as he lifted the cover off his cage. “I cannot believe I'm saying this, but… release the kittens.” Lifting the door, the tabbies all escaped, running out of their cages, and into the compound, Spike’s calicos following closely behind. Screams were heard as the cats dispersed, the veritable small army of kitties trying to find the little morsels of treats the Summers women had left in their wake. 

Humans were meant to be left alone, but demons were fair game. Sadly, some of the humans were less than welcoming when they saw the trio of outsiders. One grabbed the axe still stuck in the tree stump, swinging it at them, and the kittens. Dodging the swing, Tara yelped, Spike grabbing the handle one handed and ripping it free, before Giles could knock the attacker out. “Th- thanks,” she shuddered, standing on legs that quaked with the remembrance that there would be bloodshed there. Hopefully only that of the oppressors. “I- I saw them all g- going to the rec hall.”

Nodding, Giles grabbed a battle axe from the pile, before second guessing and grabbing a crossbow, handing it to her. “Tara will infiltrate the office with me. Spike?”

“Emissary cleanup,” he grinned, taking a pair of wakizashi, one in each hand, ready for battle. Cocky as ever, he headed straight for the rec hall, pinpointing a Gleeb demon from its cowering on a picnic table, kittens jumping up to explore. Barreling towards it, the hapless sod didn’t stand a chance. Jumping smoothly up on the table, he regarded the beastie with an icy blue gaze. “D'aww…” he drawled, antagonising the Gleeb, who now faced him. “Did someone tawt they taw a puddy tat?” Without waiting for an answer, he sliced out, beheading the opponent with some force. Hitting the table top in the most satisfying thud, the newly liberated head rolling onto the grass. Stabbing the heart - just in case - he jumped down, narrowly avoiding splatting a calico. Bloody good way to end up in the Gemini house, he mused, rushing to find more demons to slay. Crushing a cat pretty high on the Slayer’s ‘no-no’ list. He was about to shoo another one running forwards betwixt his legs, when he realised the feline was following a demon, the Gleeb running away in terror. 

“Blimey, shoulda gotten a cat ages ago,” he mused, running after it like a fool. “Bloody hell, sounding like father when he went with the fairies. Barmy as all h-”

Knocked off kilter, he grunted, rolling to avoid nicking himself on his own blades. “Traitor!” 

Rolling up into a standing position, golden yellow eyes met his. A vamp that wasn’t him? My, my, but the Children of Christopher were expanding, weren’t they? Shifting into game face, he parroted back, “what kinda traitor would that be, mate? Only here for a bit of the ole rough and tumble before sunup. What’s your sorry excuse for being a green stick in a sodding cult?”

The vampiress laughed, her bald head nearly glowing in the lamp lights, circling him in her ridiculously mossy green getup. “I serve my master, my true sire!”

“Your master’s a giant eyeball, with tentacles ready to suck out your brain stem, mate,” he snarled back, circling her as best he could. Humans were running past them, far too close for comfort, not with the room he needed for a proper slice n’ dice. “I always wondered if a vamp could live without a brain. Seems true, you taking one for the team by being here.” 

She snarled back at him, lunging forwards, claws extended. She missed, too green, too cocky. The swagger had to be earned, not inherited. “You lay with our oppressor! You reek of Slayer stink. Might as well shove your cock into a blood bag!”

Insulting himself, who gave a toss? He could handle himself against that. But insulting his lady? Oh… that he could not abide. Crouching low, he quickly swiped his leg out, catching the other vamp unawares, knocking her to the hard packed earth. “Do you ever shut your gob?!” he shouted, standing on either side of her body where it lay, boots pressed hard into her biceps to keep her still. Swinging down with both swords, he beheaded her swiftly, feeling a great wash of satisfaction at the kill, dust settling on his laces. 

 

----------

 

Inside the rec hall, Buffy had her hands full with the scattering crowd, a Gleeb demon - recognizable by the weird drooping skin mask, that looked more like a piece of baloney than real skin - jumped her, landing square on her back. “Long live Gleethos!” it called out, gender not identifiable, as she tried to shake off the goon. “Our one true saviour of the ages!”

“Really?” she huffed, flipping it off her, slamming him in front of her, the scuffed wooden floors taking the blow beautifully. “Have you considered Porky pig as your one true saviour?” Its face screwed up in confusion, uttering a hiss, giving her the perfect opportunity to plunge her knife into its chest, giving a sharp twist. Blood bubbled up from the wound, but she paid it no mind, snapping the neck for added insurance. “Guess not. ” 

Scanning for her mother, she cursed at the absence of her. It’s cool, it’s okay, she reassured herself as she dodged another Gleeb coming at her. She went to grab Aunt Kathy, and we’ll be outta here in no time. Without breaking her stride, she sunk her knife into the latest demon gunning for her, twisting it while shoving it backwards. He hit the stage with a sickening crack, neck snapping as it made contact with the wooden edge. She winced at the sight of the faux mask slipping, turning just in time to be accosted by an emissary. 

“You.” The sneer was nothing new to her, being the Slayer. She got accusations way worse from the humans in her own town, let alone a ‘ Jame Gumbite’ like him. “Look what you’ve done! Do you know what havoc you’ve wreaked?! What you’ve ruined?!”

“Besides your so-called master’s dinner? Probably my impression of farming as a whole,” she kicked upwards, hitting his solar plexus with her boot tip, his head jerking back from the force. “Didn’t anyone tell you?” Grabbing the fallen broom handle, and snapping off the bristles with her boot. “California requires all masseuses to be licensed, ” she whacked him in the neck, the arch of her swing catching another demon behind her, without her trying. “And yours was denied, due to the human sacrifices ,” another narrower swing, aimed right of this groyne, the creature jerking backwards to keep his precious bits away from her next swing. “Oh, well. Best cash in that early retirement now!” Feigning a hit to the top of his head, she kicked out to his knees, catching him in the gut as he crouched. Groaning, he rolled to his back, the Slayer sinking the wooden pole into his stomach. It didn’t do much as far as impaling him, but he was groaning in pain, distracted. Using it to her advantage, she unsheathed her blade, stabbing him in the chest, twisting the knife like the book instructed her to. Gleeb demons were strong, but had more than one weakness. Snapping the neck or twisting the heart. Both options killed them dead. Making quick work of cleaning her knife on the emissary's tunic, she leaned closer, lifting his head, and twisting sharply, severing his spine. It was almost a shame, really. His tunic was the finest Egyptian cotton. 

Out of demons to kill or humans to usher to safety, she left the rec hall, in search of her mom and the others. “Damn!” she grunted as a fleeing human knocked her to the ground, her knife skittering away. “I friggin’ hate farm life.” 

 

----------

 

The country house was in stark contrast to the rest of the property. Modern, but still cosy, it was the perfect front for the insidious operation. The office easy to find, a human fleeing from it with a shotgun, Tara mumbling a basic trip spell, the man falling down and knocking himself unconscious. She felt a momentary wave of regret at causing him pain, before remembering he had a freaking shotgun he was going to aim at her family. Scurrying into the now empty room, they let out a gust of air in shock. “Wha- what do we take?” 

On the one hand, taking everything would be helpful in understanding the motives. On the other, it would weigh them down, and if the police needed evidence to go after the human organisers… “Download what you can from the computer. I’ll check the hard copies for anything…”

“Evil?”

“Precisely.”

“Uh… mister Giles?” she raised her hand with a concerned expression. “Y- you know I’m not Willow, r- right? I- I’m not… ya know, an expert on… this,” she gestured widely to the desktop, frowning at the screen. 

Nodding, he pulled out the hard drive their redheaded witch had given him for just the occasion. “Your girlfriend insisted it had a ‘plug and play’ feature, though I don’t understand what playing has to do with it,” he handed it to the witch, offering an encouraging smile. She just needed some gentle encouragement, and she’d be fine. He hoped. 

Plugging the device in, she sighed in relief as the doodad did its thing. 

 

WELCOME TARA. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO FIRST? 

 

The screen greeted her, renewing the young woman with motivation, and a speck more confidence than she had a moment prior. “Easy. Piece of cake,” she muttered, selecting features as they came up. 

 

> HACK INTO THE DESKTOP

> DOWNLOAD CONTENTS ‘RESIDENTS 1958-2002’

> DOWNLOAD CONTENTS ‘RESIDENTS 1900-1957’

> DOWNLOAD CONTENTS ‘RESIDENTS 1850-1899’

> DOWNLOAD CONTENTS ‘CEREMONY OF UNIFICATION’

> DOWNLOAD CONTENTS ‘FAVOURITE TAKEOUT SPOTS’

> DOWNLOAD CONTENTS ‘SUMMER OF 1969’

> DELETE ALL FILES

 

Shaking her head at some of the options, she chose to hack into the desktop, Willow no doubt spent hundreds of hours on the program without anyone knowing. She was good at that. The screen went momentarily black, before green symbols, numbers, and letters started up in the top left corner, decoding in real time, thank the Goddess. As it worked, she went through the desk drawers, rifling through the contents in search of anything incriminating. Mainly junk mail and letters the residents hadn’t known their family members sent them littered the top two drawers, but the bottom one held an incriminating bout of evidence that made her blood boil. “Uh... Giles? Th- this isn’t w- what I th- think it is, is it?” 

Turning from where he’d been rifling through the filing cabinet in the corner, he hastened his steps to her side, jaw tightening at the sight. Needles, syringes, and various chemicals strewn about, uncaring of any health and sanitation guidelines ever written. “Don’t touch anything. We have no way to know if any of those needles were used. My God, who stored them loose?”

“I- I’m more worried ab- about the green bottle.” Pavulon, the label clearly indicated. A paralytic, long since banned in the states, for its remarkable ability to kill more than it didn't. But just because it was banned, didn’t mean it was impossible to acquire it. Especially in the penal system, where she knew they used it for lethal injections. “Wh- what kind of sicko wo- would work for them? Willingly?”  

Shaking his head, he shut the drawer as the commuter beeped. “I ask myself the same question whenever I contemplate the scourge of human trafficking. Can you download all the files?”

Working swiftly, she did, her magical mentor rifling through the other cabinets in search of something, anything that could help them understand their motive operandi, and keep them from rising once more. Once downloaded, she unplugged the device, Giles taking up her six, and the pair meandered their way back to the barrier. 

“Here,” he insisted, shoving folders in her hands as he readied his crossbow, shooting a rogue vampire they didn’t expect, stopping it from making an appetiser from the woman. “Get back to the cars!”

Knowing he could handle himself, she knew better than to stick around, slipping out to do as told, before she could search for her compatriots. She’d gotten as far as the barrier, before a human caught her by the shoulders, trying to drag her to the rec hall. Throwing an elbow back, she managed to wriggle out of his grasp, and forced her legs to get her the hell out of there. She’d had enough training from Willow and Buffy - and the Y - to extract herself from him with minimal effort, running in confusing patterns to shake him and his buddies off her trail. Sliding into the building, she barely looked around until she ducked behind a large stack of wood. The sound of scuffed shoes on cement floors broke out, some men grunting our orders, before they all vamoused. 

Breathing sharply in to get some oxygen in her lungs, she coughed against the smoke from the fires. When no one else made a peep, she peered around the wood pile, checking to see if- oh! Thank the Goddess! No one was around. She was hiding in the factory, she presumed. The oil distillers were too big to be for anything else. Except maybe whiskey, but there was a serious lack of oak barrels, so no. And yet, there were a lot of them. I wonder…. 

Sneaking to the tiny office of the factory - a glorified shoe closet, truth be told - Tara rifled through the papers, carefully. There was no way to tell if someone would come in, and capture her again. Fingering a folder, she debated if she should open it. Curiosity got the better of her, flipping it open quickly, slapping it shut when she saw the diagram on the first page. The oils weren’t just to sell, they were how they planned to ‘relax’ their ‘offerings’ via injection. Oh, dear Goddess Vis, she heaved oxygen into her lungs. Give me the strength not to hurl. 

Shouting sounded outside the building, making her limbs work again. Sliding the folder off the desk, she slipped it into her hoodie, zipping it up to her chin. The other folders looked less important, mainly orders to some soap makers, and health & wellness shops in the area. The top drawer of the desk was locked. But having a morally dubious vampire for a friend meant picking a lock became a shared skill. As in, she made him teach her. What? She could be naughty sometimes, if it were for the greater good. Sending out a little prayer to her patron for forgiveness, she slipped off her bracelet and slid it open. The lock pick number had been an impulse buy - not something she’d ever thought she’d get herself - but came in handy a few times. Mainly, whenever she locked herself out of her dorm. Making quick work of the lock, she picked it open, staring at the contents in confusion. 

“Someone get this thing off me!” 

Startled at the voice outside, she grabbed the contents, shoving them in the bag from the waste paper basket, and headed out the back way. There was no guarantee for a door, but the window was just big enough for her to squeeze through, running back to the slit in the barrier. She was going to need to drop off the evidence, then try to round up a few stray cats, bring them back to town. She didn’t expect them all to survive, but the yowl of one as a human acolyte hitting it, before breaking its neck left her feeling sick. She really hated this place. 

Thankfully free of another attack, she broke through the barrier, to dump her findings into Giles’ convertible, the top already down. Except she couldn’t. Why wasn’t the barrier opening for he-? “Darn it!” The vial of powder she needed had fallen out of her pocket, on the other side of the barrier. “Great,” she sighed. “Should have sewn it into the hoodie.” If only the rest of the team was back already, they could leave. Make this place a distant nightmare. But she was outta luck there, the barrier refusing to give up the goat twice, keeping her trapped. “Oh, biscuits!” she huffed, pressing against the wall, trying desperately to find the tear. After a solid two minutes, she dropped the plastic bag of evidence by the hidden doorway, and snuck back to try and find Buffy. 

Thankfully, she could see the Slayer fairly clearly with her hair no longer bound, a blonde flag waving in the wind, as she stepped into the kitchen building. “Great,” she muttered, running behind the buildings as a demon scampered up on the roof of the tool shed, crying at the cat trying to climb after it. Otherwise, no one paid her a second of their time, all rushing out themselves. “E- even on a mission, I’m s- still gonna be in a kitch- kitchen.” 

Chapter 19

Summary:

What’s the best way to break out several hundred humans from a demon cult? That’s easy: with a little arson! Rec hall more like wrecked hall; emissaries die, portal to Gleethos gets closed, and it’s time to skedaddle

Warning: Fire, mention of needles, and an incredibly loooong chapter.
edited a spelling mistake

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Friday, September 27th, 2002 - Part C

Giles had quickly figured out who was in charge around this den of demonic drudgery, what with the colour coding with their uniforms going on. The reds were solely left up to the emissaries, oranges for the lower Gleeb demons, and radioactive yellow for the human acolytes. Buffy had already dispatched two emissaries, their dead bodies leaking dark green blood on the recreation hall floor. He slid on a wet patch as he entered, catching the emissary Rikmans off guard, snapping his neck with a quick twist of his head. “Really,” the Brit huffed, slipping his knife out to stab in the heart. “Perhaps the name tags were the opposite,” he grunted as the blade hit home, blood bubbling up to the surface as he twisted his wrist. “Of productive for you.”

Wiping the blood off on the demon’s tunic, he turned just in time to see the last emissary taunting their resident vampire. Lovely. If Spike died, their Slayer would have the Watcher's head mounted on the wall of her mother’s house. Bloody hell, he thought, trying to catch his breath as he was winded from his running. I’m getting to be too old for these- “Spike! Look out!”

Dodging the fist, the vampire rolled away, avoiding slicing himself on the remaining wakizashi he had in his hand, the other across the room, before standing. Stabbing at the demon, he scoffed as he missed, Spike huffing as he attempted again. “Stay still, you plonker!” He managed to swipe at the demon’s arm, slicing into the flesh, the sword grabbed from his grasp, and unceremoniously flung across the room. “Wanker!”

Gasping at the cut on his arm, Christopher raised a shaking hand at him, accusations sketched in his lopsided features. “Oh, you’re really gonna wish you hadn’t-” 

Spike had heard enough, leaping forwards with a roar, pouncing on the git. He was sick of this pillock taking up the time he was meant to be spending with his girl and their sisters. The bastard signed his own death warrant the second he got his hands on Joyce’s big sis, far as he was concerned. He crumbled under the vampire’s strength, putting up a fight, until the master vamp saw his opening. Grabbing a fallen knife off the janky wooden floor, he plunged it into the demon’s heart with a hard thrust, twisting the blade, as instructed. The blood that came to the surface was thick, a green so dark, it might as well have been black without the harsh lights above. It dribbled from Chris’ mouth, eyes, and ears. Slowly, as life ebbed from him, his nose fell off, showcasing the nothingness he had between mouth and eyes. “Huh. Nobody nose what you were gonna say next, huh pal?”

“Spike,” Giles warned halfheartedly. “Don’t antagonise the dead demon. It’s tacky.”

What was way to take the fun out of a rescue mission. Rolling his eyes, he peeled himself up and off the last emissary, his knife squelching as he pulled it free from the putrid flesh. Placing his boot on the demon’s jugular, he twisted, snapping the neck of their latest problem with great satisfaction. “Right. Four for four. Now what?” 

Giles shuffled around the table contents just below the stage, hand landing on a small remote. Spike furrowed his brows in confusion, the Watcher pressing a button while pointing the clicker around the room. A grating noise started, both Brits turning to face the horrendous beast being revealed to outsiders for the first time in millennia. “Oh, bloody hell,” Giles breathed. 

The garage door mechanism creaked upwards, as the curtains behind the stage swung away to show the pair exactly what the emissaries had in store for both humans and demons alike. A swirling vortex greeted them on the other side, and instead of some recreation equipment - since they were, ya know, in the rec hall! -like one might have expected, a mass of wriggling flesh larger than the door appeared to them, with a giant twitching eye in the middle. Giles had inadvertently introduced them to the beast in the portal. And it was disgusting, but the sound it emitted was even more bone chilling. “Close the bloody door!”

“Not until we get rid of the portal!”

Looking down at the demon corpse at his feet, Spike got a hell of an idea. “Help me with Chris’ legs.”

“What?!”

“Just do it!” 

“FINE!” Picking up the legs, he grunted under the surprising denseness of the rather thin demon. “Bloody hell, did he swallow a Buick?” But he kept grasp of the legs, the pair hobbling over to the entrance to another dimension, a lead cannon ball weighing in his stomach’s pit. If they couldn’t dispatch this egregious eyesore, they’d be in a fucking fiasco.   

With a big heave, they swung Christopher’s body through the portal, and into the giant beast’s eye. It let out a screeching, layered voice of a yell in agony when it made contact, squirming in a poor attempt to shuck the other demon off. 

“Close it!” Spike insisted, the entire compound shaking from the force of the scream. With a flicker of red, the portal started to collapse in on itself, the garage door sliding slowly shut. As the door made contact with the ground, the men let out a sigh of relief, only to jump back as a loud bang emanated from behind said door, leaving a dent in the aluminium. “You don’t hear that swirling anymore, yeah?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Right, then.” Sniffing, he pulled out a smoke, balancing it on his lips all casual-like. “Shall we join the ladies?”

Sighing, the other man rolled his shoulders. “We should make sure the-”

“I think it’s safe to say the beastie’s no more.”

“Other humans make it out safely,” he finished, irate. God, but the vampire was always interrupting him like he’d dust if he didn’t raise Rupert’s blood pressure! “But yes, the ladies. Blimey, my back’s shot. Think it’s time for a hot tub.”

Scoffing, Spike lit his smoke, leading the way out. “So long as I don’t have to carry you, Watcher. Vamp’s got limits.” 

 

---------

 

The ladies had found themselves in the kitchen, but not for snacking, nor food prepage. Katherine Richardson was grabbing a knife to protect herself against whatever was assaulting members, when her family entered the mess hall, looking for her. “Kathy?!” Joyce’s voice rang out, clear as a bell as she held up her own knife. She’d gotten nicked by a Gleeb demon, before a peaceful demon ran into it - possibly on purpose, possibly not - on its way out of the hellscape the compound was currently in a frenzy over. She’d deal with the minor scrape later. Now, she needed to find her sister. ASAP. “Kathy, where are you?!”

Buffy followed closely behind her mom, having dispatched two more demons and a vampire. “Aunt Kathy?” she called into the building. “We’re here for a jailbreak!”

A rustling noise alerted them to movement in the main part of the kitchen, the pair rushing in to catch the woman herself. “Aunt Kathy!”

“Joyce?” Kathy looked exactly how Kevin described. Her hair had been all but clean shaven past her ears, though her skin had a bit more colour than usual. Must have been all the extra time outside. “What are you doing here? Is that…? Buffy!” Recognizing the shorter blonde, she’d dropped the knife in an instant, heading to the younger woman in glee. Wrapping her arms around her niece, she could scarcely believe how much she’d grown. “You’re so tall! You’re already such a beautiful young woman.”

“Aunt Kathy,” Buffy breathed in her aunt’s smell, surprised to find lavender and roses, where she normally smelt mint and orange. Her aunt was very particular about her scented soaps, after all. “We’re here to rescue you.”

Kathy laughed hauntingly. “Rescue me? Why? From what? This is my home now,” she replied with her own mouth, yet her voice didn’t sound like her at all. It was still Kathy, but she had a fake air of contentment in her tone, like she’d been drugged, or brainwashed. “I’m happy here.” Somehow, the Summers women doubted the validity of that statement since, ya know, they were currently standing in a cult’s compound! 

Refusing to let her big sis become demon fodder, she grasped the woman’s bicep, yanking her to the exit. “It’s not safe. We gotta go.”

Which was pointless, because Kathy held fast. “No, I’m not going anywhere.” Yep. Even brainwashed, she was still stubborn to the bone.

Joyce tried to drag her again, her older sister refusing. “Kath, we don’t have time for this!”

Anger bloomed in the older woman, colouring her features in a shade Joyce had never seen before. It frightened her. “I said: I’m staying right here. Christopher said I’m special, and I have to fulfil my destiny.”

Okay. So she’d finally gone completely cuckoo-bananas. Great. Seeing she wasn’t getting anywhere, she decided on using the big guns: her daughter, the Slayer. “Carry her.”

Nodding, Buffy moved to sling her elder over her shoulder, the dark haired woman squirming away from them both. “But I’m a chosen one!” her aunt cried, unaware of the witch who’d slipped in, ready to help them back to the barrier. “She was taken from me! And Gleethos can send me back! Back so I can-”

“Listen to me,” Joyce shook her sister, patience running thin. “It was a demon, sis. I believe you, okay. Look at me. I believe you! A demon took her and now she’s gone. You buried her, and it hurts, but Gleethos can’t bring her back, and Christopher is dead. If you don’t want to be at my funeral next, get your rear in gear and let’s go!" 

 

          SLAP!

 

She shouldn’t have slapped Joyce, she knew that. She panted in shame, but she couldn’t listen to her sister’s words anymore, they just hurt too much. “I- I’m sorry. Bu- but-”

“Buffy?” Tara asked, handing the file over to her friend. “L- look, M-Miss Richardson. Th- this is what happens to his- to his victims. Th- this is why th- what they were p- planning for you.” 

Taking the folder with a crease of her brows, her stomach promptly bottomed out, eyes widening in horror at the diagram before her. “Dear God… No,” she choked, eyes transfixed to the eldritch abomination she was meant to be a victim to. How could Christopher lie to her? She trusted him! She helped do the books for the lavender and rose oils with him! They weren’t supposed to be injected into human subjects, totally not safe for sedation. How could he lie? How could he be a part of this? This- this was sick! Mary Shelley and H.G. Wells couldn’t have come up with a more sinister plot. Feeding their brain stems to a giant monster, injected with more than one drug, and the lavender- they’d be so obedient, so out of their own minds, they- they wouldn’t even know what was happening until it was too late to fight back. Oh, God. How could she have been so blind?! “No, it can’t be!”

“Then why’d they shave your head?” Joyce countered, desperate for her sister to see reason. To see the truth, no matter how painful it was. “For the harvesting, girl! We gotta get you and the others out of here. How many are there?”

“Staff or new recruits?” Kathy asked, eyes still transfixed on the horror before her, partially in shock. 

Taking it from her, her little sister, no longer so little, slapped the folder shut. “Humans.”

“Oh, at least two hundred.”

Joyce’s jaw dropped open, her heart collapsing to her diaphragm. “Crap. What do we do?”

200? Oh, boy. That was way more than any of them had anticipated, but cults seemed to move faster at recruitment than colleges did. Buffy blinked, eyes widening as a plan formed in her head. A plan that was probably of the bad, but would alert the neighbours, and the local EMS. “I need Spike and Giles. Hold on.” Without another word, she dashed away, running away from view. 

Which made about as much sense to the elder Richardson sister as a hamster powered computer. “A spike?” she asked in bewilderment. “What is a spike going to do?”

“N- no,” Tara replied, feeling a touch out of breath already. Boy, she really needed to go back to the campus gym to practise her cardio. Punching and kicking? No problem for her. Running? “That’s- tha- that’s Buffy’s boyfriend.”

“The artist?” Kathy turned to her sister, face contorted in confusion. “I thought you said she was dating William?”

“Spike’s his artist handle,” Joyce breezed by with her response, a little too casually. “He does postmodern work.” She was starting to worry that her lies were getting a little too good. So good that if she was Catholic, she’d be visiting confession twice a day. If churches did confessions twice a day. She wouldn’t know, on account that she hadn’t been to a church in years. Not that she was gonna start now. “Needs a catchy name, you know?”

“And all the other ones were taken?” Joyce shrugged at her sister’s question, knowing full well she couldn’t answer that. “What are an artist and a librarian going to have that we don’t?” 

“For one thing?” Tara asked, trying for a joke. “British accents.”

Leading them back to the entrance, the witch felt her whole body start to protest, her leg cramping painfully as if she’d whacked it into an excavator- repeatedly. “Stop,” Joyce insisted, pulling them both to the side. “You can’t run on this leg.”

“We- we need to get out of here,” Tara insisted back, desperate for this to all be a distant nightmare. One she could hopefully forget, given enough time. “We n- need to- Kathy, NO!” 

Frozen in place, the pair couldn’t move fast enough when the demon caught the older woman, grasping her waist painfully as she attempted to run, trying to free a kitten from the clutches of another demon, and dragged her around the side of the rec hall, the pair disappearing from view faster than a person could sneeze. “Crap!”

 

----------

 

“You do not turn your back on Gleethos!” The Watcher was too far away when he heard the battle cry, turning just in time to see a horned demon throw Katherine down, then slap in the face. Hard. So hard, in fact, that he was sure the sound echoed in the large expanse of the barn. 

A flurry of movement from his left was all the alert he’d gotten, before the figure leaped onto the attacker, ripping him off the woman. A punch of fist on face was followed by a scream of anguish, as Spike reared his head back in agony, hands to his temples. “Bloody hell!” He scarpered off the human, shaking his leg out from where he’d stepped on it wrong when he stood. “You’ve got to be the worst bloody Doug Jones impersonator in California!” Leaning over, he pulled on the faux face of the recently revealed human, presenting a mask to his audience. “Ain’t that a boot to the bollocks.”

Kathy looked from the mask to the blond’s own obviously demonic face, startling. “You- you’re a- oh, boy. Uh… listen, um…?”

Oh, bollocks. What a way to greet your girlfriend’s extended family, eh? Spike shook his face back to his human guise, hiding away the demon. “Spike- Will.” Abruptly, he looked away from her, eyes fixed to the ceiling above their heads. “I’m with-”

“Oh! You’re my niece’s boyfriend!” she exclaimed, looking down at herself, and finding out why he’d looked away- and why her breast was so cold. Yanking the material up to cover herself, she felt foolish for not noticing that the human masquerading as a demon had ripped her dress, right down the middle, when he’d been ripped off of her. No one wore bras in the compound, because- because- oh, God! She’d just met her niece’s boyfriend with her breast in the breeze! Tatas on display! Boobies bobbing around! Oh, no! She was never living this down. “Oh, my God!” She spun around, embarrassment filling her face with a flush as she quickly attempted to make herself decent. 

“Here,” he said, and she felt the slide of leather onto her shoulder, looking over it to see him still politely averting his eyes. Looking down, she realized he was giving her the duster to wear so she’d be covered, relief flooding her whole body at the gesture. Slipping her arms into the sleeves quickly, she buttoned up the front buttons to hide herself. Sighing in relief, he stepped back to give her some room. “Good?”

Kathy nodded, finally turning around. “Good. Okay, we have to go this way,” she pointed back from whence they came. “So we can get to the girls. Buffy says she has a plan.”

A man she hadn’t noticed before jogged up to them, a bit out of breath. “And what… is that, exactly?”

Wait. Buffy's friend said something about British accents, and this man had one… “Are you…?”

“Rupert Giles,” he answered, shaking her hand. “Pleasure to meet you. Uh, despite the circumstances, of course.”

Spike huffed. “Oh, for the love of- we have to go!” Catching Kathy’s shocked expression, he added, “Ma’am. Please. What’s the plan?”

“Oh! Uh, she said she needed your lighter,” the woman replied, leading them to the kitchens. “For what she called ‘Bananack 2.0’?”

Raising his eyes heavenwards, Giles groaned. “You’ve turned her into a pyromaniac.”

Scoffing back, the other Brit led them away from the chaos of cats, scooping one up to give to Kathy to hold, as if this was a what they did every other week. “Hey, she came up with that first plan way before I ever held a lighter out to her!” he insisted, dodging a swing from a human, Giles smacking the shaved man in the chest as he went, finding the shovel rather useful after all. “If anything, this is your influence, Ripper. Not mine.”

Kathy wanted to ask what a ripper had anything to do with it, but decided it was best not to poke the bear when it came to father and son spats. At least, she thought they might be related. They sure fought like they were as they all rushed to find the rest of their team. Rounding the corner of the kitchen building, they found the three gals they were looking for holding cans and jugs of vegetable oil, lavender oil, and kerosene. “Oh, good,” Joyce huffed, lifting the oil into her arms, the kitten in Kathy’s arms wiggling away, before running for the laundry. “I thought I heard some British arguing heading this way. Here,” she gestured to the others, then the cans with her head. “Kath, grab the other oil, and follow me.”

“B- but… arson? You want me to commit arson?”

“Y- you could come with me to the cars instead?” Tara offered. 

“No. If Joy’s gonna commit a crime,” she resigned herself to a life on the lam, if things went pear shaped. “I might as well go with her. She’d never survive prison.”

“I dunno,” Joyce casually shrugged, uncapping the oil to start dousing the woodpile in front of her. “Spike taught me how to make a shiv, so I think I’d last at least a week.”

Buffy nearly throttled her boyfriend where he stood at the words. “You what?!”

“Kidding!” Her mom stuck her tongue out at her daughter as she ran to the main office, letting oil connect in a stream as she did, her sister following her with a shake of her own shaven head. 

Sighing, Spike picked up the kerosene to douse the other side of the compound. “That woman’s bloody lucky my heart doesn’t beat, the way she’s giving me a coronary. Come on, Glinda,” he gestured. “Let’s get the rec hall, you two-”

“We’ll get the rest,” Buffy finished for him. “It is my plan, dummy.”

“Mmm, love the pet names you give me, sweetheart.” 

Rolling her eyes fondly at her precocious boyfriend, she added, “don’t die,” before she and Giles headed for the piles of wood interspersed on the property. They’d hit the rec hall, kitchen, and barn, but the factory and office were to be left alone. When the police got here, they’d need those places to dig out the evidence they needed for the human victims kept here to get any semblance of justice. Giles said he’d found the deed to at least eight houses in the files, and Tara had found countless letters from family members the residents never got, effectively isolating and using them however the emissaries felt suit. Besides, if they lit up the factory, they’d end up less burnt marshmallow, and more pink mist. And no one wanted that. 

“This oil does smell rather lovely,” Giles huffed almost sadly, dousing the poor herb garden in the aforementioned lavender oil, as Buffy fought another Gleeb demon trying to make mincemeat of her Watcher. “Shame we have to burn it.”

Wrenching the beast’s head to the side, she grunted in pain, the Gleeb-dweeb landing a punch to her boob before it had the decency to die. Ow! she thought. That’s gonna be purple by the time we get home. “Yeah, well. I’m fresh outta tupperware, so… duck!” Ducking on instinct, Giles just barely missed the human acolyte’s knife thrown at him, the blade wedging itself into a wooden pole just a mere foot away. Ripping it free, Buffy threw it back with half the effort, the acolyte’s robes getting pinned to the side of a tool shed right behind him. Bingo! Struggling, he was stuck, the Slayer advancing on him. “We’re trying to save your life, you idiot! Don’t you know your brain stem’s on tomorrow’s menu for the great, wriggling eyeball?”

“Gleethos will save us!”

“Gleethos couldn’t save a buck-fifty at the Korger check out line,” she tutted back. “What happens after the ascension anyway, huh? What happens to this place? To your weirdo, half in the industrial revolution, half little house on the cabbage patch digs? Does it come with you?”

Blinking in confusion, the man didn’t have an answer for her, which was just as well, what with the pandemonium around them. Cats had scratched up the remaining Gleeb demons, making them easy pickings. The humans had half fled to the cabins past the cabbages, the other half either fighting their rescuers, or fleeing the compound out the front. Leaving him to ponder his life, Slayer and Watcher continued their dousing, heading to the barrier with purpose. 

-----------

Exhausted, Tara had dumped the contents of her can into the rec hall, the barn already free of the animals, Spike herding them to the cabbages with his game face. It worked surprisingly well, and the witch belatedly thought that it would make a heck of a plot point in a musical. A vampire version of the pied piper, but for cows and goats and sheep and- where was Joyce? She had gotten to the barrier, but she couldn’t find her. Or Kathy. But….

The barrier! It was gone! Gleethos’ portal must have been tied to it, she mused, scooping up the evidence they’d gathered, dumping it into the open top of Giles’ red convertible. Looking around, she scooped up a few kitties and popped them in there too, before seeing Joyce’s curls heading back into the compound. Oh, man! I really should have gone to the gym this week. Spike always said I shouldn’t skip the cardio, but- “Gah!” Dodging a human with a shovel trying to turn her face into a flapjack, she punched his knee as she fell forwards. It knocked the young man back, stumbling onto a pile of wood with a thud. Wincing as she stood, she hissed at how he’d landed. He wasn’t unconscious, but he definitely wasn’t getting back up anytime soon. “Sorry, I think.” Her body ached, but she followed the woman to the office, only to realise that wasn’t Joyce. The woman felt familiar to her, like Mrs. Summers, but… it couldn’t be her. This woman’s curls were mostly grey, with a bit of… was that pink?

Kathy stopped her, dragging her to the laundry, jolting Tara from her thoughts. When she looked back, the mystery woman had vanished. Huh. Maybe she wasn’t getting nearly enough sleep as she should’ve if she was hallucinating random Summers women. Shaking her head, the pair ducked into the building, the older woman grabbing clothes at random from the lost and found, dressing herself. Taking the duster off, she handed it to the young witch to hold. “I’m a little surprised Buffy’s dating a punk, to be honest,” she said to Tara’s turned back. She hopped into the borrowed sweatpants as she put them on, wincing at the feel of the pilled fabric on the inside of her thighs. Boy, she was both way too old and way too young to be dressing like this, but at least she wasn’t nude. “I have a feeling there’s more to the story there.”

You don’t know the half of it, Tara hummed, touching the soft leather absently. A clink of something alerted her to check out the left outside pocket, finding his keys on a plain keyring. “Huh. He left his keys here.”

“We should head to the cars, get them ready,” Joyce answered, popping her head in the doorway to see them. “Come on, let’s go. Tara, you get Dessie ready, I got the BMW.”

“Dessie?!” 

“Spike drives a DeSoto,” Tara explained, scooping up an errant cat that had been heading for them. She tucked it into the relative safety of her hoodie, and kept running despite the intense burning of her calf, along with her knuckles. “Buffy na… named it.” Kathy let out a surprised laugh at the information, following them as they ducked behind a horse trough, hiding from an approaching senior manager. A yowling from the opposite direction drew him away a second later, and the trio of women took their chance for the cars. The young witch fumbled with the keys, trying to unlock the vintage beast without damaging the paint. He’d cause a big ole stink if she did. The feline stuck to her side wriggled out, running to jump into the red convertible behind her, giving her time to unlock the car she needed. Turning around, she noticed it was just her, Joyce, and Mister Kitty left. “Where’s Kathy?”

Blinking in confusion, Joyce suddenly looked around frantically, trying to find her sister. “Oh, for fu- she went back!”

“WHAT?!”

The matriarch motioned back towards the barn, where a demon grabbed the oldest Richardson girl, and was manhandling their rescued victim seconds later. She’d snuck away to grab something she’d forgotten, no doubt, and hadn’t seen him turn the corner. Joyce debated between staying with Tara or grabbing her sister, when they saw Spike running towards them from the opposite side. “No!” She gestured to the side where she’d seen the demon grab her sister, hoping to get her friend’s attention in time. “Demon grabbed Kathy!”

Vamping out, he changed directions without a second of hesitation, running as fast as he could to the barn - practically becoming a blur - the two watching with bated breath for as long as the crickets took to sing them a little tune of foreboding, before the back of the barn they were staring at cracked. With another hard hit, the demon flew out of the now rather jagged looking exit their vampire had made, deceased and de-headed. Sighing in relief, Joyce slipped into the front seat of the red sedan, sticking the key into the ignition. She sure as shit wasn’t going to be going to any other ranch or farm anytime soon. No thank you! 

----------

Emissaries dead, human victims scattering to the front exit, Buffy started setting the less incriminating buildings on fire. She’d just finished with the tool shed when she heard a commotion at the barn. Running towards it, she nearly got bowled over by an escaping goat that hadn’t been deterred by her vamp in the initial clear out. Holding onto the water trough nearby for stability, she straightened herself out as Mr. Goaty ran to the relatively freedom of the main road. Looking around, the fires burned hot and bright, the oil spreading its way rapidly, a feared memory keeping her rooted to the ground. She hadn’t seen much fire since that night. Her mom put one in the hearth in the winter, to let the girls pretend they were in the middle of a snowfall on Christmas, and Spike took her to a bonfire on the beach this summer, but those were small. Mini baby fires. Contained and easily extinguishable. The small fires around her had quickly turned into a raging inferno, connecting from building to building via the dead grass around her. In her head, she could see a hulking spider heading straight for her, could almost hear the cackling laughter of the hell god who’d nearly destroyed them all. And for the first time in a long time, she couldn’t move. Fear gripped her heart with its smouldering pokers, trying to cook her from the inside out.

Spike’s scream was familiar, and it sent a shiver up her spine, breaking the hold the memory had on her. “No.” She knew that pained yell; had caused it herself once before. Buffy sprinted like a shot around the corner, heart in her throat at the scene before her. One of Christopher’s assistants had seized a loose board on fire, managing to light Spike’s shoulder. In an act of desperation, she ran full tilt at her man, shoving him into the pond behind him. Plunged in the cold depths, the world above muffled for a split second. Would have been calming if she didn’t still get those pesky drowning nightmares and all. Breaking the chilly surface for air, she flailed around for his body. “Spike?” But she couldn’t find him. “Baby? Spike? Spike?! Spi- Oh, thank God!”  

Next to her, he broke the surface not a moment too soon, sputtering duckweed and water from his mouth. “Plah! That’s rank!” The next sound forced from his throat was a hiss of pain as Buffy gripped him tightly to her. “Ah! That smarts!”

“Sorry! Sorry. I thought I lost you!” Relief strumming through her body - one (1) boyfriend accounted for, undusted - and grabbed his head, kissing his mouth with passion. And then immediately pulled back when she remembered that ‘rank’ was British for ‘grody’, which was exactly what murky pond water tasted like. “Yeuch! No kidding.” Turning her head, she watched as the fire keeper who’d smacked Spike was now trying to throw down with her Watcher. Didn’t these baddies ever learn not to mess with her family? Well; this one was sure about to get reeducated on the subject, alright. “You good to-?”

“Go. I got your auntie.” 

And off they went. Years of fighting side by side created a fantastic shorthand between the two of them. Running with fully wet clothing was way of the unfun. Running while wearing a soaking wet, linen, cult-y dress, made of fabric that was thicker than her couch fabric was a nightmare. Still, the Slayer pushed her muscles as hard as possible, every joint aching as she leaped over the wood pile between her and her foe, landing on the thirty year old with a wet plop. Her fist raised, slamming it down with all her fury as she cuffed him in the cheek. “That’s for hurting my Watcher. And that’s,” another jab to the opposite cheek. “For my boyfriend!” Climbing off him, the man already unconscious from her hits, she grabbed Giles by the sleeve and pulled him onto his feet. “Where’s Tara?”

The mentor looked back at the unconscious assailant, struggling out of her grasp to rifle through the man’s pockets. “She’s by the cars with your mother. Hold on, I saw him put… something… aha!” His fingers curled around something smooth and cold, pulling it out before holding it up to the light. Metal, small, it twinkled in the dancing light of the fires. “Huh. Well, I think it's-”

Sirens filled the air with sharp wails of the water truck cries. “Time to go,” Buffy finished for him, grabbing his sleeve and tugging once more. “Giles, come on! Time to make like a banana and get outta here, before the cops haul us off to the big house! Cuz us and prison? Way with the un-mixy.”

At the mention of prison, Giles snapped back to himself, standing upright. “Yes,” he agreed as he pocketed the item quickly, readjusting his grip on the books he’d stolen. “Time to go.”

They didn’t stop running until they reached the cars, Giles panting so hard that he made Joyce drive his car, a few cats chilling in the back with Kathy happily. Peeling out of the back road like a pair of bats out of hell, the DeSotto and Giles’ red convertible sailed out into the night, Sunnydale bound. It wasn’t until they couldn’t see the amber glow of the compound burning down behind them, that Buffy remembered why she was soaked in the first place. “Spike. Pull over. Tara?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to look at his shoulder.” She glared at her boyfriend until he relented, noting he’d already gotten his coat back, and had slipped it on as soon as he got in the car. Typical. Knowing him, he slipped it on to hide the possible injury from her the way he had when Rex went all chomp-city in the spring. “Here, let me help.” Her motions were gentle, trying to limit hurting him anymore than he already was. They had a tough life, didn’t mean she had to pile on if she could help it.

Pulling the duster off successfully, he involuntarily winced in pain. He felt her eyes narrowing where they bore into him, and braced himself for the inevitable speech. She always had a nagging ‘you need to be careful’ speech, his Slayer did. “It’s not that bad, pet. Don’t need the fussin’.”

“Too bad, you get it anyway!” Going to pull the t-shirt off his shoulder, she felt it disintegrate in her hands. The overshirt was toast. He’d already ripped it off him when he was getting out of the water, obviously throwing the coat on over once he got to the car, just to hide his injuries from Buffy. She winced in sympathy at the burn, her memory of the last time he’d been on fire burned into her cortex. “How bad does it hurt?” He shrugged the opposite shoulder, telling her it was bad, but not ‘Rex chomping out a chunk of flesh’ bad.

Tara came around to Buffy’s seat, the women switching spots in moments. Having a resident herbalist as a Scooby came in handy on the move. Laying a towel on the seat before Buffy’s arrival, it soaked up most of the pond water, thankfully. Kicking it onto the floor mat, she knelt on the damp leather, inspecting his wound with the overhead light, case of herbs and such on the mat next to the towel. Nodding, she instinctually pulled the necessary ingredients out, whipping up an ointment for his charred flesh in a spare paper cup, before setting it in his hands, and pulling out some paper towels. “I think this should help with the pain. B- but we’re gonna need a butcher for some blood,” she added, dabbing away excess murky water from his exposed skin. 

“Shame we didn’t pack any,” he grumbled, trying not to move his face as she dabbed the pleasant smelling mixture. The stinging was like getting slapped with a cricket bat, but he knew the numbing effect would take hold soon enough. It had when his opposite shoulder had been Dino fodder in the spring. “That lavender I smell?”

“Hmm? Oh, maybe,” she hummed as she applied the paste. It was thick, but she could tell it was already being absorbed into the skin. He wasn’t healing yet, but she could already see the poultice working, adding moisture back into the charred flesh. As the stinging turned to cooling, the clench of his muscles predictably loosened. “Not in the cream. I- I may have run through a field of them.”

“Oh, I saw that!” Buffy exclaimed, changing out of her wet clothes for the dry spares she kept in the trunk. “Boy, if they weren’t evil, that would sure be a nice place to visit.”

As the potion did its magic, Spike felt the pain ebb from his body, thanking his bloody stars that he had a healer in the backseat. Her herbology stores had overflowed since Glory, her single focus that summer on reading every book on the subject she could find. Since her hand healed, she’d become their on-site healer. She now carried a wooden portable apothecary case - a gift from Giles on his ‘terribly sorry for suggesting we kill Dawn to stop Glory’ apology tour - tending to injuries when everything went sideways. Anya was a big help in resourcing materials for the case. The witchy materials, in any case. The more medical grade stuff was all Tara. She had a few basic suture kits - though she left the sewing of flesh to others - gauze, gloves, and all the other first aid kit necessities. Woman wasn’t built to be a paramedic, but her gentle touched had definitely been welcome a time or two thus far. Once thoroughly slathered, she placed a big swath of gauze, taping it in place, and adding extra where the skin was most damp. “There. Should hold till we get home. But leave the c- coat off or it’ll hurt when you take it off later.”

“Great. Thanks, ducks.” 

Nodding, she slipped out with a smile, dragging her case back to the backseat. Buffy thanked her before sliding back in, and gripping his hand. “Better?” 

He leaned in for a quick kiss before Tara shut her door behind her. “Much. Alright ladies, let’s get some burgers and B+.”

---------

“Wow,” Kathy said, staring up at the house before her, disjointed from seeing it in person for the first time. She’d seen pictures of it in the past, sure, but that wasn’t the same. And this was truly a testament to her kid sister’s hard work. The house looked great, well maintained, the manicured lawn complete with the flower beds in front of the porch, everything exactly as her Joy liked it. “That tree’s bigger than I thought it’d be.”

Joyce chuckled, guiding her sister inside. “Yeah, well. It’s a miracle it survived all the cigarette butts Spike littered at its roots all these years. Least he uses an ashtray now.”

“I just don’t understand how you can allow your daughter to date a man who smokes. Especially after your cancer treatment! How’s she gonna feel when he drops stiff from lung cancer?”

Joyce wrinkled her brow, stopping just at the front steps. “Spike… William, he’s.. different than other men.”

“Yeah, I noticed. His car’s vintage and he dresses like Billy Idol, so?”

“Remember demons?” Her sister scoffed as if she were insulted, but Joyce ignored her and continued. “Well, see? vampires exist too, and some of them are even helpful, and-”

“Joyce,” Kathy sighed. Stopping on the main part of the porch, she fixed her sister with a dry expression. “I know he’s a vampire. It was pretty obvious when he shifted right in front of me.”

“Oh. You know about vampires?” 

“Of course! I’ve been living on that compound for two months. I’ve met several vampires.”

That… That was said way too casually for the blonde sister’s liking. Like, way way too casually. “Oh. Wow. Okay, you’re taking this well, Buffy dating a vampire and all.”

Kathy shrugged, not knowing what else her sister expected her to say. “Well, Rupert told me about his chip, when it fired in the barn, so I know he can’t hurt any of you,” she continued. “And the blood thing is disgusting, but Rupert said he sticks to animal blood, because Buffy would end it if he snacked on people.” Well, this was going better than the middle Richardson girl could have ever hoped for. Telling Arlene was still a no-go though. She nearly fainted when Joyce left with that rifle the last time she was over. Telling her about demons and vampires and Slayers, oh my? Yeah… pass. “Besides, you said they work well together, and that he helped you after your aneurysm.”

“Risked his life to save mine, big sis. Quite literally. He almost burst into flames in the sun on the drive from here to the hospital.”

“So he can’t be all bad,” Kathy continued. “Besides,” she added. “Buffy seems happier. I remember the call the day after Valentine’s, told me about the poem he wrote for her, and I could hear the love in her happy sighs. Romance is hard enough for regular humans,” she reasoned sadly, “can’t imagine how hard it is for her. What did you say she was called again?”

“The Vampire Slayer.” Once upon a time, she’d have whispered it as if it were a shameful secret. But now, coming home with her big sister, the older woman finally able to live her life on her own terms because of her eldest daughter, she said it with a point of pride.

“Wow. Big title. And dating a vampire isn’t easy when you’re a slayer, I bet.”

“No, it is not. At least this one can cook.”

“I can’t wait to try- what do you mean this one?”

----------

They hadn’t beat her mom and Kathy to the house, but that was alright. After burgers and the butchers, they’d dropped Tara off at her dorm, before heading back home. Kissing him quickly and passionately, she slipped out of the car, and dragged her sore body upstairs for a long, hot shower. One that she enjoyed every single delicious moment of, thank you very much. Yucky pond water and farmyard related smoke were way unmixy. Finally clean, Buffy got herself dressed in her second comfiest pair of PJs, and headed downstairs to check in on her aunt, who was in the middle of retelling her grandiose adventure to the two extremely impressionable teenagers on the couch. 

“But why all the cabbages?” Charlotte asked, confused where she sat next to Dawn, clutching the pillow to her chest. “Was there a sauerkraut demon?”

Kathy laughed, genuinely surprised about the earnest question from the quizzical girl. While they’d gotten the eldest Richardson girl out of the cult, no one really had a plan for what would come after. So while Spike showered, the sisters had spoken about it briefly, Katherine making the decision to go surprise Arlene with her ‘new look’, which Joyce immediately nixed. Back and forth, the family members debated on not only what Kathy’s next steps could be, but also about what they’d tell others. Kevin already knew about the cult, so that was one person done. Sorta. Poor Kevin.  He may have been an ass to her outright, but Kath didn’t find what Chris did to him anything to scoff at either. It wasn’t just the attempt on her ex husband's life; all her belongings that weren’t at the ranch were there, including every trace of Celia. Add to that, she’d been gone from the ‘real world’ for twelve years. Doped up on drugs she didn’t need, stuck in a facility that had more health code violations than it didn’t. Her business? Gone. Her resume? Yikes. She’d need somewhere to live, to work, to make up for all that lost time. 

“Is Rupert single? I didn’t see a ring.” Which apparently started with getting back on a very specific horse. 

“NO!” The chorus rang out in the house, everyone but Lottie practically shouting it to Disneyland. 

Kathy sat back in the armchair, blinking in confusion as the sky behind the curtains started to lighten. “No he’s not single, or no I can’t date him?” 

“Just, a big world of the no,” Buffy said, shaking her head. “He’s my Watcher. It’d be like, against the rules.”

“Says the slayer dating a vampire,” Kathy countered, the same Richardson Girl grit that Joyce had in spades, even her eyebrows cocked in the exact copy of her younger sister. “Pot, meet kettle.”

“Oh, God,” Spike groaned, leaning his head into Buffy’s shoulder in frustration, the pair standing by the double doors. “Not another one.”

But his lady just laughed in response, petting the top of his head in comfort. “It’s not that bad, till you get the youngest Richardson sister in the room. Then it’s a trio of disasterage.”

“Like a bar brawl without the physical damage,” Dawn agreed, nodding. “One time, Aunt Arlene dared mom to eat an entire jar of pickles in one sitting, but spiked the jar with mint vodka so they were inedible.”

“And she ate them anyway,” their aunt finished. Joyce smacked her sister’s arm, annoyed at the secrets being spilled without her say-so. “What? You really didn’t have to eat them!”

“A bet is a bet!” Joyce countered. “Richardson women don’t back down in a fight,” she pulled back her hair on either side, showing off her scars to her sister. “No matter who or what’s gunning for them. Polgara demon or pituitary tumour or pickle jar from hell.”

Charlotte snorted, covering her mouth in apology. “I bet that would sell rather well in the Russian markets. Or, to tourists who think that was what Russians ate, in any case.”

Kathy nodded, chuckling at the girl’s suggestion. “So, that’s my crazy ride. How about you, Charlotte? What was your first clue that things weren’t all mortal on the mortal coil?”

The girl grimaced, remembering her encounter with her brother’s shifted face, before an earlier one popped up. “Here in Sunnydale, at the new high school. I fell through a hole in the floor in the girl’s bathroom, had to run from ghosts who could punch. Manifest vengeance spirits, or some such. It’s how I met Dawn.” The other girl grinned from ear to ear, reminding the Victorian that even good could come from strange on the HellMouth. “She called Buffy, and together we defeated them. Well, not so much from me, as I was terrified out of my mind, but I’m much better at fighting now!”

Kathy grinned, leaning to one side, as adults who were encouraging young kids to discuss their passions often did. She’d missed it, being around younger people. The mom in her still secretly yearned for it. “Is that so? Have you been training at the YMCA?”

Lottie wrinkled her brows. “I don’t know what that means, but Buffy has been training with me twice a week. I’m not very good with a stake, but I can block a punch much better now.”

“You punched her in the face?!” Spike turned to look at his lady love heavily.

Who simply rolled her eyes. “We sparred and she was in the Puffy suit. No damage to her face, see? Which, I might add, should be in bed by now, along with,” she motioned to her own sister. “That face over there.”

“Ugh! Fine!” Dawn stretched as she stood, shaking a little as a shiver ran through her. “Come on, Lottie. Let’s go count some sheep.”

“But we haven’t yet told them of-”

“Tomorrow.”

“Told us what?”

Grinning, the teens shared a secret look. “Oh, nothing,” Dawn waved off. “Guess you’ll have to wait for the news tomorrow.”

Joyce was suddenly on red alert, her exhaustion a mist of the past. Willow had been watching them, and…. Oh, God! “What news” she demanded, her head going to a bunch of different places, and none of them were good. “What happened?!”

“I’m sure the engagement will keep for a few more hou- ow!” Charlotte yelped where her friend had elbowed her. “Dawn!”

“Engagement?” the Slayer asked, suddenly not nearly as tired as she’d been a second either. “What enga- mom?!”

Eyes wider than saucers, Joyce threw up her hands. “Woah! Don’t look at me! I don’t know about any engagement.” 

Buffy watched as the teenagers ran upstairs, already claiming Buffy and Spike’s bed for the night, leaving Kathy with Dawn’s bed, and Joyce in her own. Technically, Lottie intended to make Buffy sleep in the brunette’s bed, and the Richardson girls in the big bed, to ‘protect Buffy’s virtue’. But neither Slayer nor vamp could sleep the fast approaching Sunday morning away without the other. So once everyone else headed to bed, she turned to her lover determinedly.

“Come on, Bunbury, let’s go to bed.”

He rubbed her back, knowing she took on a heavy demon, and would no doubt need a massage come noon. Which he’d more than happily oblige her with. Except… “Pidge is in our bed with Dawn.”

“There’s always the basement,” she offered, pulling him along. 

“Alright, alright,” he teased, following her down with a grin. “I guess I could be convinced.”

Once down the stairs, she pushed him up against the dryer, kissing him soundly. “You fought well, Bunbury.” She gripped the hem of his shirt with both hands, ripping it in two, since it was already heading for the trash and all.  

He panted, still keyed up from after their battle. If Tara hadn’t been in the backseat, he would have gotten his lady love to ride him in the Burger Boy parking lot. Behind the building, of course. “Mmmm, magnificent as always yourself, luv.” He whined as she scraped her nails into his treasure trail seconds later, weak when it came to the way she touched him. No one could make him feel the way his lady could with her very touch. “Buffy, please.” 

“Lay on your tummy,” she purred, holding up the jar of burn balm Tara gave them in one hand, and body lotion in the other. “I’ll take care of you.” 

Eyes going soft and hooded, he sighed in pleasure at the picture she painted in his mind’s eye. He didn’t need to moisturise, but it was a blessing to have her hot little hands work the knots in his spine with devotion. He never felt so loved as he did when she took care of him in this way. Not even Dru had bothered with anything close to first aid after he’d nearly dusted in that church all those years ago. Buffy hadn’t just tried to yank him outta that pond, she saw fire, and didn’t even think. Just dunked him under, extinguishing the flames, taking pond water with her. Now, she was planning on rubbing him down, including polticing up his already healing shoulder. All because she loved him. “Luckiest bloke in all of California.”

“Just California?” she countered, cocky grin well earned on her lips. 

“The census only goes so far’s our border,” he winked before laying on the bed as she asked. “But I wager there ain’t none luckier than I am, whenever you’re with me.”

She grinned her response, practically preening under his praise, climbing to straddle him. “Nice save. Love you.”

“Christ, I love you too.” I’ll never not love you, he thought. As she started on his lower back, he sighed another heavy breath of relief. I’d move heaven and earth to make you the longest living slayer ever. Till I dust at the end of the world, you in my arms. It was the last coherent thought he had, as the sun rose above Revello Drive. 

Notes:

Edited July 10th, 2025 for errors and readability

Chapter 20

Summary:

Charlotte heads to the chess regional championships with Joyce, Dawn and Kit cuz her guardians are negligent AF. Again.

Chapter Text

Monday, September 30th 2002

 

It had been over fifteen years since she shared a bed with Kathy, which was probably why Joyce had forgotten how awful it was sleeping next to the other woman. Twisting and turning in the night, hands and feet twitching in restless repose. No less than twice had her older sister kicked her, and thrice slapped her neck or face that Sunday night. By 3:18 AM early Monday morning, she’d left the bed, huffing, hoping to catch some zzz’s on the couch. 

Her flight’s tomorrow, she reminded herself, sighing as she descended the stairs with her pillow. She’d get herself some of the sleeping tea Tara had gifted her, after the last calamity their group had faced. A big mug. Maybe the size of her face. Yeah, that should send her to snoozeville. And Mattie’s never really spent any time with her, so they’ll have a good time. Arlene and Dave have more space, it’ll be fine, I don’t mind the couch for a bit lo-

Pausing in the middle of the staircase, she tilted her head at the light shining through the dining room door. She was almost 98% sure she heard Buffy’s blankets rustling in the room she shared with Spike when she passed, and Dawn was definitely doing her little chipmunk snores. Quieting her steps, she got to the main level, placing her pillow down on the last step carefully, and picking up a cheap golf club where she kept it in the umbrella stand by the door, she hesitantly opened it, only to sigh in relief. 

“Lo, Joyce,” Spike greeted her without looking up from the table. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Joyce looked at him and knew, just knew he was heading for another spinning vortex of crap. The sheer amount of research on her table spoke volumes to that. She sighed, cracking her neck, resting the club against the wall. “What’s the monster you’re hunting now?”

Glancing up at her, she saw the telltale signs of mental exhaustion in his eyes. “Hmm?” He’d been like that often since finding out about Lottie’s sitch. She couldn’t even fathom the mental distress over that. 

She gestured to his books spread open, walking closer to his seat. Her brow furrowed on the map, where he had some things marked in red sharpie. “Is it a travelling demon? Or are you planning to whisk my eldest on a trip somewhere special?”

Spike looked down, eyes haggard. “I uh… I actually have a favour to ask of you.”

“That so?” She sat at the head of the table, Buffy’s empty seat between them, pulling the closest paper towards her. “Chess tournament?” The bold lettering in the poster showcased the event in just a few day’s time. Whatever he was planning, he sure was cutting it close. “You don’t need me to practise a game with you? Cuz Buffy gets her skill at playing chess from me. As in, neither of us can play it.”

He answered with a tired smile, capping the marker, and tossing it to the table. “Nah, best you and I stick to gin rummy and euchre.” The smile turned to a frown. “No, it’s- it’s Charlotte’s. She- she made it to the semi-finals, but it’s in the middle of the day,” he gestured to the flyer, and she noticed all the rest of the papers spread out on the dining room table, all indicating the plannings of such a trip. 

“And it’s in San Diego. Want me to drive you two?” she offered. “You could hide in the back with the blanket over your head till we… no?”

He was shaking his head, looking down at the papers, avoiding her gaze. “Can’t go. Tourney’s in the Sails Pavilion at the San Diego convention centre. It’s all-”

“Windows,” she finished for him. His responding nod was serious, resolute. His eyes turned to hers. “You can’t go. You’ll turn to dust. So, the favour?”

He nodded. “Could- I know you might have plans, but if you- bollocks .” 

“Just ask, Spike.”

“Could you and Dawn go with her?”

Leaning back in her chair, she regarded the vampire carefully. No quips, no roundabout phrases from old chamber pot times, like he enjoyed to toss in at random. A simple, to the point, direct question. “To the tournament?” He responded with a nod, leaving her with another, more pressing question. “Won’t her parents want to go with her?”

His face thundered at the slip of her tongue. “Her pa-”

“Sorry, sorry. I meant adoptive parents,” she clarified hastily. “The Smiths! Wouldn’t the Smiths - the humans, not the band - want to go support their daughter?”

He scoffed, deflating at her clarification that his friend wasn’t ‘slagging off’ their long dead parents. “They barely pay her any mind, unless she does something they find offensively fun.”

“Not… oh, dear. Buffy did mention something about the new clothes they got together.” She sighed, sitting back heavily in her chair. The recent brush with the cultist demons in Laguna Beach was still fresh for them, and the clothing choices there had echoed in their own little Lottie. It burned her up inside to know she couldn’t undo either gal’s past. “Apparently, they were choosing her wardrobe for her without her input. That’s why she dresses so differently here. She’s got a stash of clothes Buffy got her in Dawn’s closet, so she can be herself when she visits. Small miracle that they don’t share clothing tastes, or else Dawn would be wearing half of them by now.”

Damn, he was an exceptionally lucky bloke, to have a lady as devoted as the Slayer. How did those other tossers ever let her go? he wondered for the upteenth time. Even having her bring me Berba weed with a scowl before kissing my cheek when she gets home is a bloody blessing. Hell, the fact that she’s heated blood for me, on more than one occasion, despite looking ready to boke is more than I EVER pictured. But spoiling Pidge when she’s down? Going shopping together? Buying her a wardrobe?! Blimey. Luckiest sod west of the Mississippi. “Seems like a lot of uh.. emotional neglect.”

“Emotion- the pamphlet. How many times have you read that thing?”

“Don’t ask,” he grumbled. Joyce knew he went to his meetings to the support group H’Lenna ran, mainly because Clem blabbed a bit too much the first time she popped by to see Mer. She didn’t know about the books the molelike demoness gifted him, the endless miles of notes he’d made in the margins. Joyce was his closest confidant in many things, but admitting that to her would label him barmy. And while Spike was many things, he hadn’t fallen into a cesspit of senility, as of yet. “But, yeah. I can’t go, and I know it would mean the world to Pidge if she had someone there she knew. Trusted,” he put on a goading grin, watching her lips twitch in amusement. “A true modern lady, one she looked up to.”

Rolling her eyes, she couldn’t help the flattery get to her. He always was flattering the Summers girls. Sometimes to get his way, sometimes to get a rise out of them, but mostly just because he felt like it. “Sweet talker, huh?” Crossing her arms, she added, “what’s the catch?”

“No catch. I have dosh set aside for whatever you need, as you know. Hotel, gas, food, bloody trinkets for her fancy?” he replied seriously, sitting straighter than he usually did. ‘Business Spike’ was one she rarely saw, but when she did, it was quite a sight. A juxtaposition to his creature of the inky persona. “I just… I missed out on more with her than… and if I can’t be there for Pidge, someone else we both trust ought to. If there- you know, you can find the time, with your big sis leaving, and-”

“I’ll make time,” she smiled. His shoulders relaxed an inch, barely perceptible to those who didn’t speak Spikeian. Then again, he was a pro at Joycish, so they could barely hide any fear from one another. “Besides,” she added breezily. “I haven't been to SDMA in a while. Be nice to catch an artist’s market.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Well, yeah. We’re family, and that’s what family does.” His nod was decisive, trying to mask his strong feelings on the matter, but she knew. Could tell by the loosening of his jaw that he was relieved. And she oddly was, too. Trusting her with the safety of his beloved sister made a big impression on her. Family. They definitely acted like one. “Although,” she dragged the notes he’d taken about accommodations closer to her. “If I’m taking Charlotte and Dawn, you know who’s gonna be stuck like glue to them?”

Sighing, he waved her off. “Yeah, yeah. Bring baby Hynde with ya.”

“So, when is it? And I don’t need to buy a new chess board, do I?”

---------

 

Friday, October 4th, 2002

 

Joyce had never seen so many chess boards in one place before. Not even at the mall’s specialty board game shop. Thousands of people walked around the convention centre hall, Dawn snapping pictures everywhere they went. Spike had gone over budget buying her the digital camera for her birthday that summer, but Joyce was tired of arguing about it. It made picture taking easier, only printing the ones that turned out well, instead of wasting a whole roll to get one or two with everyone’s eyes open. Besides, Dawn had managed to get some really quality shots of her and Brian that she absolutely loved, framing them for her desk at work. And at least it wasn’t a weapon. The day Spike bought her youngest daughter a sword would be the day she put Nair in his shampoo. 

She’d dropped Charlotte off as soon as they got to the building at 8:00 AM, the poor girl yawning up a storm as she met with the rest of her teammates, or at least those with signed permission slips. Ashley had agreed for Joyce to chaperone, so long as she was kept apprised of her health at the end of each day. They’d left early the day before, the drive being nearly five hours. Kit and Dawn had still been asleep in their hotel room, when Mrs. Summers dropped her off with the teacher and handful of students, giving her a big hug and a ten dollar bill, with strict instructions to eat breakfast, and have fun. Lunch was covered by the ICA, so they’d be okay there, but still, she worried. Charlotte didn't do well in crowds, Buffy said. This was likely a far bigger crowd than any she’d been in before. And one where not everyone spoke English, at that.

“Look!” Dawn pointed to a section of kids wearing dark green polo shirts and khaki pants. Must have been a school uniform by the looks of it. “That’s the school from Lilongwe. They’ve got six finalists in Lottie’s category.”

Kit frowned, trying to dig through her memory of national flags. “Where’s that again? Left of Luxembourg?”

“Capital city of Malawi,” Dawn supplied, taking a picture of the players while trying to remain inconspicuous. She wanted Lottie to know her competition, but not be a total spaz, making kids from other countries think she was stalking them. “Black, red, and green, with the sun motif to symbolise- oh, my God!” She interrupted herself to gesture wildly at the young man standing around in a tailored burgundy suit, chatting to a gaggle of reporters around his table, some twenty or so feet away. “That’s Pritchard Akello Mbabazi Birungi!”

“Uh… am I supposed to know who that is?”

“Ugh,” Dawn rolled her eyes, digging into her satchel for the brochure with the event’s information on it. “Here, see?” She pointed to the fourth page in the little booklet, the pages glossier than anyone pictured. The whole event was bigger and shinier than anyone expected, sponsors gaining their way to the chess community in droves. Even the soda was sponsored, bottles wrapped in special sleeves with little chess pieces illustrating the flavours. “ ‘Mr. Birungi, four time world chess champion, joins its illustrious members of the International Chess Association’s board of members as this year’s tournament liaison, as San Diego prepares itself to host the semi-finals, before the world championship in Las Vegas, on December 18th, 2002.’ He’s, like, a legend in the chess community.”

“You’re really a huge fan of chess, huh?” her friend mused, nudging shoulders together. 

Dawn shrugged. “Not as much as Charlotte is. I just know about him cuz, look at him!” She gestured to the photo, a purple corduroy suit jacket making his dark complexion pop off the page. “He’s such a snazzy dresser. The first time he competed, he wore a bright orange dress shirt, and a full on kilt to throw off his opponent. That’s why they dubbed him ‘chess’ most stylish player’ last year. He’s always turning heads with his fashion.”

Kit couldn’t argue with that. Watching the man with the reporters, she noted the bright teal suit he donned now, the hue paired perfectly with his complexion. His manager behind him wore something in a similar cut, but in a much darker green colour, the two standing out in a crowd in the best way. Not her style, but still: game recognized game. And it seemed the rest of the competition didn’t follow. “Unlike most contestants here.” 

“Girls,” Joyce warned sternly, looking for a place that sold healthy snacks. Or anything vegetarian for Kit. “It’s not nice to mock a person’s clothing choices, esp… is that Thomas?” The girls followed Joyce’s gaze, finding the tall, lanky teenager hanging around a booth with a woman that could very well be his mother, rocking back and forth with a smile on his face, as his mom chatted with an older Asian man.  “Should we go say hi?” 

“Uh, no duh, mom.” Dawn snorted, Kit biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the exchange. “I didn’t know he was gonna be here.”

Her friend clearly didn’t agree, based on her snort. “You’re kidding, right?” she teased, following them to where their friend stood, nodding his head at the mystery man excitedly. “Tom and Char might implode if they’re not in the same city.”

Getting closer, Mrs. Anderson waved to Joyce, Thomas’ smile slipping off his face when they got right in front of them, which only left Dawn more confused as to why her friend was here. “D- Dawn! Kit! M- Mrs. Summers! I uh, I di- didn’t expect you here!”

Joyce smiled politely at the pair of Andersons, confused at the boy’s sudden embarrassment, but refused to address it. It m it worse. “We’re here to support Charlotte, too.”

“Who’s Charlotte?” They turned to find a boy about their height, dressed in a light blue polo shirt with the name Clayton Secondary stitched on the breast pocket, dark slacks, and a pair of the whitest leather loafers Dawn had ever seen. His features were distinct, though Dawn felt dumb for not knowing what part of Asia the boy’s relatives hailed from. “And are these the friends you mentioned?”

Thomas looked like he’d gotten his hand stuck in the proverbial cookie jar, but instead of cookies, he was grasping at straws. “Uh…”

“Charlotte, our friend. She’s on the Sunnydale High team?” She looked at Thomas like he had a lot of explaining to do, which caused him to shrink a bit. He may have been taller, but her sister was the Slayer, and that blonde terrified him. “I’m Dawn, this is Kit, and the woman with the dark blonde curly hair is my mom. How does he not know who Lottie is?”

“Oooh!” the boy answered jovially, shaking his head. “Lottie is short for Charlotte! I didn’t- white people’s names can be really weird,” he murmured to Kit, loudly enough so everyone else could hear. “So I just assumed her parents were hippies, or something.” Turning to Thomas, he gave the taller boy a mock hurt expression. “And here I thought you were here to support me?”

Thomas turned tomato red. Redder than red. 99 red luft balloons had nothing on Thomas J. Anderson’s face. Which was a feat for the boy, considering his darker complexion. But red he was, the flush practically made medical history at how red he was. “I- I can support you both!” he responded, embarrassed beyond belief. 

“Of course you can!” Mrs. Anderson exclaimed, wrapping her arm around her son’s shoulders. He always spoke highly of the woman, how loving but firm she could be. It was evident in how he relaxed under her embrace, the way the weight of the world sloughed off his shoulders. “Now, are you three joining us for dinner tonight? Lottie should come, too.”

Aaaaand weight? Time to go back on those shoulders! “I- I- I don’t th- think they-”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” Dawn said cheerfully. “Sorry, I’m really bad with names, blah! What was yours again?”

“Kanoa Tohu from San Diego,” the mystery boy said. “Originally from Oahu.”

“Hawaii?” Kit asked. “Why bother leaving paradise for Califo- ow!” She rubbed her side where Dawn elbowed her, glaring at her friend in hurt and confusion. “What’d you do that for?”

Dawn didn’t have a chance to grit through her teeth that Hawaii was its own independent nation, before the states broke it down and stole it, leaving most of its native population to struggle with basic necessities, like not being murdered by colonists. Kanoa’s parents were beconning him with his teacher - or maybe principal? - waving him over to them. “I gotta go. See you after?”

Thomas nodded briskly, high fiving the other boy, who looked ready to give Tom a hug. Or maybe a peck in the lips…? Hmm… Dawn thought. Very interesting indeed. “Uh… see you at dinner, uh, man.”

Kanoa raised a hand with a confused expression, but hi-fived the boy anyways. Bidding everyone goodbye, he bounded over to his family, leaving the girls with Thomas, the perfect time to grill him with endless questions, as Mrs. Anderson went with Joyce to grab some freebies by the Naef booth. 

Dawn wasted no time, linking one arm into his, as Kit took the other side, dragging him to sit down on a free row of seats in the next room. “So…” she started the second their butts met plastic covered metal. “Why didn’t you just tell us you had a boyfriend?”

“What?!??” Thomas nearly fell off his seat, looking mortified. “Boyf- who? Kanoa?! No! What? No! We- we just met! Why would you think-?”

“Dude,” Kit scoffed, rolling her eyes. “It’s fine, really. Not like it’s a big deal or anything.”

Dawn agreed, nodding along. “Yeah, wake up. We’re in the 21st century.”

“You’ve met Tara and Willow,” Kit added.

“As long as you’re happy and he’s decent, we’re happy.”

“But I’m not-” Thomas started, floundering. “He’s not- that’s to say- I mean-”

“Shhh! It’s starting.”

The games were surprisingly un-dull, Joyce thought as she came back ten minutes later with snacks. The games she was used to watching Dawn and Spike play took hours. Especially when they broke for snack breaks. And to clean up the board of the Cheeto dust. Competitive chess games moved so much faster. Sitting back down next to Dawn, she watched as the two players in front of them moved piece after piece so quickly, she felt like she was watching a game at 10xs the speed. The clack of the pieces hitting the boards was nothing like the clack of players tapping their time clocks at the end of each turn. Clacks filled the conference room, players moving their pieces as if the sounds were the music, their moves a delicate dance, until a player was beaten, and had to bow out before the clocks all struck midnight. With a scowl, the player from Ireland stood, defeated by their Canadian counterpart, the players shaking hands before being switched out. She barely had been watching five minutes before the taller player left! Now she got why Charlotte had been practising nearly two hours every day. She wasn’t obsessed, she was driven. “When’s she coming up?”

Taking an offered tangerine cup, her daughter pulled out the brochure to check the schedule. “She’s in block B-2, so she should be on once they run out of players for block B-1.”

Kit leaned over, whispering, “you should have heard her when she found out her block wasn’t in the A’s.” Mrs. Anderson sat down on her other side, handing Joyce her coffee while the blonde pulled out a fruit cup for her new friend. She’d overpacked, and good thing, too. “She didn’t know the order was all programmed at random.”

Another fifty six minutes later, Thomas’ friend played against the last player in the B-1 block, a tense match that lasted nearly twice as long as the other ones had, before losing his queen at the worst possible moment. Well, the opponent did, Kanoa standing to shake hands with the boy, before moving onto the next round. Thomas clapped in triumph, only to be supported by his friends, one of which wolf whistled, though neither girl took ownership of the sound. Then, it was time for the changeover. “Here she comes!” Dawn pointed as the next round of players came out, the boards already set fresh while the two last players went head to head. Standing on the bleachers, Dawn waved to her friend where she walked out in the dress Buffy had bought her at the Sunnydale mall, her pink beret on her head. “Lottie! Over here! Woo! We love you!” Kit joined her, a little more subdued, the two girls holding a sign they made from leftover craft supplies Dawn had from a school project. Thomas clapped and waved to her, the sign too short for three people, not that it mattered in the long run. 

No one else had done more than clap politely when the players first came out, but Lottie didn’t feel embarrassed like she feared she might. Instead, she felt a huge wash of pride and love fall over her. No one had told her the words of love in so long, she had started to think something was wrong with her. Ashley and Henry were pleasant enough, but their ‘hey kid, you know we love you’ wasn’t an actual affirmation of love. Knowing now that she wasn’t barmy, that her life before Los Angeles wasn’t a schizophrenic series of episodes, she felt relieved. Even more now that the teens who she was lucky enough to call her friends loved her, she beamed brightly as she waved back exuberantly with both hands. 

Her first opponent sat across from her, looking at her up and down in distaste before reaching her hand across to shake it. “Good game,” she wished in her Russian tongue.

Pulling out her memorised list in her head of greetings she’d been practising, she shook the turtleneck wearing girl’s hand, wishing her, “khoroshaya igra.” 

Shocked, the girl nodded, then started the game. 

Nothing worked better for Lottie’s concentration than that white and black checkerboard, the sound of the pieces being moved, the click-clack of the chess clock, the smell of strawberry-kiwi lip gloss. Okay, that last one was a new smell, a gift from Dawn to wish her luck the girl had picked out, last minute at the gas station they’d stopped at, on their drive in the night before. But it was oddly helpful. Maybe smell had more to do with the mind than simply letting the body know when danger was afoot. Either way, once she got into ‘the Zone’, she couldn’t be ripped from it. Like a woman possessed, she played pieces, three moves ahead in her mind than the board was. Ms. Petrov was a fantastic player, keeping Lottie on her toes and nearly catching her queen. But her insistence on filling her life with nothing but chess, homework, and training with Buffy for the past week straight had finally paid off, when she caught Ms. Petrov’s queen one move later. The other player scoffed, but when Charlotte looked up, it wasn’t disgust on the other player’s face, but shock. Which quickly turned to awe. Looking up, she smiled with a corner of her mouth. “Checkmate. Uh, Shakh i matt.”

Chuckling, Ms. Petrov stood, shaking her hand. “Good game, Ms. Smith,” she said in her rough accent. Lottie was sure she spoke Russian beautifully with that voice. She wondered how bad her British accent sounded when she no doubt butchered the other girl’s tongue, but just shook her hand instead of saying anything. “Next time, I win.”

Smiling softly. “Until next time then. Thank you, Ms. Petrov.” 

Fourty games in one room, and in thirty seven minutes, she was down to one other player. She could distantly hear her home team chanting her name as she played against the Scottish player from her division, the girl a little slower than Ms. Petrov, but no less skilled. Charlotte stopped as her hand hovered over a bishop, pulling back. If she moved it one way, her opponent would grab it. But the other way, and her queen would be exposed. It wasn’t as if she could merge a couple of knights to protect the bishop, and moving the other player’s rook was an illegal move. But… wait. She’d played this game before. Not chess as a whole, yeah, no kidding, but this particular game. The moves, a lifetime ago, when she was first playing in the family’s summer home in Norfolk. Her father had left her in the same position, and told her to move her queen, only to have him snatch it, and- 

She closed her eyes, screwing them up tight. She could hear worried murmurs from the audience, but in her head, she was seven years old again, sitting in her father’s study. The board, worn down from the years the man of the house had owned it, familiar with the newer pieces he’d had to acquire, after she and William had stuffed some down into the garden so ‘the fairies could play’. The pieces laid out, his hand moved to show her the possible moves, and, ooh! What was it? Which one led her to victory? She knew it was in there, somewhere. Her memories said it was only three years ago, but even three years is a long time for a child. And William had been rowing with mother over some tulips that had gone missing, and- AHA! The tulips! 

Tulips are from the Netherlands, and the people there are called The Dutch! Her opponent had opened with the Dutch Defense, of course! How could she have been so blind?! She opened her eyes and started her move, playing the way her father taught her, and as the other girl leaned back, defeated, Lottie looked her right in the eye as she held her hand over her timeclock. “Checkmate.”

 

----------

 

“Fifth place!” Joyce said, looking at the ribbon in awe. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a fifth place ribbon before, but with over two hundred competitors from a hundred and twenty countries, she figured they could have made it a little bigger. “You got fifth out of over two hundred!”

Charlotte beamed, unused to such praise in so long, especially from a woman whom she looked up to so much. “I didn’t think I would, especially with the stiff competition from Malawi. They won three of the four matches ahead of me. I thought for sure I was about to faint when they handed me the ribbon. Especially with Mr. Birungi shaking my hand.”

“Don’t worry, you didn’t drool,” Kit joked. “ That much.”

“I drooled?!” 

“Nah, she’s just messing with you,” Dawn reassured her, waiting for her mother to leave the table to show off the ribbon to Thomas’ mother by the bar. “Why?” she asked with a cheeky smile. “Do you have a little crush on him?”

“What? No!” she scoffed back, face slowly pinking at the accusation. “He is far too old for me.”

“Didn’t stop you from having one on Mr. Wood,” Thomas whispered. 

Dawn’s eyes nearly popped out of her head at the insinuation. “ Principal Wood?!” she all but yelled in the middle of the restaurant they were in. “You mean-”

Charlotte slapped a hand over her friend’s mouth, shutting her up just as their principal strode towards their table. “Yes, our principal is in fact eating at the same restaurant as we are. Hello, sir,” she nodded, her friends sitting upright as they noticed him standing there. “Did you enjoy the tournament?”

Principal Wood smiled politely at them, standing there in his three piece suit, like he was going to the opera after Red Lobster . “Hello Charlotte. Thomas, Kit, Dawn. It was great, thanks for asking. Congratulations on winning Sunnydale High’s first chess tournament.”

“It’s only fifth place, sir.”

“Still. It’s the highest Sunnydale’s come to winning anything of this calibre,” he insisted. He was right, of course. Their team had sucked majorly before Lottie came on the scene. “You should be proud. You worked hard for it. I trust you kids are planning on some good, clean fun after this.”

Thomas nodded, Charlotte still holding Dawn’s mouth shut. “Yep! Gonna eat our shrimp and then scampi off to bed.”

The other teens groaned at the tall boy’s use of puns, hanging out way too long around the Summers’ house. 

Principal Wood didn’t seem to care, laughing politely. “Very good. Well, I’m off to grab some take out myself. I’ll get out of your hair. See you in school Monday.”

“Bright and uh, early, sir,” Thomas awkwardly saluted.

The man nodded once politely, then left the table of teens to their devices. “What’s with the salute?” Kit asked. One of which was to mock one another, apparently.

Thomas just groaned as the others filed back to their table. “I don’t know! I panicked!”

“Who was that?”

“Our principal.”

“Oh!” Kanoa said knowingly. “The one Lottie has a crush-”

“My Goodness!” Charlotte huffed. “Must you tell everyone?!” The girl lay her head on her folded arms, groaning in embarrassment, as Mrs. Summers comfortingly patted her back in sympathy. Puberty was never easy.

----------

Sunday, October 6th, 2002

 

Spike stared at the ribbon his sister placed in his hands in awe. Could scarcely believe what he was seeing and feeling. “You… really?”

Charlotte scoffed, rolling her eyes. “What? Is it so outrageous to think I won fifth out of over two hundred?”

He smiled softly, thumbing the gold letters on the satin fabric. “No. Just… no one ever won anything in the family. Not like this.” He looked up at her with that soft adoration she noticed he’d given her over the years in their youth, unsure of how to feel being on the receiving end now. “Proud of you, Pidge. Bloody well proud of you.”

Proud? Of her? She hadn’t heard anyone be proud of her since… Her guardians never said it. They’d give her an ‘atta-girl’ or a ‘good for you’, but to actually say they were proud of her?! No. And now, in one weekend, so many people had told her how proud they were of her achievement. Genuinely, at that. “Oh. Th- thank you.” She sat next to him, carefully wrapping her hands around his arm. He could easily fling her across a room now if he didn’t have his chip. But he didn’t so much as bark at her for her affection, kissing the top of her head the way their parents did whenever they were proud of them. It felt right, even if the scenery was shifted. “I was so nervous, I thought I’d faint when they handed it to me.”

“Buffy got a frame, just in case you won,” he whispered, trying to get her to look up at him. “We both figured you’d win, but fifth? Pidge, you annihilated them.”

“I don’t much care for that language,” she muttered. “Wait. A frame? For the ribbon?”

“Well, yeah. Why else? Knew you’d do well. You’re a prodigy.”

“That was when… yes. I suppose I am,” she nodded, resolute. Dawn was right in the car on the way home. Diminishing her accomplishments made her seem weak, and she wasn’t going to get far in life that way. “Although, I didn’t think I would ever have so many fellow players to contend with. Remember when mother hosted a little tournament in the drawing room?” He chuckled, nodding. “Just six of us, then. In a room of over two hundred other players, and that just being the junior players? I thought I was a goner for certain.”

“But you weren’t.” He looked back at the ribbon with pride swelling in his chest. “You won.”

“Fifth.”

“No, Pidge, I mean,” he pointed to the ribbon again, looking at her sternly. “After all you went through, after all the crap the ladies of our time shoved down your gullet about being unladylike, about being too much of a Pratt, you won . You survived new lungs, being shoved into a new time, with a shite fer brains vamp of a brother, going through the crap of living on a HellMouth… you won.

It took a moment to fully grasp what he was saying, but once she did, her mouth popped open. “I won,” she muttered, touching the ribbon with a gentle brush of her finger tips. “I didn’t even… I won.” She turned her face to smush into his soft long sleeved shirt, inhaling the scent of his disgusting tobacco, lemon juice of their laundry soap, and the unmistakable smell that was her brother that hadn’t faded in over a hundred and twenty five years, she felt at home in a way she hadn’t since waking up in her hospital bed with two new lungs. “I love you,” she muttered, knowing full well he heard her without turning her face. 

He stiffened a moment, extracting himself from her grasp to hug her properly. Strong, long arms wrapped around her, a firm hug that could be deadly if it wasn’t her brother in there with the demon. “I love you too, Charlotte. Never stopped.”

Charlotte shook in his arms, tears hot and heavy on her face. Mr. Giles had told her that vampires lost their souls when they were turned, and that they couldn’t love without their souls. But Anya, who was a vengeance demon for over a thousand years after an illustrious short career as a human witch, said it was possible. Rare, very rare, but possible to love without a soul. It took a great deal of effort and dedication to keep those feelings alive, especially in the undead. It meant pushing ego aside long enough to think about the other being in the relationship. But she chose to believe that Miss Jenkins was right. That William never stopped loving her, and that while she was unlucky in many ways, having a brother who fought his demon every day to continue to love the sister who was dead longer than she wasn’t, was less of a curse now. Instead, a blessing. “I know.”

Chapter 21

Summary:

Buffy’s Slayer dreams go darker than she’d ever have them before, showing something she didn’t expect.

A slice of domestic life as well, with Buffy and Spike getting a spot of romance.

Also, what are Dawn and Willow up to?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Monday, October 7th, 2002

Running. Feet hitting earth as pavement turned to dirt road, lungs heaving oxygen greedily. Don’t stop running. Any stopping meant a painful death. But run where? There wasn’t anywhere left that they wouldn’t be able to find her. She couldn’t run forever, but she wasn’t giving up yet. Not even when the road changed from packed dirt to grey cement. 

Turning around the corner, a gasp forced its way out of her throat. More of them. They wouldn’t stop. Why wouldn’t they stop?! Her pink hair is a beacon to them, her punk ensemble a stark contrast to the parking garage she scaled down, running, always running from them. Them and their hooded cloaks, chasing her despite her not doing them any harm. If only she can get out to the main road, she could lose them there.

Hopping off the side, she wrenches open the door to the building between her and freedom. Her heart racing in her chest, as her clothes give way from leather pants and the ripped t-shirt, to a flowing gown, running in heels as her red hair whipps in her face. Need to go, need to go, need to get somewhere safe. Anywhere safe. Why wasn’t the hotel safe? Why wasn’t anywhere safe? 

A sharp pain in her head sends her sprawling, blinking away stars as the hooded figures stand over her, a curved dagger glinting silver in the low light, stabbing downwards. She blocks it, her arm covered in fishnets. No, wait, silver body glitter. Hang on, no, in intricate henna tattoos. The scene keeps changing, but not the attackers. As the landscape changes, as her BODY changes, they alone remain. She can’t see their faces, only their hoods, and their weapons. Stabbing her in the stomach, the face, the groyne, over and over and over and over and over and when she has no more blood left to spill, they slice her throat in an angry red line. 

Nearly dead, bright light blinded her. Hand up to shield her eyes half-heartedly as a gurgle worke its way from her throat, it did nothing to limit the assault on her pupils. Then, it did the most curious thing: from the blinding white light, a single band of green wrapped itself clockwise around the first light. Like a ribbon, it was twisted up and over the light as if whatever was emitting it, was a super tall, giant, soup can of glorious energy. Time stopped, the green swirling around the white, a sudden tendril of purple rushed from behind her to wrap around the white light in a counterclockwise fashion. It was the single most beautiful, powerful, painful sight she’d ever lay her eyes on. And in a snap, it disappeared, and she was left staring at one of those creepy monk guys again, pain blooming from her wound, letting out her final gasp of air as she died. 

 

“Buffy!” 

 

She jolted upright, hand going to her assailant’s throat, pinning him underneath her, with a knife to his- “Oh, God. I’m so sorry!” She scampered off her boyfriend, falling to the floor in her haste to give him room. Or she would have, if he hadn’t grabbed her wrist at the last moment. Vampire reflexes came in handy in a boyfriend sometimes. Dragging her back, she sagged against the mattress, knife fallen on the carpet below. Maybe sleeping with the dagger under her pillow was counter intuitive. “I’m so, so sorry, baby. I- I didn’t mean to, I swear. Are you okay?” Her voice had taken on that soft, ‘I’m worried about you’ quality of hers he really liked. “Did I hurt you?”

Spike shook his head, rubbing his throat. “I’m fine. Wishing I went to bed with a neck brace,” he joked, watching her cover her face as she groaned in embarrassment. “It’s fine, luv. Really.” She looked so torn up by it, which was utter pish to him. Instinct kicked in, she was apologetic, she was forgiven. He often forgot how much of a driving force the soul was in guilt. 

Still, she let him pet her hair,  even if she didn’t feel like the apology should be accepted. If he woke her minutes after she’d fallen asleep, she’d be a big ole cranky pants. But the knife to the throat? Yeah, that was- Gasping at the memory of the dream as it flooded back to her, she sat upright. “The girl!”

“What girl? Nibblet? She’s asleep, why?”

“No, not Dawnie. The girl that was screaming,” she insisted. Honestly, wasn’t his vampire hearing supposed to be, ya know, sharp? “I heard her. She’s in trouble. We gotta-”

“Woah! Hold your high horses there, Slayer. The only bird squawking here was you. Not even the chatterbox across the street has made a peep all evenin’.”

Decoding Spike’s British-isms was a fine art. It took a lot of practice. Practise she had a great deal of. Like, a crazy amount. “Wait… I was the one screaming?” Sinking back into the plushness of the mattress, she stared up at the ceiling, dread filling every pore. Freaky slayer dreams were one thing, but freaky slayer dream, plus her screaming in her sleep? “Oh, oh that’s bad.”

“What?” He looked concerned. “Why? The nightmare? What is it?”

The door pushed open, Buffy scrambling for the knife when her mom’s concerned face stepped into the room. “Buffy? I heard screaming. Everything alright?”

Sagging onto the mattress, she let out a long suffering sigh. Spike stood to turn the bedside light on, looking at Joyce in curiosity at the woman’s handheld accessory. “Is that the axe?”

Lifting her head, Buffy watched as her mom propped the familiar weapon against the wall. “We live on a Hellmouth, and my daughter’s the Slayer. Heck yes I brought the axe.” The axe Joyce stole from the school. The school that ended up being flambéed by her eldest, before the town rebuilt it. “What’s going on? It’s four in the morning. Why were you screaming? Was there a demon?”

Shaking her head, she made room on the bed. “I was- we were sleeping, and I had this nightmare...” She went through the particulars of the dream again, emphasising the changing scenery, and the climate along with it. The hooded attackers felt familiar, but she couldn’t place where she knew them from. Couldn’t even see their faces all that clearly. She touched her stomach as she spoke, feeling for wounds that weren’t there. When she finished, she felt so emotionally gutted, so unsure of what it all added up to. Besides something majorly horrible. “It felt… it felt so… real.”

“I’m sure, honey,” her mother reasoned. “But it wasn’t real.”

“What if it was? What if it’s a Slayer dream?” Buffy insisted, voice rising up an octave. Her heart was still pounding faster than normal; the Slayer still feeling the residual pain from her stabbing. “What if we can stop it from happening? What if I can’t?”

“Or it could just be your body’s way of telling you to slow down,” Joyce countered. “I mean, when’s the last time you two went out on a date? Just the two of you?” 

They looked at one another sheepishly. It… had been a while. They’d agreed on chaperoned dates, as per Charlotte’s insistence, though that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a private date night at home when the rest of the house went night-night. Or even a slow dance together at the Bronze, while the rest of the Scoobies were doing their own thing. But something in her eyes told him that his lady was right. This wasn’t a normal night terror. “Let’s get some kip, call Rupe at a more decent hour,” he murmured, rubbing her pulsepoint where he held her wrist. “Just in case, yeah?”

Nodding, Buffy felt the exhaustion from the act in her head fill her limbs with lead. “Okay. Thanks. Sorry, I-”

“It’s fine, sweetie. Just get some sleep. Do you want some tea?” Shaking her head, Buffy reached for her mom, practically melting into the hug the older woman wrapped her up in. Her mom gave the best hugs. “Alright. If you’re sure.” 

“I am. Good night, mom.”

“Night,” Joyce waved, picking up her axe, and left. 

Once the door shut, Buffy collapsed back on the bed, covering her eyes with her hands. Her boyfriend could read Buff-ian fluently now himself, shutting off the bedside light, and turning on the night light in the corner of the room. Pulling her closer to him, he tucked the blankets back over them both, petting her hair where her head lay on his chest. Salt permeated the room as she started to cry, emotions bleeding out all over the sodding place. His lady always felt things so deeply like this, the night terrors invading the safety of her dreams like water in a flood. “You’re safe right here, right now, luv,” he murmured to her softly, the way she did for him. The way she had for Dawn more than either of them could count. “This is a safe bed, yeah?” She nodded against his t-shirt covered chest, sniffing. “And no beastie’s gonna come after the Slayer in her bed, ‘specially not where her ruggedly handsome and athletic boyfriend’s right next to her, are they?” She let out a wet laugh, soaking his shirt as she pulled away. “There she is. There’s my Lady Buffy.”

Grabbing a tissue off her nightstand, she wiped her face, blowing her nose. “It’s not just a nightmare.” Her voice was so low, he only heard it due of his blessed-slash-blasted hearing. 

“I know,” he answered simply. “Catch some kip. I’ll watch over you. Need you in fighting shape, yeah?”

She knew his tone was light, trying to ease her burden. But it felt too heavy in the thick fog of uncertainty. She would have to be in fighting shape. Sooner rather than later, no doubt. But there were no words left in her. Not at four something in the morning, after feeling herself - or four other girls - die over and over again. Letting her boyfriend take her into his arms, she forced her eyes closed, trying to let sleep take her. It wasn’t until she’d nearly slipped under that she heard an unnatural voice in her head. But by the time she awoke a few hours later, she couldn’t remember the words:

 

FROM BENEATH YOU, IT DEVOURS.

 

----------

 

“And it was three different girls?” Giles asked, pen flying on the paper as he took notes. “Are you certain?”

Buffy crossed her arms, tired despite the extra three or so hours she’d gotten. Spike, true to his word, had stayed up the rest of the early morning, keeping watch over her, and apparently finishing the book he’d been trying to get through the past month. “At least. In one, it was way paler, closer to Willow’s arm then my own,” she described each of the girl’s features she could remember from their own vantage point. It hadn’t been a good view point, but she did remember some things. “There was music, with the pink haired girl. It was, like, techno, but in a different language. European. The girl with the henna tattoos in the long dress, the hotel was nice. Really nice, like, brand new, state of the art, ritzier than anything we have here. There was a fountain in the middle of it, an- and a chandelier. I remember there was a big chandelier hanging up in the middle of the lobby, cuz when I - when she fell, I was looking up at it, but at an angle.”

“Was there music playing there too?”

“Actually, yeah,” she nodded slowly. “But I couldn’t hear it very well. It was muffled, like I was running away from it, not towards it, like the techno.”

“Hmm, it's possible the girl with the henna tattoos was at a wedding. Possibly in India.” He added more notes on the matter, leaning back in his chair at the magic shop. The pair were sequestered in his office, Anya overseeing the quarterly fumigation in the main part of the Box. It was a good store, and they’d managed it remarkably well over the past year and a half. But the sewer access in the basement meant needing extra insect and rat traps in case of creepy crawlies. And it was always better to be hypervigilant, or else you ended up with a bunch of conjuring powder on the floor, and all manner of yuck rolling around in it. Besides, ever since Xander’s impromptu proposal almost two weeks ago, the former demon would not stop showing off the ring. Not that either Buffy or Giles were jealous, it was just really hard to be excited when the Slayer and her Watcher had more pressing matters to deal with. Like decoding prophetic dreams of the stabbing-in-the-gut type. “Do you think you could place the music if you heard it? At least the style or the language?”

Shrugging, she sat further back in her seat, feeling lost. “It felt so real, Giles. The girls, the cloaks, the stabbing. But what I can’t get, is the lights.”

“Yes. I feel I’m at a loss there, as well.”

“Is there anything you know of that is this trio of funky colours? Maybe in the Daft Punk chronicles?’

“The Daft- oh, very funny,” his scowl filled the lines in his face, reminding her that while she aged, so did he. Which was so not fair. “I haven’t heard of anything like that, no. But…”

“To the books for research mode?” He nodded, earning himself a groan, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get to readin’.” She stood, grabbing the first one off the shelf in the ‘E’ section, hoping the Encyclopedia of America: Demonic Origins would have some answers. “Maybe one day, Willow can finish scanning these, and we can just search ‘mysterious white and green and purple swirling lights’, and get our answers in a snap.”

“Until then…” A heavier tome smacked into the table, her shoulders slumping in defeat. 

 

----------

 

“Anything?”

Looking up, she smiled at the sight of her boyfriend coming home, kicking his docs off at the front door instead of the back for a change. He looked downright yummy in his tight blue thermal, hair gelled but not slick back. He’d just gotten back from a gig, this one for his neck and clavicle for some men’s jewellery line. Her mom had told her there might be lipstick on him for the shoot, but she was so thankful they decided against it. Fake or not, the only lip prints she wanted on her man’s neck were her own. “Meh,” she shrugged, coming down a step to link her arms around said neck. She’d been picking up the toys Gemini left on the stairs again, almost like he was decorating each step. It was getting old, fast. “The girls, we can try to narrow down. The magical pingle can light? Bupkis.”

He hummed, wrapping his arms around her middle, hands resting on her lower back. She felt so deeply, his Slayer. He floundered often on how to ease her worries. Dru was easy in the fact that she cared about only specific things: shag, nibble, bloodshed, dollies. But Buffy? Bloody hell, but he’d need an entire library to decipher half of her issues, then another on ways to comfort the chit. But in this specific case, he was suddenly glad his father insisted on him memorising that blasted botany book. “Could be Liatris cylindracea .”

“You lost me.”

“Cylindrical Blazing Star. Issa plant. Might be a metaphorical cylinder of light. Could ask our resident herbalist.”

“Huh, that’s… hey,” she leaned forwards, kissing him hello.

Kissing back as passionately as he normally did, he tightened his arms around her middle, lifting her off the step easily. His tongue licked the seam of her mouth, begging entrance, groaning when she opened herself up to him. It was always a thrill, the pair sharing a smooch, and he aimed to get her breathless as often as she allowed. Stepping back, he let her slide down the rest of his body, leaning on the door jamb into the living room, her sister’s protest that they ‘get a freaking room’ ignored. “Hey, yourself.”

Grinning, she dodged the pillow said sister threw at her, shaking her head. “Yeah, I think I'll call her. After,” she insisted, already seeing the wheels in his head turning. “How was the gig?”

“Ugh!” Flopping down on the couch next to Dawn, he grabbed the bag of chips off her lap, and stuffed a few into his mouth. The teenager yanked her bag back, grumbling. “I get there, and the bloody Pope must have blown through the studio, with how far the damn crucifixes were shoved down my throat.”

“Wait, it was a shoot for rosaries?!” Buffy stood by the couch incredulously, feeling herself bubble over in anger. Of all the ways Spike could end up in a pile of dust by the foot of her bed, ‘photoshoot for crucifixes’ was at the bottom of her list, mainly because who the heck would even come up with that?! Throwing him into an active volcano made more sense- from a poetic point of view, at least. God, but Spike would toss himself into an active volcano, just to be a poetic buttface, if he could. It would be his swan song, probably in a hundred years, when she and Dawn and Lottie were de- No! No, bad Buffy! she scolded herself. Stop picturing everyone dead! 

“No, the bloody background was made out of- yes, it was bloody crosses, on silver sodding chains!” He shook his head, settling himself more comfortably in his seat. “Had to call your mum to sort the shite out.”

“What did she say?”

Grinning, he took more chips, Dawn giving up on fighting him on it. “Told ‘em it was against my ‘religious freedom’ to not disclose it ahead of time. Bloody genius of a woman, made them pay me for my time anyway.”

“What, seriously?” Dawn exclaimed, her movie forgotten as she gaped at him. “You got paid for doing nothing?”

“Was standin’ around for over an hour tryin’ to get the mess sorted, Bit. Not nothin’ for me. If I could sweat, I wouldn’t have any sodding blood left in me. The buggers had a backdrop of repeating crucifixes in a pattern, a holy water… bowl or vessel or what have you, and some questionable velvet robes that I doubt were used for a baptism. Not a PG-13 rated one any road.”

Dawn stood in disgust, face screwed up as she looked at him. “With that, I give a massive: YUCK! I’m going to get ice cream to wash that thought out.” The teenager left her things, stomping to the kitchen while grumbling under her breath.

Waiting till she heard the bang of the cutlery drawer, the Slayer smirked at her boyfriend. “Since your night ended early….” Buffy slid onto his lap, now that her sister was out of the room, a saucy look gracing her lips. “What could we do to fill the time?”
He shrugged casually. “Might just turn in. Kinda knackered.”

“What?!”

Snorting, Spike pulled her closer, planting a wet, passionate kiss on her mouth, leaving her gasping for more than air when he pulled away. “Gotcha.”

“Huh? Oh…. You!” She wrinkled her nose at him, gently shoving his chest in displeasure.

He chuckled at her pouty face, tone lighter than it had been a moment ago. “Oh, me!”

“You almost had me there, you big jerk.”

“Sorry, luv. I’m a bad, rude man,” he drawled, his face sliding into the picture of promised debauchery on the horizon. “You might have to… punish me for it.”

“EW!” Turning their heads, they saw their audience of Dawn standing in the doorway, holding a bowl of ice cream in her hand. “I’m still here! Can’t you two go, like, one day without being gross and all,” she gestured vaguely with her free hand. “Sexual?”

Spike grinned like a maniac when he answered. “No.” His lady looked less than pleased with him, sliding off his lap with a slight shove to the shoulder, admonishing his behaviour. 

“Right. Great. Freaking great.” Dawn sighed, grabbing her chips and heading upstairs. She grabbed the cordless phone as well, tucking it under her arm to call and gossip with Kit, no doubt. “You two better bleach that couch, or I’m telling mom you two were dry-humping on it in front of me!”

“Like hell!”  “We’re not dry-humping!” the pair exclaimed in unison, the teenager not buying whatever they were selling. 

Shaking her head in disgust, she stomped her way to her room in anger, ice cream in the bowl, juggling her wares, Gemini following her in his dog form like the dutiful pet he was. “Bleach. Couch. Now!” Her door slammed behind her, shaking the wall. 

Huffing where she sat, Buffy crossed her arms over her chest in defiance at her sister’s teenage temper tantrum. “Geez, drama queen, much?”

“Well, since we’re alone...” He let one finger graze her cheek, sliding down to trace the jut of her jaw. 

“We’re not doing it on the couch.”

“Why the bloody hell not?”

Levelling him with a look, she deadpanned, “everytime we get all hot and heavy here, the PTB decide to grace me with the image of mom and Brian making out on it, mom threatening to whip her bra across the room, and I’m suddenly considering convent school.”

Letting the hand drop, he tilted his head back with his eyes sliding shut momentarily. “Bloody Brian and his randy hands,” he muttered, sighing. “Noted.” Tilting his head back, he gave her a hopeful look. “Bronze?”

“Can’t. Mom’s out and I’m on Dawn duty.”

“Car?”

Thinking it over, she agreed. It had been a while since she rode him in his ride. But there was no covered garage, meaning their neighbours could look in, and see what the source of all that steam was. Mrs. Finley on the other side of Oak Park already gave them snide looks of displeasure as it was, like the two of them were doing it in the middle of the street, in full view of her ‘precious impressionable boys’, who were less than precious. She shook her head. They were starting to run out of places to- “Oooh, washing machine?”

“Oh, ho,” his grin turned all sexy predator, making her inside parts all goopy. “Been.. what, eight months since we set the cycle to spin?”

“Closer to nine,” she agreed, leaning in to kiss him again.

“Shall we… do a heavy load?”

Aaaand then she pulled away in disgust. “Ugh.”

“Let’s get ready to tumble.”

Snorting, she took his hand and led him down to the basement, setting the cycle to ‘duvet and towels’. When he lifted her on top of the metal beast, she felt excitement rise in her chest, the familiar pull of arousal deep in her gut. She loved being with him this way, uninhibited, but still a bit secret. Everyone knew they were together, but in those quiet moments, it was just the pair of them. And it was just what they needed. 

 

----------

 

“‘Put your hands up,’ Sheriff Bandit warned, scowling at the ruffian disembarking the llama. ‘Or you’ll be made into confetti.’”

Scowling herself, Dawn scrapped the fourth draft of her creative writing project, balling it up and chucking it into the bin. She’d liked the idea at first, writing a scene in a make believe world, especially the rendition of the Wild West she was working on. But she couldn’t make the ending make sense, no matter how much she tried. “Maybe I can ask Spike to proof it,” she sighed, pulling out another sheet of lined paper before changing her intro for something snappier. “Soon as he and Buffy are done pretending they’re not boinking in the basement. Bleh!” She was gonna figure this out, and she was so gonna get that A+, and rub it in Kristy’s stupid, perfect eyebrow having face. “Maybe Tara could help with the ending. She always likes my stories.” 

“Sliding off his trusted macho, he tied the llama reins to the hitch outside Montgomerys’ Saloon, taking in the sharp edge of dry desert air, feeling his destiny laid out before him. He was going to find the man who killed his mother and son, and he was going to make him pay. But first, he had a hat to fix. And Madam Buffy’s Madam Gilderoy’s Dressmaker and Milliner’s seemed the perfect place for just that.”

Yeah, that’s more like it. Hero’s journey, she thought, the smug grin brightening her face as she let the ideas flow onto the page. Let’s see Kristy come up with something half as good as this. Ha! Maybe in an alternate dimension.  

 

----------

 

Willow frowned at the book of spells in front of her, Tara already asleep in the bed to her right, exhausted despite the early hour of just 9:43 PM. Her poor girlfriend had spent all day rewriting an essay for her art history class, come morning, after her professor sent an email to the entire class that he was not accepting anything on sculptures this semester, and the bottle blonde had to redo her piece on the Nike statue she’d originally had her heart set on. Meanwhile, the redhead had finished her own homework that weekend, now focusing on more pressing matters: Charlotte. There has to be something in here, she thought, flipping pages as if there was a section on time travel. At least on how she’s not dead, cuz Spike said he was the one to find her body. She shivered, feeling queasy. God, no wonder he went to the dark side. If I found my nine year old sister’s dead, unblinking eyes staring up at me, and- no, Willow, she chastised herself. Focus! There’s gotta be something in here about bringing someone back from the dead, or the brink of death, or- 

She froze, the page ahead of her showcasing something she hadn’t even considered, let alone entertained. Dimensional travel? She lifted the text closer to the dim light from the lamp, studying the tiny disclaimer in the footnotes. ‘Interdimensional travellers can be tricky to identify, but Dr. Alexandra Tia Dalmatia, retired professor at the California Physics Institute theorises that one can never travel from one dimension to another without leaving a trail. She suggests that as we can follow the trails with electronic resonance. “While string theory suggests that our reality may consist of eleven dimensions,” Dr. Dalmatia continues. “I theorise that there are an unlimited number of dimensions, some of which are parallel to our own, some within our own. Pocket dimensions or otherwise, tracing these trails are immensely crucial to identify where they’ve been.” Dr. Dalmatia has been living her retirement in Boca, where she lives unconnected to modern society as of this printing.’ 

Willow sighed, feeling the shred of hope in her die as she read the last line. Unconnected to modern society? she groaned internally. No phone, no email, no stinking answers. Maybe I could call the Institute and- oh. No. Closing the book, she carefully slipped out of bed, avoiding her girlfriend’s arm. Miss Kitty was curled on top of her bedspread, purring contently in the crook of the other woman’s knees. Opening up her laptop, she bit her lip. Buffy wasn’t gonna like this, but… Better beg for forgiveness than ask for permission, she sighed, typing into the search bar. And I’m gonna need a whole lotta forgiveness begging to come my way. Writing down the number to call in the morning, she folded it over, and popped it into her purse. Espe- oh, crap! I’m outta bramble again?! Grumbling as her hand came away with the one solitary bramble, she quietly lifted her own pillow, putting it on the mattress, and laying it back over it. Hopefully this one does the trick tonight, she reassured herself, shutting her laptop down for the night. If this doesn’t work… we’ll, I won’t know, will I? Ugh! Annoying to the tenth degree. Note to self, she mused as she slipped back into bed, laying her head on the pillow. Call Fred, find a witch to seal off my brain, find a way how to say that that’s not super squicky, buy more wagon wheels. Gotta stop, she yawned, flipping off the light. Mindlessly eating them when… studying for…tests. 

She fell asleep to another restless night full of anxiety inducing dreams.

Notes:

Writing has become more difficult as I'm writing a lot of this backwards, so updates will be sporratic, I'm afraid. Also, my sibbling's the one who chose the name "Sheriff Bandit", so no mean words about it, kay? Judge the llamas all you want, IDK.

Chapter 22

Summary:

Willow calls Fred (Winifred Burkle) for advice on potential alternate universe/time travel theories that have been proven, and guess who crashes the party? Angel. It’s Angel.

Featuring Wes and Lorne as awkward buffers, obvi.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, October 15th - Part A

 

“You called Angel?!”

“You must be out of your goddamn mind!” 

“Am I now?” 

“Oh, my god, shut UP!” Dawn slapped her hand on the nearest table, getting their attention, a move she no doubt learned from Spike. Or maybe Xander. Or Gile- why was every guy in their lives so slap-happy with wooden surfaces? It worked though, the lovers breaking up their fight to look at her sharply. “Neither one of you called him,” she informed her sister and her sister’s vampire. The argument had been brewing the moment Buffy had hung up the house phone. Xander had surprised all of them when he’d proposed to Anya on the 27th, when Kathy was being liberated from the cult. They hadn’t expected it to be so soon, suffice to say, but the Xan-man had apparently been carrying the ring in his pocket since Anya had taken him back in the spring. Well, not all the time, true be told, because a cube shaped bulge in his pants pocket would have been way with the obvious. But he’d bought it, had tried proposing with romantic dinners twice, a sunset picnic, and a grand gesture of a hundred lit candles. None had gotten to the actual question popage stage, on account of demonic activity. ‘Cept the candles. That was totally due to the smoke alarm going off, and the fire department issuing him a fine, over the accidental incineration of some couch upholstery. He’d finally bit the bullet, and just straight up asked her in front of the cemetery they’d been patrolling in, telling her that he would wait as long as she wanted to say ‘I do’, but was so not patient enough to attempt another candle incident in asking for her hand. 

The Scoobies had come over an hour before this new fight occurred, to celebrate the engagement, when the phone rang. Giles had called - running late as he closed up the shop - informing her of Angel’s plans to come into town to ‘assess the time traveller problem’, and asked her why she hadn’t informed him of the plan. A plan Buffy didn’t have a single hand in, because she didn’t call the vampire! It was pretty insulting for everyone to assume she had. “Willow did.” Especially because of th- wait…

“What?!”

Willow awkwardly backed away during the argument, but stopped when all eyes were on her. “I- I didn’t! N- n- not really! I- I just called Fred. You know? Winifred Burke? Sh- she’s a physics major! She was stuck in a demon dimension for f- five years? I didn’t- honestly, I didn’t think she’d say anything to him!” she cried honestly. It was obvious that she hadn’t been sleeping well herself. Red rimmed eyes, hair in near constant disarray, slower movements of her legs, while her hands constantly jerked, as if to keep awake 24/7. Buffy knew the signs, had seen them in the mirror more than she hadn’t, had asked Willow to take it easy- for weeks. But her best friend was as stubborn as the Slayer herself was. “I told her it was a personal f- favour to me!” 

“Great. Now he’s gonna know all about Pidge,” Spike nodded dryly, anger and anxiety creeping up his throat. “Next, maybe we should tell him details about Buffy and I’s relationship, hmm? Plaster a big poster with all our greatest hits on the sodding innerstate!”

“‘Our greatest hits’?” Buffy asked, disgusted. “You really call it that in your head?” Pausing for a moment, he looked at her as if she’d grown an eye where Hos had his third one nestled. Which wouldn’t be all that surprising on the Hellmouth, but she caught her reflection on the back of her spoon, and no. No third eye. 

“What?” Where did she get that barmy notion fr-? Oh. He thought he was better at his internal monologue staying… internal, as of late. Seemed not. “No! Don’t be daft! Of course not!”

“But you said-” 

“Bloody panicking now, ain’t I?” He started his pacing, pulling the duster off the coatrack to drape over his arms, wrapped up like the single most disturbing leather security blanket. “There’s a reason I never told ‘em ‘bout her,” he continued, tone lower and fear trickled in as he kept talking, the Scoobies watching with mixed reactions. “Angelus especially. Can’t- they don’t know, do they? That she’s my sister?”

“N- no!” Willow reassured him. The witch might not have been the girl’s favourite person ever, but she wouldn’t jeopardise her safety! “I didn’t mention anything! Didn’t even say the time when sh- she came from or- or even the country! Way with the vague over here! Vague Willow, at your service.”

“But he's gonna find out,” Spike continued his pacing. “Dawn did! Took her moments once everyone was top-side, and Angel’s got better eyesight, being a creature of the night and the like, so that’s just- ugh!” Whipping from one thought to the next, he spoke in circles the way he paced, leaving the ladies (and Xander) lost as they watched him wear the floorboards down. “Why is it that the moment I have a- He just comes along and- Because of sodding course I can’t have one blooding thing without- Typical. Just typical of the buggering Irish ponce to- We can’t let him take her,” he stopped, standing with his hands by his hips, curled into fists. He faced Buffy blankly, trying to keep himself from falling apart. “No matter what. We can’t-”

“We won’t,” she answered sternly. “He won’t. She’s not going to be taken anywhere by anyone. No one’s gonna JonBenét your sister if I can help it. ” She walked slowly towards him, seeing his heart shine through his eyes. “I promise you that. You know I don’t promise that lightly, right?” His nod was stiff, abrupt. “You protected Dawn - still do. I’m not going to let her be taken anywhere without me,” she stopped in front of him, holding his face in her hands, making Xander uncomfortable beyond something he could name. “I promise you, William. I’ll go to the end of the world for her.”

 

‘I promise you, Slayer. I’ll go to the end of the world for her.’

 

It’s what he told her. She’s promising what I promised her , his heart felt lodged in his throat. Blazes, she really does love me. He nodded, closing his eyes and letting his forehead fall to touch hers, his hands slowly coming to rest on her shoulders gently. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he swallowed thickly, speaking so low it only she could hear. “I trust you with this. Her. Her safety.”

Buffy smiled softly, kissing his cheek tenderly, pulling him in to rest his head in the crook of her neck, letting him take a moment. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, in the end. Always does for us hero types, right?”

He chuckled, his lips pressed to her neck as they were wrapped up into each other. “ You’re the hero, pet. I’m just your loyal knight.”

“Nah, you’re in this now, my little vampire boomerang,” she argued quietly, refusing to let him back out as easily. “You’re not going to shake off that good luck you’ve earned by being by my side, are you?” He shook his head, too emotionally exhausted for words. “Good. Cuz you’re more than just the knight at the beck and call for a queen: we’re warriors together. I love you. I won’t let Angel take her, hurt her, touch her. I promise.”

The doorbell interrupted anything he could have said next, the entire room seizing up with tension no one could deal with. 

“I’ll uh…” Xander motioned, carefully opening the door to a breath of relief. “It’s all good, just the pizza guy, John McLaning it for us. Phew! Are we glad to see you!”

“Willow?” Joyce called from the kitchen. “Could you and Tara maybe do the-”

“Disinvite spell on Angel?” Willow finished for her, Buffy listening but refusing to let go of Spike, now acutely aware of Dawn’s presence, her sister’s hand reaching carefully for them. The redhead was supposed to be slowing down with her magic usage. She was sure their Slayer had said as much to Mrs. Summers, but the hunched position of her BFF’s boyfriend was unsettling. The vampire boyfriend. Over Buffy’s ex-vampire boyfriend. Angel wouldn’t hurt Lottie. Would he? He didn’t like Spike, sure. But he had a soul. He wouldn’t go after a souled human just because she was the blond Brit’s sister. Right? “D- do you think that’s necessary?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “You can meet at the Magic Box instead. I don’t want him in this house. It’s a safe haven for Buffy and the people she protects. Charlotte will never feel safe here again without it.”

Oh, no, Willow thought, her stomach dropping out. Did I make a mistake? I just want to help! And our research on Charlotte totally fizzled out. Calling Fred seemed like the best option, but… What does Joyce know that I don’t? The war in her head was loud, overbearing. Turning to catch her girlfriend’s eyes, she caught the haunted feeling in them, nearly bowling her over. Oh, God. I really messed up, didn’t I?

It wasn’t until Buffy looked at Willow’s questioning face, saying “do the spell”, that Spike finally allowed himself to just cry, a soft lone tear running down his cheek. Buffy only held him tighter as Dawn rubbed his back. If either of the other Scoobies noticed, they didn’t say a thing. 

 

----------

 

Fred twitched in the car as her boss neared Sunnydale, the car going far faster than she’d expected it to, and she knew how fast Angel could drive. Under the gun, he’d go nearly as fast as the speedometer would allow. Now? Oh, he was trying to break the sound barrier. “Maybe we could drive like there are human occupants in the car? Like, the speed limit, maybe?”

“Huh?”

Goodness, he could be stubbornly dense lately. “Me and Wes? The human occupants? Could you- Angel, slow down!” 

Finally he clued in, pressing the brake enough to slow them down to something closer to ‘broken bones’, instead of ‘instant fatality’, if they managed to crash into something. “Sorry.”

“Yes. Finally, a reasonable decision,” Wesley agreed, holding Lorne’s sick bucket next to him. The poor Deathwokian normally handled their boss’ driving alright, but the stress he’d been under lately had left him a little ragged, plus the speed was… Yikes. “Would have been nice when we flew past those last three townships. Lorne might have kept some of his oesophagus lining.”

“Sorry. Sorry, everyone. Just… Sunnydale,” Angel reasoned hollowly. “Nothing good happens on the Hellmouth.”

No one answered that pathetic excuse for why he was trying to break Mach Two on the 101. No one needed to. They knew his utterance wasn’t fooling his own self, why should they pretend like it fooled them? 

He’d been a bit of a nightmare lately, brooding in his office more than normal, snapping at everyone around him. They didn’t know what it was about, specifically. Every time one of them popped in to have a friendly chat, he snapped at how a CEO didn’t have time for friendly chats, and on a few occasions, he hurled insults or stormed off. Once, he tossed a stapler at Wes’ head. He apologised, but it was a nightmare. They got how hard it was to keep up with their new responsibilities at Wolfram & Hart since they started in June, but he really needed to chill out. Maybe go on a date. Or get a hobby. Pottery classes were on sale in the building down the street from where Carnitas used to be, and there was always metal bending. Not like a class, or anything. But they could get him some pipes from the hardware store, and Angel could get his bend on. Make it into a weirdo art sculpture for the front lobby, writing it off for tax purposes or whatever. Anything to keep him from taking out his bad mood onto them. 

But that would require him to listen to them about his personal life, which he clearly wasn’t up to doing. At all. So they kept their traps shut.  Fred stuck her headphones on her ears, putting her discman on, trying to drown out the sounds of heaving in the backseat as the scenery whipped by. Lorne tried to keep most of his insides inside him, while Wes glared at the back of the vampire’s head for the remainder of the journey. He and Fred needed to learn a language Angel didn’t know about, so they could communicate without the big eavesdropper. Pronto.

Parked after the harrolding trip, Fred got out on shaky legs, holding onto the side of the car while regaining her land legs. Which was way easier said than done in her new shoes. She really wished Cordelia was with them, but she’d been in a coma for months now, and there was little news from the doctors on when - or if - she’d ever wake up. “Ooookay, I’ll be okay,” she waved Wesley’s concerned hands off her. “Go help Lorne, honest.” He didn’t look sure, but did as asked, his feelings for the scientist stronger than his need for chivalry.  

Staring up at the building across the street from them, Angel looked one part impressed, two parts annoyed, and about sixteen parts emotionally constipated. There was something eating at him more than normal today, and Fred was sure it had to do with a five letter word rhyming with ‘fluffy’. She’d never met this slayer, but she’d spent a few weeks with the dark haired Faith since she was sprung from prison. Thank goodness Charles’ new role meant their L.A. slayer didn’t have to do major time for that stunt. So long as she kept up the parole and less than fashionable ankle bracelet. She had no idea what to expect of her blonde counterpart, but she’d have to just grin and bare whatever happened. 

“Umm, Angel?” He turned around at her exhale, straightening herself to a semi-upright position. “My equipment?” 

Snapping like a rubber band, he wrinkled his nose in a slight grimace, nodding. “Right. Sorry.” Popping the trunk, he unloaded the heavy cases, leaving her the duffel bag. Whatever happened to the mystery girl out of time, the four of them could figure it out. Thank God Charles stayed back at head office, or else they’d have a mutiny on their hands. If I had to have a successor, Angel thought, crossing the street with three of his crew. It’d have to be Gunn. Wes is fine, but he’s so goo-goo eyed for Fred lately, and that’s probably gonna end in honeymoon leave sooner than later, and- He stopped his line of thinking. He wasn’t ready to retire, didn’t even want to be working there in the first place. But he’d made a deal, so…

The foursome entered the Magic Box in a flourish, Lorne feeling at home more than the other three seemed to be. “Sorry to be a bother,” he asked, sitting heavily in the chair Wesley walked him to. “But does anyone happen to have any Pepto Bismol? Or some Sweet Mary? I think that drive tried to send my stomach through my face.”

“I- I’ll get it,” the quiet hippie chic woman nearest the back door muttered, disappearing down a hallway behind the counter. Angel hadn’t seen her before, he didn’t think, or if he had, he didn’t remember her name. 

The shop was pretty full, despite Giles assuring him he’d only keep Buffy’s team there. But it seemed like their ranks had grown since he was last in town. Including Buffy and their mystery girl, he counted no less than eight warm heartbeats. 

And Buffy looked good. Her hair was shorter than last time, brushing just at her shoulders in soft waves, her blouse cut at the shoulders. Her jeans fit well, her shoes unscuffed. Heck, even her earrings looked new. Whatever she was doing was working, which only hurt all that tiny bit more. He still loved her, of course he did. And she looked like she’d moved on. He wanted it for her, but it still hurt. It hurt that she wasn’t waiting for him, but he wasn’t an idiot. He told her to move on, so she had. Clearly, being with that Teutonic Tinman was agreeing with her. 

At the table adjacent to the counter, he saw Dawn rubbing a blonde girl’s arm with her hand, the pair wearing matching berets in differing colours. The blonde in pink, she in purple. He didn’t remember Dawn being that tall before, but it had been a few years, he supposed. Girls were allowed to age, even if he didn’t. 

Angel stepped forward towards the girl, Buffy standing between them. “No,” she said sternly. 

Huh? That didn’t make any sense. Why was she stopping him? “No?” He asked. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“As in the actual meaning of the word,” she continued. “No: noun, English origin, means ‘ you’re not getting any closer to her’ . Got it?”

“Buffy, I’m here to help.”

“No, Willow called Fred to help, you just… let me guess: tried to do the three hour drive in forty-five minutes?” His eyes refused to look at hers, settling on her shoulder instead. “Right. And… Wesley? You brought my ex-Watcher?”

Wesley waved pathetically. “Hello. Buffy, your hair looks nice… and… Mr. Giles.”

Giles just stared at him where he stood, hollowly replying, “Wesley.”

“Alright,” he nodded, awkwardly looking around the shop. “Looks fantastic in here,” he noted. “I really enjoy the- is that a genuine statue of Tiamat?” he perked up, looking at the display next to his former mentor. “I thought the originals were all destroyed.”

“Oh! They were,” the peppy blonde behind the counter let him know. Angelique? Agnes? Anastasia…? Angel was crap at remembering names of Xander’s flings. No, wait. Anna! He was 99% sure of it. “Those are sadly just reproductions meant to look real. Very convincing, aren’t they?” 

“Yes, quite.”

“Can we finish with the small talkage already?” Buffy asked, arms crossed over her chest. “Cuz we’re burning moonlight here.”

Angel stepped back, Buffy’s glare sending stinging shivers through him. “Right, we can- what the hell is he doing here?” He pointed beyond Xander, where Spike casually hung off the ladder leading to the lofted library. He hadn’t picked up on his grandchilde at first, what with the excessive amount of people in the shop - and the incense messing with his nostrils - but the second Harris shifted on his feet, he got a clear view of the peroxided pest,

“Wow,” Spike drawled. “Forget my name already, Peaches? Tsk , old age really eatin’ your mind, ay? Dementia’s just round the bend.”

Angel’s scowl turned to fury, ready to throttle him until Buffy spoke. “He stays.”

“What?” He turned his look of fury towards Spike to confusion at her words, blinking in shock at the natural blonde. “You don’t want me here, but Spike gets to stay?”

“Yes.” Her answer was biting. 

Angel stepped three steps forward, to try and convince her that he was just trying to help, when he smelled it on her. Smelled him on her. “Buffy, I- no .” He stepped back, stumbling away in shock. Over the perfume she’d tried to spritz on herself to hide it, and the scent of frankincense Anna burned, he could smell the sop all over her. He looked between the two of them, and things clicked into place. “You and- oh, you’ve got to be kidding! Seriously? What? You already got bored of your human boyfriend, and you just shack up with the soulless leech? He can’t even LOVE without-”

Silentium ,” Willow whispered, Angel’s mouth closed and unable to open, despite the mumbling and accusatory eyes. “Sorry, Angel. Y- you weren’t meant to even be here. I- I only called Fred.”

“Sorry about that,” Fred winced, feeling guilty as she set her duffle on the bench near the table, Dawn gesturing to let her know where to set up. “I- I was talkin’ to Wesley about it, askin’ if he could drive me to town, since I don’t feel comfortable behind the wheel for that long, and Angel, well, he kinda-”

“Eavesdropped?” Xander added helpfully. “Yeah, he does that. I’m Xander, by the way, the lovely lady behind the counter is my wonderful fiancée Anya, and you know Willow, Giles, and Buffy, already.” He went around the room to introduce everyone, trying to get the tension out of the room. He had promised to keep the joke cracking to a minimum, though he really wanted to make one at Angel and Spike’s expense. Maybe an ‘ oh hey, I forgot to get vampire jizz off that chair, maybe don’t sit there, man’, or a ‘weird how you didn’t get the same DVD the rest of us did last year,’ but he refrained. He made a promise to not only his friend, but also to Anya and Dawn. And Giles. Geez, the day Giles was on Spike’s side… but then the memory of seeing Giles after the torture Angelus had put him through made him not question the man’s motives to avoid conflict here. “This is Tara, very powerful witch,” he added, the quiet girl emerging from what they assumed was the shop’s office, a blue mug of something steaming and herbal in her hands. “And that’s Dawn, Buffy’s sister, the blonde girl obviously being our Marty McFly, Charlotte. Oh, and you already know that’s Spike, I guess.” To which the vampire just rolled his eyes. 

“Sup,” Dawn waved, giving them the awkward salute. “So… Mr. Lorne-” 

“Just Lorne works, sweet pea,” the demon heaved, trying to keep from hurling again. He gladly took the mug from the witch, inhaling the still way too hot for his mouth liquid happily. Oh, yeah. She made the works for him. Sweet Mary, ginger, chamomile, and mint- he was gonna soothe that oesophagus like a slippery eel with this concoction. “Thanks, doll,” he winked, turning back to the teenager. “Like Cher. Only need the one name.”

She nodded, stepping closer. “So it’s true then? You’re an empath demon?” He nodded, sipping the tea Tara gave him with a soft sigh of contentment. “Does that mean if you read me while I’m singing, you can tell me my destiny? Like if I’m still-?”

Buffy cut her off sharply. “Dawn!”

“What? I’m just curious,” she answered sheepishly. “We were all thinking it!”

“Yes, but it’s time for Charlotte’s… maybe later you can ask nicely, okay?” Xander comforted the teen, somewhat patronisingly. Sometimes it was as if he couldn’t hear it in his own voice, oddly. “Now, we focus on the reason why Fred and her three bodyguards are here, okay?”

Lorne lifted a weak green finger. “Uh, two. I’m not built to be anyone’s body guard. Unless I’m guarding them away from their thirteenth drink of the night.”

Xander snorted, laughing a spell before quieting down. “What? He used to own a bar, I worked in one… it was funny. And accurate! Just happy for some guy bonding moments,” he grumbled, deflating when he was scolded by the shopkeeper. 

“Focus, please!” Giles snapped, taking his glasses off to lay on the counter. He’d migrated to Anya - not Anna, Angel mused half-heartedly. Cuz Xander never dates girls with normal American names - and the bottle blonde handed him a bottle of antacids, a practice they’d clearly done more than either could count. “They’re here as a favour to us, so let’s not waste their time. They have to be back in L.A. by sun-up, after all.”

Agreeing, Xander and Tara helped Wes and Fred set up her equipment, Lorne trying to keep his stomach in place, Buffy keeping a close eye on the hulking vampire by the scented candle display. 

Behind her back, Willow gestured to Angel that she wanted him out, but he refused to budge. “Fine,” she whispered, barely loud enough for herself to hear. Angel could hear her loud enough, so that had to do for now. “If you promise to keep quiet and out of the way, I can release your mouth. But the second you start talking like that again, I gotta put it up again, do you understand?” He nodded quickly, wishing he’d listened to Fred and just stayed back. Then he wouldn’t have had to smell Casper all over his Slayer. “Okay. Released .”

He worked his jaw, cracking it left and right. “Thanks,” he mumbled out, slumping in the corner away from the rest of the group, staring at Spike, whose gaze was dancing between the scene at the table and his grand sire. 

Angel didn’t get how he could be there, how Buffy allowed her once greatest enemy into not only her bed , but the room where her sister’s time travelling friend was in. He’d heard about the chip in Spike’s brain, knew all about the Initiative when he was last in this godforsaken town. But it didn’t mean crap , not when he knew Spike could do more damage than it seemed. Could do it without ever laying a finger on anyone. 

“I’m just going to take a reading,”

Fred reassured Charlotte as she took the device from her bag. “It’s just going to scan over you like this,” she demonstrated it on herself first, the red and green lasers casting a grid in first squares, then pentagons as it read the Texan. She flipped the display back, showing the teenager the reading on the tiny screen. “See? You don’t feel a thing.”

“And any long term effect?” Charlotte asked in a London high-society-like inflection. “I know mobile phones do not hurt, however the radiation off of them can in fact cause cancer. In the long term, of course.”

The voice, the poetic lilting of her accent from a country he hadn’t been to in years… decades. Angel found himself slowly circling them, Buffy hyper aware of him, standing between him and Charlotte as much as she could, blocking her face from his own. It wasn’t until Charlotte’s eyes snapped to his own that the bottom of his stomach fell out. 

“No…”

Chapter 23

Summary:

Surprise! Team Angel finds out who Charlotte actually is, and things go… well, a certain quiet Scooby member puts their foot down.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, October 15th - Part B

 

“Angel?” Wesley asked, concerned at his employer’s shocked face. “Is everything alright?”

He shook his head, confused. “But… how is this- you never had a- did you?”

Spike stared at him, jaw clenched, not uttering a single word. His eyes flicked at Charlotte, just for a brief second, but it was enough. It confirmed it enough for him. 

“Angel?” Looked like only him, though. Fred stood up from her seat, looking concerned, trying to figure out if she needed to get the case from him, and do a full work-up on the boss. “What is it?”

“You lied to me,” the vampire choked out instead, eyes still locked on the bleached thorn in his side. “You’ve had a sister this whole time, and never told me?!”

Spike scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Dunno what you’re prattling on about. Honestly, Captain Forehead, you’re really losing it, aren’t you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Look me in the eyes, and tell me you never had a sister.” When Spike couldn’t, he felt a tiny burble of victory. “A ha! This was your doing! I knew it, you never could do anything right, could you, Spike?”

Which was, of course, the moment when Willow slapped him with the Silentium spell again. Except it wasn’t her this time, but the other witch: Tara. “Sh- shut up, Angel,” she stuttered, her body shaking, but eyes full of fire. “Y- y- you don’t know half of wh- what Spike’s done for us sin- since you le- left,” she defended, stepping closer. He was shocked at the display, the witch clearly having sipped from the Spike Kool Aid, but didn’t budge. “O- of course he didn’t t- tell you about Charlotte! Y- you bragged about m- murdering your own sister!” 

Angel glared at Spike, mumbling behind the spelled lips, nothing breaking free. He missed the way Charlotte flinched, and Dawn’s comforting of the girl, too focused on cussing the pest out. If he had been paying attention, he’d catch the look of horror on Xander’s eyes as he looked around for proof, and his palming of the weapon in his pocket at the silent confirmation. 

Tara simply continued. “He d- didn’t tell me. I- I read about it in- in- in one of Giles’ Watcher books. Y- you should leave if you c- can’t behave.” He glared at her, wondering where the baby witch got the nerve to threaten a master vampire like himself. But at the straightening of her spine, he knew she wasn’t as inexperienced as he originally assumed. He expected her to bend the knee, with how meek she seemed. How very stupid of him. “Or I can shove you out.” 

Silence fell over the Magic Box. Angel’s eyes scanned the room quickly, and saw equal expressions of shock and awe at the stuttering witch. Dawn, Willow, and Spike had equal expressions of shocked pride, while Xander’s eyes were about ready to pop out of his head. Apparently, this blonde thing of theirs wasn’t much for conflict. Much like their own Fred wasn’t. But Fred had been… oh. That made sense. Damn. 

He settled, his features relaxed out of game face, which he hadn’t even realised he had slipped into. He got the waves of power off her, and off Willow, too. Massive amounts. Giles also had a bit of a glimmer stronger than he’d witnessed from the man in the past. How hadn’t he noticed their upgrades in magic? Should have gotten a whiff of it as soon as he walked in, even over the Frankincense. Maybe they put a glamour up. Or maybe he’d been spending too many hours in the boardroom, and not in the streets, like he should have. 

“Right,” Wesley nodded, getting the eyes all on him. “Fred, could you er, please resume your work?” he asked haltingly, probably wishing he was literally anywhere else. 

She nodded quickly, avoiding the eyes of everyone but Charlotte. “So I’m gonna scan you again, and then we can have you sing for Lorne, okay?”

“Wh- what does the machine, erm, do, exactly?” Charlotte looked curiously at the scanner, and where it was attached to a metal box with knobs, dials, and little bulbs. “I wish to understand how it functions.”

“Oh! Have you heard of string theory?” The shake of the girl's head indicated that she in fact had not. “It’s a theory that states that the universe is divided into eleven other realities- like different strings. A professor from the school I went to - Dr. Dalmatia - she thought the dimensions were infinite.”

“And you agree with her supposition?” 

“Well… I'd be nuts not to. Oh, um, I kinda… Lorne’s from an alternate dimension, an- and I-” She tried to laugh lightly, but it sounded strangled. “Umm, any way…  Dr. Dalmatia’s work on interdimensional travel was incomplete. She thought there was a way to track what world someone travelled from, if they had, ya know, travelled. But she couldn’t find the right tech for it, before she retired.”

Wesley continued the techno babble, clearly proud of the work of his coworker. Perhaps… no. They looked way professional, Dawn was clearly just reading into things again. “Fred figured out what electronic resonance we had to tap into, and if you’ve travelled to us from another dimension-”

“The lights will indicate that?”

“Yes.”

Nodding, the girl allowed herself to be scanned, but the machine didn’t do a thing. Fred scanned her again, but at the most, it made a whirling sound of a half dozen seconds or so, before going silent again. “Well? Am I vegetable, animal, or mineral?”

“Umm… Xander, do you mind if I scan you?”

Yeah, right. And then he could stick his tongue down a fire ant hill. But when Charlotte turned this big ole baby blues at him, he melted. She and Dawn had mastered that doe eyed stare of ‘oh, would you? Pretty please?’ and he was secure enough in his masculine ferver to admit he was weak to say no to it. Extending out his forearm, he smiled at the girl. “Sure thing. Beam me up, Freddie.” 

Clicking the on button, she scanned it, the symbols dancing across his skin as the machine whirled. Within moments, the screen lit up. It showed that while he had a bit of interference from the Hellmouth, the construction manager was 100% transportation to other dimensions-free. Which made Charlotte’s lack of a reading even all the more odd.  

“Huh.”

“Huh? Is that a ‘good huh’ or an ‘oh, no! The world’s gonna end huh’?”

“Not bad, just… a big bucket of Qs’s with no A’s,” she said, flipping back to Charlotte’s reading on the screen. Xander brought up a factor of 2.8, which was the normal baseline, while Charlotte didn’t register at all. It didn’t make sense. “Let me try the SMITHIN. It stands for-”

“Fred?” Giles asked politely, but firmly. “We don’t need to know the meaning of each letter in the acronym. Tell us what it does.”

“Oh, well, it detects gamma radiation particles on a subatomic level, and presents a graph as a form of… it lets us know if your DNA went through the spin wash cycle of a portal.” Again, she tested Xander as a baseline, then Lottie. She registered as he did, both with all the same levels, proving the machine worked. Maybe the other one needed routine maintenance. It had been… a while. “Well. I don’t think you were dropped here from an alternate dimension.”

“How do you know?”

“See here?” Turning the screen to the girl (and the adults peering over the girl's shoulders), she showed the histogram. The bars on the X axis were grouped tightly together, the curve a minimal bump. It was so short, it barely looked like anything other than a clumsy person attempting to draw a straight line. “This is what your reading is like, and here is mine.” The next reading she did on herself read drastically differently by comparison. Her own was far more extensive. The bars were all wildly varied in their heights, and colours. It looked like a green-blue-orange-purple rollercoaster, no safety bar in sight. 

It confused her, how the tool worked. But not what the chart the other one told them. “You were in another dimension?!” Dawn asked, eyes wider than saucers at the implications. Oh… that’s why Willow called her! Geez. I wonder if she was in the place with no shrimp. 

“Y- yeah. I uh, I’ll tell you later, maybe. If there’s enough time.”  

Shaking her head, Charlotte looked at her brother for guidance. “What now? If- if the first machine doesn’t register me…?”

“We’ll have to get some music for you, won’t we?” he suggested back, offering her a small smile. Angel was floored. He’d never seen Spike be so- so… God, so caring to a child before. He’d seen the vampire hesitate slaughtering his first kiddie, sure. But this was… God, it was bizarre. “Sing a lil’ somethin’ for the green man to read off you.”

Scowling back, Charlotte folded her arms over her chest, snapping back, “he has a name, brother. And I’m sure he can hear you speak of him in such an unflattering tone.”

Did- did she snark back at him? At a demon?! No, Angel thought, mentally shaking off a cobweb or two. No way he’s gonna-

“Right,” he huffed, standing to face the Pylian. “So Lorne can read you. You don’t need to put any of those sodding electrodes on her,” he asked the demon, his hand clenching in his pocket. “Cuz the last time she had ‘em on her, she broke out in hives from the sodding glue.”

Lorne shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. He’d never personally met the bleached wonder, but he had expected more fearsomeness from him based on previous experiences from the rest of the gang. But this? Soulless or not, he had some part of himself that cared for the girl. “No, no, Brand Walsh, nothing to fear. Just a little tune, I read the future. That’s all.”

Agreeing, Spike gave the go ahead to read his sister, but didn’t sit back down, giving her the support she needed, but didn’t want to ask for. Not in front of all those strangers. 

Charlotte didn’t know many songs, her memory bank meant to hold chess moves and school notes instead of song lyrics, but she did know one from the film she and Dawn and Kit had watched, just the weekend before.  

 

Sun's up

It's a little after twelve

Make breakfast for myself

Leave the work for someone else.

People say

They say that it's just a phase

They tell me to act my age

Well, I am!

On this perfect day

Nothing's standing in my way

On this perfect day

When nothing can go wrong.

It's the perfect day

Tomorrow's gonna come too soon

I could stay

Forever as I am

On this perfect day.”

 

Lorne smiled, pained as he looked at her. “That was beautiful, sugar plum,” he answered softly. “Lovely set of pipes on you, and you know, that’s one of my favourite movies. Chick flicks get such a bad-”

“Bloody hell,” Giles exclaimed, infuriated with the demon’s ability to stretch out an answer. “Please do get on with it.”

“Right, uh…” Lorne winced, avoiding eye contact. “The thing about that is… well,” he stood abruptly, turning to the front door. “I should call the office, and ask them to pull some files- nothing to worry about, of course.”

“Why?” Buffy demanded, giving him a pointed glare. “What did you see?”

Grimacing, he looked to his compatriots, hoping that the Slayer wouldn’t slice and dice him if he told her the truth. She definitely wasn’t going to like what nugget of wisdom he was about to drop. “Uh… not so much with the future, but definitely getting the loud and clear with- well, with the past.”

“The past?”

“This little lady’s the real deal. She’s from the past - your past - and she’s definitely died before,” he clarified, putting emphasis on ‘your’ as he briefly met Spike’s eyes, before regarding Charlotte once more. “Sorry, pumpkin. Must have hurt like the Dickens. But, uh… she didn’t come back last year.”

The blonde girl in question blinked in unrestrained shock, eyes big as saucers, hoping she heard wrong. No- no future? “What?” No, he- he was mistaken, surely. It made about as much sense as a skunk in a singlet. “No,” their Victorian Kasparov insisted. “I distinctly remember awakening right after my double lung transplant”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s true, but you definitely didn’t age magically,” the horned demon reassured her, his green hand a comforting weight on her shoulder. “You’ve been here… a while, crumb cake. You aged here. In this time period.”

Giles stepped forwards now, all protective Watcher/father figure that he was. “What’re you getting at, exactly?”

“Well, I think Fred’s tests will confirm my theory, but… it seems like right after she died, or somehow just before her dying, she was brought here.” Silence befell the room, Lorne finishing with the answer to the question they all were dying to know. “I’m only getting tiny blips, but it looks like you were here for the past… six years.”

And thus, the entire room of Scoobies erupted in questions, left, right, and Slayer. 

 

“But… but that means… What does that mean?”

“Six years?”

“What the hell is he on about?”

“You sure?”

“I thought you only saw the future.”

 

“Hey, hey, hey!” the green demon interrupted the barrage, raising his hands. “I’m just telling you what I saw!” Turning to Charlotte, he softened his voice. He always did have a soft spot for gals with wide eyes, looking for a kindly uncle. “Out of everyone I’ve ever read, your future is completely unknown, kiddo. I’ve never seen anyone’s past like that before, but it was just that: the past. Loved the hat collection, by the way. Fascinators are absolutely making a comeback.”

“But she does have one, right?” Buffy pressed, refusing to give up on the girl. Even if he said no, she would still fight to make sure Charlotte would have a chance. 

“Yeah. If she didn’t, I wouldn’t have seen a thing. But I saw her past, which means she’s not done in this wild little plane called The Mortal Coil quite yet.”

The girl in question didn’t seem eased at all by that sentiment, breath coming in and out of her lungs faster than it had a right to. “I- I can sing again! I know some nursery rhymes!”

“I’m sure you’d sing them beautifully, Charlotte.” Lorne had a natural way of easing the burden of many’s minds. It seemed he just didn’t have enough gas in his tank to ease their little Curly Sue today. “But it’s not the problem. It’s… it could be the Powers That Be that are clouding your future. Although, I will say this: when you came to our time, you were probably comatose until May 2001.”

Dawn gaped. “When Glory died?”

“I definitely detect strong levels of blood magic, so it’s possible that…”

“But there wasn’t any blood magic in 1996 that Spike was a part of!” Dawn exclaimed. “Right?” She turned around to see him nodding his confirmation, albeit confused. “But Glory’s blood? All four of us bled that day!” She pointed to Buffy and Spike as well. “I got that scrape on my knee, remember? When I went under the car to see the cut brake line. An- and on my finger! When I touched it. And you and Buffy cut yourselves when we were running from the giant spiders.”

“Giant- Like in Harry Potter ?” Fred asked, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, except if the brakes hadn’t been cut, we wouldn’t have woken up a nest of ‘em, and then wouldn’t have had to throw Molotov cocktails against them.”

Wesley sighed, looking at the blond vamp. “Sounds like Spike’s style.”

“It was actually Buffy’s idea,” Dawn pointed out, almost bored. All of Angel’s team looked at the Slayer in shock, while Spike looked at her with barely concealed pride. “We used what we found in the abandoned town,” she shrugged. “But seriously. We all spilled blood that day! Giles,” she swivelled to meet the gaze of the Watcher behind her. “Wasn’t your hand broken from that hobbit minion stepping on it? Was there any blood?”

Giles’ mouth popped open, horror washing over him. “Dear Lord. We all bled that night. Your mother included. She nicked herself on the way up the water tower. There was a loose bolt, and the metal was bent back a bit. It caught her ankle and my forearm. Are you suggesting-?”

“I used to be the Key,” Dawn said, hands trembling. The L.A. Team looked quizzical at that little tidbit, but said nothing on the matter, letting the teen barrel on. “An- and I still must have ha- had powers or something an- and when we were- oh God! ” She dropped into Buffy’s arms, Charlotte touching her friend’s back in reassurance as she sobbed. “I remember just before- before mom… before it happened. I- I made a wish. Is this…?” She pulled away, letting Buffy wipe her tears away. “Is this all my fault?” 

But Buffy was already shaking her head. “No. No, because Charlotte’s been here since ‘96 which was… oh, God.” Her stomach bottomed out at the thought, but hoped she was wrong. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Right? Even on a Hellmouth, there had to be coincidences, there just had to be! 

“When you were Called,” Giles finished for her, because coincidences and Chosen Girls were unmixy things. “It’s the year you were Called.”

Spike was already on the other side of the teen, handing her a tissue from the box on the counter. “S’alright, Bit. Don’t be beatin’ yourself up over it,” he reassured her, free hand on his sister’s shoulder, grounding her. The L.A. team looked rather speechless at the sight, but the Scoobies had acclimated to it by now. “Reckon it’s better she’s here now than in a perpetual coma. Right Pi- Lottie?”

Charlotte nodded enthusiastically, gripping her friend’s hand with the traces of a warm smile. “Infinitely.”

Dawn wasn’t consoled in the slightest. “B- but then you wouldn’t have… And it would have been better, cuz you’d have- but then they wouldn’t have…” Her train of thought was full on babble-mode now. “They wouldn’t have put you- and then you’d be- and it’s all cuz- you’d have been safe!”

“Stop!” Charlotte gripped her friend’s face with both hands, staring deep into her eyes. “You are not a one woman universe stitcher! Not everything rests on your shoulders, Dawn. My being in the modern age is not your fault.”

“Out of curiosity, what did you wish for when you were there?” Wesley asked, glasses long forgotten as he switched to contacts last month. He wished he had them now, if only to have something to busy his hands with. “It might help narrow down who granted it.”

Dawn nodded, looking at the Brit intently, hoping no one would blame her for it. “Wished… in my head, the exact words didn’t really form, it was.. More like a picture, kinda.”

“That’s alright. Just…” he seemed to be losing patience, but he steadied on. British education and all. “Whatever you’ve got, I’ll take it.”

She frowned, closing her eyes. “We’re in a seaside town, I'm not sure where, exactly, only that we’ve got our own private beach. And there’s a big cooler next to Buffy, who’s reading a magazine, and I’m in the- I’m trying to surf, but I’m doing it all wrong. I keep losing my balance or- or I, like, pop up too soon, so Buffy’s laughing on the shore, and mom and someone I can’t see very well, who isn’t dad or Brian or any guy I think I’ve seen before, he- he’s dancing with her on the back deck, and I’m coming towards the shore and…” She got real quiet, looking down at the crumbled tissue in her hand, willing it to calm her. It didn’t, because it was a used tissue, not a crystal ball.

“Dawn?” 

She steadied her breath, eyes screwing shut firmer. “And there’s two other people there, and they’re playing volleyball when I come in, and we’re all covered in sand when Buffy snaps a picture.” 

“And the other people, I’m assuming, are Charlotte and Spike?” She nodded. “And the moon was shining brightly?”

“No,” she croaked, cracking her eyes open, staring bittersweetly at her friend, before turning to face Wesley. “It was in the middle of the day. And he wasn’t catching fire.”

Chapter 24

Summary:

More fallout of the non-apocalyptic nature. Some drinking mentioned, as well as Tara’s truth about what happened after she was mindsucked.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Tuesday, October 15th - Part C

 

Spike lowered a gentle hand to Tara’s shoulder, getting her wide eyes on him. “Thank you. Back there, with Peaches. You didn’t have to-”

“Yes, I did. Charlotte loves you, and to hear that you can’t love her… I just know she’s beaten up inside. Hearing him say you couldn’t do anything right j- just,” she flexed her hands in frustration, a minutiae of anger kindled in her gut. “Because it’s just not true. You took care of Joyce, b- better than anyone ever thought you could. You’re good at translating demon languages we never even heard of, which saved our butts more than I can think of right now. You’re good w- with Dawn and Charlotte, an- and you planned that whole trip to San Diego so she wouldn’t be alone. Then there was the whole keeping Dawn an- and Buffy safe on the run from Sunnydale, making me calm when my mind was sucked, avoiding the Hell… biotch thing. You… you do more right than Angel knows, or ever will know. ‘Cause- Because he doesn’t get to know. He hasn’t been a part of your life for a long time. He d- doesn’t get to talk to you like that or in any way, ever again.”

It was big, hearing her so passionate about the whole situation. But in a twisted way, he sorta got her point. Angel, whether either of them liked it or not, was his vampiric family. Never a good relationship, really. Twisted, bastardised version of family, but still. And she came from one who all had souls, the entirety of their miserable little lives, and they were nearly as twisted as Angelus on a slow day. Nearly, but not quite. “Sounds a touch projective if you ask me,” he sniffed, playing with his lighter. God, he needed a smoke. But he wasn’t leaving the Box for a cig while Garth Brood was still around. He didn't have a chip to stop him from messing around with his kid sis. Not a chance in hell he was leaving the girls in the training room till he was outta their town. Least, the block.

Tara hummed, leaning against the wall, avoiding his fidgeting to look him in the face- before she lost her nerve. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong, Spike. You… we- we all know you messed up in the past, k- kinda a lot, from the umm… ‘ white hat’ side of things, but you’ve gotten better at that. And… there’s a sh- shopping list of things that you do right since, that I just can’t ignore. Even if I wanted to. Wh- which I don’t.” Jerking her chin to the two girls sitting on the couch several feet away, chatting quietly themselves, she made sure his eyes were on his sister when she added, “neither does she, or any of the Summers girls.”

And she was right, again. Which was just a kick to the bollocks, if anyone asked him. Tara had been his moral compass through the transition with Pidge coming back. Buffy was his rock, his lady, his shining light in the dank underbelly of crap. Joyce was his confidant, the friend to give him that kick in the arse he needed, when he least expected it. But Glinda? She surprised him, again and again. And right now, she wasn’t just Glinda the good witch, sparkly dress and magic wand at the ready. She was rooting for him to not bollocks it up with Pidge, because it would destroy his sister, and him. “Suppose not. Though it does mess with my perception of the big bad.”

“Mmm,” she nodded, a small, coy smile hiding in the corner of her mouth. “Trust me, you still put the fear of pain in a lotta people, demons especially. You can still have balance, you know. It- it’s hard, but it’s possible.” 

Charlotte and Dawn were chatting by the couch on the opposite side of the room, the pair still inseparable. Both witch and vamp were eternally grateful the two girls had each other in this mess, at the least. “He’s a right git any day of the week,” Spike finally said, after the reprieve of his own thoughts swirling in decidedly arse-backwards ways he had no desire of voicing aloud. “But soul or no soul, he’s dangerous. Head of a bloody Fortune 500 for demons gives him access now, to more Gestapo level- If he thought she was evil-” his throat clicked, the possibility of what his brain supplied next was just too much to bear. 

“You took care of- of Joyce,” she insisted again, turning to face him fully now. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at him so fiercely before. Not like this. Not like she was trying to get him to believe in his own damned self. “Of Dawn. Of Buffy,” she looked around, making sure the girls weren’t paying attention, before dropping her voice and finishing her thought. “Of- of me. After Glory.”

“Right. Buffy tell you about that or somm’in?”

“No. I… I remember.”

He blinked at her in confusion, trying to pick up whatever story she was weaving in front of him. “Run that by me again.”

Tara sighed. “I remember it. All of it. But it’s like…I was at the bottom of a well, an- and I could hear and I could see, b- but I couldn’t do much. I was so far away and everything felt… It was a lot. I could feel the itchiness of the cast, but I couldn’t move to scratch it. I- I could smell the hot cocoa Joyce made me, b- but I couldn’t drink it o- or thank her for it. I just... I was a- a prisoner in my own head. Gl- Glory, she said- she warned me, when she was breaking my hand that when…. When she mindsucks someone, it’s like they retreat to this tiny room in their h- head, a million spiders crawling all over them, an- and it’s all hopeless. But the spell I did to wall off Dawn’s secret…”

“It saved you,” he finished for her. He watched her hand twitch in remembrance of the pain that was once there, the resolute nodding, and felt another small wash of awe settle over him. He respected her on some level, the way she chose to be mindsucked over letting Glory take Dawn. The way she called in on Joyce to check in on her, and how she did it even now, with all of them- Pidge included. She was so… moral, but more than that, she was determined. He knew determination like the back of his hand, and he didn’t expect someone so soft, so vulnerable, would be so strong willed. But he didn’t expect Big Al to get pinched on felony tax evasion either, so maybe expectations were meant to evolve. Not too much, though, cuz he was still a big bad. “So… everything? Even the-”

“I promise I didn’t know it was Willow I slapped, honest!” She looked so lost, so twisted up inside. Poor little witch. “I- I thought it- I thought it was someone else. Someone… bad.”

“From your other family? The one with your father?”

“Ye- yeah.” The witch shuffled awkwardly, avoiding his eyes. Telling her girlfriend her insecurities and vulnerabilities was one thing, but a former villain turned kind of friend? Yeesh. Uncomfortable, meet Tara. “But I also remember you taking care of me. Mo- more than once. Not just at Buffy’s house the night that Giles… God , I still can’t believe he did that! Ugh!” Rubbing her temples, she willed the horrible memory out of her head. “B- but the next night. You swung by my dorm, an- and Willow didn’t know you had full permission there, but you waited by the door any- anyway, to be polite, even though you didn’t want to be. An- and you took Willow and I on a drive in your car cuz- cuz Wills told you about how- how my mom loved muscle cars, an- and I remember the wind in my hair, an- and Willow crying in the front s- so you put on some band she liked, even- even though I know you hate them.” He shrugged at that, twitching his shoulders a bit to make his duster lay better. “An- and you waited up when- when I was restless so Willow could sleep, an- and you told me, you said ‘Glinda, ducks. You’ll be alright sooner than you think.’ An- and you told me about… about Charlotte.” She avoided his eyes, looking down at her hands instead. The bleached vamp couldn’t help but track her movements. Either from lack of attention or picking from anxiety, the skin around her fingernails looked chewed up to bits, some fingernails nibbled to the quick as well. Something deeper was bothering the witch, on top of the showdown with Team Brood. But poking that bear would earn him claws, if not from Red or Buffy, from the two Bits on the settee. “And it… you know my family. You’ve met my brother.” Ah, Spike mused. Nail, meet head. He- he used to-”

“Beat you,” he finished, nodding numbly. In the past, he’d have revelled in it, but now… Something was happening to him, making him re-evaluate the way he saw the world. Maybe he was going barmy, since he took up with his lady. Maybe it was his own snot nosed kid sister making him feel like he’d got a spanner in the works. “Often?”

“Y- yeah. Pretty much.” Tara didn’t talk about what she’d been through with her biological family much. If she ever did, it was about her mother or grandmother, the two women who showed her unconditional love in a place of pain. The two bonded over the loss of their respective mothers, the pair becoming close only when he’d started reading one of the same books she was. It felt like ages ago, but in a blink of an eye, they’d stopped being acquaintances, and started being an odd pair of pals. Bizarre and wiggy, but Lottie seemed chuffed by it. “B- but you, a vampire wh- who claimed to never have a soul, o- or care about anyone but himself: you acted more s- soulful in those few moments than D- Donny ever did.  An- and he has a soul!” She shook her head, flexing her fingers carefully. “You’ve even helped me with my physio.”

“Had the practice from Joyce, is all. S’nothin.”

“Humble is a weird shade on you, Spike,” she smiled gently. “But it suits you. Like… seeing a dragon at the dentist.”

Oh, bugger, he thought. She’s gone round the bend, hasn’t she? Gonna have to go with Slayer and Red to the hospital, have them check out her noggin’. Unless... “A dragon at the- is this a Midwestern saying?”

“No,” she chuckled dryly. “It’s.. it’s what my mom used to say. Dragon at the dentist. Not expected, b- but a cool thing to see anyway.” She looked away, the memory of her smell already fading into oblivion. Watching the teen girls play some hand clapping game, she wondered what her life would have looked like if she had friends in the hardest chapter of her youth. Hopefully Lottie wouldn’t forget her own mom’s smell- for at least a few more years. “And seeing you with Charlotte… you’re not him. Not Donny, and definitely not Angel. I know I’m not a- always on your side at Scooby meetings, but I’m not always on Xander’s either. Or anyone’s.”

“But Buffy’s.”

“Hey, she’s a good leader,” she replied sharply, facing him again to defend the Slayer. “Out of all the apocalypses I’ve been a part of sin- since moving here, I’ve survived all of ‘em thanks to her. Thanks to this team. You’re a part of that. Our team. You know that, right?”

He knew. Hard not to know, especially with how hard he and the Slayer fought for his seat at the table. Tara had always been polite to him, even if she didn’t need to be. She wasn’t always gung-ho about the vampire being with their Slayer, but she respected him for saving Joyce, and he made his lady happy. Somehow, the B-Team of them and Anya fit fairly well. He didn’t have a soul, but she still treated him like someone worth sticking up for- even if he could eviscerate the one slagging him off in a blink of an eye. She’s a whole lotta somethin’ else, and Red better hold onto her tight, he thought. If she knows what’s good for her. “Glinda, I think you’re the closest thing to a confidant outside of Joyce I’ve ever had,” he answered easily. “You’re… you’re a good friend. To Buffy.”

“And to you, too, I hope.”

“Course,” he shrugged. He definitely counted her as an ally, and they were mates. Mate-adjacent. Played a mean hand of Texas Hold ‘Em, any road. “Wouldn’t talk about the symmetry between Byron and Keats with just anybody ,” he grinned, before putting on a more serious face, bumping his shoulder into hers gently. “Thanks, ducks. For, you know...”

“A- anytime. Like I said, I’m team Buffy. And Buffy loves you, and even if she didn’t, she wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Charlotte on her watch.” Oh, dang. Was she rambling? “But she does, an- and you have your sister here, and things are so different now than they were a year- two years ago, but it’s not all bad.” Oh yeah, she mused, kicking herself mentally, but unable to stop. Ramble Cart Express! “A year and a few weeks ago, I was trapped in my own mind, being spoon fed like a toddler. Now I can almost use my hand 98% of the time. I’m thriving!”

“Remind me to give the new heat packs I found on sale next time. The stiffness still giving you trouble?” he asked with a leer. 

Immediately, her face flamed, cheeks and ears pinking in embarrassment at what he was suggesting. “Not here!” she hissed, hoping no one was close enough to the door to hear them. It was just like him, to bring this up at the possible worst time ever!

“Oh, relax, I doubt anyone knows what we’re talking about.” His smirk was knowing, and wicked. “So… cramping up in the bed-”

“Don’t make me use that silence spell on you, Spike, cuz you know I will!” 

He couldn’t help the sly smile spreading on his face even if he wanted to. It was the longest he’d ever heard Tara speak without her sputtering or stuttering. Her confidence was growing. Maybe her magic would get stronger because of it. Perhaps he’d inadvertently taught her a thing or two. It was entertaining, at the least. Watching the big poofter blink in shock at her snapping him with a magically induced tape over his mouth was priceless. Granddaddy forehead wasn’t expecting a soft touch like her to restrain him. Heh. He’d be snickering at her insistence to ‘leave if he couldn’t behave’, or she would ‘shove him out’ till he was dust. Bloody priceless. “Come off it! You think I was gonna… alright, yeah, I was.” He rolled her eyes at her grumpy expression, the little witch forgetting he’d been on the receiving end of the Slayer’s razed-edged gaze for years - and her fists - but relented. Pidge liked the girl, and she really was his friend. Better he try acting it more often. “Still. Work on the exercises, yeah? Need our good witch of the Midwest in fighting shape. ‘Specially if gramps is coming back ‘round.” 

Smiling softly, Tara nodded. Peeling off from their little tete-a-tete, she joined the teenagers by the couch, Charlotte asking her about some musical artist Spike didn’t give a toss about. Watching them, he felt something monumentous lurch in his chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it in the past few years, but it was more pronounced with his Pidge back in the picture. Shaking it off, he leaned against the wall, hands tucked in his pockets, ignoring the impossible desire. Barmy, that kinda thinkin’. So he kept his sodding mouth shut, taking a smoke break outside when he felt the great poofter leave the block, as their Dawnie regaled them with her latest creative writing piece for school. 

 

----------

 

“Well that was harrowing,” Charlotte sighed, sinking further into the couch in the training room. “That brooding vampire sure doesn’t care for William’s company.”

“Yeah,” Dawn replied, falling into the cushions with her head tilted to the ceiling. Her friend was starting to sound slightly more modern, but that snark was still in firm place. Probably wouldn’t move even if she had a big ole personality wipe, if those existed. “Angel and Spike - William - used to be big bads way back in caveman times. But then,” she shrugged, not sure if she was even comfortable saying more than that out loud. “Some stuff happened. I dunno all of it, but it was a whole thing. Anytime they get close to each other, it’s like all the testosterone in Sunnydale just gets pumped into the room.” 

“I would like to add a resounding ‘eeeew’ to your statement,” she replied, nose curled in disgust to match her lips. While she was noticing things like pretty boys more often now, she still found anything related to sexual congress as disgusting. “And follow it with a ‘ugh, men’.”

“I hear ya, sister. Xander and your bro aren’t… we’ll, bros. But they’ve at least learned to play fairly, or else Buffy spazzes out on them.”

Dawn had a point. Thinking back on all the exchanges between the carpenter and her brother, the blonde noticed the friendship was strained, but not hostile. Wonder what Angel did to Will, she thought, frown lines gently forming between her brows. Perhaps I shouldn’t speculate. It might be far worse than I’m imagining, and I’m imagining many horrible things. Gosh, I could use… Eyes falling to the backpack nearby, Lottie found herself the chance for a reprieve. “Did you end up finishing that short story for your creative writing course?”

Brightening up, the brunette grinned widely, the Cheshire Cat impression very accurate. “You wanna hear it?” Looking in Tara’s direction, she waved the woman down, the three of them getting cosy while Dawn pulled her story out. “I call it: The Ballad of Daisy Flores; a Dawn Summers’ Story.”

“Oooh,” Tara cooed, smiling as Dawn snuggled up between them, relieved the girls had found one another. Without their friendship, she knew both girls would always feel like freaks on some level. But they’re not, she reassured herself. They’re miracles. Goddess, I almost went to UC Greenville instead of here. I would have missed all the good parts, and that… She didn’t allow herself to think further than that. That way only led to epic badness. “Double flower name. Love it already!” 

 

----------

 

Wesley hung up the receiver with a heavy sigh, feeling hopeless. He’d been on the phone for an hour, having Gunn’s team look through old contracts. Lorne sensing something was Wolfram and Hart-y definitely didn’t bode well for the poor girl. And after conferencing in his own team, they found the blasted paperwork. Bad enough that the poor girl was ripped from her time, shoved into their own, whilst comatose, dying of tuberculosis. But to have her deal brokered by Holland Mathers met something insidious, indeed. 

“Bad news, I take it.” His mentor dropped a mug of tea on the desk in front of him, a glass of top shelf scotch following. “Figured you might need one or both of these.”

“Cheers,” Wes clinked his whiskey glass against Giles’ own, sipping thoughtfully as the other man sat on his own side of the desk. The office was modest, though the chair looked top of the line. “God , that’s good. Forgot how much you loved this brand.”

“Mmm, way to avoid the subject.”

“Ha. Hardly. Just… it’s confirmed: her guardians worked for a subdivision of Wolfram and Hart. But not the L.A. Office,” he sighed, taking another lengthy pull. They’d need to head back soon, and he intended to be as close to sloshed without being embalmed, if only to survive the journey back. Angel already refused to give up the keys- twice. So no skin off his nose if he wanted to enjoy a tipple. Or two. “The one in London.”

“They pulled her forwards in time in London?” Giles replied, stopping his own glass an inch from his lips. “Whatever for?”

“Something nefarious, no doubt.” Wes moved the glass about, catching the light through the remaining amber liquid. “There aren’t many details regarding it. However, there are a few details that we don’t have.”

“Such as…?”

“We- that is to say, Wolfram and Hart didn’t bring her back, er, forwards.” He set the glass down, staring very intently at Giles. “They only were tasked with hiring monitors.”

Sipping, Giles regarded the younger man with a critical eye. He should remember Wesley’s old tells, had it only been three years since they’d been in the same room together? But a lot had changed, and he was having trouble reading him. “Do you suspect foul play?”

“Unclear, as of yet. Poor girl,” he sighed, looking off to the side, staring at a stack of books not yet shelved. “Brought against her will, encased in amber for years, with no say in how she-” He shook his head. Anymore talk like that, and the older man would cut him off. “Buffy and Spike? Really?! You’re allowing her to be involved with him, the soulless-”

“He loves her,” Giles ground out, knocking back his own drink before pouring another two fingers worth. “He saved Joyce’s life, and Dawn’s. And Xander’s, and he’s-” Steeling himself, he glared at his protégé, the man no longer a wimpy wet sop, but a fully grown, demon hunting expert in his own right. “Bloody hell, don’t ask me how or why, but they work together.  The pair of them are happier than Riley or any other man has ever made her, according to anyone with functioning eyes. But he’s making efforts, scant as they may be. You, on the other hand….”

“You cannot expect me to apologise for working with Angel.”

“Considering my history with him- our history with him-”

“Exactly. Our- look. He’s a Champion. No two ways about it, and if I go…” leaning his head back, he stared at the ceiling above him, wondering what he’d say if he met the Wes he was just four short years ago. Probably be horrified by what he’d seen, what he’d done. But it was pointless to speculate. “Cordelia’s been a guiding force for good for him. For us both.”

“Cordelia? Cordelia Chase, head of the cheerleading team of Sunnydale?”

Chuckling dryly, Wes tilted his head back to look at his mentor. “The one and the same. She… she’s grown up, become responsible, mature, organised. No one was shocked more than I at her growth, despite…” Something nagged at the back of his brain, a something he was sure he was forgetting. A memory he wasn’t sure was real or imagined. One thing was for sure, he couldn’t wave away the image in his head of his friend laying in her sick bed, unbearably still. “She’s currently in a coma.”

“She… good Lord.”

Nodding, he set the glass down, gazing around the room again. It was very Giles, despite Anya’s current status as his rather vocal business partner. The floor to ceiling bookshelves, the decorative lamps instead of the harsh glare of overhead lights, even the globe shaped bar cart. Perhaps Anya had her own office in another part of the building. Or she had a similar taste in office decor. “We took the deal at Wolfram & Hart for her… Her constant visions were deteriorating her brain. Rupert… no doctor could help in the traditional routes. We couldn’t let her die.”

Giles knew a little something about that himself. Their Slayer and her friends, her family, Dawn’s friends now, too. They were a team. Losing one would be… “I can accept that,” he pointed a stern finger in the younger man’s direction, though, his face matching. “Doesn’t mean I like it. It’s… you should have heard the ranting I received from the others when we heard.”

Picking up his glass again, Wesley took a hearty sip, trying to settle his own nerves. He wasn’t an imbecile. He knew of Rupert Edmund Giles’ past, what he was capable of. Sure, WWP could hold his own, but unless they wanted a WWF smackdown in the shop, he stayed his tongue with Scotch. “Yes, well… you heard about our new jobs, but not Cordelia?”

Shaking his head, the ex-librarian moved some papers to the opposite side of his desk, just to have something to do with his hands. Otherwise, he was going to pickle his liver. “I assumed she simply moved on. Though I don’t know where I thought- you said London? Did you call the office there? I need to see those files.”

“I can have them faxed to you, as soon as… where’s Spike?”  

“Took Charlotte and Dawn home with Buffy ‘bout ten minutes back. Well, to the Summers’ residence,” Giles corrected. “Charlotte hasn’t felt safe around these watchers of hers for some time now, and-”

The sound of his glass clinking as he set it down on the table echoed in the room, if not the street. “You don’t suppose…?”

But Giles was already dialling the phone, ready to tear a new one into the man he once saw as a mentor. 

“Rupert Giles, calling for Quentin Travers. No, I don’t have a bloody appointment,” he ground out, watching Wesley down his scotch and pouring his next glass. “But he’s going to take my damned call, if he wishes to continue to breathe.”

Notes:

I re-wrote this chapter at least thrice, but I'm gonna say this is it for now. I may edit some spelling mistakes later, but I'm too exhausted now.

Chapter 25

Summary:

Oh where, oh where could those awful Smiths be? Oh, have they gone on the run?! Yeah, seems like.

And Spike asks Joyce for the ultimate favour.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Tuesday, October 15th, 2002 - Part D

 

“Council of wankers!”

“Mom!” Buffy hissed, scandalised at how much like Spike her mother was starting to sound. There were just some lines a mom shouldn’t cross. “Charlotte could hear you!”

Joyce scoffed, pulling her tea closer, wishing it was an Irish coffee instead. “My house, my rules.” She sipped the tea, thinking. Fuming, more like. It was a good thing the girls were upstairs, listening to some music. She really didn’t want them hearing the conversation the three adults were having in the family room. “Can’t believe the gall- no, wait. A council of stuffy high society men, who force teenage girls into fighting demons for them, instead of doing the fighting themselves, would completely have the nerve to yank out a nine year old from the 1800’s, to serve as a weapon or something. Did they get back to Giles on why?”

“No,” Spike answered on her behalf. The pacing started up again, the living room floor feeling the wear of his house slippers. It looked ridiculous, a master vampire, pacing the floor in the moccasins he got in his swag bag from an artist’s mixer. But Buffy didn’t comment. He looked so comfy and cosy in them, and she preferred the moccasins in the house than the boots. If she had to clean one more scuff mark off the living room floor, she was gonna scream. “Probably some sodding prophecy of some such. But why her? Doubt we’ll ever know.”

“One thing I do know is that Charlotte is not going back to stay at the Smith house,” Joyce sighed, standing to grab the phone. While Buffy was the vampire Slayer, her mom was the parenting slayer, and Charlotte needed a parent now, not some heartless Wolfram & Hart employees, “I’m going to call them, and have her stuff brought over because,” she scoffed, holding the receiver to her ear after dialling the number. “There is no way in hell that- huh.” 

Buffy looked aghast at the change of tone from her mom, her boyfriend momentarily halting his march. “‘Huh’?”

Joyce screwed up her face. Hanging up and redialing, she waited and got the same result. “Spike, dial their number for me?” 

Rolling his eyes, he strode forward to do just that. He couldn’t deny her, no matter how much he tried. Dialling from memory, he screwed his face up at the automated message being repeated back to him. “Huh.” He repeated the same sentiment, staring at the receiver with a curious expression.

“What?”

He dialled a second time, putting the phone on speaker so she could hear for herself. 

 

The number you have reached has been disconnected. Please hang up, and dial again later.

 

“That's not suspicious at all,” Buffy responded drily. “I think it’s time we pay them another visit.”

 

----------

 

Which would have been a solid plan, if Henry and Dr. Ashley Smith were home. Or had any of their things there. Like, a single plate or a towel. Anything. “It’s abandoned,” Spike breathed in disbelief. “They just sodding abandoned her!”

“Spike, look,” she pointed towards the handle of the front door, twisting it as she pushed it open. “The door’s unlocked.” Heading in, she looked around to find much of the same inside the foyer as she expected: bupkis. “C’mon,” she called to her man. “Maybe they left her something in her room, at least.”

He hesitated stepping inside, what with the lack of anyone there to invite him in. But as it was abandoned, his boot felt no resistance, following his lady. It was a decent sized home, even if the layout was a head scratcher. A breakfast nook inside a dining room? That made about as much sense as a port-a-john inside the mall of America restroom. Scoffing at the beige on beige, he opened doors at random, trying to find anything left behind that wasn’t already bolted down. “Not even so much as a packet of crisps,” he muttered, all but slamming the cabinet door in the kitchen. “Bloody charlatans.” 

Pushing the first door on the left in the hallway, the Slayer found the girl’s room, sighing at the fact it seemed untouched. The other doors held a whole bunch of nada with a side helping of zilch, and she was glad her mom made the teenagers stay back at Revello. Shadow Lane is right, she thought bitterly, looking around at the sparse surroundings. They were like shadows; here one day, and gone the second Wesley turned on the lighthouse to smoke ‘em out. 

It was heartbreaking, seeing how little the girl actually had. Dawn had more crap in just the downstairs hallway closet, than Charlotte seemed to have in that entire house. Not her real home, she reminded herself, as her boyfriend stood tensely in the doorway next to her. Just a temporary, in-between space. Because she knew. She knew deep down in her heart that wherever Charlotte was, her home was with them now. 

Looking at the boxes sitting empty on the bed in the teenagers’ room, Buffy started packing up whatever she got her hands on, moving on instinct alone. “Well, they didn’t take any of her stuff, so I guess this makes it easier.” She knew it sounded pathetic, but what else could she say? Nothing was going to make this pain less. Rip off the bandaid, keep going. That was all they could do tonight.

But he didn’t budge, looking at the sterile beige walls and ceiling, wondering if his Pidge fell asleep in the room every night, dreading she’d wake up in the hospital again. The colour was an almost exact match to the walls in Sunnydale Memorial. “Don’t like this. Stinks of an evening at Troy.”

“I don’t like it either, Bunbury, but we gotta get her clothes and stuff. She can’t sleep in her corduroy dress.” She tried a smile, hoping to soften the pain he must have been in, and it seemed to at least get him through the doorway. He always did become malleable when she used the pet name she picked for him. Probably on account of her not using it on the daily. 

Sighing, he agreed, picking up the little frog he’d won for her at the fair, like it would hold all the secrets to the universe. But no one puts big old secrets into stuffed frog teddies. If they did, the sodding Watchers’ Council archives would be full up with plushies. “Shoulda known.”

She paused in her cramming of pillows into the Decker Hardware cardboard box to look at him. “Spike…”

“He called her Charlie!” he huffed, putting the animal back down on the bed to keep from exploding one of her prized possessions. “She hates being called that. Reminds her of gramps, how he- and I saw, I saw the brand new trainers on his feet,” he continued ranting, grabbing a box for her limited book collection. Back in Norfolk, their father’s study was filled with all their books. Hers, his, both their parents’ personal libraries in there, too. Here, she had textbooks from her classes, and a dozen or so others, mainly teenie girl lit. No, less than a dozen. Bloody shysters. He was gonna have to get her more, after he ripped Boris and Natasha in half. “Everything down to his sodding shoes were brand spanking new, and he had her dressed like a Dickensian orphan!” Dropping the box, he threw his fist into the wall, taking a breath. “Sorry, just… shouldn’t have done that,” he grimaced, facing away from her as he pulled his hand back from the lathe and plaster. He felt H’Lenna’s words in his ears, where she’d practically hammered it into his skull, about what was and wasn’t healthy in a relationship. ‘Punching a wall is unhealthy’. Yeah, there’s the surprise of a century. Scaring our partner when we can avoid it is an abuse tactic, and we don’t do that to beings we love.’ Preacher H’Lenna. Sodding hell, she ain’t wrong. “Shouldn’t have scared you. Shouldn’t- I need a minute, I think.” 

Leaving her box, she pulled him to sit on the bed, checking his hand for any blood. It was minimal, would be healed by morning if they stopped by the butcher’s for some calf blood. “Baby, I’m pissed, too. Why do you think I took her shopping for new clothes? Why everyone spent so much time trying to find out what those hucksters’ end game was? You know mom tailed the not so good doctor last week, right?”

Head snapping up to meet her expression, his mouth opened carefully in shock. “No, she didn’t mention.” How had she not told him? They had a cuppa practically every morning together. And Joyce wasn’t one to keep secrets like that. Not unless... “Why didn’t she mention it? Found something big, bad, and fangy?”

“More like a whole lotta boring. Grocery store, mall, liquor store, work at the hospital - actually seeing human patients, nothing evil - gas station, and car wash. Seriously boring, and what mom called a ‘pitiful romantic life’, which is saying something, coming from her.” 

Snorting, he let his lady clean off the dust and debris from his hand, despite his inability to contract an infection. She treated him with a delicate touch that quickly became his most favourite sensation. Having her ask him out, kiss him, snuggle up with him? He’d always hoped she’d give it to him one day. Christ, he wanted it so bad from others over the years, but having it from her meant the world. Now, over a year together, side by side in all the ways, he thought there was no woman better than her. No, he was sure of it. “Doubt working for Evil Inc. leaves much time for shagging. Let alone romance.”

“Yeah, well.” She shrugged, kissing his cheek soundly. “Them’s the breaks. Pros: affording Gucci purses and reserved parking. Cons: no romance and evil to the bone.”

Frowning, he looked at the room again, seeing it in a newfound light. “Even when I was truly evil, I never thought of doing… this shite,” he gestured to the house of lies around them, held up by happenstance. How could two souled humans justify that? he thought, shaking his head. As if I could take a little look-see in their noggins, and find the secret behind door number one. But that would require some tsunami grade magic that he wasn’t keen on touching, let alone… No, he steeled himself against the train of thought. Not this shite again. He wasn’t going down that road again. Down the ‘if I only had a soul’ like he was Jack Haley, aluminium paste on his phiz, dancin’ like a deranged marionette on Dexies Road. Pointless, that. “Bloody lucky stars they had, skipping outta town before they made BFF’s with the window pane.”

“I know,” she sighed, standing to open the closet. Grabbing hangers, she stuffed them into a free box, resigning herself to letting Lottie take her pick, before the rest became trashed. Maybe her mom could make a big ole tarp outta the rejects, like in the cartoon she watched with her cousin on- huh. That was… odd. Wrinkling her brow, she pushed the small pile of darned cardigans aside, to find a brand new stack of shoeboxes, six high. “Huh. Getting something pinging on my wigdar over here. Oh, my- These are- WOAH!” Opening the top one, she spun around to show Spike the contents with wide eyes. “Dr. Ashley’s left some brand new pumps, with the receipts to boot.”

He took the paper she offered, looking at her find with trepidation. Only to have his eyes attempt a summersault out of his head when he saw the price. “What the- bloody hell! Is this how much your sodding heels cost?!”

“Oh, God, no. I don’t shop at this store- it’s skanky, and way overpriced,” she wrinkled her nose at the logo on the side, placing them on the girl’s sparse and poorly constructed desk. “Hey… she bought these yesterday… you don’t think…?”

Looking at the pile, he knew she wouldn’t wait before digging in, but did a cursory sniff around them. Never hurt to have the vampire use his schnoz in case of explosives. “Check the others. If they’re still within the range, we ought to use them for something useful.”

“You mean return them for the cash, right? Cuz that’s a whole lotta dinero just sitting around, collecting dust, and seriously,” she held up the next pair by the strap, the colour scheme resembling the splatter of a squashed fly on a Cosmo magazine cover. “Bleh!” 

“Yeah, reckon we’re of the same opinion there. Bloody buggering fuck! This cost more than the whole trip to San Diego! What was her budget for shoes? The bloody fiscal ceiling for Constantinople?!”

“Where?”

“It- nevermind,” he stood, finishing the dismally fast packing, wondering if this was all Pidge ever had to her name here. A comforter, two pillows, two boxes of clothes, and one of books. And only two pairs of sodding shoes, aside from the Milan fashion show of footwear the doc left. She had more crap in London than she had here, and back then, there wasn’t a whole lot to buy to end up having cluttered. He’d have to fix that for her, somehow. He needed a meeting, wondering if Clem knew where H’Lenna worked in her off hours, to pop in for more advice. “Least she never has to step foot in here ever again.”

“Mmm. Come on. Let’s see if the ice cream place is still open. We can swing ‘round and grab some pints for the girls,” Buffy beamed up at him, trying to lighten the mood. The one sunbeam that wouldn’t dust him, because to be loved by a sunshine woman like her meant she had his back. And he felt stronger because of it, soul or not. “Cheer everyone up. My treat.”

Shaking off his storm clouds, he leaned closer, capturing her lips in his. Kissing her languidly, the slide of her tongue on the seam of his lips thrilled him. Snogging her always felt like that first time, excitement tingling every inch she touched. “In that case, I might claim a pint all for myself.”

 

----------

 

“Right, then.” Spike stood, mug soaking in the sink. The first time he’d drank blood in front of her, unlikely to be the last. It wasn’t as much of a three ring circus as they’d anticipated, Pidge wrinkling her nose with an ‘ugh’, before digging back into her Ahoy Matey cereal. She’d gotten a couple of hours worth of sleep, and Dawn helped her arrange her things upstairs before they retired for the night. All in all, she seemed happier with them. Even if she pulled a face every now and again. “I’m off to catch some kip. Back to the basement I go.”

But Buffy stopped him with an arm blocking his way. “Hold on a minute.”

Groaning, he rolled his eyes. She’s gonna bring up that blasted sword again, he groaned internally. Told her I’d find the bloke, didn’t I? “I said I was-”

“Not that,” she reassured him before turning to his little sister. Who was starting to outgrow her- dang! Was she always gonna be the shortest in this damned family? “I get you’re from another time, Charlotte. And at first, I thought I would go along with the rules of that time to make a good impression on you, cuz that first one? Yeah, so not one of the greatest I’ve given in the past. And I’ve been trying- really, I have. But some of those rules don’t exist anymore for a reason.”

Charlotte’s eyebrows furrowed intensely, confused at the shift in conversation. “What are you getting at, exactly?”

“William’s room isn’t in the basement. It hasn’t been for over a year,” she clarified. “It’s upstairs, and yes, we share a bed. And no, I will not be made to feel like a slut about sharing a room and a bed with my long term, monogamous, committed boyfriend - who I’m head over heels for, by the way - while he hides in the basement to protect your… virtue, or sensibilities, or whatever. The other stuff, sure, fine. But I’m not sending him back down there when we have a perfectly good bed upstairs, with blackout curtains on all the windows, and all his junk everywhere. It’s a stuffy, outdated, pointless rule in the era of MTV. Besides,” she sniffed, shoulders squared to show how serious she was. “I sleep better with him by my side. Know he has my back, so I can drop my guard, and get through my REM cycles without waking every two hours, being all cranky pants Buffy. And… and I miss him when he’s down there, and I’m up here, all alone. You’re not a guest here anymore,” she continued, putting her Serious Big Sister Buffy hat on for a moment. “You’re family, and a permanent member of this house. He sleeps upstairs, because we all do. So… deal with it.”

It was a tense silence. Neither of them knew what to do or say. Dawn had gone to the bathroom to get her birds’ nest of a hairdo under control, and mom was on the phone with Kathy in the other room. It was a three way stalemate. Buffy was about to clear her throat when Charlotte finally interjected. “Well, it’s about bloody time.”

“What?”  “Excuse me?”

“What do you mean ‘it’s about time’? Time for what?”

Charlotte shook her head. “At first,” she explained. “I did look at the relationship the two of you had as… well, rather odd. What woman would be so comfortable with a man from the Victorian era, no money, no prospects-”

“I have money,” he grumbled. “Got me a job, an everythin’.”

“Dresses like… well, you’ve seen him.”

“Hey!”

“But then finding out about the Slayer prophecy and William’s… sun allergy, well,” she blew out a hot breath. “It complicated things a bit more.”

Buffy let her shoulders slump at that. “Tell me about it.”

“However,” Charlotte continued on, expression much softer. “As I got to watch the two of you interact with one another - working, living, loving together - it made sense. And in all honesty, for the past three weeks, I’ve been waiting for you to finally come and stand up to me about the sleeping arrangements.” Their stunned silence only spurred her forward. “Dawn mentioned how you’ve spent barely two nights away from one another since William moved in upstairs. Said you both had fewer nightmares once you two had each other.” Her face turned concerned at that mention. “I cannot even begin to imagine the horrors that walk in your minds when you’re all tucked away. But, let’s leave that specific topic for later.”

“So…what are you saying? Exactly?”

“Go sleep in your room with your sweetheart, William. But please, for the love of God, do not engage in sexual congress while I am in the house. Or I shall be forced to tell the entire Scooby team about what really happened, that one time in Manchester, where-” 

“Oi! I’m goin’, I’m goin’.” He mumbled, slouching as he passed her. Hanging back, he lifted his arms slightly. Relief flooded in him from ear to ear as she slouched into his arms, hugging her brother tightly. “Love ya too, Pidge.” 

 

----------

 

Friday, October 18th, 2002

 

Joyce smelled him before she saw him, the cigarette smell permitting the house as the door opened to her left. “Thought you’d be out with the girls,” she turned to see her daughter’s boyfriend hanging around in the kitchen entryway. He leaned against the door jamb, looking miserable. At least he already snubbed out his smoke before opening the door. “What’s wrong? Is it the Council?”

Spike shook his head, striding in and sitting on the stool he’d claimed as his as soon as he moved in permanent-like. The bottle of schnapps was massive, making quite the impression on her as it met the surface of the kitchen counter. “Got a favour to ask. Don’t have to agree to it, but I figured… if I gotta ask anyone, better be you.”

She stared at the liquor and felt dread fill her veins. Anytime he’d come to her with a favour or advice, it was usually accompanied with a mug of tea or hot chocolate, or if it was really big, a glass of wine. But the bottle of peach schnapps was easily a litre and a half. She didn’t answer right away, just standing to collect glasses. 

Her doctor had suggested - firmly - that she cut out drinking, and she had. She’d been very diligent in not drinking more than a glass a month at most. Heck, for all of last summer, she hadn’t had a single drop. But since the mess with Charlotte started, she leaned a bit more on old vino and schnapps. Today seemed like a leaning day. “Did you drop them off at the movies?”

“Yep.”

“What’d you tell them you’d be doing instead?”

“Chattin’ business with you.”

“Business. The favour is business related?”

He shook his head. “Not exactly. But as far as the girls ask, yeah.”

She sighed, waiting for him to crack open the new bottle and pouring her a drink before asking her next question. “Is this favour gonna hurt?”

“Yes,” he poured himself a drink, downing it quickly. “But not for you, ‘s far as I know.”

“Start from the beginning,” she offered, sipping the schnapps. “Shit. Top shelf?” This was big. Major. Bigger than anything he’d ever asked before. She felt her heart pick up speed, knowing whatever he asked now was gonna make her insides twist about. “Spike…”

Spike knew that tone all too well. Buffy used it nearly every day when they ran from Glory. But he had a mission, so he forced himself not to be affected. “There’s this man - demon. In Africa.” 

“Africa?”

“Yeah.”

Notes:

And this is where I leave you- for now. Got a lot of responsible adult stuff to do, then coming back with more chapters before April.

Chapter 26

Summary:

J and S go on a special ‘art buying’ trip to Africa for two weeks, while Buffy holds down the fort in Sunnydale, and a certain witch struggles against an unknown force.

Featuring: Dawn post-wisdom tooth-ectomy, Lottie's old lady crafts, and Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Monday, October 21st, 2002

 

Buffy scribbled in her notebook, trying to pay attention to her lecture, but she barely felt down to earth. Mom and Spike were gone for some big art buying trip overseas, Charlotte now living with them since her guardians worked for an evil law firm, a law firm that her ex boyfriend now ran, and Dawn had to have all four of her wisdom teeth taken out. On top of all that, she was still dealing with the recurring stabby nightmare of crap on repeat. Feeling overwhelmed barely covered how her week made her feel, only being a Monday, at that. And that was all outside of her normal Slayer duties. 

Pathetic, she thought. I’m pathetic. Big, strong Slayer, moping over a man, and counting down the days he’ll be home. In our bed. In my arms. Pathetic. Pitiful. I’m a bad feminist, a total floozy. And I am totally NOT getting what Craig is trying to teach us right now. Ugh!

She wondered if she would be able to get someone else to loan her their notes, to make sure hers lined up. But she hadn’t made as much of an effort to make friends in this class as she should have, too focused on her home life and sacred duty. Sighing, she copied the note their professor wrote on the brand new whiteboard the school had just installed, hoping the upcoming test would be easier than slaying her inner demons. 

She’d at least managed to squeeze in some time to have lunch between classes, and doing the grocery shopping. Man, did teenagers go through snacks fast. Thankfully, the shoes they returned had given them a nice little nest egg to put in an account under Charlotte’s name, so even if they went broke buying carrot sticks and hummus, she still had some squirrelled away for a college fund. 

“So you’re not going to that cheese festival, huh?”

Buffy looked up from her tray, to see Willow’s drawn face sitting across from her in the campus cafeteria. The redhead looked terrible, like she’d barely been sleeping, or eating for that matter. Sitting with shaky fingers, she nearly dropped the apple in her hands. It was concerning. “No, not unless he and mom change their flight home for today. You know, after travelling through time,” she joked. But it sounded too flat in their ears. Sighing, she switched the conversation to her best friend. “How’re the withdrawals today? Did you get to that Magic Anonymous group that you found?”

Nodding, she looked at her hands, avoiding the Slayer’s gaze. Willow’s magic use had gotten out of control lately. Tara was so worried about the overuse, she’d called Buffy and Spike over to help talk some sense into her, and it worked. For about a week. Then, with the whole Angel visit, finding out about Wolfram & Hart’s involvement in Charlotte’s arrival in LA, Willow was determined to find out what had happened to the girl. It was a normal internet search… at first. Then she read the wrong latin phrase, thinking it would make the computer run just a tiny bit faster, and… well. The resulting energy from the mis-spell had caused a city-wide blackout for twelve hours, and given the redhead a bloody nose, throat, and ears. Buffy had finally put her foot down, making a sweep of the girl’s dorm room of all magical properties, handing the more extreme and/or dangerous pieces to Giles to put in the safe at the Magic Box . Now, she was just a few days post-magic, and it was wearing on her. Heavily. “I did. They were all really nice, helpful, good listeners. Some… were… pretty mad when they found out that it was my fault the power went out,” she grimaced, taking a shaky bite of her fruit. Buffy pushed her tray closer to the girl, unconsciously offering her friend some of her own food. Willow had lost at least five pounds that month alone. It was wearing her down to the bone, and the blonde hated that. Maybe she’d eat the pudding cup, or the sandwich. The Slayer could always go back in line, but Wills might pass out if she tried. “But a lot of them were… maybe not cool with it, but-”

“Sympathetic?”

“Yeah. One guy said he- right,” she nodded, catching herself. “Anonymous. Can’t tell you, but he- he did something big like that once, said it was his wakeup call.”

She nodded in sympathy. Buffy had seen a lot of those kinda calls in the past go unanswered. She hoped Wills wouldn’t ignore hers now. “And the withdrawals? Have you been sleeping at all?”

Willow shrugged, all vague-girl. “A bit. E- every time I get to sleep, there’s-” her voice dropped, looking up, locking eyes with her favourite Slayer. “I’m having nightmares. They- they just play on repeat, so- so I haven’t been sleeping long before… but I’m trying. Tara gave me this sleeping tea - just medicinal, not magic - and it’s helping. Kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“The nightmares are there, but… muted. Like- like there’s a- a- a window, you know? Between me and the dreams? Like- like it’s frosted, or dirty, or something. But… I dunno.”

God, the blonde thought, watching the way her friend struggled to tear the foil off the pudding cup. It’s way worse than I thought. She’s gonna end up in the ICU if she doesn’t get some- “Mom and Spike won’t be back till the 30th. Why don’t you come sleep over for a few days,” she suggested briskly, trying to lighten her BFF’s mood. “I dunno if it’ll help, but a change of scenery might help. Plus, casa de Summers is full of pros dealing with their nightmares. It’ll be like a sleepover, but you can have room to starfish on mom’s bed. And we can watch Nine to Five with pizza and popcorn before bed tomorrow night.”

Which was the exact right thing to suggest, bringing a little colour back to the pallid cheeks. “Oooh, you know I can’t resist Lily Tomlin!” Willow’s grin was wide as it broke across her whole face. “Ye- yeah. Okay. Hey, thanks Buff.”

“C’mon, Wills. What’re friends for?” 

 

----------

 

Tuesday, October 22nd, 2002

 

Joyce cracked her neck, staring at the expansive nothingness around them, as their guide took them deeper into the inky desert. The converted pickup truck ate the miles, as they got further and further away from the city limits. The locals wouldn’t even go to it, their guide not exactly fully human himself. She knew what she got herself into when Spike asked her to go with him. She knew she’d be lying to her girls, pretending she was just there to buy art for the new showcase. But she hadn’t anticipated this. Hadn’t anticipated the feeling of her heart racing in her chest the further into the sandy nothingness they rode into. 

Although it wasn’t quite nothingness, now was it? The occasional brush of cacti would come into view for a split second, before disappearing again as the headlights passed it by. Twice, they’d seen a rhino. It felt like they were going where no one really returned from. 

“Just one more hour!” Masuda yelled to them over the roar of the engine. Always so jovial, he was. And in the city, she had appreciated that, especially when having him translate with the locals. It felt a bit forced out here, and she cared not for it. “Your tent should be set up by now with all the equipment you asked for, Ms. Joyce.”

“Thank you!” she shouted back, gripping the seat ahead of her that much more tightly. Another hour. Another hour of bumpy terrain, fear pressing against her ribs, and the near nothingness of a moonlit desert night. 

Spike had been staring ahead for the last three hours, turning to her now. He reached out to grip her forearm gently, Joyce grasping his too, the motion familiar and instinctual. Their Spartan handshake from when she forced him to take her daughters on a ride away from a Hell God. But this was different. This scared her in a different way. Not more. Not less. Just… sharper. The dull, heavy choking replaced by sharp, stinging, acid reflux. 

There was a chance she’d be coming back to Sunnydale alone, or worse, holding a jar of ashes. She gripped his arm tighter, needing to feel the give of flesh before it was charred or bruised or whatever might happen to him in those caverns. 

She really didn’t want to come home with his ashes. She hated even thinking about it.

 

----------

 

Wednesday, October 23rd, 2002

 

“You’re gonna love it,” Dawn promised, setting the popcorn down on the coffee table, right next to her pudding. Solid foods were still not of the fun, but at least the others would enjoy the buttery, salty goodness. She collapsed on the couch next to her friend, who was eying the case of the Monty Python and the Holy Grail VHS she and Tara found at the thrift store last fall suspiciously. “Buffy and Sp- William introduced us to it, and pretty much everyone likes it. Even Anya. Well, not the bunny bits. We tell her when they show up so she can look away, but the rest of it, she totally likes. Especially the insults.” 

Charlotte blinked, looking up as Buffy came in carrying drinks. Her brother’s sweetheart looked bluer than normal, what with Mrs. Summers and William away. She had to admit, she was feeling rather sorrowful herself. Not yet in the morbs, as it were, but still downtrodden. For the first time since she had been nine years of age, she and he were living under the same roof again. Only for him to leave on ‘business’ less than a fortnight later. “And you found it funny?”

Buffy nodded, pressing PLAY on the remote as she sat on the farthest end of the couch, Charlotte sandwiched between both Summer sisters. Willow was upstairs, working on an essay she’d been putting off, politely declining the movie night invitation in lieu of not failing. “Oh, yeah. I thought it was gonna be a boring watch, but it’s actually hilarious. Ooh! Pay attention to the credits. I missed the jokes in them the first time around.”

Oh, yes, Charlotte reflected, in her mind’s eye. Because every comedy has jokes in the credits. Does she think me daft?! But she ended up finding out that, yes, there indeed were jokes in the opening credits. It got a little morose in some scenes, but still had her guffawing. “But why use- oh, ha, ha, ha!” She laughed at the ‘well, I didn’t vote for you’ line so hard, her belly hurt. “Why- oh, goodness! Why are they using coconuts instead of horses?”

Buffy grinned, feeling like it was the right choice in letting Dawn pick the movie after she patrolled. Ugh, even patrol was boring her without him to make snide remarks with her. Wasn’t that just a kick to the teeth? “They couldn’t afford horses,” she offered. “The next scene is gonna be a bit bloody, just FYI. Uh, for your information.”

“Yes, I’m aware of Californian slang,” she grinned back. “Dawn enjoys it very much.”

“What? We live in Cali- ow!” Hand flying up to cup her jaw, the brunette groaned at the shooting pain from her gums. Awful, evil, shooting pain that had no business being there, in her mouth. “What is the point of being made human by a bunch of chastity-belt wearing holy guys, if they’re gonna make me have freaking wisdom teeth?!”

Buffy felt bad for the girl, she really did. The blonde had to have her own removed years ago, and that was an awful weekend. Sucky didn’t cover how woozy she’d been from accidentally swallowing the novocaine injection. Seriously, they were never going back to that hack dentist again. Ever! What idiot doesn’t screw the threaded thingy on the syringe properly before- BLEH! shaking the thought from her head, she tried to focus on opening the pill bottle for her sister. “Oh the plus side,” she offered, handing the brunette the ibuprofen in her palm. “You never have to do that day over again.”

Scowling, she tipped it back into her mouth, before taking a swig of pop. “Yeah, but that doesn't mean I forgive ‘em for making me go through it in the first place.”

The rest of the movie was spent with the girls laughing at the funniest jokes, eating too much junk food, and filling each other in on the history. The Summers girls told her about the facts of the movie, and Charlotte appraised them of the knowledge she had of the tenth century. “Oh! That’s Doune Castle!” Which was way more than the girls knew about Lottie’s time, it seemed.

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded, remembering Spike’s commentary of the flick everytime they watched. “Have you been there?”

She nodded, sipping her juice slowly. “With mother and Aunt Lydia, when I was but seven. It was rather boring, but they insisted we see it, any road.” Munching on the popcorn thoughtfully, she added, “Aunt Lydia picked some wildflowers when we were there, and made a crown out of them for me. We didn’t know until we got on the train home that we weren’t supposed to touch them. I thought for sure that they’d throw me in prison for it.” She snorted, but it was unclear if it was with the memory or the film. “Doesn’t matter now. Good luck getting me a hundred and sixty odd years in the future, coppers!”

Dawn snorted while she sipped her drink, getting bubbles up her nose. “Oh gross! Lottie!”

“What!? It’s not my fault you’re drinking fizzy soda while watching a comedy! It’s- oh, my GOD!” 

The rest of the film had the girls rolling in laughs, Charlotte laughing more than she had in weeks, settling into their home even better than her brother had. Buffy watched the pair of them on her way back from the bathroom, gazing wistfully at the two friends. Spike had told her once that he had pictured things differently. That he was human, and they grew up across the street from one another, his parents still alive, going to college together and being driven bananas by their sisters. Looking at them giggling in front of the television, she could almost picture it. Their moms would meddle, having tea and schnapps together, his father playing chess with Giles, Lottie and Dawn having sleepovers without the fear of demons or guardians financed by an evil corporation crashing their fun. She could see herself falling in love with the poet across the way, slowly, like friends did when they look at one another in a movie, and realise, ‘oh, it's been you all along!’ And they’d have a spring wedding, outside in the park, and everything would be peaceful and right. But fantasy only got you so far. And reality was really nice, right now. Even with the man she loved off with her mother on some secret art buying trip, it was nice. Lottie was safe from the law firm for now, happy for the first time in a long time. Dawn was, too. Dawn, the girl terrified she’d never have any friends, was now almost like a mini Buffy, but her own way, with her mini Scoobies. They’d come a long way. All of them.

While still a school night, they tidied up the downstairs before Buffy sent the girls to get ready for bed. 

It was where she found Charlotte twenty minutes later, in her jammies, sitting on her bed in the room she shared with Dawn, chuckling as she worked on her embroidery. “ ‘I fart in your general direction,’ eee hee hee! ” 

“So it wasn’t ‘too outrageous’ for you?”

She turned to see Buffy’s careful smile where she stood at the open door. “Oh, it was. But I enjoyed it all the same.” Smiling widely, she added, “thank you. I can see why everyone enjoys it so very much.”

The woman nodded, leaning against the door jamb casually. Buffy could do a great deal casually, and Lottie so wished she could be so casual herself. “Your brother took me on a date to see it.”

“Oh? I expect the scenes with the sexual innuendos were the deciding factor for that.”

She shrugged, one shouldered. “Probably. Mainly cuz it was the only movie playing that late.”

“Ah, yes. Vampire hours.“ Lottie motioned to the bed, looking up at her brother’s great love expectantly. “Would you like to join me?”

Buffy nodded, sitting carefully on the bed next to her. “Just checking in to see how you are. And maybe a little curious to see what you’re working on there.”

Charlotte beamed as she showed Buffy the needlepoint. “I don’t usually mix mediums,” she explained as she showed off the stitch work of a heart. An anatomically correct heart. An anatomically correct heart with sparkly threads, sequins, beads, and maybe rope? No, yarn. “But I thought it might be fun to ‘colour outside the lines’ as it were.”

“Charlotte, this is incredible.” And it was. The piece looked like it should be hanging in her mom’s gallery, not in the hands of a teenager. Spike had been spoiling the girls more lately, since his sister moved in. She hadn’t requested much from them, was surprisingly low maintenance when it came to material possessions. But her needlework… the Slayer had no idea thread and fabric could be so spendy. The hoops alone were ten or fifteen bucks a pop, double that for the fun shapes. It made her wonder how the retired afforded their hobby in their Golden Girl years. Worth every penny if it meant she made things so extraordinary.

“Truly?” Lottie asked, suddenly shy. She’d not shown her work to anyone outside Dawn, hesitant to have yet another thing to set her apart as ‘other’ from her peers.

But Buffy wasn’t capable of faking such enthusiasm as she carefully looked at each facet of the work. “Definitely. I really like the beads. Makes it all 3D.”

Lottie nodded proudly, showing Buffy each section and explaining the choice for each one. “I started with a cross stitched heart, but then I grew tired of it once I neared completion. Not wanting to waste the piece, I decided to stitch over top of the existing design. I added the yarn,” she pointed to the left coronary artery, where the sparkly maroon yarn she’d stitched down glinted in the lamp light. “I added thicker threads for the veins, before incorporating the beads to indicate the flow of blood, here,” she gestured to the vena cava and aorta, where she was attaching the final beads. “Blue for in, or un-oxygenated blood, and red for out.”

“And the heart is very… interesting to you?”

“Very. Our father was extremely romantic,” she explained, touching the bead that was a bit wonky on one side. “But by the love I've witnessed betwixt you and my brother, I can see you’ve guessed as much yourself.”

Buffy shrugged, blushing minutely. Before he’d left, he’d placed an order with Fiona to deliver a single sunflower for every day he was gone. She was going to have a full bouquet of them if he didn’t hurry his lilly-white butt up, and get her mom home soon. “Maybe.”

Charlotte beamed. “But father insisted we know of the practicum of life, as well as the romanticism of it all. So I took to medical texts. What better way to understand man than through the sum of his parts?”

“Of course,” she replied, really hoping the teenager wouldn’t end up repeating what Walsh did. Nah, she thought. She seemed totally freaked by that. I think she just likes science. Although, she did know that creepy as hell nursery rhyme… Geez, maybe we should get her a therapist. Ha! Like the hellmouth has some of those that WON’T make Charlotte hyperventilate.

Shifting on the bed awkwardly, the curly haired girl felt herself grow bold, voicing what she’d been too fearful to tell anyone outside her diary. “It would be a blessing to… to become a doctor one day. Help people. Maybe even become a surgeon,” she said hopefully, her confidence waning as she remembered she was without her family’s wealth as she once was. William could not afford that level of financial support, and she knew Mrs. Summers wouldn’t be able to afford both her and Dawn’s schooling. “One day. Maybe. God willing.”

“A doctor?” Buffy asked cheerfully, melting a chunk of ice on the girl’s armour. “I think that’s incredible, Charlotte! We need more female doctors. And, you know, I think you’d make an excellent one.”

The teenager looked at the elder Summers sister with a curious eye, dissecting the words between the words. “Really?”

“Of course! Super duper, 100% sure.” So long as we keep you far, far, FAR away from the US Government. “Why would I lie about that?”

“To sugarcoat the truth, and put my mind at ease.”

Buffy snorted, shifting on the bedspread. “I’m not so good at that whole deal. The sugarcoating gene skipped our side of the family. I mean, I try, but not this time.” She levelled Lottie with a serious look, eyes kind but firm. “You’re really smart, Charlotte. You’re more dedicated to your studies than I’ve ever seen a fifteen year old be, and I’ve been in and out of school with Willow for almost seven years now. Even with years of missing requirements, Dawn said you’re getting all A’s in your classes.”

Charlotte frowned, looking at her needlepoint with a tense look. “A-minuses, more like.”

“Still an A!” Buffy continued. “I didn’t do so well in high school until senior year, and even that was a challenge and a half. What with… everything that went on there.” She grimaced. There was a lot they edited out of the story of the Scoobies in their home of Sunnydale for their own Marty McFly. Like Angelus and the summer where she’d been kicked out. They did mention the giant mayor snake and Faith, but the editing of it was Oscar nod level worthy. If Lottie’s simple acknowledgement was anything to go on. “I almost flunked out. I would have been so proud if I got even an A- on half of my final grades. Or a B+! But I know you’re a bit of an overachiever-” 

“I prefer ‘competitively motivated’,” she nodded. 

“Right. Is that a Pratt family thing? Cuz your brother is so like that,” Buffy babbled, happy when Charlotte giggled as they bumped shoulders. “You should see him play chess against Giles. He says he’s not a ‘sulker’, but whenever he loses, he mopes around the house like the Incredible Sulk.” Charlotte snorted, covering her mouth from her giggles. “That’s a play on words cuz there’s this character, the In-”

“Incredible Hulk,” Lottie finished for her, nodding. “Yes, Mr. Harr- Xander explained them to me. He went through a list of different comic book characters, to help me win over some of the chess club members on the boy’s side, when we staged our coup. I must admit, while I did not initially enjoy pulling the stunt, I have noticed the boys on the team respect me more, ever since we did. And the advice on the characters from Xander has made me very popular amongst the fellows.”

Buffy’s saccharine smile gave her a toothache before the older girl cooed. “Ooooh, do you have a crush on one of them? Do they fancy you?” 

“What?! No! I’m only ten! Well, fifteen, but, no- I don’t- that’s besides the point!” Her face flushed, the pink in her cheeks matching the new pyjamas they’d got her at the mall. “I don’t think- it’s not possible that- I sure hope not! How can I be an effective leader when - ugh!” She dropped the needlepoint in the bed beside her, turning to regard the Slayer fully. “Carlos says this boy Phillip ‘like-likes’ me,” she hooked her fingers in the air to indicate quotation marks. The girls always did when she was speaking, as if it was etiquette only she knew of. It wasn’t. They checked, and it was just another Lottie original. “But Phillip thinks Rebecca Hertzwell in the grade above us is also beguiling, and she looks nothing like me! And any matter, his oral hygiene is horrid by Victorian standards, and the closest thing to a dentist back then was the local butcher or barber who’d yank out your tooth, for an extra shilling and a tuppence!”

“Gross. So… you don’t like anyone?” 

“No!” She fidgeted in her spot, avoiding eye contact. “Maybe. Ugh! But it’s all a waste! Just because he thinks he has nice hair, and soulful eyes you just want to go for a swim into,” she said dreamily, before shaking herself from the stupor. “Does NOT mean I will simply swoop down, every time he walks by in his letterman jacket, like- like- like some sort of… storybook character, in need of a personality!”

Buffy snorted, rolling her eyes. “Charlotte, it’s a harmless teenage crush, not marriage.” But then a puzzle piece fell into place and her brain set off alarm bells. Okay, a bell. Singular, but ringing way loudly. “Letterman… Charlotte? What’s this boy’s name?” 

And then she said the one name Buffy was hoping the young girl would never say. The one she was dreading to hear. “R.J. Brooks.” 

Great. Now she was sunk. God, where’s mom when you need her? she groaned internally as she tried to slap a faux smile on her face. Both of them crushing on the same boy. This must be the Hellmouth. 

 

----------

 

It’s just the Hellmouth, it’s just the Hellmouth, she kept telling herself, trying to settle to sleep in Mrs. Summers’ bed. The lemon mint fresh scent of the woman’s newly laundered sheets kept her grounded to earth, but just barely. Willow was exhausted, and while the tea Tara had lovingly prepared for her had worked the night before, it sure as sugar wasn’t working now. The unseen hand around her throat squeezed punishingly tight against her trachea, hours after Dawn sawed logs, Charlotte’s own huffs of frustration at her lack of sleep petering out by 2:12 A.M. It’s the Hellmouth playing tricks on me. Yeah, that’s it. It’s just- the energy or whatever, from the power outage or something. 

But in the depths of her soul, blocked by something she couldn’t touch, she knew. Knew it wasn’t really the Hellmouth messing with her dreams, or making her lean more heavily on the magic special sauce. She wouldn’t know what it was for certain - or, who, rather - for a few more years, but even then, as she tossed and turned fitfully in the too empty bed, that something wasn’t right, and it was driving her up the wall, to the ceiling, and out through the roof with fear bordering on mania. The hand around her neck squeezed, but it wouldn’t kill her. It couldn’t. Not only because she was stronger. Because oooooooh, boy! Even in her weakened, sleep deprived, no appetite having, hand trembling, collwobbling, anguish hearted state, she was still stronger than the pathetic sod who had that hand around her magics. And no matter what it did, she wasn’t going to die by that hand. Not like she had in another dimension. A dimension, where a certain Slayer’s ‘no’ was as good as a death sentence for those she cared for. Because that Willow hadn’t seen them as a threat. That Willow had trusted the man in the thick, chukka, bloodstained boots more than this one did. And paid for that trust in her lifeless corpse, hung in the middle of town, as a warning to all what would happen if they ever said ‘no’ again. 

No, this Willow wouldn’t be used as an example. Not only was she stronger than the other Willow had been, but she had the common sense to be wary of empty promises, and she’d made one to the wretch years ago. One she intended to keep. Especially if he tried to go after the girls. Because he would. Because he always had. And he had failed. Failed to kill HER, the Miracle Girl. Over, and over again, he had failed. He failed to kill her, and her mother, and her aunt, and grandmother, and great-grandmother, and- Willow would have no way of knowing that, of course. Not in that bed in the tastefully decorated house at 1630 Revello Drive. Not unless she could access the Ether. But she wouldn’t tonight.

She turned on her side, tracing the ivy leaves with her eyes, listening to the chipmunk snores next door, thankful she was loved. Pain was inevitable, but the love she felt in this house was keeping her from unravelling at the seams.

Notes:

I've written the end five chapters, but I noticed inconsistencies, so I'm in major editing mode, so no guarantee when I will finish this fic. But it is NOT abandoned.

Chapter 27

Summary:

In Uganda, Spike fights for his life behind the scenes, Joyce fretting as she waits for him. Meanwhile, on the Hellmouth, not only does the friendship between Dawn and Charlotte get tested, but a certain unlikable nerd has it out for our Slayer.

Warning: some plot points & dialogue from 07x06 (Him) and 06x17 (Normal Again) pop up in this chapter, but it’s important to the end plot, I promise

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sunday, October 27th, 2002

 

Uganda was sweltering, despite it being in the middle of their rainy season. The storm clouds kept passing overhead without offering up a drop, as if some mystical force kept it from raining down on them, keeping them in the perpetual sauna of the 77.2°F desert. The waning gibbous moon above mocked her, reminding her of the passage of time, and how her vampiric friend had yet to return. Six nights. He had been gone in those caves for SIX nights. Or was it a full week? There was no way to remember, what with her dayplanner back with the rest of her things at Masuda’s house. She’d made sure to lock them up tight in the store room the thirty-two year old had designated for her and Spike’s things, Joyce the only one with a key. 

Fatima, the Luganda woman taking care of her, had refused to let the American lift a single finger since arriving. All her meals were made for her - some so spicy she thought her mouth was going to fall out of her head - her dishes and clothes washed, tent tidied. She felt like a lazy old retiree. Even after her aneurysm surgery, her family didn’t do every single thing for her. She still folded towels, re-building the strength in her hand, put calls into the utilities when they were charged for services they didn’t even use, and even checked Buffy’s numbers from the gallery. And then fixing the numbers, wondering if she ought to have her eldest get tested for dyscalculia, when the math wasn’t mathing. She was bored. There were only so many hours in the day - and night - she could spend reading her book, and she was down to just three remaining chapters.

Which was why Fatima had let her three girls hang out with the strange American woman while she worked, the blonde learning their language as she taught them hers. They kept her distracted, drawing pictures in the sand with a stick, saying their word for the item, and she’d repeat the English word. So far, she knew the Arabic word for sun, bird, moon, man, woman, and snake. Everytime the girls tried to draw a rhino, or a giraffe, Joyce would pretend to be frightened, gasping out with her hand on her chest, or on her forehead the way she did when her own girls were small, and it would lead them all into giggles. Unlike her girls, though, the three of them didn’t have school, what with it being so far away. And while the blonde felt the pangs of white guilt in her gut over it, she knew meddling outright was a bad way to go. Not only would it insult their hardworking mother, but she also didn’t know what she could do. She didn’t speak their language, let alone read it. She could offer to teach the girls her alphabet, but again, with the insulting and the not knowing enough of Arabic or Luganda to ask Fatima’s permission to do so. So she drew more symbols and animals and pointed to things, trying to get the girls to teach her, so she could in turn share her own limited knowledge back. And they liked her. 

More importantly, they liked her bizarre hair. Oh, man, did they love playing with Joyce’s hair. The blonde hair was one thing, but the fact that she had multiple scars from her craniotomies had made them all talk in rapid joy, touching the raised flesh with reverence. It probably wasn’t common for them to see; a woman surviving major surgery like that in their small, nomadic village. But their grins were wide when they came to see her every morning, little fingers digging in her locks, touching the scars while whispering ‘Omuwonyewo’. She’d mind more, considering they were three strangers, kinda treating her like a puppy. But there was something about it that felt almost like… like a family member greeting her home, joy at her survival. So she kept it hush-hush around their mother, so long as they didn’t wake her before the heat did. 

Sometimes, the girls even came to wish her goodnight, asking her to read from the book to her. She refused, but pretended to. She’d memorised enough kids' books to tell them a different story each night, pretending to read from the text, as she flipped through the pages of her novel, the three enraptured by the pleasing lilt of her voice. Regardless of where in the world they were, The Summons just wasn’t a book appropriate for pre-pubescent minds. But since they’d already gone to bed, she was left with her worries again, thoughts swirling in a vortex in her head. She’d been safe here, but she wasn’t so sure Spike was.

Pounding music always accompanied the 10 P.M. reading, the Luganda men enjoying their drums into the early morning. Normally, she’d hate it keeping her up, but she needed it now. It kept her with his hours, and therein turn, with her girls back home. Shifting on the cot, she tried to readjust the jewellery under her shirt, the clay pendant clinging to her sweat-soaked skin uncomfortably. The medallion hung from a leather strap, nestled between her breasts. Fatima had given it to her, insisting through her broken English that the symbols carved there were for protection, and the American believed her. She had no reason to lie. Spike was paying her to do just that. Make sure Joyce was fed, safe, and well looked after. In the years they’d known one another, she was never not surprised by him. But this extra planning definitely required her to re-evaluate everything she knew about souls. He’d planned all this without one. Planned Charlotte’s trip without one. Treated her like a son would his mother- like he once had for his own mother. She was there to help him recover, but she felt like a tourist with how well she was treated by everyone she met. Like this was the vacation, before the inevitable rains of lava coming for her head. 

Her cot was nothing too glamorous, but she had her own tent, and a little table someone had made from a carved stump, for her book and a lamp. Everything here was low tech, making her feel like an archeologist in 1905, ready to uncover a demon artefact to go into the British museum. Thankfully, she didn’t have to wake up at four A.M. to dig under the hot sun. Reading her book under the paltry light of her kerosene lantern, she found her mind wandering yet again. Was he okay? Sure, Spike could hold his own, but even HellGods weren’t invincible. And if the trials included fire…

The drums outside picked up, before stopping altogether. Huh, she figured. Must be done their song. It’s still pretty early for them to call it quits for the-

“Batalon!” she heard being shouted in the distance. There were more words of exclamation, but she didn’t know what they meant. Standing, she listened carefully as more voices broke out. “Batalon! Batalon!”

Chanting started outside the tent, her book forgotten as she lifted the flap, nearly bowled over as two of the girls ran in. Each grasping a hand, they yanked her out, dragging her towards- oh. Oh, God, was it true? Was he back already? Running with them, they made quick work despite the uneven terrain of the desert sand. The locals had armed themselves with torches, but not as if they were heaving into battle. No, everyone was cheering. Some were singing a happy, jovial tune she didn’t recognize, probably because she didn’t speak the language. 

There, he emerged from the darkness. Shirtless, he was a spectre in soot. And blood..? He was beaten. Severely. He staggered closer, swaying with each excruciating step. Collapsing into the sand, his hands broke his fall, bringing him down to a huffing mess.

Fatima chastised her daughters, grabbing them back as the white woman ran forwards, towards the scary undead thing. But the blonde was unafraid for herself, knowing he wouldn’t dare hurt her.  

“Spike!” Joyce tripped, falling to her knees a foot from his hunched form. Up close, he looked so much worse. Worse than she’d ever seen him before. Worse than when Rex chomped a good two inch deep wound into his shoulder. Worse than Glory’s beating. Burned, beated, bloody, but not broken. Not really. His bones may have been, but his will to keep breathing hadn’t. At least three fingers were broken, jeans torn to reveal a gash above his knee, his nose sitting at a sickening angle. God, and his ribs! Beaten black and blood had been one thing- but to see the cacophony of colours on his skin, the tiny divots from more than claws and fists and weapons could cause… It was a miracle she didn’t toss her cookies all over her friend. Reaching for him with a tentative hand, she cupped his jaw and turned it to the side, examining his wounds. He flinched at her touch, but she shushed him. “It’s okay, S. It’s me. It’s just Joyce. Let me get a look at that, okay?”

  He jerked back, skittering away from her like a wounded dog, sand kicking up around him, fear gripping his entire being. 

“Spike?” 

“N- no,” he croaked, trying to hide himself. “Good, g- good Joyous Summer sunshine. Need not touch the unclean thing.”

He wasn’t making any sense, much like Tara had done when she’d been mind sucked. But Glory was dead. And even if she wasn’t, vampires couldn’t have their minds sucked out, anyway. “Un- Spike, it’s okay.”

He shook her head quickly, looking tortured. “You’re not real. All a bloody mess. Just a trick. Evil, nasty trick from the king of the spooks. I’m barmier than a one legged dog.” 

Grabbing his forearm in their Spartan hold, his muscle memory snapped his own onto her forearm. “This… right here. This is real.” She pulled her hair to the side, showing off the right scar on her head from her craniotomy, lifting his hand to touch the edges with his shaking fingers, despite how filthy and broken they were. “Can a ghost have a scar? A scar you can touch?”

The effect was immediate when his fingertips made contact. His eyes widened, mouth floundering for a bit. “J- Joyce?”

“Yes! It’s me, I’m here. It’s alright, I’m here. Did you hit your head?” She tilted his head to the side, noticing the blood caked into the bleached curls. “You look….” Terrible. Awful. Like dog dirt, warmed over. “Like you need to eat.”

“ ‘S not my blood,” he muttered. “I think. Is it time to go home now?”

“Yes. Shower, food, home.”

“Food first,” he nodded. “My stomach’s been making the most horrid noise, writing Morse code on my veins.” 

God, what the hell happened to him in there?! 

Above them, the heavens opened up, rain beat down on them. Looking up, Joyce blinked in surprise. He started to laugh, the pair being pelted by precipitation from the gods. “Guess that’s the shower done, then.”

Chuckling with him, she couldn’t stop laughing at the absurdity of the moment. “You sure you’re not gonna melt?” He raised an eyebrow in question. “Rains being blessed?”

They laughed harder, the two aberrant confidants allowing themselves a moment of respite, before yet another arduous journey. 

 

----------

 

“Do you two know the plan?” Xander asked his fellow guys. 

Thomas and Carlos nodded seriously, preparing their legs for a sprint. “Let’s do this,” Carlos nodded sternly, ready for this whole mess to be over. Half of Sunnydale’s female population, all bewitched by a stinking letterman’s jacket. Outrageous. Wait, his wasn’t under a spell too, was it? No, that was nuts. If it was, Kit, Dawn, and Lottie woulda been mackin’ on him, not foaming at the mouth for R.J.

On the count of three, they broke off into a small cluster, running for the quarterback chatting up the teen girl by the Espresso Pump , ripping the jacket off the boy’s shoulders. R.J. and the girl yelled at them in confusion, but by the time they got the jacket off, they were off into the night again. 

The best thing about having a magical letterman jacket that was hexed to make any and all of the female persuasion fall in love on sight, was that unlike a magical orb of something or other, fabric burned. And burning it in the Summers’ fireplace was as cathartic as it was efficient. Also, smelly. Probably why Giles refused to take part in it’s destruction. 

Buffy coughed as she waved her hand in front of her face in disgust, shaking her head. “I am so glad the girls are at your place right now Xander, cuz this stinks. Ugh! I hope this smell doesn’t linger. We don’t need Charlotte wheezing in the night and the day.”

“At least you’re no longer jonesin’ for a teenage boy,” he unhelpfully replied in a much too cheery tone. 

Her mouth turned into a sour, thin line. “There was no jonesin’. I’m No Jones Buffy, thank you very much.” She shuddered at the thought of her momentarily insanity at thinking she’d be a better choice for R.J. than Dawn if they were the same age, and felt herself gag. Thank God she’d noticed how absolutely wigsome she was acting three seconds into the thought, dragging Willow out of the room with her. Watching Dawn and Charlotte throw drinks at each other in The Bronze had been very Twilight Zoney, and once the redheaded witch had said Buffy was probably jealous, something made her want to page magical 9-1-1 straight to Giles, cuz all that? Yeah, absolute psycho town. Getting Xander to research it had been their only choice, what with Anya actually taking off her engagement ring when she went to flirt with him. Yeesh! “Besides, at least I didn’t consider turning him into a girl, like Willow did.”

“Hey,” Carlos lifted his head from where he and Thomas were lounging on her couch, Willow frowning from the chair where she’d been recently untied from. Buffy was still rubbing her raw wrists from the manacles in the basement where she’d been kept - at her own urging - looking at her sister’s friend curiously. “If Wills and Tara are both of the livin’ la vida lesbian, how come Tara wasn’t affected by the jacket of magic?”

Willow shrugged, looking away from the boys. Her and Tara had been on the outs lately, what with Willow’s foray into more dangerous magic territory- that she’d promised her girlfriend she’d avoid. “Maybe cuz of the whole… the thing with Glory. The spell she did before she- you know.” It was obvious that with this new threat of a gender reassignment spell the redhead had threatened on the eighteen year old, Tara and her were probably over. Officially. She was so not ready for that conversation. 

“Maybe. Or maybe-”

“Or maybe I walk you both home, and get a little patrolling done,” Buffy interrupted, clapping her hands as she faced them. “Come on. Don’t want your parents to bite my head off for keeping you out later than you’ve already been.”

Thomas hummed, standing up with a crick in his neck. “I think that’s best. Mom n- needs me home anyways. It’s pepper stew night, an-”

“And your good buddy Carlos is coming with you,” the other boy exclaimed, inviting himself over. It was little wonder, what with Mrs. Anderson’s cooking being top notch, including her homemade hot sauce. “Cuz someone’s gotta back you up with the sister squad.”

Rolling his eyes, Tom relented. He wasn’t a huge fan of people inviting themselves over, but wasn’t one to snub his friends. Especially since he had more now than he had in years. Leading the way, Buffy and Los followed him out, Xander promising to keep an eye on the house (and Willow). “You’re just gonna get roped into washing dishes, ya know.”

“Small price to pay for stew and rice. It is rice tonight, right? The one with the habanero and tomatoes?”

“Jollof rice? I think…?”

As the two boys argued over the best way to make rice, Buffy kept a keen eye on their surroundings for anything demony. 

Dropping them off, she was accosted with an arm full of homemade bulla cakes Tom’s mom insisted she take home, the Slayer hard pressed to turn them down. Even if she wasn’t a fan of the baked treats, Dawn sure as heck was. And Lottie was on a streak of trying new things, so after some prodding, she relented, waving her sister’s friend’s mom off, armed with a stake in her jacket, and a grocery bag full of treats. 

Cutting through the front yard of a house, she wasn’t paying attention, and tripped over a decorative rock. “Ow!” Lifting herself upright, she sucked her teeth at her jeans, the knees covered in dark patches she was sure would turn out to be grass stains, if she didn’t get them to the washer in time. “Dammit! I knew I should have put on those other pants. Ugh!” 

Unbeknownst to the Slayer, a little rat was watching her from behind an oleander bush, a remote in his hands. “Wanna mess up my plan for world domination?” the spikey haired, deplorable said, extending the antenna up to its full telescopic length. “Fine then. Let’s see how you like a little nightmare on Revello Street.” Pressing the red button, the trapdoor on the tool shed at number 1214 slid open, his secret weapon moving forwards, heading for the cemetery. 

Pausing momentarily, he watched her reach into her inner jacket pocket, pulling out a stake, before heading after it, her paper bag abandoned on the turf. 

“Pfft! Stupid bitch,” the incel scoffed, standing and heading after them to watch. He’d been saving this little slice of fun for the Slayer for months, but she was always with that stupid vampire boy-toy of hers, or with one of her precious little sidekicks. But not tonight. Tonight, she’d come alone, dropping off some teen boys before heading back home. Now was the perfect opportunity to use the demon modulator he’d made the year before, never getting to test it out before the Slayer and her posse shut down their sweet operation “Gonna get a front row seat to- hey!”

Looking up, he scowled at the two jabronies who cut off his path, their biker chic looking more like barfing crap, looking above him with malice. “Lookie what we got here, Peters” the taller one said. “Lunch.”

“Hey, hey, hey! Fellas!” Holding up his hands, the bastard chuckled dryly, body shaking minutely in fear. “Hold the phone. Why eat me now, when you’ll just be hungry again in an hour? C’mon. What’s the use in that?” 

“I dunno,” Peters shrugged, grabbing his snack’s jacket by the labels, and dragging him closer. “Should we eat him now, Simmons? Or let him marinate?”

“Or!” Boy, this food was talking way too much. “Or, you spare me, and I help you take over this town. You know that bitch Slayer?” They shared a look, and he knew he’d won. He sooooo loved winning lackeys over. “I just sent a demon after her, all without breaking a sweat. Imagine what I can do with you two.”

Shaking a heavier look, Simmons nodded, letting Peters knock the blood bag out. Later, they’d turn him. But now? Oh, now, they were gonna go get front row seats to see the Slayer… stumble out of the graveyard?

“Let’s leave her,” Peters offered, hauling the computer nerd over his shoulder. “After we get some actual food, we can see what this jagoff’s plan is. And if it’s bad-”

“We eat him. Yeah, yeah. Guess she can have one more night to live. Man, I don’t remember her walking so funny. Maybe she’s drunk?”

Snorting, he agreed, heading in the opposite direction as the blonde was bumbling towards, adding, “you’ve heard who she’s dating, right?” before the pair of them laughed. 

 

----------

 

Monday, October 28th, 2002

 

      May your smile (may your smile)

     Shine on (shine on)

     Don't be scared (don't be scared)

     Your destiny may keep you warm

 

“Hey.”

Looking up from the book she was attempting to read on the floor of their room, Charlotte quickly sat up at the sight of her roommate. “Hello.”

Dawn looked so hesitant by the doorway, which was very uncharacteristic for the teenager. “Can… can I come in?”

Shrugging, she turned down the radio one handed. “It was your room first. Still is.”

Closing the door behind herself, she gingerly lowered herself to her mattress, knowing they had to talk about this. Ignoring it for as long as they had, playing civil, ignoring the sparkly elephant in the room was so pointless. “Can… can we talk? Cuz I feel like we haven’t really done that. And- Lottie?” Pulling the box of tissues off the nightstand, she offered one to her roomie, the tears obviously winning out. “I’m sorry about that whole mess with... him. I should’ve known he was bad news. Every guy that just goes by initials usually is.”

Lottie sniffed, sitting next to her friend, distraught. “I never wish to look at another boy in that manner ever, ever again,” her friend insisted, eyes misty. “I cannot believe- how I behaved-”

“It was a spell,” Dawn replied, feeling pretty scuzzy herself. Was RJ cute? Sure. But no boy was worth losing a friend over. Not a great friend. Not the best friend she’d made in the blonde. 

“It was still reprehensible!” Lottie cried, the brunette embracing her tightly. Hugging her back, the blonde added, “you’re my closest friend. My ‘BFF’. I’m so sorry, Dawn. I promise-”

“I’m sorry, too. Saying what I did-”

Cutting her off, she knew it wasn’t worth bringing up. So she’d never kissed a boy on the lips before. So what? She was in a coma for five long years! She was allowed to be a little late bloomerly. “Let’s make a pact. No matter what, if we both ‘crush upon’ the same boy, neither one one of us will pursue him.”

“Bet.” At her friend’s confusion, she explained, “that means yes.”

“Oh. Then it’s official. We… we don’t need to do a blood oath, do we?” 

“Ew! No, pinky swears are plenty.”

“Oh, thank the heavens,” she breathed, pink swearing with genuine affection, the other girl a mirror to her. “Blood pacts are so unsanitary; it’s a wonder we don’t have an epidemic of HPV on our hands. Are you still alright for us to go as a group for the holiday this coming weekend?”

Instantly, the former Key’s mood lifted at the mention. “Uh, sh-yeah! Oh, crap, that reminds me,” she shuffled around the things in the bottom of their closet, the poor bar stuffed with both their clothes. Any more weight, and it might insist on hazard pay. Pulling out a shoe box, she grinned from ear to ear as she flipped open the top, showing off her plunder to the Victorian. “I finally get to break out these babies I got last year. And tomorrow, Tara’s gonna take us to Thrift Town, so you can find a pair of your own.”

“Ooooh! I hope I don’t take a tumble on them. Or that you don’t trip on these monstrous white stompers,” she gestured to the boots.

“They’re called- hey! I’ve been practising!”

“Mmm. I’m sure.”

“God, you’re such a brat.”

“Takes one to be familiar with one.”

“It’s-”

Stopping for a split second, the girls looked at one another tensely, before breaking out into giggles. 

“You- you so did that on purpose!” 

“Perhaps… alright. C’mon,” she gestured, sour mood evaporated as she wiggled under her comforter for what Buffy deemed ‘maximum cosiness’. “Let’s see your progress on those skyscraper shoes of yours.”

 

----------

 

Thursday, October 31st, 2002



“Okay, let me see, let me see!” Willow was practically vibrating with excitement at seeing the girls’ costumes in the Summers’ house . The three of them - Charlotte, Dawn, and Kit - had been working on the group costume in secret all week long. Charlotte was still a ten year old stuck in the body of a teenager, and despite being from a time period where Halloween wasn’t more than a date in a calendar, the girl was tickled pink at the whole holiday. To dress up, to get free chocolate, and especially because she heard demons took the day off. 

“Everything comes to she who waits!” Charlotte bellowed from upstairs, a yelp being heard and a thud followed. “I’m okay!”

Willow sighed, adjusting her own costume. The collar on her boatneck dress was way too high, choking her. She should’ve gone with the pirate queen one that Anya had been looking at the day before, but changed into the Melanie Daniel’s one at the last minute. The fringe around the wrists was way too dang long on the other one, making every task take twice as long. And the waist? So tight she nearly hurled her waffles all over herself. Yuck! 

“What d’ya think it is?” Xander asked, ripping open into another mini bag of chips. His Riff Raff wig askew, he didn’t care that he was leaving crumbs in his wake on the couch. “Cuz I’m 79.3% sure it’s a dragon costume, big enough for the whole mini Scooby crew, with an extra spot for Fido, here.”

Across from him, Gemini yawned in his dog form, shifting halfway through said yawn into his kitty side, the wide splay of whiskers twitching as he settled back down. He’d adopted one of Joyce’s old scarves since she and Spike had left on their trip, carrying it around with him everywhere. Adjusting himself on the armchair, he tucked his chin on his paws, fat cat belly firmly holding the silk in place. 

“Nah, I bet they’re going as chess pieces,” Anya offered, touching up her makeup, compact in one hand. Her Satine Zidler costume was homemade, but sleek, like it was a red gown some college theatre department had to let go of, to make space for their Pirates of Penzance collection. “Charlotte wouldn’t pass up her chance to be the queen. I mean, she’s just too smart to be a pawn. Well, not on purpose.”

The Slayer only hummed in agreement, half paying attention to the conversation around her. She felt the edges of reality brushing against her consciousness, trying to keep hold of it with both hands. 

“Okay!” Dawn’s voice filtered out from the top floor, exuberant. “We’re ready!” 

The girls showed up with their hair and makeup done up to the nines, but their costumes didn’t match. Kit had on a red dress with little plastic chilli peppers sewn on haphazardly, her typical black stomping boots laced up with a little plastic light up chilli on each one. Her Red Hot Chilli Peppers branded earrings made her look out of place, as did the torn fishnets she had on underneath the dress. Still, it worked for her. Dawn’s green dress was covered in green leaves, hot glued in place, hair tied up in twin high ponytails, green ribbon hiding the elastic there. She had on a pair of white pleather Go-Go boots, the tights underneath a darker green than the dress. Charlotte came down last, her dress much more modest than the other two, long sleeves and hem down to her mid-calf, her chunky heels far shorter than her friends’, to keep from tripping over herself. The yellow floral printed gown washed her out a bit, but the bright smile on her face, made up with makeup she wasn’t used to wearing, told them that she was very happy with her thrift store finds. 

Anya’s face didn’t hide her confusion, eyebrows in a dance with one another on her forehead. “What… are you?”

“Is it not obvious?” Charlotte sighed. “We’re the Spice Girls!” 

Xander let out a bark of laughter, slapping his thigh. “Holy Moley! That’s incredible!” 

“That’s not very funny,” Charlotte pouted, hands crossed in front of her. “We worked very hard on these!”

Anya excused her fiancé’s chuckles with a wave of her hand, mentally measuring Charlotte to see if she’d fit into the yellow gown when the teenager wasn’t around. It was really fetching, and would look so good with the new red pumps she got the other day. 

Willow nodded, trying to figure each girl’s costume out. “So Kit is Chili Spice, but… what are the other two of you?”

Charlotte stood straighter as she announced, “Dawn is Basil Spice, and I am of course… Mustard Spice!” 

“Basil is an herb, not a spice.”

Ignoring the tone Anya used, Dawn shrugged, cracking some glow sticks to activate them by the front door. “Close enough.” 

“Which house are we going to first?” Lottie asked, bouncing in place as she played with the hem of her dress. 

“I thought we were going to the block party on Thomas’ street?”

“And miss getting free chocolate? Have you considered yourself mad recently, because those are the thoughts of a madwoman!” Lottie scoffed. “What is our curfew tonight? Perhaps we could go to the party after we fill our pumpkins with sugary goodness.”

“The party’s until 10, and it's 6:30 right now so we definitely can.”

Buffy shivered on the couch, feeling lost. Why were everyone’s voices so loud? Why were they so close, yet so very far away? “That’s kind of late, don’t you think?”

“I’ll be with them the whole time,” Willow assured her. “You sure you’re going to be okay? Maybe you should come with us. It’ll be fun!”

Buffy shook her head, pulling a blanket back over her shivering form, trying to hide the severity of her pain. “No, I’m fine,” she cheerfully lied. Like the big ole liar she was. “Demons are taking the night off, which means it’s the first day off I’ve gotten since July. I’m gonna catch up on some rom coms, eat my weight in ice cream, and take a nice, long, hot bath.” 

“Okay… if you’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” The girls came closer to check in on her, and she turned to give them a big, cheesy grin, hoping she wasn’t lookin’ like a total puppet. “You all look super great! Go have fun, listen to Willow, and be home by ten!”

Xander didn’t seem so sure, sharing a tense look with their resident redhead. “Anya and I can stay behind, if you- ow! Ahn!”

“We have plans! Just because Buffy looks like crap, doesn’t mean-”

“Not crap!” their witch corrected her. “Just… rough around the edges. You sure you’re okay?”

“A little run down, maybe. A lot’s happened this month. I’m fine, I swear. Now go,” she insisted. “Before Dawn hightails it to Oak Park, leaving you all in the dust.”

Checking to look at her charges, she noticed they’d already left the house. “Wha-? Crap! She’s fast. Call if you need us!” And then Willow was out of the house, calling after the girls to wait for her, Anya and Xander following.  

As soon as the front door shut, and the delusions hadn’t resurfaced, she breathed a sigh of relief, shutting the lights off downstairs, and heading up to draw that bath. The kids trick or treating had to deal with the bowl out front, cuz she was on her one night off a year, and she was going to enjoy the crap outta it. 

Not long after she’d started towel drying her hair, however, she knew she’d been lulled into a false sense of hope. 

Humming as she entered her room, her eyes pulled up a different image for her. One she didn’t expect to ever see again. 

“Wha-?” Blinking rapidly, she felt her heart sink to her butt, acrid bile taking its place. Instead of the wall of photos Spike had lovingly (with a few swears when he hit his thumb) hung up, she saw stark white. Where their bed stood proud, with it’s permanent scuff mark on the third bar from the left - when someone got a little too carried away with those handcuffs - now a different bed sat. A hospital bed. One she hadn’t been in since… “oh, God. No. No, this isn’t-”

“Buffy?”

Flinching, she dropped the towel, turning around to find herself face to face with a familiar… face. But what was he doing here? In her room?! “What’s happening?”

Looking at her with concern, her old psychiatrist leaned a little closer, his stool wheels squeaking a little as he did. “Do you know where you are, Buffy?

“My room,” Buffy answered in a daze. She was sitting now, but she couldn’t remember when she sat down. “The room I share with Spike. In Sunnydale.”

“No, none of that's real, none of it,” Dr. Barry pushed, face knitting in more than just concern. Was that… anger? “Sunnydale doesn’t exist. You’ve never lived there, Buffy. You're in a mental institution.” Shaking her head, she glared at him. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. Could it? “You've been with us now for six years. Do you remember?”

No. No please God no! She couldn’t relive this again. No way. No how. Gotta go. Gotta get the FREAK outta here. Standing took a lot of difficulty, but she was motivated. “No,” she huffed with a waver in her voice. “You’re the one who’s not really here.”

“Buffy?” He made an effort to grab her, but even out of sorts, the Slayer was faster. Kicking her foot to the stool, she knocked him off kilter, rolling him and the stool backwards and slamming into the wall. “Buffy! Orderlies, secure her!”

Punching out, she faltered, falling to the ground. No one was there to take it, her fist moving through mist. “Wha-?” Struggling to her feet, she looked around. Home. She was still at home. Gemini meowed at her in confusion, coming up to rub his face against her shins in comfort, grounding her for just a moment. “Great. Whatever happened to a quiet Halloween on the Hellmouth? Huh? Last year, Dawn nearly becomes a vamp tramp. Now-”

 

          HSSSSS!

 

Head jerking to the left, she felt her stomach drop to her bottom. Oh, God. No. No, no, no! How-? One of those creepy, no-eyed, knife wielding, stabby monks from her recurring nightmare; he was here. How? And- OH, GOD! It had an ugly, twisted demon on a leash, the snarling fiend barely restrained by the stainless steel chain. How were they here?! In her house? No. She wouldn’t let it come after her. Not a chance in hell. “Alright, baddie. Wanna dance?” It snarled in response, spurring her on. “Alright.” It started to head for her, spittle flying from its putridriffic, jagged toothed maw. “Let’s Cha-Cha Slide you into next,” bracing herself against the doorframe, she lifted her bottom half, kicking it in the chest as it sprinted for her. “Week!” 

“Buffy!” Sprawling onto the floor, she blinked away the stars in her eyes, her surroundings all topsy-turvy, yet again. Instead of her own ceiling, she was greeted with the acoustic tiles of the mental ward. Again. Oh, God, she thought, being lifted up by two orderlies. Her body was heavy, sluggish. Weighed down by the drugs they injected her, she was powerless. No, please dear God, no! “She’s not herself,” she heard the doctor remind her parents. “The sedative will wear off by morning, and she’ll be easier to talk to, then.”

Wavering, her vision swam, and the picture that was painted in front of her felt wrong. It wasn’t the monster she’d bicycle kicked in the chest. But her father. Who was now huffing in pain, nurses helping him into a wheelchair, while her mother fretted over him. 

“Buffy,” the older blonde admonished. “How could you?”

Guilt and shame washed over the Slayer, colouring her in an icy pallour. Her dad? Why was her dad here? She hadn't seen him since… since… Why couldn’t she remember? “I didn’t- It- it was- but the demon..?”

Joyce’s face turned tortured, and when she barked out, “There are no demons!” her tone was acrid and cruel. Laced with a poison, barbs cutting deep into Buffy’s very being. “You’re unwell, sweetie,” her voice gentled, a stark flip from just a second prior. Something wasn’t just fishy, it was a whole aquarium of wigworthy chaos. “You need to let them help you.”

No, she didn’t. She needed out of this budget Overlook Hotel. “Okay, mommy,” her voice cracked as she nodded numbly. Letting the orderlies tuck her into bed, she feigned falling asleep, evening out her breathing. Listening carefully to the sounds around her, she waited until all the footsteps receded, before she cracked an eye open again. Alone. Thank God. Lurching forwards, she frowned as her body refused to move. Turning her head, she scowled at the terrible leather straps holding her down. That… these weren’t leather last time, she thought. Why are they leather? They should be those duffle bag-like strap thingies, like when Tara… none of this is real. Jerking her hand hard, it broke into a mass of pulverised seeds, pomegranate juice staining the flimsy sheets in hues of reds and pinks. Well, that’s not your routine hospital break, but… Grabbing the IV stand, she lifted it, and thrust it through the window. Using the base to give herself an opening, she only had twelve seconds to get through the open glass before-

 

CODE GREEN. CODE PURPLE. ROOM 1630. THIS IS NOT A DRILL CODE GREEN. CODE PURPLE. 

 

The PA system blared on repeat, digging into her skull with its shrill sirens. Not a chance, bucko. Working her way through the open expanse left by the shattered glass, she didn’t pay attention to the fact that the codes didn’t match up with a missing patient, not truly. Her focus was too singular to even notice the small nick on her left bicep from an errant glass shard. Escaping the dreaded mental hospital, she willed her legs to carry her away, only to be stopped by a man. What the-? “Move.” It wasn’t a question.

Chuckling, the mystery guest of honour looked unassuming in his garb, until his eyes flashed black. Blinking quickly, her heart hammered a lambada against her ribs, the crisp, lush green of her lawn gone. Instead, a cavern filled with those- those things surrounded her, ready to chew on her face, and swallow her soul. “Oh, I don’t think so,” he said, voice echoing against the stone walls. “Not yet.”

Kicking out, she yelped as her toes met bark, collapsing to the stone walkway in a heap. The demons were gone, and she was alright. Staggering carefully up, Buffy hissed as she felt her broken toes throb in her sneakers. “Dammit! What the hell is going on?”

“There!” 

Whipping her head around, her eyes stung at the changed surroundings, yet again. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Six orderlies - buff enough to get full time gigs as Shawn Micheal’s bodyguards - headed for her, armed with syringes full of mystery medicine, and straps to restrain her. “Miss Summers,” the tallest one said, approaching the trembling woman cautiously. Like she was a wounded bear, rabid and ready to claw his eyes out. “Please. You’re not safe out here. Come with us, and we can make sure you never get hurt again.”

But Buffy Anne Summers was too smart for these phantasmagoric fiends, and did what she did best: she fought back. Not an easy feat, as they kept turning into mist, or weirder. The uppercut to the reject Thomas Howell turned the man into twelve hundred cheese balls, hitting the pavement with a crunch, while the young Magic Johnson look-alike disintegrated into a tidy pile of chess pieces. Whatever curse or spell or hex she was under, she knew she had to keep moving, because stopping would make her way dead.

Beating them back, she missed the shortest one heading for her until his blade sliced her arm. For a split second, he flickered in front of her, his face changing. His mouth was sewn, eyes burned out with symbols that seemed familiar, but couldn’t place. And as quickly as the mirage appeared, it vanished. The budget young Al Jardine threw a sucker punch for her nose, sending her stumbling back several paces. She wavered on her feet, head pounding. If only she could fight them a little longer, maybe then they’d be too tired to take and finally leave her alone. “Go away!” she sobbed, pushing herself further from the hands of the orderlies, tripping over herself in her haste and landing on the lawn. As soon as her butt made contact with the soft grass, her vision flashed back to their Sunnydale, away from the psychiatric facility she had hallucinated. 

“Buffy?” Turning her head, she felt her heart ache at the sight. Willow stood over her, the fake birds of her costume bobbing with each movement, right hand extended with concern all over her features. “Are you okay?”

Taking the offered limb, she let her friend haul her up, looking to see the girls slightly further away, as concerned as their chaperone was. “I- I’m- I don’t- how’d I get here? Is the party over already?”

Shaking her head, Dawn rushed to Buffy’s side, helping Willow guide their Slayer back home. Which was just a few houses away, thank goodness. “Giles called. Mom’s friend at the end of the block saw you wandering around, acting all weird, and thought you were on drugs. Are you on drugs?”

Buffy shook her own head, cheeks flaming. “No, but I’m pretty sure I’ve been poisoned. We- we need to-”

“Buffy!” 

Exhaustion won out in the end, and the next thing she remembered was blackness.

Notes:

Yes, Willow went as Tippy Hedren from The Birds because it’s a classic. And not that anyone asked, but Thomas' dad dressed up as Count Chocula cuz he's a big dork on Halloween.

Chapter 28

Summary:

Reunited and it feels so- wiggy! Yeah, okay. Not my finest hour, but neither is it for Buffy and Spike, who have to come to terms with their own fractured minds, in order to heal together. And Buffy gets way too close to accidentally offing her friends and sister(s), but mama Joyce to the rescue! Seriously, get this woman a fruit basket.

Some dialogue taken from 06x17

Chapter Text

Friday, November 1st, 2002 - Part A

 

“Glarghk Guhl Kashmas'nik!”

“Gesundheit,” Xander responded robotically, head still in his book. 

Anya rolled her eyes, wondering if he’d implode if he ever paid her attention for more than just orgasms. Clearing her throat loudly, she pointed to the photo again. “No, the demon. I knew it sounded familiar. ‘Glarghk Guhl Kashmas'nik, of the Guhl demons, possesses a poison in its stinger that when stung, its victims can experience extremely vivid hallucinations. An antidote using said poison can be brewed, but without it, the victim can fall into permanent madness.’ See?” she showed him the passage with the antidote recipe clearly listed. Turning away from her fiancé before he could make a retort, the ex-demon stomped back to the counter determinedly. “I’ll get the other ingredients, but you and Giles are gonna need to figure out how to get the stinger off the one that stuck her when he gets back from the bank, cuz that’s not something we carry.” She paused where she had her hand on the jar of skullcap. “Make sure its arms aren’t damaged. I’m gonna want the other stinger so we can keep it handy. You know, just in case it happens again.”

Eyeing her carefully, he had flashbacks to a certain polkadot demon that the Initiative used for their mega soldier years ago. But if his fiancée wanted to take over the world, she’d probably just call up an old pal from her demon days, so it was unlikely he’d need to worry. About this, at least. “Sure thing.”

As Anya started to mix the smelly conction, her brows furrowed. “Something’s not right…”

Stopping from sliding the books back onto the shelves, he groaned internally. “What is it, Ahn? Skull-weed not weedy enough?”

“Skullcap and grappa weed. Two different- nevermind. This demon, it’s not from our dimension.”

“So… does that mean your potion won’t make her nightmares go poof?”

“No, it will, but…”

Thomas shifted uneasily on the chair he was sitting on. He knew he should have stayed at the house with Lottie, but she insisted he’d be of more help at the shop, doing research. “How did it get here?” he asked, really dreading the thought that some witch summoned it just to hurt his friends. 

“It had to have been summoned.” Crap! “But I can’t think of by who.”

Carlos scoffed, leaning on the edge of the counter to look half-interestedly at what she was doing. Unlike Kit and Thomas, magic gave him the heebie-jeebies. “It’s Buffy. Slayers probably have a long laundry list of demons and humans coming after them.”

Bristow’s Demon Index slipped from his grasp, making a THUD as it made connection with the tabletop. Swivelling a sharp eye at the young Scooby, Xander felt his eyes narrowing. “What’d you just say?”

“Uh… that she probably has a lotta demons mad at her, and-”

“Humans. Gee, I wonder. What human - that we stopped semi-recently - can we think of, who both hates the ole Buffster, and is semi-smart enough to do this? Hmmm…” he tapped his chin almost comically, the front door jingling as Tara and Kit walked in, armed with more books from Giles’ home collection. “I wonder how Meers he is to this.”

Kit scrunched her nose as she dropped her stack on the table. “I think the saying is- wait, Meers?” She knew that name. Oh, no. This was BAD. “As in-”

Tara sighed heavily, stopping by the candle display to view the fallout before her. “D- don’t tell me you think Warren did this? C- cuz he’s not smart enough to... What? Inject her with a psychotic break cocktail?”

“No, but he’s just stupid enough to summon a Glarghk demon into our dimension, have it trained on her scent,” her friend huffed back, dreading seeing that idiot again. “He was never caught, remember?”

Her eyes went wide as her hands started to tremble. “W- we have t- to get this fixed asap, and then f- find him, don’t we?”
“Tara, relax. Rex is deader than a house of termites post-inferno of Raid guys. He’s not coming back.”

“I know b- but Warren… he… I d- don’t like him.”

Anya and Carlos scoffed in tandem, remembering the crapshow of the spring. “No one does,” the shop owner retorted. “Not even those ‘friends’ of his who squealed on him. Let’s get the antidote to her, before she goes and forgets her own name.” Snapping her fingers, she knew the witch needed to get her butt over to the counter, before she passed out on the shop floor. “Tara, I need your witchiness expertise here.” 

Together, the women did just that, the witch accidentally knocking over a glass vial, the ex-demon catching it with a practised - if a little bored - hand, placing it back on the counter with a mild glare, before going back to work. 

Stopping in the middle of his work, Xander gazed at his fiancée with a twinkle of respect (and a splash of arousal) at her smooth move. “Woah, ain’t she a bit of terrific?” 

 

----------

 

Saturday, November 2nd, 2002

 

Jerking away, Buffy blinked blearily at the blonde girl sitting on the edge of her bed. “Buffy,” she said, pressing a hot mug into the Slayer’s hands with a tortured smile. “We’ve found out what poisoned you. We’ll have the antidote ready ‘in a jiffy’. Until then, Willow said it’s best if you rest up.” Her voice was soothing, kind. Buffy liked this girl. Even if she wasn’t real. “The poison… it makes you hallucinate, and by your reactions, we believe it’s something dreadful. What are you seeing?”

Nosey. Kind, but so freaking nosey. “The institution,” she breathed, shutting her eyes. Against her wishes, tears formed in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. 

“Institution?” Willow whispered from the doorway, their patient completely unaware that she had an audience. “She was never in an institution, right?”

Dawn shook her head, about to say ‘not a chance’, when she caught Lottie’s expression. Haggard, Giles would call it. Oh, God, she thought. Mom and dad had her locked up? “Oh, this is bad,” she whispered in dread. “This is very, very bad.”

“Buffy,” Charlotte prodded, setting the tea aside and sliding into bed to offer up some comfort. Whenever she was having a hard time with things, the Summers ladies would wrap a comforting arm around her and offer her a reassuring squeeze. When her parents were alive, they’d do much the same, though sometimes they’d hum a comforting tune as well. No diddy would do right then, but she wrapped a loving arm around the Slayer’s trembling frame regardless. “You are not in that dreadful place any longer. You got free, and are safe here.”

“Am I?” Her pained laughter verged on hysterical. “This is the town of hell. Literally! Your school was mine, and some dingus built it on top of the literal door to the underworld. Twice!”

“Well, you’ve got me there. But you’re free of those doctors. The horrid nylon straps, the constant stinging stench of antiseptic. The rest, yes, is scary. But you taught me it’s worth fighting for,” she insisted, hoping her role model would snap out of it. What was that about putting someone on a pedestal? Right, not to. Oops? “The pain is worth fighting through to get to the other side.”

Shivering, she snuggled closer to the warmth, despite the sweating. How was she so cold when she sweat through every stinking shirt? “They said you’re not real.”

“Of course they would!” she argued, swallowing the scoff bubbling in her throat. “Brought forward in time, the sister of a master vampire, her illness practically cured… I almost believed my own jailers a hundred times over, because the reality they painted seemed far less dreadful. But Buffy,” her voice caught on the edges, Dawn striding forwards with a box of tissues as salty tears flowed. Not only from Charlotte, but from the Summers sisters, too. “That world? There must be something about it that draws you in. What’s keeping you there?”

“I- mom and dad. They- they never broke up. And….”

“I’m not there,” Dawn finished for her, tone dripping battery acid onto the sheets. Sitting on the bedspread, she caught her sister’s eye, her own harried. “Sounds too good to be true.” Her words were meant to hold venom, because, hello? She was pissed off. But it fell flat, like a joke. The brunette was just so tired of this crap. 

“But don’t you see?” Lottie desperately demanded. “It’s a fallacy. Hank Summers left. He abandoned you both, and your mother because he’s a coward. He was then, and still is now.”

“But-” 

“He put you in there! He fought Mr. Goodman into putting your aunt Kathy into an institution of her own! For twelve years! And what you saw - what you told her - was true. Celia - God rest her soul - was murdered. But her murder was avenged. Her murderer will never harm another child ever, ever again, because of you. You must see that! You- you save countless lives every week. I cannot imagine the toll on your psyche, but that world? Where you aren’t the Slayer, where you are confined to a facility? That is not real. It’s a projection of a memory designed to keep you placated. You are Buffy Anne Summers, not a cucumber sandwich for a demon.”

“Cucumber-? Yeah,” Dawn switched gears, nodding along as she saw how it was working. They were finally getting through to her sister. She should’ve gone the impassioned speechy route earlier. “She’s right. I mean, if it’s a perfect world or whatever, then you’d be at the beach or something. Or eating your bodyweight in fruit salad,”

“Pomegranates,” the Slayer corrected them hollowly. 

“What?”  “Pardon?”

“Pomegranates,” she repeated herself, staring at her wrist in dumbfounded confusion. “They strapped me to the bed, but when I broke the leather straps, they turned into pomegranate seeds. It-” head jerking up, she caught sight of Willow, Xander, and Thomas in her doorway, all concerned, but ready to help. “It’s not real. That place isn’t- I’m not there anymore.”

“No,” Xander assured her, their little audience striding closer, the room feeling smaller with them. But she didn’t feel trapped. Not this time. “You never-”

“Yes,” she interrupted, hands twisting the tissue into confetti. “I was.”

“N-”

This time, Charlotte cut him off. “Yes,” she insisted, voice calm, the icy tendrils showing the deception of her composure. “Buffy… when she first became the Slayer,” she explained, their leader dropping her head back into her hands in shame. “She informed her parents, and they assumed - like with Miss Richardson - that she was schizophrenic. Just as the Smiths did with me.” The room was filled with tension, thicker than even the battle axe hidden behind the nightstand her brother used when he was home could chip away at. “But they were wrong about you then, and this poison is failing you again now. But it’s only temporary.”

“Temporary,” Buffy repeated, blinking rapidly. “Right. Antidote. What’s the ETA on that?” 

Smiling painfully, Xander checked his watch. “Ten more minutes, and then bye-bye Susanna Kaysen.” Willow had the mixture heating on low on the stove, and they knew they had to go check on it, before it bubbled over. Poor Giles had been kicked back after they’d caught the beast, and Anya had to drive him to the hospital for a couple of bruised ribs, the carpenter hoofing the spikes to their witch. 

Tom made an aborted motion as well, wanting to follow the witch and her friend. “I- I need to…”

Smiling at her friend, Charlotte nodded. “It’s alright, Thomas. I think we’re past the worst part.”

At his guarded expression, Dawn nodded. “Yeah, it’s okay. She knows we’re not fake now. Go, pick up Beth from water polo.”

“Mary, and ballet,” he corrected, carefully hugging them both before stopping in front of the Slayer. She always kinda intimidated him, and even with her in this state was making him feel a bit wary. “I’ll be back tomorrow, if- if that’s okay, B- Miss Summers.”

Nodding, she ushered him out, telling him that he was always welcome, before slumping against the headboard again. Leaving to walk him out, Lottie promised she’d be right back, Dawn holding her as the room was left silent again. It felt too much like that one May where they ran from Glory. It hurt, and she felt like such a failure, to ever think her family wasn’t who they said they were. That she could believe the twisted hallucinations of the psych ward, and wherever the hell those eyeless monk guys were from were real. But her sister only stroked her hair, and hummed a familiar tune. “I- I need you to let go,” she whispered into the cotton covered shoulder she was pressed up against. “I had a boatload of tea, and I’m not going to ‘Boston’ into anything other than the harbour.”

“Huh? Oh, ewwwww…” Dawn’s nose wrinkled as she pulled away, chuckling a little as she did. “You must be feeling like your old Buffy self, cracking jokes that lame.”

“Ha, ha.” The Slayer rolled her eyes, standing. “Be back in a sec.” 

Alone in the bathroom, it came again. “I never understood the hold these had on the average man,” his smooth voice declared, echoing off the polkadot papered walls as he appeared. “A looking glass is one thing, but a big ole mirror like this, well… some might call it ostentatious, or even vain. Are you a vain one, Buffy?”

Not real, she reminded herself, splashing cool water on her face. It’s not- Gasping, she ran for the towel hanging on the wall, furiously wiping the cold, viscous substance off her skin. 

“Awwww… what is it?” he asked, his Derby shoes crunching as if he were walking on gravel instead of tile. “Can’t stand when your little boyfriend’s lunch is on you, instead of his precious mug?”

“Why are you here?” the Slayer hissed back, knowing he wasn’t real. But even knowing that something isn’t really there, doesn’t automatically mean you stop worrying about its presence. Especially not when it brought visions of the first plague of Egypt flowing freely from her tap. “I don’t even know you!” 

Smarmy. He was as smarmy as Judge Elihu Smails, smirking at her like he had all the answers. “Oh, you’d be surprised. You and I go way back, truth be told. But you went by a different name, then.”

“What are talking-? Slayers.” Oh kaaay. Whatever this thing was, it was old. Fine. She fought old before, and won. No biggie. “So, what? You knew a slayer way back when, so you decided to hitch a ride on the back of a Garfunkel demon, and mess around with my Mia Wallace-y head?”

He started circling her, eluding her grasp. “Mmmm, not quite. Don’t you wanna guess why I’m really here?”

“As much as I’d love to play 20 Questions with a figment of my imagination, I don’t. So I’m not gonna. Please let the door hit you on what I think is your ass on the way out,” she spat, tossing the towel into the hamper. 

“Ouch! Blondie has claws! Tell me, slayer. Who do you think I am?”

“Besides a pain in my be-hind? A party crasher. So time to vamoose. The pizza’s gone, and your curfew’s up.”

“Oh, those human rules? They don’t apply to me. See, I thought I’d pop in to say hello, before the real fun begins.”

“What ‘real fun’? And when’re you planning on doing all that? I gotta make sure I leave enough time in my schedule to get my hair done, before you go and try to destroy the world.”

“Destroy? Oh, no. No, dear, idiotic slayer, you. I don’t want to destroy it! I wanna rebuild it.”

“Rebuild it? Gee, wonder why I don’t believe you.”

“Probably because you’re a cynic. See, I understand you Buffy. You slayers, you’re all the same.” Stopping near the shower, he spread his arms wide. A show. He was treating this all like a freaking act in a cheap play. “You start off bright and hopeful, but then that one day happens. That one night where you’re just about to risk it all, cuz you’re just so tired. But you end up the same. Cynical, then dead.”

“Some of us start that way. Cynical. Just like you.”

“Oh, I’m not a cynic. I’m the thing that scares the world’s most fearless beings. You.”

“I’m done with this crap. Are we gonna fight,” she tried kicking him, “or what?” only to have her foot fall into the tile. Hard. What the…?

Laughing, he breezed right through her, making her shiver in disgust. Oh, great. Another Casper. “Ya know, as much as I love that idea, I think it’s time that I go. Ya know what? I’ll even give you an extra week or two. That way, you can give those girls their childhoods, before I rip it away from them- permanently.”

As he flickered out, the antidote on the stove caught fire, burning up in a hot white flame. 

 

----------

 

Coming home from the store, she and Dawn were laden with grocery bags, when the Hudson boys across the street decided to run amok again. Her BFF practically growled as she stuffed the bag containing ice cream into her hands, setting off to give those boys a what-for. No one deserved to have a Nerf dart aimed for their posterior, especially when they did nothing wrong. Willow and Xander insisted they could handle the blonde while the teens went to grab a few essentials, later than evening. But stepping into the foyer did nothing to abate Lottie’s uneasiness. Frowning at the quiet in the house, the youngest blonde resident at 1630 Revello Drive looked around the house for someone- anyone around. But not even Gemini was afoot. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. 

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, she felt her nerves settle at the sight of the Slayer standing by the sink. Only to frown when the green eyes turned to her face. 

“Buffy?” Her hackles raised at the thousand cubit stare from the Slayer. “You’re acting peculiar, are you- where’s Willow?” Quicker than Lottie could account for, the woman she cared for as a big sister lunged, grabbing her arm. “Buffy!” Careening to the ground, the ice cream carton split as it hit the tile, frozen peas splitting from their bag in a variable spray that not even Kevin McAlister could have imagined up. “No, please!” But her pleas fell on deaf ears, the Slayer manhandling her towards the basement door. “Dawn! Dawn! Get help! D-!” 

Hand covering the girl’s mouth, the older blonde dragged the kicking, wriggling, sparkle-covered fifteen year old down the stairs, tossing her down the last seven steps, before the other teen made it to the door. “Lottie?! Buffy! What the hell are you doing?!” She tried fumbling for a weapon, for something she could incapacitate her sister with long enough to get Charlotte free, but came up empty. Of course, the one time she willingly went for the broom, it wasn’t in its normal spot, hanging on the hook inside of the basement door. “You could have killed her!” 

“The sooner you’re gone,” she answered hollowly, still tripping the light un-fantastic. “The sooner I can go home.”

“Home? You are home!” She squealed as she dodged her sister’s attack, grabbing the cellphone on the counter. If she could just hit Giles’ speed dial…. “You need to wake up-” shrieking as she went down, she struggled at her sister’s assault, her arms crossed and held down with just one of the Slayer’s hands. It was easy to forget how strong the blonde was, what with Dawn now taller than her. But freakish strength was an understatement. Wriggling against the fight, she had just a split second of relief as she soared through the air, before hitting the mat covered concrete floor. Breath knocked out of her lungs, she had just three seconds of lucidity to see Lottie pass out, before darkness took her too. 

 

----------

 

Something was wrong. Something was very, very not right. The feeling gnawed at her gut on a low simmer, practically everyday since mid-March. But right then? On that brisk, late Saturday afternoon, Tara’s dread-dar was at a rolling boil. Stepping quickly, she left the bank before her turn at the machine. Checking her (probably meager) account balance would have to wait. When Anya called, she’d sounded frantic. Not her usual, ‘being a human is utterly exhausting’ panic. Nor her ‘someone’s trying to mess with my money!’ funk. No, no. This was her ‘I think something awful happened to Xander’ terror that had her friend leaving the ATM line, and half-running to her favourite house. 

Her foot slipped on an uneven patch of pavement when she crossed Weatherly Drive, forcing a scoff from her voicebox, refusing to slow her pace, desperate to get there before something awful happened. 

Rounding the corner of Oak Park and Revello, she felt her heart thump in solace. She’d know those curls anywhere. But her relief was short lived when she remembered why she was heading to 1630 Revello Drive in the first place. What if Mrs. Summers doesn’t know about what’s going on with Buffy? she thought, pushing her legs and lungs as hard as she could. Dang it! I knew I should always leave the dorm with rollerblades or something.  

 

----------

 

Suspicious Thing #1 when Joyce Summers arrived back to Revello Drive had to be the Hudson boys standing around quietly, instead of the three kid circus of chaos they normally inflicted. Suspicious Thing #2 & 3 were the bags of dry goods and canned veggies, spilling from the paper bags left haphazardly on her porch. “Oh, no,” she moaned, seeing Suspicious Thing #4: the front door, left partially opened. “Great. Just great. Knew I should’ve asked Kathy to stay with them.”

Peeking around the door, she paused, trying to hear inside. And there was Suspicious Thing #5: quiet. Eerie silence that was not unlike the kind in slasher films, building up to a really big murder off-screen. Neat. Reaching into the umbrella stand, she armed herself with a nine-iron before entering the house. “Buffy?” she called out into the house, the hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. Her sweat soaked brow was frigid in comparison to her journey home, but the acrid feeling of bile rising in her throat only stung worse, as no one answered. “Dawn? Charlotte?” Nothing. Great. “The groceries belong inside the kitchen, not the… floor.” Oh, boy. The ice cream was melting into her nice linoleum floor, little puddles of chocolate and green mush she hoped were peas littered the surface. And was that her back window boarded up with plywood?  This was very, very bad. 

As she armed herself better with the makeshift weapon, her eldest daughter was in the basement, ensuring her captors were locked up tight. “Have to get rid of them,” she muttered, remembering Dr. Berris’ words. “Gotta… gotta get free, an-”

“Buffy?” She looked around, concerned at the sound of her mother’s voice. Was she back already? No, that didn’t make sense. Why would she be…? Turning her head to the right, she saw the hospital again, her mother’s face twisted in concern as she approached her. “Buffy, it’s just me. It’s mom.”

Back in the asylum. Great. Would this pain never end? She looked up in fear, hoping it would end soon. Why was she hallucinating such horrible things for her mother to have gone through? What was happening to her? “Mom, please, help me.”

Hands raised, her mother tried to shift into a reassuring smile, but it felt… wrong. Waxy and wooden. Like a puppet. “I- It's gonna be okay, sweetheart. Whatever it is, it's not real, remember?” She tried, she really tried to remember, but Buffy was so lost. So much awful was happening with her nightmares lately, she couldn’t sort out reality from fiction. Now it was only worse. “Just keep concentrating. I'm right here, sweetie.”

Crying harder, she shook her head. “I- I can’t! Mom, I just- don’t make me, please!”

“I know sweetie, I know it’s hard,” not-Joyce assured her. “But you have to accept it’s not real, so you can come back to us. Don’t you want to come home with dad and I?”

Sobbing harder, she gulped in mouthfuls of oxygen, feeling herself drown in emotion. “Bu- but I c- can’t leave Dawnie, o- off Charlotte! I- I can’t! Please don’t make me, please, please mommy!”

“Buffy?”

Buffy scampered, the memory of being in that hellhole too sharp, too painful. 

“Buffy?!” Her head split into two, seeing her mom in front of her, her friends tied to the support beam of the basement, her unconscious sister in her arms. No. That wasn’t right. Why was her mom here? Covered in dust and hair askew. In her delusion, she saw her like… that? “Oh, God. Buffy!”

She blinked, so confused. “Mom? But how…?”

Her mother ran forwards, ripping the tape off Willow’s mouth, Buffy yelling at her to stop. “She’s hallucinating!” the redhead admitted, taking in deep breaths. “She thinks we’re not real!”

“You’re not! You can’t be! Dr. Berris said I’m making it up! It’ll hurt less to let go!”

“Dr. Be- Buffy!” Joyce cried, pulling her hair back to show her the scars in her hairline. “Look! Give me your hand!” She dragged the hand forwards, letting her daughter feel the ridges the incisions left on each side of her head. “Feel that? That’s what’s real, baby. I survived that. Because of you. The strength you gave me. The strength you give all of us. We never should have put you there,” she begged her eldest to understand. “What Dr. Berris said- you’re not schizophrenic. You are the vampire Slayer. You have survived so much worse than this, baby. And I’m not going to let you ever go this alone, you hear me? Never again. We’re a family, all of us. And no family treats each other this way. You hear?”

Something shook apart at hearing that. At feeling the raised ridges on her mom’s head. She looked down at her wrist, touching the surface, and gasped as it had a small raised ridge itself. That's what felt so off about the Joyce Summers she’d hallucinated. That mom refused to touch her. Refused to comfort her. Her real mother would never turn her away, would never try to convince her to kill her friends. This mom was the real one. This reality was the real one. The other was a cheap set; window dressing for a failed play. “M- mommy?”

“Yes!” Tears threatened to spill forth at the sudden click in her daughter’s fractured mind, Joyce grasping her daughter tightly. “Yes, baby. It’s me. I’m so sorry it took me so long, but I’m back. I’m here. You’re gonna be okay, okay?” Buffy nodded sharply against her, gulping in huge mouthfuls of air, feeling herself shake against her mother. Her mom! Warm, comforting, beautifully imperfect mom. “Now, come on. We gotta get our friends untied, okay? We’re family, and family doesn’t do this to each other.”

She gazed back at her friends, then down to look at her sister. “Oh, God.” The mutter turned louder as the horror of what she was about to do set in. “Oh, my God. Oh, MY GOD!” Buffy sank to the floor, her free hand stroking Dawn’s cheek, her eyes heavy with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry. Wake up, Dawnie. Please? Dawn? Come on, wake up!”

Groaning, Dawn stirred, cracking one bleary eye open at the demand. “‘S it over? You still crazy in there?”

Helping the brunette up, she held her sister in her arms, crying in shame. “I’m so, so, so sorry Dawn, I didn’t know- I shouldn’t ever have- God! I’m so sorry!”

“Apologise later,” she wheezed, slapping her sister’s back enough to ease up on the hug. “Willow, do we have enough for another antidote?”

Tara waved to them from the staircase, the girls only now realising the witch was there. “Hey,” she awkwardly stood. “Anya s- sent me to check in on you, but I guess I sh- should go back to her, huh? Get supplies?”

“Tara,” Charlotte croaked, mouth free from the gag. “Mrs. Summers. You two have impeccable timing.” 

 

----------

 

It took another hour to recreate the stinky smelling drink, the shadows lengthening as evening took over. Buffy grimaced as she drank the antidote, feeling her toenails curling at the acrid taste. “Ugh!” She wondered if whiskey would help the- Woah! Not a chance. She shuddered at the very thought, turning to her mother to ask the bigger question on her mind. “You’re back. When did you get back? Why didn’t you call? And where’s Spike?”

Delivering bad news was never fun, nor easy. Joyce Summers doubted it ever would be. Only sociopaths and narcissists took pleasure in it. But whether she felt beaten down or not, she had to deliver the shaky news to her equally shaky daughter. “I need you to come with me.”

There was protesting, because of course there was. Her daughter was always vocal in her dislikes, but she was also exhausted from the poison, from her… ordeal. Which made it easier for Joyce to pull her along to the high school. “Dawn and Charlotte’s school? Why are we here, mom?”

“He’s…. He’s in the basement.”

“Mom! What- why’d you stash him in the basement?!”

“I didn’t!” she argued back. “As soon as we got back to Sunnydale, I had Clem come pick us up. He drives a delivery truck for work, and Spike needed cover. But the second we stopped for gas, your man broke out, and he made a beeline for the school through the sewers. It’s… it’s kinda making him,” she took her finger, wiggling it to the side of her head, describing the vampire’s mental state. “He’s babbling like he was mindsucked, but he couldn’t have been, not with Glory still dead and the whole vampire thing.”

Buffy pulled her cardigan closer to herself, wishing not for the first time that she’d just put on the damned coat her mother had insisted. “I’m not surprised. The Hellmouth is down here, somewhere over where the old library used to be.”

“Good gravy, this school’s a nightmare,” Joyce sighed, turning on her flashlight. “You got a good grip on ole Random there?”

Buffy blinked at her mother in confusion. “Ole what?”

“Random… like, random AXE of kindness?”

“You named the axe?!”

Joyce scoffed, rolling her shoulders as she adjusted her bag on her back. “Like you’re the only one in the family allowed to come up with puns. Hey, I think he’s over this way.” Shining the light down the creepy hallway, she followed the direction she remembered seeing on her way out.

“It’s so creepy down here,” Buffy muttered, hoping she wouldn’t have to slay anything bigger than a rat. “I swear, sometimes- aah!” Like clockwork, the second she would think of a rat, what should run right past her but a group of them. “There’s-”

“Come on, this way.”

“Mom… that’s where they just ran from. I don’t wanna-”

Joyce got uncomfortably close to her daughter’s face, hissing, “who do you think they were running from, then? Hmm?” She stepped back, sighing in remorse at the snapped tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I’m going a touch hysterical here, what with the sleep deprivation and all.”

“It’s okay, mom,” Buffy loosened her grip on the handle just enough to give her mom a reassuring pat on the arm. “You said he’s this way?”

Following her mother’s careful steps, she felt her panic start to rise up again. She was just in a basement, she didn’t want to be in this one. This one sucked. 

Stopping nearby some filing cabinets, Joyce shone her light to the left. “Spike?” A squelching sound halted, the thud of something wet and fleshy hit the cement underneath a breath later. “It’s time to go home.”

“Mom….”

At the sound of her voice, he emerged from behind the metal furniture, hair a wreck. His shirt looked like it was barely holding onto his frame, body wracked with shivers. A shell of the man she kissed goodbye to, now, petrified of the form staring across her. “Slow,” her mom warned, taking the axe from her hands, and propping it against the nearest wall. “Just like with Gem when you brought him home.” 

“Beautiful sunshine,” his hand extended out to cup his girlfriend’s face in his palm. “Sunflowers turn to you, the brightest soul in the heavens above. Your effulgence a balm on the battered and twisted.”

“What happened? What happened to you, baby?” He flinched as she reached a hand out to his chest. “You- mom, he’s hurt! What happened?”

He moaned, pulling his shirt over himself to hide the deep gouges left behind. “I tried... I... tried to cut it out.” He whined as he scurried away, the women left in states of distress.

Joyce looked pained for her friend, the man who saved her life, feeling helpless against the loop of agony his newly re-minted Spark gave him. Buffy looked on in a cycle of horror, foreboding, and dread. “C- cut what out?” she whispered, turning to her mother, terror gripping her heart as her mother gripped her arm. “Oh, God. Mommy….”

Gathering her daughter to her chest, she wondered if she had somehow pissed off an all powerful God somewhere in a past life, and this was now her penance. Because she’d very much like a word with their department head about how cruel it was, and could she maybe get a hand to handle all the crap the universe was throwing her way lately? Sighing, she kissed the sweaty forehead, and lifted the girl’s head up. “He needs to get out of here, Buffy. Like you needed to get out of our basement,” she said slowly. “We need to get him out of this one. He’ll be better once he’s home, once he’s safe. Look at this mess,” she gestured with the sweep of her flashlight. “No one’s safe here. Honestly, I have half a mind to blow it up a second time, so-”

“Mom!”

“There she is,” Joyce smiled, relieved to see the fire back in her daughter’s eyes. “There’s the fight in my girl I needed to see. Now, I've been trying to get him up, but I think he needs you.” Buffy swung her head back to look at his cowering frame in the corner, her love muttering to the empty file cabinets the administration really should have left at the dump. “Look at him. Does that look like the man you know and love?”

Shaking her head, she walked purposefully to her boyfriend. “Spike, look at me.” He muttered as he poked at the wall in an arbitrary pattern, like he was punching in an order on a vending machine. Crouching, she carefully touched his shoulder. “It’s time to go home now.”

“No!” Spike yelped, careening into the corner, wincing as he slammed his elbow into the metal. “Dirty… so unclean. Judge and jury, come to punish the unclean thing, so take my buckets of salt. Take them and go!” he whined as he curled away from her, broken hearted. “Let me burn in peace.”

“William!” His head snapped to hers, Buffy cupping his face in her hands. “Baby, it’s me . It’s your sweetheart. Bunbury, come back to me.”

The tears clinging to his lashes fell as he shuddered a ragged breath in. “Buffy?” Recognition washed over him as his eyes lost their glazed over look. 

She let out a shuddering breath, a crazy chuckle escaping from her throat at him coming back to her. “Yes!” She started crying too, pulling him closer to her neck, so he could smell her, know she was real. “It’s me, baby. It’s your sweetheart. It’s your Buffy.”

“Buffy, my lady,” he kissed her shoulder, barely holding onto the threads of reality. “I’m her man. I’m your man. Went to earn it... earn it for you. Buffy and the Bits.”

Her tears fell silently, gripping him to her. “You didn’t need to earn anything for us, baby, you’re family!” She rubbed his back as he gripped her tighter, his sobs shaking them both. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re home now. We’re gonna take you home, now, okay?” She looked at her mother’s pained expression, needing answers. “Tell me what happened.”

“Ne- needed the spark,” he sobbed, his cool tears hitting her overheated flesh. “Need- needed to- needed to earn it.”

“Mom, now.”

Joyce sighed, eyes haggard. “We didn’t go there just for art, Buffy, she replied, handing her daughter a tissue for her eyes. “He wanted me with him in case he either succeeded, and bring him home. Or failed, and to… bring you back his ashes.”

What?! Failed what? Earned what?” she demanded, her heart racing. “What could be so important that you- William, no….” She pulled his head back, looking into his soulful eyes, and knew why they shone differently than last time. Because they were soulful. Soul Full. “You-” 

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting her blot the tears off the lashes. “Needed to- needed the spark. Thought- thought it would help. Needed to be the man- the kind of man you deserve. Prove my love- prove it was real. It’s always been real,” he muttered, ashamed. “God, it hurts . I- I hurt you so much ,” he opened his eyes, looking right through her. “I don’t know how you can look at me, with the- the things I’ve done. To you. To other people. To- to your m- mates. How do you stand it? The humming?”

“The humming?”

“It’s so… hmmmmmm ,” he started to humm in a higher pitch than she was aware he could reach without cracking his voice box in two. “All the time. The cats... all the cats in their cages, but no- not gonna kill ‘em. Not gonna hurt ‘em. Release ‘em. Gotta get the cats-”

“Leave the cats, baby,” she replied, making him face her again. She remembered how he treated Tara when her mind was gone, and copied it now, hoping it helped. “They’re fine over there for now. Lots of yarn balls and catnip. Come back to me, come back bunbury. Come back to your sweetheart.”

Spike’s eyes drifted back to hers. “My lady Buffy. My sweetheart,” he smiled half heartedly, his eyes full of pain. “I- I wrote you a new- a new poem,” he patted down his pockets, pulling out a heavily charred piece of lined paper. “Drat.”

“It’s okay, baby. Let’s get you home, okay? We can worry about it later.”

“Earned it,” he said sharply. “No one can take it. It’s mine. Forever and ever, now,” he nodded, hoping to get his point across. “The spark is mine till the end of time.”

There was no doubt in her mind now. Not one iota of it that this man, this vampire before her, loved her more than any other man ever had, or ever would. She wanted to spend every waking minute of the rest of her life being his sweetheart, and him being her bunbury. “I know, my love. I know,” she smiled, kissing him on the lips chastely, just to remind them both that they weren’t hallucinating. He practically trembled at the gentle touch. “You’re home now. It’s over. You don’t have to worry about a thing, except getting home and under the covers.”

“Mmm,” he whined in distress, shrinking back against her hands as she tried to get him to stand. “Unclean, can’t sully the home of the sunshine ladies. Can’t do it. Won’t do it.”

“William…”

“We have a shower in the bathroom, remember?” her mom offered, his body 10% more lax than moments before. Joyce Summers, vampire whisperer. “Buffy can help you get clean so the sheets don’t get dirty. And if they get dirty, hey, that’s okay too. We have a washer and a dryer. Do you remember what brand of laundry detergent we use?”

He nodded briskly. “Blue bottle. Aisle six at the grocery store,” he murmured, letting them drag him up to a standing position. “Lemon mint, not linen fresh, cuz that’s for grandmothers.” He blinked a few times, feeling the scales balance, grounding him. Like he grounded Tara. How he probably grounded his father, and Druscilla before her. “Buffy, you’re hurt.” 

She shook her head as he touched her other arm carefully, worried. “Already healed, see?” She showed him the nearly healed scab, feeling him relax even more. “I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”

Chapter 29

Summary:

Buffy and Joyce get Spike home, and Lottie's blaming herself for her brother's condition, so, naturally, she schemes.

Chapter Text

Friday, November 1st, 2002 - Part B

 

The trek up the stairs was… wiggy. There wasn’t any other word for it. Spike was like a wounded animal, whining in distress twice. Once, when his foot hit that first step, then the second time about five-eighths up, eyes cast on the sketch of his parents hung up on the wall, underneath the photo of Joyce’s parents in front of their old store. By the time Joyce and Buffy got him to the bathroom, the whole house was filled with exhaustion in a way it hadn’t been in years. 

The bathtub was partially filled with warm, soapy water, the vampire reluctant to go in. After some prodding, he relented, letting Buffy take his clothes off to get in. He hadn’t been self conscious about his body in over a century, but he was now. Very self conscious, cupping himself away from her, head bowed. He didn’t see her tears, but could smell the salt. She wordlessly put the radio on in the corner, picking a station with classical music to help ground them both. She hummed along with it, watching as his muscles slowly went lax at the sound. Washing him felt close to worship, and he didn’t want her to worship him. Didn’t want the beautiful sunflower touching the garbage dump. But he was weak when it came to the love of his unlife. Her touch soothed instead of hurt. When she washed his hair, his eyes slid shut, thankful for the chance she’d given him. 

Buffy Anne Summers. The woman he knew one day, he’d be worthy of her love. And being able to touch her now, eyes opening as he cupped her jaw in his recently clean hand, he felt his heart expand. “Luv, I-” he didn’t know what to say, what words could he even utter in her presence to make it worth it. “Thank you,” seemed to be the best thing to say. “You don’t have to-”

“Don’t.” Her green eyes were so much more lively in the bathroom lights, than the dankness of that basement. Her brilliance shone even brighter, somehow, now that he had that little spark in him he didn’t have for more than a century. “I’m here because I love you,” she said simply. Her tone was edging fierce levels, but with love, not hostility. “Now, can you do your bottom half, or do I have to scrub your toesie-wosies for you?”

Spike’s chuckle was strangled, but his face didn’t look wrenched in pain as much now. “I got it. I didn’t forget what happened the last time you were near the little piggies ten.”

She didn’t even roll her eyes, just smiled a bit bittersweet, handing him the soap, while she lathered his back. Buffy remembered it well, the incident. Spike had fallen dead asleep, well, un-dead asleep, really, after their ‘adventure’ last year. The lesser known demon called Rex had taken a chunk out of her boyfriend’s shoulder, leaving his range of motion limited to about 60% for the following ten or so days. Dawn had taken up the ‘keeping his nail polish chip free’ duty without any warning to anyone else, painting them dutifully, even when he was unconscious. Sadly, that meant that when he woke up the next afternoon, he awoke to bright pink and neon orange toenails, courtesy of the Summers sisters. 

Once clean, she dried his back and hair, while he did everything else, and brought him fresh clothes. His basement dweller ones were filthy, the insides of his socks caked in something resembling dried blood. It terrified her. What the hell could he have gone through to get blood in his socks?! He rarely even WORE socks! But she chose not to ask, getting him to bed instead. Her mom had turned down the sheets, and copied Buffy’s example by putting the classical station on low. The boombox had seen better days, but then again, so did they. And it was going to take a lot of work to get used to all of the changes. 

Settled into their bed, Buffy left Spike to doze while she spoke to the rest of her family in the dining room. “What happened?”

“After Angel was here,” Joyce sighed, nursing her cup of tea, wishing she had some of that schnapps left. It would make her feel less, but that was no way to live. “Spike asked me to go with him to Uganda. There’s a demon shaman in these caves-”

“Cuz that always ends well,” Dawn muttered. 

The matriarch slapped the table once, startling everyone. “I’m only going to tell this story once so listen up or get out.” Silence followed her, so she continued. “Good. Sorry I scared you baby, I just don’t have the nerve or energy to repeat this.”

Dawn nodded, a little on edge herself. Seeing Spike beaten and battered over the years was something she - oddly - gotten used to. This… this was beyond. “Sorry I interrupted. I wanna know what happened there. Please.”

“He had been searching for this shaman for a while, but,” she shook her head, already anticipating their question. “I have no idea exactly how long, just know that he had found him for sure the night he dropped you three girls off at the movies.” They nodded, remembering the night in question.  “Asked me to go with him, that he didn’t trust anyone else to go. Not,” she held up her hand in front of her eldest, to stop her from arguing that he should trust his girlfriend more than her mother. “Not that he doesn’t trust you, Buffy, but this? It’s a set of trials to the death. He knew you’d talk him out of it. He needed the God Killer, needed me to- if he succeeded or failed, to bring him back to you, and break the news one way or another.”

Joyce sipped her tea carefully, setting it down heavily on the table that had seen them through more challenging times than she’d care to admit. She told them about landing in Africa, the art she bought in the safer areas for tourists, before they met up with Mesuda in a hamlet off the beaten path. Spoke of Fatima, her daughters, the- everything. She pulled the necklace up from underneath her shirt, showing them the medallion hanging from the leather strap that the local woman had made her. “Said it would keep me safe and act as proof that I was ‘Ms. Joyce’ to the locals,” she continued. “And it did. They took good care of me - very good care of me - when he was in the caves.”

She played with the clay medallion, the carvings unlike anything any of them had ever seen before. “The caves, they’re not something anyone can just walk into. You need to have demon blood in you to go, so I had to stay back. The locals had a tent and a cot for me, and one woman - Fatima - fed me every day, refused to let me wash a dish, or do anything other than sit and eat and talk to one another. Although I barely could understand a single word they said,” she shook her head at the memory of the three little girls of the woman who fed her every morning, how they drew pictures in the sand to say what they called the thing in their language, while she repeated the English name. “Those three little girls… They reminded me of Arlene, Kathy, and me, when we were kids. They kept me distracted. We should send them some money,” she said abruptly, scribbling it down on a pad of paper she kept in the hutch behind her. “They’d do wonderfully in school, and-”

Buffy placed a steadying hand on her forearm, bringing her back to the present. “Mom, please.”

Joyce sighed, nodding. “On the… on the sixth or seventh night, the locals started cheering, and I just… ran. I knew it had to be something good, so I ran after the girls, the three dragging me behind them, yelling ‘batal’ or ‘batalon’ , and-”

“Champion,” Giles breathed, feeling faint, and not from his bruised ribs for a change. “I- it- it’s Arabic for ‘champion,’ which means…”

She nodded, continuing. “I figured. He was so burnt and bloody and beaten, I thought for a split second that Glory had been resurrected or something. But no, he won,” she looked at Buffy sternly. “He earned it. It’s his . Until the end of days, is what our guide said. No one had earned it back in over a millennia,” she turned to Dawn and Charlotte, eyes as serious as they ever had been. “He’s a champion because he fought to the death, and came out on top. For you and you,” she turned her head back to Buffy. “And you, too. Because of you three, he succeeded where countless others failed.”

Buffy’s tears came faster, looking up at the ceiling where she knew he slept, their room so close to that winding tree he used to stand under and chain smoke at. Home again. 

“Uh, hey, hi,” Xander raised his hand tentatively, a little afraid to even ask. “Please don’t shoot the messenger here, but uh… earn what, exactly? Cuz if it’s being human, I don’t think it wo- no.” He stepped back as she stared at him, hands shaking. “You can’t mean… h- how? I mean, I know how, but…?”

The room fell silent, Joyce looking back at Charlotte alone to say, “your brother has his soul. He went and fought demon after demon to earn his soul, and he has it back again. For you. To prove he really does love you. All three of you.”

 

---------- 



Your brother has his soul back again.”

The words didn’t feel real, but she knew Mrs. Summers wouldn’t lie about something so monumental. Charlotte couldn’t process, simply nodded and sat there, ears ringing for as long as she could bear it. Numb. Undeniably numb. She hadn’t even noticed she’d climbed the stairs, until Dawn led her to the room the two had been sharing. She stopped at the doorway, staring down the hallway where her brother lay, tucked away in his own bed.

“Later, Lottie,” Dawn promised, gently pulling her towards their door. “He’s barely slept since he left. After dinner, we’ll talk to him, okay?” Compassionate, her best friend seemed to have it in spades whenever she needed it most. 

She nodded, knowing the brunette was being reasonable, even when her own legs weren’t. “I just-” she shuddered a breath in, trying to find the right words she needed. “I just wish to see his face. Know he’s- to know he’s still here.”

Buffy seemed to agree, appearing before them in moments, guiding both girls by the wrist to the door she called her own. Motioning them to stay quiet, she carefully cracked it open so they could peer in. 

William slept like a corpse. His blond hair was a mess, his tawny roots coming into focus from the damp mop of curls, peeking out from the duvet covering his face. His back was mostly covered in a long sleeved cotton shirt, a foot hanging over the edge without a sock. She winced at the fading marks that she was sure were indicative of horrible burns, wishing she knew what he’d gone through. Why he’d felt so strongly to-

It’s all my doing , her brain reminded her. He risked his very existence because I took issue with a vampire brother without a soul. He wouldn’t be so tortured, in so much pain if I hadn’t- Dear God, if you hear any of my prayers, keep my brother’s soul safe. Keep him safe. Let us have all the time now that we were robbed of, way back when we were both children, and the world seemed so much simpler. 

Buffy closed the door a moment later, guiding the girls to their room, and closing the door behind her. “None of what happened there is in any way, shape, or form anyone’s fault,” she stated, seeing the gears turn in both girls’ heads the second her mom told them. “He’s a grown man, who made a decision, and went through with it. All we can do now is hope that whatever we do to help the pain is enough.” If she was trying to convince herself that it wasn’t her fault either, well that was between her and Mr. Gordo. “And it’s not going to be easy, but mom said he does better at night, so we let him sleep the days away if we can help it, kay?”

They both nodded, neither one knowing what to say. They knew this was a tone their Slayer didn’t use often, wasn’t used to dealing with baddies she couldn’t punch. But she forced herself to, putting on Brave Face Buffy, a look her sister knew like the entire discography of N’SYNC. Dawn finally reached out to grasp both girls’ hands, asking, “can we go get him something? I could go to the butcher’s for blood.”

“It’s okay,” Buffy assured her, grabbing Dawn’s desk chair to sit on it across from them. The last few days were exhausting, but dragging him outta the high school basement with her mom had exasterbated things. Not to mention getting herself out of her own basement. The last 24 hours were downright dismal. She was so ready to curl up next to Spike and sleep for sixteen hours. But Slayers rarely took days off, especially when their vampire boyfriends came back from demon trials, soul in the carry-on. “Xander and Willow are grabbing it. Anya said she’s already got some Berba weed and some other stuff from the Magic Box for him, and Tara’s bringing over some medicinal teas. She’s even got some of the ginger candies you like, Charlotte.” The young woman tried to smile at the blonde teen, knowing it looked as pained as it felt on her face. “It’s a wonder the company survived two world wars and Thatcher, but they still make them the exact same way. Giles said-” she stopped, unsure of what to do. Telling them too much, too fast wasn’t good. But holding back also wasn’t good either. So she settled on the coward’s way out. “Giles said there are some books on souls in the magic shop that he’s going to bookmark. If you want to know more, I’ll bring them home, and you can thumb through them. Right now, I know it’s hard, but all you can do is just wait. We gotta let him sleep for a bit, cuz he’s barely had more than an hour at a time since he and mom got there.”

“You’ve barely slept, either,” Dawn argued, her teenage rebellious streak bleeding through in her posture. “We gotta take care of you, just as much as we gotta take care of him.”

Buffy didn’t agree. “Sp- William and I are the older siblings. We are supposed to take care of you,” she answered just as sternly. “Not the other way around.”

“But what about Aunt Kathy?” Dawn protested, refusing to back down, even by an inch. “Mom’s younger than her, and we took care of her when she came back from that cult.”

“Oh,” Buffy perked up at that. “That’s right. She’s still… she’s coming back to town for two weeks. I gotta-” she stood abruptly, walking to the door before realising she hadn’t actually finished her sentence. “I’m gonna go talk to mom. Ask her if aunt Kathy’s willing to pull some weight. Maybe that way we can take a breather. At least in all things laundry and groceries. Maybe she’ll even pitch in with the cooking- if she’s in a good mood.”

Agreeing to the plan, Lottie nodded, standing to face the woman head on. “Buffy?” The young woman strode back, watching her with careful intensity. “Do- do you think…? How long do you think he’ll be.. like that?”

The Slayer’s face morphed a few times in a few different ways. None of them good. “I wish I knew, Charlotte,” she landed on. “But there just isn’t enough research on re-souled vampires and-” she stopped, eyes on Dawn. “No. We’re not gonna do what you’re thinking. I’ve already nixed it.”

Dawn zipped her lips, knowing she’d just end up with the silent treatment, and those just weren’t as fun as they used to be. “Wasn’t gonna mention it, but glad we’re on the same page.”

Their blonde Marty McFly looked between them, eyebrows rapidly rising and scrunching together in confusion. “Mention what?”

“Later,” the woman promised. “I’m not strong enough to talk about it now, but I’ll tell you later.”

When Buffy had slipped away for a shower later that evening, Charlotte lay up in her bed, listening to the older girl turn the water on before going to find Dawn. Her friend was - unsurprisingly - trying to sneak into their siblings’ shared room. Motioning her over with a hand, Lottie sat her down in their tiny room, and shut the door. “Buffy mentioned something earlier. That she’d tell me when she wasn’t exhausted: to what was she referring to?”

Dawn’s face contorted into a pained expression that could only be described by Carlos as ‘emotional constipation’. “She wouldn’t want me to say anything.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake!” the blonde threw her hands up in frustration. She may have been mentally stuck at ten years old, but she was still intelligent enough to grasp when adults talked down to her. And they were all hiding something. Something that niggled the back of her mind, refusing to leave her in peace. Something big. “And I wouldn’t want to be treated like a five year old, and yet…”

“That’s not fair, Lottie!” Dawn huffed. “It’s not about treating you with kid gloves. It’s about- look.” She readjusted herself on the bedspread, the ‘muffin but trouble’ pyjama pants she wore trying to cling to the cotton of the sheet. “If it was a thing that happened to me, directly, I’d tell you. But this happened mostly to Buffy, and it happened mostly when I was living half the time with our dad, so even I don’t know all the deets. Not that anyone would tell me, unless I got Xander drunk or something. Except no,” she corrected herself, thinking back. “Because I wasn’t technically alive back then, cuz I was a glowing orb up until… you get it.”

Lottie nodded, still thrown by the poor girl’s unprecedented timeline. The pair of them had less than traditional childhoods, and explaining that to an outsider? Pfft! Forget about it. But they knew. If anyone understood trying to make the best out of an odd hand of life dealt to them, it was them two. “I understand. I just wish I wasn’t made to-”

A knock at the door stopped her in her tracks, Dawn standing to open it, revealing a welcome sight. “Hey!”

William nodded, hands in his pockets awkwardly, hair a riot of curls. Likely, he’d ran his nails through them a half a dozen times before even considering knocking. “Nibblet. Pidge. Evenin’.”

Lottie stood, wanting nothing more than to bowl her brother over with a massive hug, but kept her distance, lest she scare him. She’d never seen him so… fragile before. It was disconcerting. “Hello. How did you sleep?”

He shrugged, leaning on the doorframe. He still looked terrible, but definitely more rested. “Was gonna sit downstairs for a bit. Wondered if I could coax you two away for some teenie bopper movie you two like to watch while we play beauty school.”

“You- really?”

His shrug was one shouldered, eyes flitting between both girls in an uncertain habit she remembered from their childhood. “Yeah. Sure. Might… be nice.”

“Are you doing this for our sake or yours?” Dawn asked, fingers reaching out to touch his arm, but not quite making contact. 

“Both.” His heart looked heavy where it hung on his sleeve, dragging him down to the depths of despair. “Might be good to… Nevermind.”

Dawn stopped him, hands gripping his wrist before he could leave. When his gaze met hers, she smiled warmly. “You go down with Lottie, get some snacks. I’ll grab my polish and stuff, and meet you both down there. Okay?” He nodded, looking to his sister, who wore an equally warm smile, with her own equally warm hand slipping into his to pull him down the stairs. 

Once in the kitchen, he turned to her to try and apologised. “Listen Pidge, about how I’ve been since you came to Sunnydale-”

“Stop.” She held out a palm to his chest, eyes haggard. “I forgive you for not telling me about your vampirism. I forgave you when you rejoiced in my fifth place chess rib- before that, if I’m to be honest.” His eyebrow jumped at the mention of that. “When you organised everything for Mrs. Summers, Dawn, and Kit to travel there to support me. Ashley and Henry did not even wish to let me go, until Mrs. Summers called them to give them a piece of her mind.” She moved to lay her hand on his bicep, eyes softening until he was staring into the same eyes of eight year old Lottie, telling him she’d thought of him as the best big brother alive. “You are a good man, William James Pratt, and I do not hold you to the same ridiculous expectations I had when I first had dinner in this very house. I forgive you for any wrongdoings you feel you have made towards me that you think you deserve to apologise for. You are a great big brother.” And oh, now was the time where waterworks were going to start around his eyes. “All else is your business. Let us speak of it no more, alright?” He nodded numbly, wrapping his arms around hers as she enveloped him in a warm hug. “Do you wish to try some cereal in your blood for the movie?” she hedged, unsure if she could stomach watching him or not. It helped to picture it as a mug full of cherry cordial, thickened with sugar and flour. But smelling it heated up… it was going to take a great deal of getting used to. “Buffy purchased some that have little marshmallows in them.”

William’s laugh was a touch laboured with emotion, but he shook his head. “No. I’ll have some of that chocolate crackle bark I know you hid in the freezer, though. If you’re offering.”

She pulled back, wiping his eyes with the edge of her shirtsleeve. “We can finish it together.”

Buffy found the three of them on the couch once she was done, Dawn blowing on her freshly painted nails, while he concentrated very hard on getting Charlotte’s coat even. His mutterings were fewer and further between, Dawn guiding him to the present every so often, like he had with Tara all those months ago. 

It was almost perfect, the four of them acting like a real family, Mrs. Summers already asleep in her bed from all the hoopla. The one thing that stopped the sublime was surprisingly not her brother’s addled mind, but the thought that the Summers girls were hiding something from Charlotte. And like she did with chess, she was going to find out everything she could the one way she knew how.

Chapter 30

Summary:

Her conversation with Dawn about ensouled vampires left Charlotte with unanswered questions. So, naturally, she goes fishin’ for the truth, Harriet The Spy style. And Buffy and Spike talk

TW: discussion about Jenny Calendar & mention of past infanticide

Chapter Text

Sunday, November 3rd, 2002

 

Charlotte held the box of confections carefully in her hands, knowing just how precious the offering would be to the man. The man she was grateful had treated her as he had treated Dawn. The one who had no idea of her plan. It wasn’t alcohol, but sugar could loosen most men’s lips too. Right? “Lottie bottie faux-fottie!” Xander called out to her, ushering her into the office complex he was working on that week. “To what do we owe the wondrous- are those from the place on Carlton?”

She nodded, resting the large pink box onto the single fold out table that wasn’t covered in tools or schematics. “That they are. I figured the working man deserves a bit of sweetness in his quest to build custom… ‘boardroom tables’,” she answered, peering at the title of the schematic closest to her friend. “You have been such a great help these past few months, and I am quite ashamed to say that I have yet to thank you for that in the proper fashion.”

“Oh, you know you don’t need to do th-”

She stopped him with a careful hand up, the pink and purple manicure William had given her shining in the mid-afternoon sun. “My mother - may God rest her eternal soul - raised me to be a lady, and I shall continue to act as such, as often as I can.” When he looked like he was about to argue again, she flipped open the box with a flourish. “Please, I insist.”

He practically salivated at the sugary treats below. The way his eyes twinkled let her know she’d gotten the right ones. Not that she could have gotten the wrong ones with Xander. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” he started to say, hand reaching in. “Oh, alright. Just a smidge.” And took two.

Giggling, she watched in amusement as the other men each took one for themselves, thanking her as if she were the donut fairy. “A smidge must mean something different in construction than chess.”

“It’s actually from- nevermind,” he waved her off good naturedly, remembering the girl hadn’t watched anything to do with Marlo Thomas. Yet. “So, to what do I owe the sugary pleasure of having you drop by?”

“I said-”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But you’re doing the ‘I have a question to ask, but don’t know how to ask it’ shuffle with your hands there.” He motioned to where she had indeed been wringing the napkin in her fingers since placing the box down, a tiny rip in the corner. “What’s up?”

Alright, Lottie, she mused. Do not back down. You came here with a plan, and you WILL follow through with it. “Umm… could we go outside to chat?”

Nodding, he let the guys know to take a break, leading her to the sidewalk, sitting with their treats. “So what’s the sitch?”

Charlotte had been rehearsing the exchange in her head all the way from the couch the night prior, barely paying attention to anything else around her. How to ask questions without making adults catch on to what she was planning was not her forté. But she was determined. And a Pratt determined, was a Pratt on a mission. “I wondered if you could tell me more about how you joined the Scoobies.”

Which naturally immediately aroused suspicion. “Really? Why?”

“I know little about how you three found each other,” she continued, hoping she was a better liar than her brother. “And with Dawn heading up the little ‘Scooby Jr’s’… colour me interested as to how a Slayer, a witch, and a carpenter became bosom buddies.”

Snorting, he shook his head. “Well, to start from the beginning, only one of those people existed back then. Buffy was already a slayer when she came to Sunnydale. The Slayer. Willow and I were just civilians.” He started weaving the tale, trying to give her a ‘Charlotte friendly’ version- that she suspected the rest of her compatriots had given her as well. But unlike her brother or his sweetheart, Alexander Lavelle Harris had very little filter. “And then she started getting tips from a guy, except we found out that Angel wasn’t just some guy, but a vampire, and-”

“So… Angel was helping you three - four, sorry - and he did not make his vampirism known from the start?” 

Shaking his head, he devoured his bear claw. “Nope,” he stated, licking the sugary mess off his fingers. “He only did by accident, actually. But yeah, he kept that little tidbit to himself.”

Well then. What else had he hid from them all over the years? But then, a more pressing issue cropped up. “Did… William hide what he was from you?”

“God, no! He kinda got a kick out of it,” he rolled his shoulders at the memory of Spike’s swagger anytime there was evil afoot. And winced at her raised brows. Right. One thing to say that offhandedly to another Scooby, but it was a whole ‘nother ball game to say that to the vamp’s kid sister. “But, uh… that was before... you know.”

She nodded, uncertain how to proceed. “So, he revealed himself to be a vampire - Angel - but Buffy did not stake him immediately because... he was helping.”

“Well, that and the soul thing.” 

Oh Christ , Charlotte’s mind whirled a mile a minute. Angel has a soul, too?! “So, he- did he stay in Sunnydale long?” Oh bugger. I need to add more, he looks suspiciously like he’s about to shut down the line of questioning, and call our Slayer. “I believe Dawn mentioned the period where he was not in town, but for the life of me,” she laughed lightly, hoping it sounded casual enough. “I cannot keep track of all these timelines.”

He frowned but nodded. Poor kid, he thought. She’s probably got notebooks full of stuff she’s missed out since- oh, man. Probably not. Buffy said she barely had a car’s worth of crap. He was a big sucker for making the younger generation of Scoobies smile, so he entertained the girl’s question. “I’ll bet. Well, let’s see. We found out about him at the start, or maybe the end of September of… of- of ‘97. Then he and Buffy started dating,” he continued, eyes on the cement where his finger traced the crack like a timeline. If he hadn’t, he’d have missed her eyebrows jumping into her hairline at the mention of the Slayer with not one, but two separate undead paramours. Both master vampires. “Which was really weird, cuz like, slayers and vampires don’t date.” 

She schooled her features just in time for him to look at her, heart thumping in her ribs twelve percent faster. “That was my general understanding of the matter, when Mr. Giles explained the Slayer destiny to Thomas and myself.” 

He nodded as he continued on, getting off track a few times to explain the different demons they’d slain over the years. She didn’t mean to laugh at the mention of a few of them, thankful that he chuckled with her, letting him take her down the winding path down memory road. But the thread she wanted him to pull apart had yet to be unravelled. 

“Oh, yeah, then the whole Angel thing happened,” he said waving the cruller around one handed. “And that was a whole mess. Even after he left, once the mayor went kablooie.”

“It sounds like it. Although Dawn was rather vague about why he left,” Lottie nodded, picking at her Boston crème. Shame that Boston had such poor quality chocolate in comparison to Belgium. “Did he not love Miss Buffy?”

“Well, yeah, I don’t know for sure, cuz we weren’t chums, exactly,” he stumbled over his words, “Angel, I mean. But… I think so? I know he said it, I think, and he saved her life once.” He thought back to the mind reading demons with a shudder. Some private thoughts should just stay that way. “You know, I don’t know if vampires’ ability to love is something I can… speak on. Buffy loved him, that I do know. First great love and all that. Although, now that I have perspective, I can’t imagine what an adult has in common with a fifteen year old girl enough to fall in love with her, the way she did him,” shaking his head, he sighed. “But he was all like ‘grrrr, we can’t be together cuz I can’t lose my soul again’, and she tried to make it work, compromise and whatever, but he didn’t want to. I think Joyce had something to do with that.”

Again?! Her heart picked up a second time, ticking so swiftly, she wondered how the entire street couldn’t tell. How did he lose his soul the first time?! With her…? Being in love made him lose his soul? Oh, no. Is that what is in store for William? No, stay focused. “Yet she didn’t stop my brother from pursuing Buffy, despite him not having a soul.” 

“Yeah… I still don’t really get that. But, I dunno. Joyce never liked Angel from, like, the start.” He sighed internally at the memory of Joyce’s life being put in jeopardy by Angelus once he’d lost his soul. “He… never made an effort with casa de Summers, I guess. But Spike- William, she, I dunno. Like, when Angel lost his soul, he tried to end the world, and he was like ban- uh, sleeping with Sp- Will’s girl, Druscilla, and it was just a mess.” 

He looked down at his shoes, eyes haunted. “Angelus - without the soul - he killed a teacher from our school. Miss Calendar. She was Giles’ girlfriend, and Angelus left her body in Giles’ bed,” he spoke softly, the pain fresh, despite the nearly five years that had passed. “I’d never known someone murdered so badly before. Turned into a vampire, or a random demon attack, yeah, but… this was different. We knew her, not just as a teacher, but our ally. She was a Scooby. She- it was horrible, Charlotte,” he looked at her with an intensity like she’d never seen from him before. 

It chilled her to the bone as he continued. “He set the whole place up like a romantic candlelit dinner, and Giles just… she’d been murdered to send a message. Even on his worst days, Spike didn’t go that far with us. Sure, he threatened, and Cordelia, my girlfriend at the time, nearly died because of his actions, but he never went that far. Never to the level of toying like- The time Angel took… he must have been in that apartment for hours. It’s why no one wants you near him. He doesn’t do things halfway when he gets his mind on it. And now he’s working for an evil law firm with offices in multiple countries, so who knows what kind of shady shit- uh, resources he has now.”

She just nodded, knowing she couldn’t let him know her plan. So much information had been thrown out on her, her hands barely grasping onto it all. “But… he has his soul again. Angel. But he didn’t earn it, did he?”

Xander shook his head. “Willow. She shoved it back inside him. Magically. He was cursed by some gypsy witch, like, a hundred years ago, and none of us knew there was that pesky fine print, and he lost it when he and Buffy-” he coughed, cheeks pinking up in uncomfy regret of opening his big, fat mouth. If he told her… God , Buffy would rearrange his insides for sure. “Uh, so Miss Calender was a techno pagan, and she-”

“Is that a-? What is that?!”

It took another seven and a half minutes to explain techno-paganism - as much as he knew on the topic, at least - and how their former teacher’s ancestor cast the original spell, and had figured out how to recast it, just before her murder. And then how Willow found it, just before Acathala took over the world. He hadn’t known about Spike’s involvement then, but after Rex was destroyed a few months before their little Victorian popped up, Buffy revealed all. 

Thankfully not the more intimate details of her life with Spike, but the tentative truce they shared. “Spike was pissed that Dru wanted to end the world with Angelus, cuz despite the soullessness, your brother still liked human things. He never pretended to be human with us, but he still likes a bunch of human stuff. Onion rings and beer and pool- uh, billiards, I think it’s called back home?” She nodded, smiling politely as she listened. He might not like Spike most of the time, but his sister was great to all of them. “Yeah, all the human stuff. He learned how to cook, when he moved in after Joyce had her surgery, and he’s even made Anya and I dinner a few times. It’s better than whatever I could make, which makes me feel really great about myself,” he added dryly, coughing to shake himself back to reality. “But, yeah. Joyce and your brother were friends - well, friendly enough - before he and the Buffinator got together. Angel… he didn’t even try very hard with her outside of slaying stuff. Now that I think of it. Like… at all. He had a soul, but he kinda… I dunno.”

“Didn’t hold onto his humanity?” she finished for him.

“Yeah. I guess that’s the best way to put it. Why the sudden need for Angel info?”

She shrugged, looking down at her own shoes to string together enough of the half truths she’d prepared. “I lost so many years with my brother, and the one person - the one being - that I know spent the most time with him outside of the ‘Scoobies’… is him. The vampire who had Miss Buffy’s heart, before William even had a chance to get the time of day with. It seems like to know who my brother was for all those missing years, he’d be who I would ask,” she sighed, picking at an invisible ball of lint on her skirt. “But, I cannot ask a vampire who holds my family in such contempt that he would rather stake him, than let William be happy on the arm of his former paramour. It would not only be reckless, but soul or not, anyone can lie. I don’t wish to hear anything horrible come from that man’s mouth, and wonder for the rest of my life: is he telling me truths or pork pies?”

“Pork pies?”

“Slang for lies. I figured I’d try some cockney speech, but it just doesn’t suit me the way it does my brother,” she laughed, Xander chuckling along with her. “Thank you, Mr. Ha- Xander,” she corrected herself, remembering belatedly how much the man hated to be reminded of his father. “And since you have been so forthcoming with me, I think I shall be the same to you.”

“Oh? What about? And is it that I’ve got powdered sugar on my face?”

She chittered, shaking her head. “No, not that. Simply… your fears about marrying Miss Anya.” He blinked at her, speechless. “Do not deny it, I am very susceptible to the whole range of human emotions. How else do you suppose I can tell when I’m being lied to?”

“Yeah, but your brother’s a horrible liar.”

“I was referring to the man next to me, who swears he scraped his chair on the ground, when he let out a rather boisterous flatulent expression of air.”

“Huh?”

“You farted and blamed the chair.”

“I so did not!”

“It smelt of expired egg salad!” she countered, barrelling through. “But I know your fear. My own father worried he’d turn into grandfather,” she said more softly. “Grandfather was cruel, and… I don’t enjoy being called Charlie. Do you know why?”

“Was it your grandpa’s name?”

She shook her head. “No. His youngest child, Charles.” She watched as Xander blinked trying to understand more. “Our father, he fled home at seventeen with his siblings under one arm, and their worldly possessions under the other, after our aunt was sold at the age of thirteen to a robber Baron older than Mr. Giles.”

He choked on his coffee, sputtering at the thought of Willow at that age being sold off to Ethan Rayne and shuddered. “Holy crap.”

“Indeed. Aunt Ester never made it home to us, not alive at any rate. But he never stopped looking for her. Never… He couldn’t just give up on her. He took the rest of them,” she continued. “To London, where he worked everyday for three years straight to put food on the table, clothes on their backs, and even back then, working to feed five mouths was no easy feat.” 

Xander’s mouth fell open at that, shocked beyond belief. “He- your dad did all that?”

She nodded. “He begged grandmother to come with him. But she was a vain woman with a strong opium habit. Loved money more than she ever even tolerated her children. So he kept on keeping on. Both father and mother to his siblings, half terrified he’d fail them in one way or another, but pushing through regardless. Then she showed up at his flat, saying grandfather died, and it was safe to come home,” she stopped him with a hand up, letting him know she needed a breath. “It wasn’t.”

“She led them to a trap?” She nodded. “No offence, but your grandma sounds like a bitch.”

“Worse. At least bitches can be muzzled,” she sighed, continuing, not commenting on his snort of laughter at her turn of phrase. She wasn’t one for cursing, but she made an exception with her dead father’s cockup of a mother. “Grandfather offered her the country house if she brought them back; he always did love someone to push around, and… my uncle Charles was barely three.”

“He died?”

“No. He was murdered,” the statement was cold, biting, and he didn’t blame her for it when he heard the ending. “Grandfather was a lout, a scoundrel, a- a wankstain on the skirts of society of the worst sort.” Her anger flared as she kept on with the story, something she couldn’t stop thinking of when she first found out of her brother’s demonic infliction. Worried he’d turn out like grandfather. Then he went and earned himself his soul! “He smacked father around the room, and threatened to shoot grandmother in the head with his revolver if our father didn’t bend to his will,” she continued. “But father no longer held any kindness for the woman, so he said he’d rather she die than bend for the alcoholic failure.” She looked at him with the agony that lasted 200 years. “So grandfather shot Charles instead.”

Xander’s mouth popped open. He didn’t know what to say. “Oh, God,” except that. 

Seemed enough for Charlotte. “Yes indeed.” Her whole world blew up when their eldest cousin Elise told them of the news when they were wee, William confirming it just a week before he’d left for Africa several weeks back. She looked back down at her hands in pain, anguish threatening to spill over her eyelashes in the form of hot tears. “Father would have night terrors sometimes, but I did not know why back then, until a cousin told me of what she read in her mamma’s diary. Her mother was just a year and a half younger than father, and she could not sleep for months after the incident without being swaddled like a newborn. When someone calls me Charlie, I just think of him, and how- how it wasn’t fair h- how I have my life, an- and he never really g- ahem!” She cleared her throat, trying to stay strong. “Never got to live h- his.”

Xander had seen and heard of some pretty heinous things happening in their hometown. He’d felt like they’d lived a thousand lifetimes between each of the Scoobies - would need at least a thousand therapy sessions between the lot of them - but to hear a parent shoot a child in cold blood like that? A three year old? In the face?! Over their ego?! GOD, i t was sick. He didn’t have any words, just grabbed her hand and gave a reassuring squeeze. 

She gave him one back, eyes lifting to meet his own. “Do you know the name of our parents?” He shook his head. “Our mother was named Anne, after Queen Anne, in the house of Stewart. Father was named Alexander. He didn’t turn out like his father. And neither will you . And as far as I know, you’ve never witnessed your father murder your brother, so I wager you have better days ahead than father did.”

He snorted, covering his mouth and apologising. “Uh, no, I didn’t. He’s- well, Tony Harris is a crap show and a half, but he didn’t murder anyone. Not physically at least.”

“You mean in spirit?” He nodded derisively. “Ah, yes. Our cousin Graham did the same to his own wife and children, before mother stepped in. Although, I’m unfamiliar of the details for I was temporarily dead at the time.”

“Only a saying that makes sense in Sunnydale.”

“I am finding that, yes.” She grinned despite herself. People believed her here, unlike in Los Angeles. A town she knew she’d have to go back to sooner than she’d like. “But in any case, father, until the day he died, remained a kind hearted man, because he chose it. Even when the illness took hold of his mind, and he could not remember the ones around him, he was still kind. To every being, even the rats, which I’m told unnerved our mother endlessly.” They chuckled, picturing a Victorian woman in her hoop skirts, standing on a chair, screaming at her husband to get rid of a rat á la Tom and Jerry. “Had he or I not met our untimely demise,” she continued more seriously. “William would never have been wandering the streets at night, and would have died a mortal man decades later, instead of becoming a creature of the night. You are not my grandfather. You are not my brother, not your own father. You are a man whose heart and soul are his strongest weapons, who cares for all those around him because he simply chooses to,” she pointed to the smiling child across the street. “Who gave his quarter up for a stranger to give her little boy a turn at the electric dinosaur- despite receiving nothing in return.”

And while she made some good points, that one piece of insecurity inside him roared back to life. “And if that’s not enough-”

“It is.” Charlotte stood, wiping the dust off the back of her skirt. “You, Willow, and Buffy all have this odd notion deep inside, that no matter what you do or who you are, that somehow it won’t ever be enough. But what you fail to realise is the absolute army of people behind you, who wish to be even half as incredible as you all are,” she smiled, placing her other hand on his shoulder. “Kit, for example, has complimented the weapons chest you built for Buffy’s last birthday every single time she is in the Summers residence. You might have an apprentice in her yet.”

“Wh- really? She’s always so.. skittish around me.”

“Her experience with men is… complicated. I cannot tell you how bad it… I wouldn’t worry. She feels safer around you than most men, she tells me. She is just… traumatised. Softer voices work best, I find. Nothing that you’ve done, I assure you,” she nodded. “Simply her own horrible experiences. She’s still a work in progress, as we all are.”

“Yeah, guess we are.” He gazed out beyond her, down the street, out the town, and into the four corners of their little chunk of the universe. She knew it wasn’t a thought one rushed to, the decision to be one’s own person. To hold onto their actions and choices, others be damned. So she didn’t rush. Waited as patiently as she could, despite not being that patient of a girl. Chess was one thing, but people? Waiting on people to find their train of thought was exhausting. Still… “I think I have to talk to Anya after work,” he finally replied, low enough that she almost missed it. “We should talk about making it smaller.” 

Charlotte nodded, their eyes meeting again. “I think that’s best,” she smiled warmly at the man. “I think if you make the wedding celebration smaller, you would save a small fortune. One you could invest and let grow to one day purchase a house. Or perhaps open a business of your own. Remind her of the... return on investment. That with the money you’ll save, you can spend more on the honeymoon.”

He slowly grinned at that thought. “We actually weren’t planning on a big honeymoon, but now… Thanks, Lottie. I didn’t even think of all that. And your uncle Charles. I’m really sorry about that. And about calling you Charlie, and making you relive all that badness.”

Waving him off, she smiled in sympathy. “Water under the bridge. And thank you, for giving me insight into Sunnydale High, as much as you did the early years of the life of a Scooby. It’s definitely helped me find my footing.”

“Anytime. Now, you better get home before Joyce chews me up over keeping you out late.” 

Nodding, she bid him goodbye and left as he waved her off. She had her answer. Once school started tomorrow, she had a vampire in LA to track down. 

 

----------

 

Monday, November 4th, 2002- Part A

 

Spike awoke with a headache reminiscent of the time he’d had when he’d woken up on the cell floor of the Initiative. Unlike the day he’d woken up in said underground facility, he awoke in the arms of the woman he loved. He groaned, nuzzling deeper into her taut, warm abdomen, her arms providing him shelter from the cold, unfeeling world. “I know I’m still alive because despite how delicious you smell, my love, my head is killing me.”

She kissed his head carefully, hands rubbing his back gently. His Slayer treated him less like a skittish otter with a thorn in its paw, and more like a man. An injured and mentally anguished man, exhausted from his trials, but a man nonetheless. “Sorry to break your bubble, but yep, you’re still undead.”

He lifted his head carefully to see her tentative grin, her own sunken eyes a bit improved. “What a wonderful way to wake up, though. In the arms of the woman I love.”

“A woman who’s still more than a little pissed at you.”

Groaning, he let his head fall back down on her belly. “I take it you had a chat with your mother.”

“No, doy!”

“Buffy-”

“No,” she sighed. “I don’t wanna fight. Too tired. Let’s just… be here. We can fight when we’re both not feeling like roadkill.”

“Works for me.” He shuffled up a bit, kissing her chin. “If it’s any consolation, I missed you every second I was away, my heart.” She sighed, fixing him with a glare. “Something happened, didn’t it?” and abruptly went rigid against him. “The day I got back, you were injured. What happened, luv? You haven’t been sleeping, and your stomach’s rumblin’ like you’ve been off food. Talk to me.”

She shook her head, lashes all misty. “I don’t wanna- I just…” she looked away, shame washing over her. God! Where to even begin? “Something did happen, but I’m not ready to talk about it. It messed me up, I’ll say that, an- and then I saw you, like… you were, and- it was too much. That day was hell,” she ended pathetically, knowing the days leading up to it hadn’t been all kitten whiskers and hot fudge sundaes, either. Most of it was downright ooky, icky, sicky, and a little sticky, both morally and literally.

With every ounce of tenderness, he kissed her cheeks, pulling them to face each other on their sides, caressing whatever spot she’d allow. Everything felt more… more. It was painful, but touching her cheek was the opposite. “What’s that thing you like to say? Never have to do that day again.” She hiccuped a laugh. He always seemed to know two things: which buttons to push to get her into Fully Cranky-Pants Buffy, and what words she desperately needed to make the world melt away.  “Ah, there’s my happy lady. I’ve missed her very much.”

“She’s missed her happy man, too,” she replied, leaning in closer. “William, can I kiss you now?”

“Yes, please.”

Home. It felt like coming home to kiss her. More than being in their bed, in the house they shared with their family, more than wearing his own clothes again. 

And her hand rubbing on his pec as they deepened the shallow brush of lips was starting to feel like too much, with a side of not nearly enough. “You trying to seduce me? Cuz it’s working.”

Pulling back, she shook her head, feeling a little shell shocked. They’d slept last night more than either had slept in weeks. Carnal wasn’t on her mind the way that comfort was. “Just… need to touch you, so I know you’re real. Really here, ya know?” He nodded, hand slowly moving up and down on her back, listening with an open expression. “I really missed you, baby. You- I didn’t hear from you or mom for so long, and- you know, my head kept going to all these Indiana Jones-esque traps you could end up in, knowing your luck, and- not that mom’s an archeologist or- just… please don’t leave me.” 

Shushing her, Spike pulled her closer, laying her head on his chest as her tears started to fall. “I won’t. Was always plannin’ on comin’ back, luv. I’ll always fight my way back to you, one way or another. I got you something on our travels,” he offered, trying to lighten the mood. 

Sniffing, she roughly wiped at her eyes with her fists, before tilting her head back up towards him. “More than the soul?”

He nodded, looking around for his duffle. “Where’d my bag go?”

“Mom has it. Said she’s not giving it back till you look less corpse-y.” He wrinkled his nose at that, laying back down. “I’ll bring you a mug of blood in a second. How’d you sleep?”

“Like the dead,” he joked. “Honestly, better than any kip I had away from you. Think I’m addicted to having your arms around me.”

“Mmm, you sure it’s not the mattress topper?” she teased back, recalling the three week long decision making process he’d undergone with her in picking ‘The Right One’. For a guy who used to sleep on top of a sarcophagus, he sure was picky with mattress wear. 

He shook his head, carding his fingers in her hair. “Remember that motel in San Fran? The mattress made gravel feel like feathers, and we slept on the pull out couch.” 

She giggled, remembering all the ‘pulling out’ jokes they traded that day. “Sounds familiar.”

“Only managed to sleep cuz I was in your arms.”

“Sap.”

“Truth,” he countered, kissing her nose. “You know I’m love’s bitch, and I don’t care who knows.”

Levelling him with a sharp look, he could feel the waves of intensity coming off her. Hell, they could feel them in Utah! “You’re my man, not a bitch,” she corrected him fiercely. “A good man, too.”

“Buffy…”

“God, Spike!” She turned to grab tissues to blot at fresh tears. “I thought you were dead! And then you show up with a soul!”

“I thought you didn’t want to fight?”

“We’re not fighting! I’m just… I’m all weepy cuz the man I love nearly dusted himself without telling me what he was off doing!”

“Did you not read the letter I left?”

Hello, sense? Mind showing up anytime soon? Cuz- “The what?!”

At her insistence, he stood gingerly, body still sore from the beating it took. He lifted the book he’d been reading to her in bed before he left, opening to the page they’d stopped at. An envelope addressed to her in his scrawling script fell out, Buffy blinking at it on the bed. “Didn’t feel like reading it with me gone, huh?”

Without ceremony, she snatched it up, ripping it open and reading quickly. Looking up at him, she shook her head and opened her arms to welcome him in. He had told her. Left it in the book like the big old coward he’d been. “I’m still very angry.”

“I know, luv.”

“For a college educated man, that was a very stupid thing to do. Stupid, stupid, stupid thing.”

“I’m well aware.”

“And I’m gonna have to think very long and very hard about your punishment, and no,” she said, finger raised to hold his tongue. “I mean regular Buffy the girlfriend, not Mistress Buffy the sexpot.”

Turning his lip down to pout at her, he started to argue. “But Mistre- right.” Which he immediately shut down at her agonised fury. If looks could stake… “You’re right. I know, sweetheart. Wasn’t meaning to scare you. I just needed to do it. For you, for the Bits, your mum, but also… you know, for me.”

“I think I get that, but don’t… don’t you know you were enough for me before the soul?” she begged him to understand. “Didn’t I show that to you? Did I fail in-”

“Buffy, no. You’ve always- you treated me like a man for so long, I think we both forgot how different you and I started out as,” he caressed her cheek, eyes haggard. “Falling in love with you was the best thing I’ve ever done, and the scariest. I knew with one flick of your wrist, I’d have been a goner, but you didn’t. Even when we weren’t close and I tried to stake myself, you made sure I wasn’t gonna cuz Red was all torn up over it. Which,” he snorted. “If we had Hellmouth Bingo, none of us would have had ‘witch keeps handsome big bad from ending it all ’ on our cards.” Buffy rolled her eyes, knowing no, they really wouldn’t. “But I was a monster. Been one for a long time. Felt wrong to be one with you.”

“How long have you been planning this? No jokes, no fights just... please?”

He sighed, nodding. “Honestly?”

“Honestly. No BS. Just truth, 100% not from concentrate.”

He nodded, blinking away his own misty lashes. “Sometime around the first time we stumbled on trivia night.”

“That long?!” She clapped a hand over her mouth, regretting how loud that was. Any louder, her mom might burst in with ‘Random’, which they so did not need. “That long?” she repeated quietly. “Baby, why didn’t you say anything? What was even so special about that night?”

“What was- you’re kidding right?” She shook her head, genuinely not knowing. “We just came home after our little jaunt away from Glory, and you insisted we dress to match. We were getting cosy, ordering food, and you told the server ‘do you have any hot sauce that can burn your face off? Cuz my boyfriend likes his wings about two degrees hotter than that’ .” 

She waited for more, but all he did was look at her expectantly. “That’s what was so special? Hot sauce?!”

“First time you called me your boyfriend in public. And proudly, may I add.”

She blinked rapidly, not realising that it had been in fact, until now. “But… I said it earlier than that, to that fledge who was talking about his environmental science degree, and then to Tara, like a week before trivia at the… Espresso… but it was in the middle of the day, so you wouldn’t have known. Oh, my God!” She buried her head in her hands, feeling her face flame in embarrassment. “The first time I called you my boyfriend to your face in public was over hot sauce!”

“It’s kinda funny.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Wings is how we bonded, yeah?”

“Pretty sure it was over cottage pie. Or maybe… nah. Wings it is.”

“No no no, back it up. What? Come on, can’t read your mind, pet.”

She rolled her eyes, knowing he’d never drop it. Persistent. Even to a fault. “The cemetery. When you told me about Charlotte. I…. I think I started to see you as a man instead of just a demonic pain in my behind because of that. You were so vulnerable with me, even when you didn’t want to be, or even need to be at the time. You just… you offered it up freely. Made me feel like I could trust you. Even more than the alley outside the warehouse- on the night that shall not be spoken.”

“Yeah, that was… saw you for all your fears on that night… that shall not be spoken. Made me fall for you harder, you know.”

She groaned, her head now turned into his shoulder. “God, I was such a mess.”

“Still gorgeous.”

“Is that like, your favourite top of mine or something?”

“Nah. Lavender one with the lace ups, you know that.”

She grinned, kissing his shoulder as she turned to face him. “When you’re better, I’ll take you out to get wings and I’ll wear it for ya.”

He groaned, mouth finding her clavicle and pressing a kiss there. “You’re a goddess.” 

“Mmm, you’ve alluded to that a few times before.” She wiggled closer, hands stroking the skin of his exposed forearms to warm the cool surface. “I missed you. A fortnight apart is not good for our hearts.”

Spike’s responding grin lit her up from the inside. “Now, now, Slayer. You might give this old poet a run for his money with that kinda word smithery.”

Kissing his cheek, she hummed. “You leave the decor choices to me, and I’ll leave the poem writing to you, deal?”

“Deal.”

 

----------

 

“Morning boss!” 

Angel tried to refrain from rolling his eyes at Harmony’s peppy tone, so he simply closed them instead. “Harmony. That my blood?”

“Yeppers!” she confirmed, handing him the ‘#1 Boss’ mug she’d picked out for him in the first gift shop she’d popped her head into. “98.7, and a little something extra today!” He sipped, eyebrows raised. “Okay, okay, I won’t make you guess. I added a little magpie in there.”

“Hmm,” he pulled the ceramic from his lips, looking at the blood appreciatively. “Pig, magpie, and otter go together surprisingly well. Thanks.”

“Yeah? Oooh!” She clapped her hands repeatedly. “I’m so glad! I wasn’t sure, since you hated the eagle blood, but I thought it added a nice gaminess you’d like, you know?” He nodded, waiting for his messages impatiently. Harmony wasn’t a bad receptionist for a hairdresser or something, just not for a get-to-the-point vamp like him. “But back to business: you’ve got three meetings today, a package only your signature will do, and your 11:30 is already in your office waiting for you.”

“11:30? I don’t have an 11:30 today.”

“Oh. Are you sure? She seemed really sure.”

“She?”

“Yeah, she’s right in-” but her boss was already gone. “Your office. Okay, whatever.”

Angel strode in, looking around, hearing the heartbeat in his chair. Human. “Okay, whatever it is, I don’t want any trouble, so how about you get out of my chair before I throw you out.”

“Honestly, Angel,” he heard the British lilt respond. “If this is how you treat a lady once you have a soul,” she turned around in the chair to face him, her hair in twin braids - probably done by Joyce - peeking out from under her beret. “Then I’d hate to have any semblance of association with you sans it.”

“Charlotte. What are you doing here? And in my chair?”

“Oh, I figured you wouldn’t mind,” she responded breezily with a wave of her hand. “What with your penchant for younger girls in your lap.”

His jaw set in a hard line as he glared her down. “You’re outta line,” he warned.

“And you’re out of fashion sense,” she lobbed back. “Really, do all vampires besides Miss Kendal simply purchase their hair gel by the gallon? What on earth do you even call that hairstyle?”

“Out!”

“No.”

“No? Geez, you’re so your brother’s family. Get out before I have security throw you out.”

“Fine,” she stood. “But I was under the impression that the Angel of the 21st century helped the helpless when they walked through his door. But,” she sighed. “I suppose working for an evil organisation has changed that, hasn’t it?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“No? Because the whole reason I am here is to speak with the Angel with the soul.” She sat down in the appropriate chair, not waiting for him to pull it out, knowing he wouldn’t. “How did you survive it, any road? You hid it from William and his Druscilla for quite some time- some might even venture to call it impressive. How did you cope?”

He blinked at her, confused. That took a 180 in Bizzareville. “You wanna talk about my soul? Why?” What the hell was she playing at? 

“My brother and I have lost countless years together. You and he had those years as family, dysfunctional as they were. Colour me intrigued. I wish to know your experience with my brother when you had your soul and when you did not. It will help me better understand the man he is today.”

“And you showed up without an appointment because…?”

“I telephoned Miss Kendall, and asked to be put on your books at the earliest time possible. This was that.”

“Uh huh,” Angel knew she wasn’t lying, but he doubted it was the whole truth. Still, he closed the door and sat in his own chair, thinking. “And does your brother know you’re here?”

“He’s sleeping at the moment.”

“So… no one knows where you are.”

“You forget, sir,” she sneered. “That I have three extremely powerful witches at my disposal, one of which would likely die before allowing you to hurt me. So while my brother is unaware of my whereabouts, rest assured that I did not arrive unprotected.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“What you implied, however, was that I cannot defend myself if you so wish to lash out at my brother via me. But you should know that since becoming aware of the creatures of the night, Miss Summers has taken me under her wing, and taught me a great deal of self defence.”

He scowled so deeply he was sure his scowl had a scowl. “Are you threatening me?”

“Don’t recall giving you one. Why? Should I?”

He leaned back, holding his tongue. Charlotte wasn’t like Spike, couldn’t play this as such. She was like William: freshly turned vampire, with a whole life of crime ahead of him. And the self preservation of a hamster on crack cocaine, apparently. “And if you don’t like what I tell you? You’ll… what? Stake me?”

“And get the lovely outfit Miss Summers purchased for me full of your dust? Unlikely,” she grinned, resting her hands in clear view to show she was unarmed. “I shall simply take my leave of you, and never bother you again.”

He chewed it over, thinking it could be a trap. Then again, it could be a means to an end. I answer her, she leaves… “fine. What do you wanna know?”

“Did it hurt?”

“When I fell from heaven?” he joked. 

“When Miss Rosenburg shoved the soul back into your body,” she corrected easily, pulling a tin of ginger mints from her pocket. As if she didn’t just ask an earth shattering question! “Do you know if it was even your soul to begin with?”

“So this is about souls!” He slapped the table, startling her. “Why the ruse?”

She shook her head. “I do wish to know about my brother’s time with you,” she said simply- heartbeat even: not a lie. “But I also was ripped from my own time, from heaven, and the only one who could know why works somewhere in your organisation,” another truth. “And I might just be a touch petrified that I might wake up one day without my soul, and I must know what to look out for!” Lie. Big glaring lie!

“You’re afraid you’ll wake up… without your soul. Colour me unimpressed with that 29¢ lie.”

“Fine!” she huffed. “Maybe I’m afraid I woke up in 2001 without one,” not a lie. Oh, damn. That was heavy. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to awaken in a bed eight thousand kilometres, and a hundred and thirty years away from your home? To awaken with new, unscarred lungs, people who are not your parents claiming themselves to be? It has left me with more questions than answers, and I figure the man who had his soul thrust upon his person - twice - after losing it, might have some indication of the feeling of powerlessness that is so similar to my own. And I know damn well my brother will have my head for speaking to you, but I need something!” She slapped the desk right back, showing her anger. “I do not wish to be a shadow, Mr. Angel,” she said, calming down to a simmer. “I simply wish to know if there are signs I have missed.”

He nodded, leaning back in his chair. He felt for her, he really did. But then the fact that she was Spike ’s sister… And now he felt scummy for thinking less of her because of it. Not like she could control who her family was. “Tell you what: let’s get Fred and the rest of the gang here, and we can-”

“Avoid telling me the truth some more?” she finished for him. “No, I think not. Not yet, any road. Just tell me what I wish to know, and I shall get out of your precariously gelled hair.”

He considered it a long moment. Staring her down would have worked, if she weren’t William’s sister. But their whole family must be lousy with it for she didn’t budge. Family, he scoffed internally. At one point, Spike and Dru and Darla were family, and that means… His thoughts swirled in unflattering colours, guilt rising in his throat, choking him out. Finally, he relented. “Fine. Where do you want me to start?” 

“The beginning, of course.”

Chapter 31

Summary:

Lottie comes back from Wolfram & Hart in one piece, but she is sooooo grounded after her little Houdini act. But, what’s this? The Truth 100% not from concentrate from great papa forehead? Giles also gets a call from London.

TW: mentions from 03x10 Amends, as well as emotional abuse Mr. & Dr. Smith gave to Lottie)

Chapter Text

Monday, November 4th, 2002 - Part B

 

Dawn was worried. She hadn’t seen Charlotte at lunch, or in the halls, and her locker buddies on either side said they hadn’t seen her all day. Now, the last period of the day, the class they shared, Lottie wasn’t in her usual seat. Worry turned to a gnawing sense of dread. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. 

After class, they planned on meeting with the Scoobies - original and next generation - at the Box. Maybe she wasn’t up for it, and was in the library? No, not there either. Oh! The girls bathroom! And… no, just some older girls smoking a spliff. Huh. Weird. 

Okay. That was it. Time to go see Giles and get to the bottom of what the heck was going on. Except when she walked in, she found more questions than answers. 

“Hey, Lottie not with you?” Carlos asked, setting up the chess board so Giles could teach him a new technique. He’d found the game had helped his concentration, and Charlotte was way too fast for him. The girl was a powerhouse with it, after all, and he was still a novice. 

Dawn stopped, counting all the heads in the shop. Not one held the blonde locks she saw that very morning. “She’s not here?” Panic. Not just worried, she was verging on panic. Very, very, very bad! “Shit!” 

“Language!”

“She wasn’t at lunch,” she continued, ignoring the scolding. “She wasn’t in our last period class, or the bathroom, or the library, and neither one of the people who have lockers next to her have seen her all day. She’s always by her locker. She never likes carrying more than she absolutely needs to from class to class. Something’s very wrong!” 

Xander’s face was paler than his teeth as he stood on shaky legs. “Willow? Call Fred.”

“Fred?” the redhead asked, confused. “Why? Oh, no. You don’t think Lottie jumped through a wormhole, do you?”

“N- no,” he stammered. “Not exactly.”

The bell rang above the door as Buffy walked in, eyes a little brighter now that she’d slept more than eleven hours. Dawn looked at her panicking, the Slayer confused and wary as to her friend’s skittish behaviour further into the shop. 

“It’s just,” his laugh bubbled its way out of his throat, strangled by his voice box. Muscles jerking minutely in uncertainty, he looked seconds away from bolting outta the shop, diving into his car, and heading for the Mexican border. “You’re gonna find it a total laugh riot in a second. Ah ha ha!” 

“Xander…” Willow warned, her friend still not aware that Buffy had just walked it. “What happened?”

He grumbled, turning to face her, his back facing the door. “Well… she kinda came by the site yesterday with donuts, and uh, and some questions - you know Lottie and her questions! - but uh, I thought she knew, ya know, and I warned her! I warned her about the danger! That she shouldn’t … Giles!” He pointed to the older man. “Giles has books! And that- and she could come to you with the questions, but she- well she might have kinda…”

Understanding dawned on Willow who gaped at the man horrified. “You told her about…? How could you be so reckless! Do you know how stupid that was?! That she would- she could- argh! Xander!” She stomped her foot, pivoting to the phone. “Now I gotta- argh!”

“What’s happening?” Buffy asked, stepping closer. “Why’s Willow at DEFCON One mad? The tension in here is like- where’s Charlotte? Xander…” she warned, the man sheepishly turning around to face her with fear in his eyes, his back stiff. That was an omen of badness if she ever saw one. “What do you mean ‘you know Lottie with her questions’ ? What questions? What did you tell her?”

“Ha ha, see, what happened was,” he started, looking around for a place to hide. Which was a fruitless endeavour, really. “She brought donuts, and-”

Dawn gasped at him, a loud suffering sound, like a vacuum forcibly sucking the breath from her lungs. “You didn’t! Tell me you did not- oh, my God.” She gaped when he recoiled. Panicking! Full on panic mode! Wee-oo, wee-oo! Danger, danger, danger! Prepare your battle stations! “Oh, my GOD!” 

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“She came to you asking about souls, didn’t she?” Dawn demanded, the man nodding pathetically. “Unbelievable.” She turned to her older sister, arms crossed under her chest. 

“What? Fill in some blanks for me, Roger Price, cuz I’m too tired and cranky to do it all myself.”

Dawn took a steadying breath. “Charlotte has a vampire brother,” she said simply, like she was reading a story to a four year old. “A vampire brother who now has a soul. Gee, I wonder who else is a vampire with a soul that she might want to, I dunno, ask some questions to? Maybe in, say, L.A.? Where she, ya know, can also get the 4-1-1 on why she woke up in 2001 with a new set of lungs?”

Buffy’s heart dropped, turning to Xander, horrified. “You sent her to Angel?!?” 

 

----------

 

Charlotte thanked the handsome Charles Gunn for the ride to the Sunnydale bus depot, insisting he not need to drive her the rest of the way home. “Best you steer clear of my potential future sister-in-law,” she warned. After a brief pause, she added, “and pretend I did not call her that,” wincing internally. 

He huffed a deep laugh. “Secret’s safe with me, girl. Take care of yourself, okay? These streets ain’t exactly the safest.”

“Neither are the ones in Los Ange-leeze.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“I’d ask you to tell me over dinner sometime,” she started. “But I think we both know the age difference is rather vast.”

Taking a breath himself, he felt sliced from a molecular level. He knew the ladies found him handsome, but this girl was… a girl. As in: CHILD. Not a chance in hell, he thought. Even if we meet again, twenty years down the line. “Listen, you’re a great girl, but you’re right that you’re way too young for me.”

“I was about to say the same about you, Mr. Gunn,” she replied, the man raising his eyebrows in shock. “I was born in the year of our Lord, 1859, after all.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling as he shook his head. “You’re too funny, Miss Pratt. Keep it up. Laughter’s the best way to keep on livin’.”

“I’ll do well to remember that. Thank you, Mr. Gunn. You seem a decent fellow. I’d hate to have to kill you one day.”

He cocked his head at the statement, understanding the quote moments later. “Ah, Princess Bride fan?”

“Being friends with the girl I consider my sister, you learn to appreciate it quickly.” Standing swiftly from the vehicle, she peered in before shutting the door, adding, “thank you again. I appreciate it greatly.” 

She closed the door and headed to the closest pay phone, depositing her quarter, and dialling the number she memorised off by heart. After she wiped it down with her handkerchief. It didn’t take longer than twelve seconds for the phone to ring, and then she braced herself for the inevitable maelstrom headed her way. 

“Hello? Summers’ residence.”

“Mrs. Summers,” she started, worrying the phone cord between her fingers. “Terribly sorry to ask, but is there any way you could send someone to pick me up from the bus depot?”

Ten minutes later, the red car she’d grown accustomed to as Mr. Giles’ convertible pulled up. Buffy glared daggers at her, motioning her to get into the car immediately. The entire trip was dead silent, and she was sure to get a tongue lashing when they reached the house. Only, they weren’t heading to the house, but the Magic Box. Oh, bugger, she thought in dread. Much, much, MUCH worse. 

Inside, she found out just how worse. The entirety of the Scooby squad, both original and next generation milled about, waiting for her in various degrees of anger. On top of the fury from the group, the shop had been closed. Oh, buggering biscuits.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Mr. Giles locked it, and the tsunami of shouted frustration descended upon her. 

    “Where the hell have you been?”

    “What were you thinking?”

    “Wolfram and Hart? Are you nuts?!”

    “We had to close the store for this!”

    “Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been?”

    “You could’ve been killed! Or dismembered! Chopped up into Lottie-shimi!”

The barrage was intense, her face growing hot at the anger from her friends, Buffy ushering her deeper into the shop, her hand a firm press to the girl’s back. Charlotte felt shame climb up her spine, then anger of her own. They kept things from her. Kept the knowledge of Angel’s soul from her. Should she have asked permission? She’d have been told no, and possibly made to feel a touch mad for asking in the first place. And that would not do. Neither would the shouting. 

“Alright!” she screamed, standing up on the table. “I know, I shouldn’t have left without telling anyone, and that I should not have gone into the den of thieves and murderers that is that law firm. I shall take whatever punishment Mrs. Summers sees fit. But I have something all of us have been waiting for.” Taking Thomas’ offered hand for stability, she climbed down, slipping the tape recorder from her pocket disguised as her ginger-mints tin, the glamour fading before their eyes. “Answers.” 

With the press of a button, the room filled with the sounds of the conversation she’d had only hours before. 

Honestly, Angel, ” her voice came through clearly. “ If this is how you treat a lady once you have a soul, then I hate to have any semblance of association with you sans it .”

Charlotte ,” Angel’s voice replied. “ What are you doing here? And in my chair?

The others listened intently as the audio played, Buffy still looking like she was ready to send her love’s sister into the tallest tower. Lottie knew that if William was more himself, he’d lock her there without so much as a ‘how do you do’. But by the grace of God, he was asleep at the house. 

“Fine. Where do you want me to start?” 

“The beginning, of course,” Charlotte’s voice replied, a little clearer now. “When you were turned, did you feel it leave your body? Or did you just awaken sensing its absence? Because truth be told, I could feel the absence of pressure from my old, scarred, diseased lungs when I awoke in the hospital, post transplant. But I was in so much pain from the surgery, the countless biopsy tests, and not to mention the numbing effect of the opium in my system, that it took me a few days to truly sort out what each individual feeling was.”

There was a pause on the recording again, as if Angel was trying to listen to her heartbeat, or formulate his answer. Then, “after. Didn’t really… feel guilt. Dar- my sire told me why.”

“Oh. Sadly, no sire for ‘surprise! You were dragged from your deathbed a century ago, now you have new lungs’ that I am aware of. Your sire, who told her ? I mean, how could one tell?”

He paused, sniffing thoughtfully. “Do you feel guilt?”

“I feel rage, more than I did in the 1800’s,” her voice answered carefully instead. “Is that a sign of a soul slipping?”

“No. You’re... What? Fourteen, fifteen? It’s called puberty.” Several of the Scoobies snorted, shaking their heads at his cavalier attitude.

“Yes, thank you Doctor Obvious.” Thomas chuckled, slapping his hand over his mouth when he caught Buffy’s stare. “I understand the basics of hormonal feelings, but I’m asking for unprovoked rage.”

“Like?”

“Like… I witnessed an advertisement for bathroom tissue, and wanted to strangle the producer, for fouling up a beloved song in such a manner.”

Dawn looked at her friend confused, mouthing, ‘really?’ to which Lottie just shrugged.

“Uh… That’s… a new one,” Angel was halting, like he didn’t know whether to call security, or a psych ward. But continued the line of questioning, if only to get the girl out sooner. “But guilt. Usually that’s what the soul does. Anchors that feeling there. Same with love, and shame, and-”

“You mention love. Why?”

“You can’t love without a soul.”

“William does,” her voice rang out simply.

Which was ruined by a snort of laughter from the subject she interviewed. “Uh-huh.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Spike- it’s not possible,” he stated firmly. “You need a soul to love.”

“Why?”

“WHY?”

“Yes. Why? Serial killers have souls, presumably, wouldn’t you say?”

“…I guess…”

“And Lorne, he’s a demon. Does he not love?”

“Lorne’s… it’s different with him.”

“Why?”

“It just is!”

“Why won’t anyone explain why, though?”

“Because!” At his snapped tone, the Slayer scowled at the recorder, ready to smash it to bits. Maybe hop on a bus and smash him to bits, too. Mr. Giles definitely looked like he was debating if he had enough gas in his car to make the trip. 

“I am not aiming for belligerence,” she stated cooly, trying to keep calm on the recording. “I genuinely do not understand why no one explains things to me. When I did not understand why it is rude to tell a friend they have food in their teeth, my dear friend took me aside, and said it’s not that I warned her of it, but the way I did it.” Kit grinned a little at the memory, happy the blonde considered her a friend. “If she hadn’t, I would not be able to adjust. I need someone to tell me specifics, or else I end up assuming otherwise. You say Lorne is different, and won’t explain why, and my brain goes on to assume that demons DO have souls, but they are different than human souls. Which makes me think that maybe vampires no longer have theirs, because a random demon that was just born, or created, or what have you, and managed to absorb-”

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Angel’s voice mumbled. “Do you ever just… stop thinking?”

“No. My head would be too quiet, and I’d likely go mad. SO…. Lorne is a demon, but he comes from a word where demons have souls, but it’s different that-”

“Charlotte, I don’t know.”

“Oh. Why not?”

“I never asked.”

“Huh. Why not?”

“I don’t-  I don’t remember, okay? It never came up.”

See? That’s the answer I needed! Are all grownups so incapable of giving straightforward answers?” her voice huffed on the recorder, then switched gears. “When you did get your soul back, was it painful?”

His chair creaked, probably sitting back, pinching the bridge of his nose, regretting letting her interview him. “Yes.”

“Was it… like a ripping sensation? Or more of a burning?”

“It was… I dunno. Like being filled with a sackful of burning hot nails,” he snarked, patience gone out the window. “Are we done here?”

“Burning hot….” There was scribbling on the recording, like Charlotte was taking notes. Knowing her, she definitely had. “That’s… very specific. But, no.”

“Listen. I get you’re scared, but I have other appointments-”

“I know, sir. I still have th...irteen and a half minutes remaining. And you felt guilt, then? Or- or was it more than that?”

“It-” there was a shuffling sound, indicating the vampire probably was shifting uncomfortably in his fancy desk chair. “More.”

“Agony?” her voice was quieter now, almost sullen. She was trying to ask about what Spike was in store for, about figuring out what he went through. God, she was so grounded after Buffy got her some ice cream, because how the hell did Charlotte manage to get the great foreheaded wonder to open up more than the Slayer could? His ex-girlfriend?! “De- depression? Despair?”

“Maybe I should call Wes… Ya know, he probably’s the better bet on finding… the kinda help you need-”

“Please don’t.” The pause was long enough that the audience in the Box were picturing her pulling her big, doe eyes on him, little puppy dog lost, looking for her home. “Just… please. I took a bus out here, using up the rest of my pin money, and I’m already frustrated at the lack of answers as it is… I thought you helped the helpless.” Yep. Big ole puppy dog eyes.

He scoffed. “You’re not helpless.”

“No. But thanks to your company employees Ashley and Henry Smith, I do have enough for a lawsuit on child negligence,” she added, Xander’s eyebrows jumping skyward. And Giles and Willow’s, too. “And while I don’t wish to sue, I think we both know you don’t want to have to see my face in these offices again, so…”

Anya grinned, congratulating her from behind the counter, tossing her two thumbs up. Anything to do with sticking it to the other guy, she supposed. Or perhaps because lawsuits involved money.

“You are so your brother’s sister. Fine. Yeah. Guilt made me miserable, and the depression followed.”

“Was- is it just a flood of emotion? Like… a flood of chemicals when one doses medications incorrectly?”

“Uh, kinda? Then there was the hallucinating, and-”

“Hallucinations? That… does that mean soulless beings never hallucinate? Oh, God. Is that-?”

“No. It- the guilt and shame. It kinda… manifests itself.”

“Oh. Would- would Hellmouth magic exacerbate it?”

“Yeah, it did.”

“What…? Oh. So…”

“Yeah, but that was different.”

“Why?”

“It- it just was, Charlotte. Now, let me get you in touch with-”

“The only one who can answer these questions is YOU, Angel. Just… do not brush me off. Please.”

“I… Buffy didn’t tell you, did she?” He shuffled in his chair again, awkwardly staring at her, no doubt. “About sending me to hell?”

“It may have been mentioned. Briefly.”

“Yeah, so. Mainly cuz of that.”

“So the hell dimension- my word. You’ve survived a lot.”

At that, Dawn snapped at her friend. “Lottie!” How could she sympathise with that fiend?! 

But Charlotte rolled her eyes, pointing empathetically at the recorder, willing the crowd to please keep their gobs shut, if only to understand her reasoning. 

“Yeah… I guess.”

  “As someone who has survived a great deal, you won’t - as the Americans say - ‘sugar coat’ the truth for me on this matter, will you?” The blonde’s voice rang out in the small speakers, the shop’s occupants leaning in closer. Angel was her violin, and she was playing him to perfection. “Please. Did the Hellmouth magic exacerbate it? Must I move towns in order to keep my soul?”

“Maybe in order to keep your neck,” he snorted, before getting serious. “It- I don’t know what it was, exactly, but… it was evil.”

“From… the Hellmouth.” 

“I… think.”

“What’s causing your hesitation here?” Buffy wondered the same. Trying to root around in her head about what happened when he came back from that hell dimension. It was Christmas, and he was going to dust himself- oh. Oh, God. Spike. Was he going to-? She stopped her panic, remembering that things weren’t the same for them. Charlotte’s here. And even with as much pain as he’s in, he wouldn’t do that to her. He’d rather lose all his toes than leave her behind. And he wasn’t in a hell dimension for God knows how long. “Is it… is it like that film with that demon? The one who appears when you say his name thrice?”

“Demon who-? You mean Betelgeuse? Geez. You’re hanging out with Xander too much, huh?” Which caused the man in question to snort, offended that a classic would be snubbed so hard. And also, hello? Feelings. 

“So, is it?”

“No, just… there’s stuff about the Hellmouth that could fill a million books, and we still wouldn’t know enough about it,” he sighed, two thumps on the other line, probably the sound of his boots hitting the table of his desk. “That’s the long and the short of it. It attracts evil forces cuz it is one- an evil force. Whatever it was that happened when I got back, there’s no way to know how much of it was my soul, and how much of it was from the Hellmouth. Or whatever it was that brought me back. All in all, it’s a double edged sword, cuz I… Doesn’t matter. Is that everything?”

“Not quite.”

“Charlotte…”

“Why do you hate William?” her voice was far quieter than it had been the rest of the impromptu interview, and her tone was more pained. Far more pained than usual. “From what I hear - not solely from his mouth, but others - it seems you’ve hated him on sight. I don’t need a biographical account of things, but… some background would be rather helpful…”

The silence that filled the room was thick, murky. He probably had thrown a brooding look her way. But finally, he answered, “at first, I was angry that Dru sired him without permission. When I tried to teach him his place, we… we ended up at each other’s throats. It’s what vampires do.”

“I see.”

“No, I don’t think you do. He’s muzzled, Charlotte. Don’t think he’s the same brother you had when you were both alive in London. He’s not.”

“And I am no longer that girl, either. Do not forget, Angel,” she stood, the chair making an audible sound as the metal pushed against the carpet. “That while I may seem naive, I am exceptionally bright.” Yes, you are, Dawn thought, looking at her friend proudly. Not for doing this without backup, but still. “I am aware of things my brother has done over the decades, as I have been granted access of Mr. Giles’ files on the matter-”

Buffy glared at her Watcher in fury. “Giles!” How could he be so stupid, and let her borrow those without talking it over with his Slayer? The last time too much was given to her so fast, Lottie went all sideways. 

“- also your own,” recorder!Charlotte continued. “Being a vampire is definitely not an existence I chose to ever have for myself, but I do understand how hard it is to go against one’s own nature. I was barely hanging on by a thread under Ashley and Henry Smith’s care, and while you may never understand my feelings on the matter, I do expect you to accept that living under the same roof as William now gives me comfort. Could he kill me in my sleep if he was without his chip? Sure. But at least I know what I get with him. I knew nothing of what to expect with the Smiths.” Buffy went cold. Sometimes, it was easy to pretend that all that hadn’t happened. That the girl just moved in as soon as she was found. “What new uncertainty they’d create for me, what utterly horrid chore they’d- have you heard of Cinderella ?”

“Yeah.”

“She should have killed the stepmother,” she said seriously, causing everyone’s eyebrows to go skyrocketing. “If she’d been turned into a vampire, I’d suspect she would have. To treat a person so cruelly, let alone a child. I never knew it was possible to have a pair of trousers folded angrily in one’s direction, before I was forced to go with them. To be treated as a burden, to be humiliated at every turn for making natural failings all children experience, to be treated as a liability, a nuisance, be… My brother keeps me fed. Miss Buffy ensures I have clothing that not only fits me, but is in good condition. The Summers family keeps me safe, an- and they have respect for me, an- and I have not once felt undeserving of that in their presence. Not once!” 

Oh, God. It was way worse for her on Shadow Lane than any one of them had been led to believe. Recorder!Lottie wasn’t putting on airs, was being stone cold honest. And it petrified them. It frightened the Summers sisters, coated Willow in cold sweat, made Tara’s heart rise up in her throat, and the pits of the stomachs of her teenaged friends bottom out. To have her finally open up about the abuse she suffered… and to Angel of all people. God! Dawn, Buffy, and Thomas knew bits and pieces, but this was the first time they were all on the same page. And whilst Giles frustratingly chewed on the arm of his glasses to the frame, Tom placed a comforting arm around his friend, letting her bury her face into his shoulder. 

“They show me more love and affection than you think they have a capacity for, even when I vex them with my constant questioning. But the Smiths….” she spat the word back to him. “You might wish to look into why your organisation is so keen on destroying little girls’ lives and self-esteems so thoroughly, because if it were not for Dawn Summers, I’d likely be dead right now. And my blood would have been on your hands.”

Angel’s own chair made an audible noise, as the caster wheels whooshed over carpet when he stood. “You-”

“I shall take my leave of you. Thank you for your time. I shall show myself out.”

The door opened, Lottie likely letting herself out, when more footsteps than there should have been sounded over the tape.  

“Wait. Charles Gunn, Charlotte Pratt. Could you drive her back to Sunnydale?” There was a pause before he added, “please?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Charles Gunn presumably said. “Nice to meet you. C’mon. We’ve got a Camaro in the basement I’ve been itching to get behind the wheel of.” 

Their voices petered off as they walked away.

Buffy’s anger had halved since she’d picked up the girl with Giles at the station, but she was still majorly cheesed off. Straightening her spine, she regarded the girl with a stern look. “Charlotte, you-”

“Shh!” she cut the Slayer off, blushing at the daggers she received for her efforts. Pointing to the device, she put on an apologetic expression for her brother’s sweetheart. “The recording isn’t finished!”

Straining to hear, they waited. The door to the office shut, before being opened again, several footsteps resounded as multiple bodies entered the room, the office door shutting with a resounding click. “What did she want?” Wesley’s voice came in loud and clear on the other end. 

“Souls.”

“Ah,” Fred’s voice rang out this time. “Um…. Why?”

“Thinks she’s at risk for losing hers, I guess. Hellmouth magic.”

“You told her of the hallucinations?” Wesley asked.

“No. Yes. Not all of it,” he admitted.

“You didn’t tell her about reliving your previous… er, victims?”

“She’s fifteen! Mentally what? Nine? What was I supposed to say? ‘Some demon priests had control of my brain, fed me the memories of all the people I used to torture and kill? Then gave me a hell of a wet dream where I bit and nearly drained my ex, made me show up to her house and kill her? And the only way I could fight it was to try to let the sunlight take me, only being saved when she begged me not to dust myself, and then it snowed?’ Buffy would have me roasted over a fire before you could say Holy Water,” Angel grumbled, probably doing that whole scowly thing he did. 

“Mm, yes. Quite.”

“Oh! She forgot her mints,” Fred’s voice rang out over the rest. “Think Harmony could catch up to them, and-”

“I’m on it, boss!” Harmony’s cheery voice broke out, making Willow, Xander, Buffy, and Dawn’s eyes bulge outta their heads, Giles fumbling for the antacid bottle. “Eww! Ginger mints? Is it ginger or mint?”

Fred hummed, probably looking at the tin in contemplation. “Both, I think.”

“Eww! British candy’s so grody. Whatever. I’ll get it to her in a jiffy!”

“Charlotte…” Giles was the first to speak, once the recording cut off. “How did you know-? Did you leave-”

“The recorder behind on purpose?” she finished for him. “Yes. I intended to have Mr. Gunn turn around, within the allotted time for the glamour to dissolve, in the hopes that Angel would reveal his hand when I was not around to hear it. As predicted…”

“That was still extremely reckless.”

Bowing her head slightly, she nodded. “I know. I accept whatever punishment you deem fit. I needed answers, and now I have them.” Standing, she raised her hands to her brother’s love, fists loose as her pulse point was aimed to the ceiling “I surrender my freedom to you.”

Buffy didn’t know whether to feel proud or pissed at what the girl had done. She’d not only kept this from them, but she’d entered without backup. Into a den of demonic energy big enough to rival the eternity of the Hellmouth, and then some. And then there was the part of her that felt like pummeling Angel into hourglass filling. Hearing his voice be so upset at this girl- this blonde teenager, who was practically the age the Slayer had been when she’d met him, it was- God! What he’d said, after Lottie had left the room? If she hadn’t slept as long as she had, she’d have started to sob. He’d never told her that in those many words. They’d never talked about it, actually. And she was suddenly feeling very justified in having Willow and Tara do the disinvite spell on the house. There was no way in hell she was allowing him near those girls, ever again. “I’m not throwing you in a dungeon,” she assured her, stepping closer. “But we’re definitely gonna have to talk about your…”

“Gallivanting,” Dawn offered, folding her arms over her chest. “Without backup. What’s Slayer Rule #2?” 

Charlotte winced, lowering her hands when she obviously wasn’t going to be cuffed. “Don’t patrol on an empty stomach?”

“Never go it alone. And that was the definition of solo work,” her best friend huffed back, face pinched in utter pain. “How could you not even trust me? I thought I was your built-in backup?”

Carlos chose then to finally open his mouth, taking the curly haired girl’s side. “You would’ve told Buffy. But I, on the other hand- not that I’d lie to you,” he added, turning to the Slayer in question. “Madam Secretary of Slayitude, just, ya know,” he shrugged. “Delayed in the truthing.”

“I needed him to trust me,” Victorian Curly Sue continued. “If I showed up with an army behind me, he’d have treated me like a threat. I know it was risky, and dangerous, and I promise I will never step foot in that building again. You were right. It’s Evil Incorporated alright. The second I stepped into that wretched place?” She shivered, and for once, not for an ounce of cold. “I felt it in my bones, my blood, my nerves, my… my soul. Lesson learned.”

While genuine, Buffy knew the apology didn’t make the girl suddenly forgiven. She could have died on the way to or from L.A., too. Gee, she thought. I wonder how mom’s gonna ground her with Spike’s extreme glaring. Oh, God. I’m gonna have to tell Spike. “Giles? I’m taking her home. We’re gonna have a little family meeting about how that was so totally not okay.” 

 

----------

 

Rupert was worn through, emotionally as well as physically. After the malarkey with Charlotte, he’d decided on keeping the shop closed the rest of the afternoon, Anya bellyaching over the potential loss of income, before declaring a deep cleaning. Deep dusting, more like. Good heavens, but those top shelves were harbingers of a sneezing fit if they weren’t careful. Thankfully, he’d managed to get her out the door before she suggested they reorganise the books based on aesthetics, leaving him to collapse into the office chair with a cup of tea. He desperately needed solitude for quiet reflection and contempla-

          BRIIIIING! BRIIIIING! 

“Good Lord,” he cursed, spilling the tea bags over the tabletop, sticking one in his cup before lifting the receiver. 

          BRII-

“Magic Box, proprietor speaking,” he answered, grabbing the kettle in his other hand just as the automatic shut off kept it from permanently rolling in a boil. “The shop is now closed for the evening, though we-”

“Rupert.”

His hand paused where the kettle spout was an inch from the mug, avoiding pouring any of it in just yet. Nothing good came from hearing that voice. Nothing. “Robson. It must be three in the morning. What is it?”

“We have a… situation.”

“Situation,” he replied dryly, going ahead and pouring himself a cup. He had a feeling he would need the jasmine. “Riveting.”

“Gregory Pendergast was assigned to a potential slayer in Bogotá-”

“Uh-huh,” he answered automatically, setting the kettle back on its stand. 

“They’re dead.”

Oh. That was... Sitting down at his desk, he felt his shoulders slump. “Oh, I am terribly sorry for your loss. He was a friend of yours, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, thank you. The problem is… how they died.”

“How-? Was it not from a demon related patrol?”

“No. They were stabbed. They’re the second team to be executed that way,” he continued. “Gretchen Angert and her potential slayer, Emma were slain in Berlin last month. And when our team in Mumbai failed to report back, we sent a backup team, who-” 

Colombia. Germany. India. No… “The slayer- er, potential slayer,” he hedged carefully. “She wasn’t at a wedding in a luxury hotel, was she? Somewhere in Mumbai?”

“No.” Oh, thank the sta- “Lake Pichola, in the North-Western province of Rajasthan.” Of course. Robson always was very specific. “But… how could you know it was at a wedding? We were very diligent in our reports to not mention that.”

“You forget that besides the mystical super-strength, slayers also have prophetic dreams.”

“Why didn’t-”

“I inform head office?” he finished for his old colleague. “I did. You should ask Travers why he failed to tell you all about the-” 

“Travers is missing.”

Oh, bloody hell. “Are you quite certain? And for how long?” 

“Most certain. I went to head office yesterday for my assignment, and he and his secretary have been missing for over a week.”

Rolling his eyes, Rupert leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “Oh. Is that all?” he asked breezily. “Q finally gets the courage for an affair, and-”

“His secretary is a sixty-two year old lesbian, Rupert,” Robson insisted upon. “And her wife says she’s getting worried, as Deborah requires her daily insulin injection, or-” 

“I understand. Who’s in charge now?”

“Er, officially?”

Jesus, it was like pulling teeth with the other man! “Yes. Officially.”

“Well… me.”

Sighing, he sat back upright, knowing his old friend wasn’t calling at three in the A.M. to boast of his new position. Robson only ever wanted to manage a slayer, not the whole sodding Council. If anything, it’d be to complain. Not that he would do that either. He never was the type, no matter how long the years grew on. “When’s my flight? I’m assuming that’s why you called, is it not?”

“I was just telling Georgia the other day,” the other man sighed, the phone cord crinkling as he likely turned around to look at his wife’s photo on the desk. “That if I were any more transparent, I’d be a sodding window.”

“How much time do I have to pack?”

There was some shuffling around on the other end, Robson looking for the exact paper he’d written the information on. “Your flight leaves at midnight. The airline has the information.”

“Pick me up when I land. I’ll call.” Setting the phone back down in its cradle, he stared at the tea with a bitter heart. He really hated to waste a good cuppa. But he hated having to rush packing more. Leaving it behind, he left the shop to get himself sorted. He’d have to leave messages with everyone, but he was loath to arrive at his Slayer’s home in person. He was sure they’d be cleaning up their own sodding mess with Charlotte. “Can’t have gone to work at the post office,” he mumbled to himself as he locked up. “No… Had to follow in granny Edna’s footsteps. If only she saw me now, she’d have a bloody apoplexy. Again.”

Chapter 32

Summary:

Tara finds the bramble that a certain redheaded witch left under her pillow, and the Scoobies interrogate Willow. But all is not what it seems.

Chapter Text

Thursday, November 7th, 2002

 

Tara couldn’t believe it. How could she have been so blind? The signs were glaringly obvious, but she’d ignored them. Why did she ignore them?! 

Chunks of time. CHUNKS! Not seconds, but minutes, hours just… gone. How could they be gone, and she hadn’t noticed? She wasn’t stupid, and not about something like this! And with someone she loved so much? There just was no way! But the evidence was too glaringly obvious. She’d hoped she was wrong, but the witch knew in her heart she wasn’t. And with a pensive determination, she skipped her Econ 202 class, and headed for Revello Drive. 

Pacing in front of the Summers’ front porch, she didn’t know where her nerve had run off to. It probably was on sabbatical with the rest of her common sense. Just knock on the door, Tara, she reminded herself, willing some semblance of bravery back into her muscles. Just talk to Buffy, and-

The door swung open without ceremony, Spike on the other side of it, an oven mitt on one hand. “Could hear you pacing and mumbling out here.” Gesturing to the dining room with a tilt of his head, he added, “d’ya need a formal invitation?”

“Uh… is- is Buffy home? I, um, have a question,” she stammered out, crossing the threshold and shutting the door behind her. “I, um... didn’t mean to interrupt baking hour.”

“It’s not-”

“O- oh! The- cuz it’s day-” Because of course the vampire would put on something to block the sun’s deadly rays from his hands! Gah! She wasn’t normally so inconsiderate. Gosh! This whole day was just not going how she had hoped. “Ahem. I’m- I was just… is she home?”

“She’s got a test or quiz or sommin’ at the college,” he sniffed, leaning against the edge of the dining room table, arms crossed as he gave her the once over. She knew she looked awful. She hadn’t slept well that night, after all. But she didn’t need to be under the Spike-roscope. “What is it?’

“I… I don’t know. It can wait, nevermind. Just-”

“Glinda,” he sighed, rubbing a hand down his exhausted face. “You're already here, ducks. Just sit down before you put a hole into the rug.” Nodding, she sat at the chair he pulled out for her, wringing her hands nervously. As if on autopilot, he grabbed the half eaten box of cookies from the kitchen, dumping them on a clean plate. He wouldn’t admit to it, but everyone at 1630 Revello Drive knew he was overcompensating lately. Every chance he got, whenever his traitorous brain would lob another terrible memory of some heinous act to the forefront, he’d either do something stupid - like thump the side of his head repeatedly - or he’d turn that energy his frustrations brought forth into doting on the girls. And he was steadily fattening up the littlest blonde in particular- attempting too, in any case. She’d not caught on yet to his ploys, or if she had, she was intent on keeping it mum. “Alright, not like I’m due for much kip now, any road.” Placing the plate of cookies on the table, he grabbed the mug of Bessie from the kitchen in his other hand. Collapsing into the chair across from her, he asked, “what happened?”

Shaking her head, she looked at the tablecloth, tracing the weave of the fabric with her eyes. It was one of the witch’s favourite linens the Summers family owned, reminding her of the first one she ever bought with her own money. “Dawn,” she started carefully. “Sh- she said how happy she was that Willow and I made up, but…. Thing is, I- I don’t even remember the two of us fighting, or even a disagreement. Or- or a tiny, um, you know, difference of opinion on pizza toppings, like we- like usual for us. An- and then I thought about it, and… I’m having these gaps of time missing. Like… a lot of them.”

His brow furrowed, listening to the young witch’s tale. That… that wasn’t what he was expecting. “We talkin’ minutes, hours, or days?”

She shook her head, glancing up quickly before going back to the cloth. “Minutes. Sometimes an hour, or so, b- but then I started to worry… maybe…” she trailed off, unsure if she should even be thinking about something so… Goddess! It was so horrible. How could she even think that-? Right?

“When did you notice?” he asked. “After Glory? Think it’s an aftershock of sorts?”

“N- n- not exactly.”

Maybe it was her stutter, or her heart betrayed her with a little stutter of its own, one only he could hear. Either way, she wasn’t fooling him. Leaning forward, he quirked a brow, the scar highlighted in the soft ambient glow from the sun beyond the thick drapes. “And what… exactly do you think it is?”

Looking away, she tried to gather her wits about herself, to voice what she’d be terrified of for weeks. How could she even begin to voice what she’d had suspicions of the one woman she loved over everyone? That her love had potentially cast not only one spell on her, but perhaps multiple in quick succession? How-?

“Do you think Red did something?” Oh. Apparently, just like that. About as tactful as a mug full of- of tacks. At her wince, he put the mug down heavily, getting closer to her face. “Tara… did something happen?”

Putting the dried flower on the surface, her hand shook. “I- I found it… under my pillow. She- since my hand started… started acting up, you know, after Rex? She said she’d d- do the laundry, the sheets. So- so I wouldn’t aggravate it, you know? An- an- and then I found this,” she stared at it, unblinking. “And I didn’t think an- anything ab- about it, cuz,” her breathy laugh was layered with pain, disbelief, and heartache. “Hello? Witches. We’re bound to lose a thing or two f- from all the stuff we- we have around, you know? B- but then I remembered how you and Buffy purged our d- dorm, and how Anya’s g- g- got my witchy stuff the- there, at her place? An- and it’s not like this just blew in through the o- open window, right?” 

He didn’t answer her rambling questions. Instead, a pale hand touched the plant carefully, pinching it to bring to his nostrils for a good sniff. “This is Lethe's Bramble, ain’t it?” Her nod sent his blood raging. He thought maybe it was possible that Red had done a spell or two that backfired, causing her little girlfriend’s memory loss. But this? Oh, this made him want to snap something in two. If she was having gaps in her memory, and she found this under her pillow… “Tara,” he grit out, trying to keep himself calm around the girl who was used to a brother pummelling her as a show of love, lest he end up triggering a relapse. He liked Tara; respected her. Even if he didn’t, he sure as shite didn’t need to have his lady throwing a fit when she found out. Oh, she was gonna have a fit over this, that was for sodding sure. “You know what this does, yeah?” Nodding quickly, hands came up to cover her eyes, but it was too late. He could smell the salt.

Of all the idiotic, hairbrained, ass backwards stunts to pull, he never expected the redheaded witch to pull a Sheridan on her lady love. The same lady love, mind, whom she damn near ended up eviscerating herself over, to get revenge on the hell bitch who stole Tara’s mind in the first place! And now doing the same herself? When I get my hands on her, he thought. I’m gonna make sure she’s not got a single red hair left on that perky lil head of hers. But a much more horrifying thought filled its place. How many times has Red done the spell? Not just on Tara, but on any one of us?

Placing the flower down, he stood. “Wait a tic. Here,” he pushed the plate of Wagon Wheels closer to the witch, knowing that she wouldn’t take his whiskey if he poured her a glass, and Joyce would do him in if he even offered in the first place. Striding away, he grabbed the telephone.

“Wh- what are you doing?”

“Calling the higher authority on mystical malarkey.” His fingers didn’t even manage the first half of the dialling, when her warm ones stopped him in his tracks. “The Watcher’ll know what to do,” he reasoned, paper in hand.

She floundered, unsure herself. “B- but-”

“That’s why you came, ain’t it? Tell the Slayer that her best pal went off the deep end again?” Making like a Jibber Jammer Hammer, she shook her head side to side. “What, then? Cuz I’ll get a splitting migraine, but if you want me to throw her off into the ravine, I will.”

How the tables had turned, she must have thought. From him threatening Willow for his own gain, to threatening her, because she hurt the one other witch in their group he trusted. A bitter expression painted her features, halfway between a grin and grimace, and pushed his hand down a touch firmer. “N- no. I- I… not yet. To, um, either.”

Sighing, he relented, putting the phone back in its cradle. “What, then?” Explaining carefully, she told him how she was headed to the Magic Box to look up the master inventory list Anya had been keeping since the Olaf fiasco of 2000, to check for the number of times their Madam Mim had purchased said bramble for the spell. Seeing as how the amount she’d found under her pillow indicated a single serving, in a way, she was hoping to use the two figures to make a rough estimate if the gaps in her memory were in fact magically inclined. But going and asking outright for it would mean tipping Anya off, which would in turn, tip Xander off, and in the spirit of him being open and honest since the Scoobies let him back into the fold, would lead to everyone finding out. Which was the opposite hope when it came to a covert operation. The pair ended up sitting at the dining room table with both cookies and tea - blood in the mug next to his own cup and saucer - trying to find a solution that would involve the fewest number of co-conspirators. The biggest issue of course being Tara’s safety. “Nothing wrong with the bunk in the basement,” he offered. “Could ask Joyce for you to stay for a few days. Make some excuse why Red’s not invited.”

Shaking her head, she looked back at the picture frame of the four of them - her, Buffy, Willow, and Spike - on the wall. Snapped at the arcade on her last birthday, Dawn had taken it with pride. Spike had grumbled the whole time, but even his smiling eyes were unmistakable in the photo staring back at her. So happy, in that pic. Yet things changed all the time. “No, I think that’ll be too s- suspicious. Besides, I don’t-”

The front door opened, Joyce entering with a shudder, cutting the witch off. Turning to face her, the pair watched as the matriarch shook her hands, trying to dispel some invisible thread over her arms. “I swear to God, this is just my luck,” she muttered. “Of all the times to- Spike?” Calling into the house, still unaware of the audience she had at her right as she looked left. “Where did he- Spike? Are you-”

“Dining room.” He smothered a smirk at her light startle, though the mirth was harder to hide from his eyes. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“There you are. Yeah, I- Tara. What a surprise! I didn’t think we’d see you here at this hour. Oh, no. Did we have lunch plans? I must have forgotten-”

“No, no, no. I, uh, came to see Spike. For, um… advice.”

Looking between the two, she frowned heavily, shutting the door behind her. “Try again, and this time, remember that I live in a house with this one,” she pointed to the vampire hiding his smug expression behind his mug. “And my two supernaturally inclined daughters, who have made me able to pick up a lie from a hundred feet away.”

Spike stood, pulling the matriarch’s chair out for her to sit into. “I’ll fix you a cuppa. You’ll need it.”

Tara shifted in her seat, looking uneasily between the pair of them. “I- I think I should maybe go. I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Tara,” the blonde said carefully, hands gently leading the younger woman to sit back down. “Stay. If you’re in trouble, or need help, you know you can ask. We’re here for you.” Carefully, she recounted what she’d told Spike, showing the woman the plant as well, Spike filling her in on the plan when he got the tea ready, just how the blonde liked it best. After twenty minutes, Joyce had finished her tea, gained an understanding of the odd little conference around her table, and gathered her resolve. “Anya won’t suspect me,” she offered. “I’ll just go in, tell her I’m looking for something to help with nightmares, and chat her up about other merchandise.”

“But... you d- don’t like magic,” the younger woman pointed out. “She- she’ll know something’s up.”

Joyce sighed, cupping the younger woman’s face in her palm. “Tara, if I go, it’s even less suspicious than if we send Buffy, which I’m assuming was your first option?” She nodded against the palm. “Then I’ll go. Before Rupert comes back from his trip, and this turns into an intervention. Unless… Do you want us to give her an intervention?”

That was a good question. Did she? Would it even work right now? Somehow, she doubted its potential effectiveness. “N- not yet. Um, can…?”

“Now-ish?” she asked, earning a chorus of affirmations from her other tea-mates. “Alright, I’ll head there now, and-” great. Her stomach would rumble loud enough that even Gemini heard it from his napping spot upstairs. “Maybe have some lunch first, then I’ll hit up the magic sh- crap.”

“Crap?”

“I have to pick up the girls from school. Damn it.”

“I- I could, um, do it,” Tara offered. “If um, you need me to…”

Spike sat up straighter, hoping for the outing could mean some one on one time with his own Summers woman who was due home around the same time. “That’s a great idea. You know, Pidge likes you, so it’ll be good for the three of you to-”

“Be out of you and Buffy’s hair?” Tara finished.

“What? Use my own sister as a pawn?” he asked, afront falling short. “How could you even think I woul- yeah, fine.” The pair of ladies looked about as convinced of his farce as a Ribfest judge would be to the literature of vegans. “Joyce was right. Slayer and I haven’t had time as a twosome. Plannin’ on parking ourselves on that couch and rectifying it.”

“In a PG-13 way, I’m insisting,” Joyce added, stern mom stare piercing through his leather armour. “Right, S?”

Nodding, he stood to avoid her gaze as he walked their cups back to the kitchen. “Sure thing, J. Nice afternoon, just some good old fashioned... Bible study.”

Tara’s face wrinkled, leaning closer. “Is that a- a euphemism straight couples use, or is he just being his usual Spike self?” Her whisper might as well have been a shout, the vampire all but cackling in response from the kitchen. 

 

----------

 

Coming home, Buffy was bewildered to find her number one guy playing cards with her BFF’s number one girl. In the dining room.  In the middle of the day! She may have done a double-take, shaking her head to dispel any Hellmouth wigginess, but no. It wasn’t magic, just a pair of sort-of friends, playing Whist and eating Peek Freens. “Uh… you’re not playing for money, are you?”

“Jammie Dodgers,” her boyfriend replied, picking up a card from the deck. “How’d you do?”

“Kicked butt,” she answered, grabbing a chocolate dipped shortbread, leaning her forearms on his shoulders. “Was gonna hit up the Pump on my way home, but then I’d miss your grande cookie gambling ring.” Biting into the biscuit, she looked at his cards, then at Tara’s face, trying to figure out what the what was. “So… this thing happening often, or…?”

“Teachin’ Glinda the art of Whist,” he responded, laying down a card. “The good witch of the Midwest’s never played. Figured it’d be best, what with Pidge stickin’ to her like glue.”

Humming, she couldn’t fault them for that. But she knew when he was hiding something from her. It was a stink that settled in her mucus membranes. But Tara’s face told her to hold off on the interrogation, for now. So she simply laid her chin on the top of his curls, looking down at his hand. “So… who’s winning?” 

Looking at her watch, Tara nodded. “I- I think I should…”

“Damn, I didn’t know I was such stellar company,” Buffy groused dryly. “I just got home!”

“I- I was hoping to pick up the girls,” she offered, standing. “I could use the help carrying groceries.”

“Charlotte’s grounded, so…”

Spike left the cards on the table, wrapping his arms around her middle to tug his girlfriend into his lap. “Figured it was alright. Harder to go off on a crime spree with ducks here playing chaperone.”

True. With the other Scoobies, Charlotte was still kinda weary, unsure of her true place amongst them. But Tara? They could’ve been long lost sisters with how they acted. Probably because they both were abused, she thought, that cold, grippy, sinking feeling back in her gut, again. Not like Willow and Xander were raised by the cofounders of Ideal Parenting Monthly . But Tara’s is more with the recent. And maybe spending time together would be nice. Gives Spike and me time for a makeout sesh, too... “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Just… home before dark?”

Nodding, Tara slung her satchel over her neck, crossing it over her shoulder, before waving herself off. 

Twisting to look at her boyfriend with a questioning quirk of her brow, the Slayer asked, “you gonna tell me what all that was about?” 

“Convinced her to take the Bits so we could have some quality time, just you,” he pressed a kiss to the left side of her face, lips a scant brush away from her own. “And me,” he added on the right. “Whatever will we do to fill ninety minutes?”

Grinning against his mouth, she sank her fingers into his soft, bleach blond locks. “Mmm… I guess we could start here, and maybe play some Parches- eep!”

With one fluid motion, he stood, arms supporting her bottom as he strode over to the living room, bringing them both to settle on the couch. No need for Parcheesi.

 

----------

 

Making out on the couch led to a lot of heavy petting. A. Lot. She knew that his soul would still be there come morning, but going all the way was off the table. Going through all that with Angel had made her skittish. He knew as much, and had been unnaturally patient with her. It was making him a little frustrated, no surprise, but Spike knew his lady well enough that pushing her was a one way ticket to Shutsdownberg, and settled for her hand on his junk. And while it had been ‘bloody amazing’ as he put it, she couldn’t help but feel like she was holding back. It shouldn’t have been surprising, what with her dicey sexual past. But sex with him was the one thing Buffy knew came naturally to the pair of ‘em. His mouth on her was toe curling, don’t get her wrong. But she knew she wanted more, just… God, she really had to get her head screwed on right, so they could get on with the scre- love making. 

Still, smoochies after an afternoon delight was always a must. Even when they ended up being interrupted by their sisters. Which was happening more than ever lately, since Charlotte was grounded. They were always there. Sometimes even staring. 

“Ugh,” Dawn scoffed as she passed them snuggled up on the couch - fully dressed, thank you - with a bag of groceries in her arms. “Yep, I called it: gag-worthy.”

Throwing a pillow at her sister’s shoulders, the brunette moved faster than she expected, dodging it while it sailed in the air. “Did you managed to pick up a less sucky attitude when you were out?” Buffy lobbed back at her, earning herself a stuck out tongue and a raspberry blown in her direction for her comment. “Wow. Real mature.”

“Miss Ma- Tara said she’d teach me her favourite meatball dish,” Lottie exclaimed, carrying a smaller bag in her own arms, Tara behind the excited girl with a fond smile. “Were you aware that there is a national meatball day in this country, brother? America truly has a day for everything!” Without waiting for a response, she cheerfully ushered her grocery bag to the kitchen, humming the whole way. 

Looking to Tara for an explanation, she just shrugged. “She- she wanted to make dumplings from scratch. I, uh, had to compromise.”

Nodding in agreement, the couple left their sisters in her capable hands, staying wrapped up in one another for a little while longer. Even if all they did was trade hushed whispers, it was still quality time together. It had been so hard to find that of late, that they hadn’t found time to actually have a date outside the house. Not unless you counted patrol, which she so didn’t. Still, it was great, no matter how short. 

Eventually, they made their way to the kitchen, catching Dawn ‘accidentally’ launching an onion across the room. They’d had hoped she’d eventually get the hang of that chopping veggies thing. Nope! Hopefully Lottie would pick up some more skills there, balance them both out. 

By the time the girls got their groove, Spike had washed a few dishes with his animatedly talking sister, and the matriarch entered the fragrant smelling house. 

“I’m home!” Joyce called out, leaning over to pull her shoes off. “Anyone around?”

“In here!” Buffy called out from the kitchen, her mom following the smell of deliciousness. “Hey, mom. Look! Tara made us dinner!”

“Hey!” Dawn protested. “Lottie and I helped! All Buffy and Spike did was make out on the couch.”

“So?” Spike looked at her expectantly when he finished with the dish he’d been drying, her grim face all the confirmation he needed. “Calendar’s on your desk.”

She nodded once, heading to the other room. Buffy raised a brow expectantly, but her boyfriend hadn’t given her any clues.  “Dammit!” she heard from the other room, along with a palm slapping the top of the desk. 

Curious, she followed her mother to the living room, finding the distraught other woman with her hands over her eyes. “Uh… mom? Is something wrong?”

“When’s dinner gonna be ready?” She didn’t bother taking her hands off her eyes to ask.

“Um… Tara said it needs another ten minutes.”

“Then I'll tell you in ten minutes.”

Oh, great, she mused. Cagey-mom. “Ooooo-kay. Uh, did you want something? Hot cocoa? Tea? A Xanax?” Without answering her, Buffy watched her mom walk straight to the vampire of the house, who wordlessly handed her a glass of whiskey that she swallowed in a single gulp. And then immediately pulled a face. Just like Buffy’s. Well mark me down as Linda Wiggins, cuz… what? “What’s going on?”

Spike didn’t argue, instead changing the subject entirely. “Tara looked into that plant from your nightmare.”

“Oh?” Fine then, she mused. Mom and Spike wanna play secret keeper for ten minutes, I’m game. But she first waited until the whiskey was put away before she continued the conversation. Just the smell alone brought back bad vibes. “I thought that was a bunch of bupkis.”

“It- it was. Normally it symbolises  bliss and happiness, u- usually in romantic relationships,” she cleared her throat, avoiding looking at the Slayer directly. If she did, she might break down in tears over the whole thing. “B- but I checked some books from the UC Sunnydale library, and some botany books mention it thrives in drought, and other harsh conditions.” Mixing the sauce on the stove, she tried to balance the flavours, but it was hard. Not being able to use garlic took out a lotta deliciousness from the dish, but she wasn’t stupid enough to poison her friend’s boyfriend. Her other friend. Geez, when did Spike and I go from acquaintances to friends? She shook the salt shaker above the bubbling pot and chose to leave that thought for another time. “An- and since some Native American tribes use it for healing rituals, it- it could signify overcoming a big challenge,” she continued. 

“Yeah, I was afraid of that.”

“B- but it can also mean… transformation.”

“Trans… what?” Buffy’s face screwed up. “Like I’m gonna turn into those other girls?”

“N- no. I don’t- I think…” Taking it off the heat, she pulled out the meatballs from the oven, dumping them into the sauce, hearing the teenagers giggle as they lay the plates on the table in the next room. “It might mean spiritual evolution.”

“Oh! Are we joining a new church?” Charlotte asked, grabbing the utensils to set the table. “Because I heard on a radio programme that the Evolutionary Change Home Organization is actually a cult.”

“Wow. F.M. sure has changed since the 90’s.”

Dawn rolled her eyes, grabbing the drinking glasses before following her goodie-goodie two shoes BFF. “Tom’s mom drove us to school yesterday, and she’s way big with the talk radio. She and Tom get really invested.” Pausing after taking a few steps, she added, “it’s wiggsome how he’s like, already got the grandpa gene in sophomore year, ya know?”

“Probably why he and Charl-” Backpedalling as she saw the girl herself reentering the kitchen, she finished, “Charles Luis Carol is his favourite author, right?”

“Did Buffy insinuate I have the personality energy of a grandmother?”

“No!” she insisted.

Which was pointless when her sister corrected her, “yes.”

“I didn’t mean-”

Giggling, Charlotte took a dollop of sauce on her finger, and tapped it onto the Slayer’s nose, startling the older blonde. “There. Now we are… even-stevens.”

Dawn just rolled her eyes at her friend, missing the rest of the adults grinning. “Steven. It’s not plural.”

“Well it ought to be!” 

Smiling at the joyful moment in the family, Tara handed the pot to Dawn, the girl happily carrying it into the other room. “How’d the assignment go? Did- did you get that extension?”

“Got an A- on the last one - no clue why, cuz it was perfect after you helped me with the prospector subplot,” she sighed, laying on the trivet as the witch brought the rolls. “But the one with the talking dragon who goes on a mission with the owl and cat got an A+, AND Miss Patrick thinks I should enter it into the California Young Author’s Creative Writing Contest.”

“Woah. That’s awesome, Dawn. You should! It was one of my favourites.”

“It was pretty good,” Spike admitted, a bloom of pride at his pseudo sister’s achievement. “Knocked that smirk off that chit Kristy’s face,” he added, under his breath. 

Which Joyce didn’t miss. “Spike. Stop calling her that.”

“Have you forgotten how totally awful she is?” Dawn demanded, hands on her hips in annoyance. “Cuz I can still hear the echoes of that last rumour she started about us, and I sure as sugar haven’t.”

“Fine, fine. Let’s eat before the food gets cold- you did add garlic, right?”

“Yes. B- but not this one,” she added, pulling a plate from the microwave to hand to the vampire. He looked at it blankly, uncertain if she was secretly poisoning him or not. “Figured you d- didn’t need third degree tongue burns, is all.”

Sitting down at the table, the Slayer finally broke her silence. “Alright. What’s going on? The three of you have been acting all squirrely since before I walked in. Spill.”

And after a tense silent conversation between the three co-conspirators, they spilled the beans, tea, and everything in between. All of it. 

And Buffy felt her teeth rattle in her skull at the news. “So.. you think-”

“Luv, would Tara lie to us?” he pushed, looking at her firmly, but no less with love. “Hide secrets, maybe, but with a family like that, who wouldn’t?”

Charlotte’s fork clattered on her plate as she bore scandalised eyes into her brother’s form. “William!” 

“No, no,” the witch shook her head. “He- he’s right. I- I hid something from them once, b- but I’m not lying about this. I- I didn’t even w- want to believe it. B- but…”

“But… twenty seven times?!” Buffy felt sick to her stomach; how she could have been so blind! This was her best friend, for crying out loud! “Are you sure? Maybe… couldn’t it be used for, like, other spells?” At Tara’s heartbroken head shake, she knew that it wasn’t. Oh, God! “How did I not see it sooner?! When… when this started happening, why didn’t you come to us sooner?”

Tara winced, looking at the Slayer’s chin instead of her eyes. “I- I talked to Willow, and, um, she said she’d look into it.” Spike let his fist come down on the table, making a clatter. She winced, but didn’t flinch. This time. “And, I, uh, I asked Giles…”

“Giles?!” Buffy stood, fuming. “Giles knew and he didn’t tell me?!”

“Buffy-”

“No, I don’t care what you say,” she strode to the phone, picking it up, already dialling the long distance number. “He knew and he kept it from me.” 

“Luv, put the phone-”

“You could have - this could’ve all been stopped at one instance, but he kept it from me. What if it was left over from Glory? Or-”

“BUFFY!” Dawn yelled, standing abruptly.

“WHAT?!”
“Don’t waste the minutes,” the brunette sighed, gesturing to the window, and the shadow climbing their porch steps. “Giles is here.”

Opening the door on the Watcher’s grim face staring back at her, his stubble worse than she’d ever seen before, she felt her anger dissipate at his words. “We need to talk. About Willow.”

“Lemme guess,” Buffy sighed, letting him close the door behind himself. “Does this have anything to do with Lethe’s bramble?”

He nodded, following her to the dining room. “Ah. We’ve an audience.”

Joyce stood, frown evidently plastered on her face all afternoon. “We know.”

He opened his mouth to explain, when his Slayer cut him off. “So, you thought you’d go off to England before telling me?” She sat heavily back in her seat, picking up her water glass and draining it. 

“No, because I already did tell you.”

“Uh, no, because despite the blonde hair, I’ve got enough brains kicking around up here to remember something that major.”

“Not if Willow pulled the Tabula Rasa spell on you to make you forget,” he countered.

Everyone stopped, glaring at the man as if he’d claimed he was shaving his head, moving to the Equator, and changing his name to Buster Himen. “But… mom said Willow only bought enough to do the spell twenty seven times, and Tara has twenty seven gaps in her memory, so…”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Yes. From us. But I saw a former colleague of mine in England, who owns a magic shop in Kingston upon Thames. After a chat, she asked if California was experiencing a shortage in the bramble, and I asked her to elaborate. She told me that she’s been getting a rather large order from the shop in the town next to ours, once a month, with some other items that made her question if our supplier had fallen ill.”

“So… you think Red’s been making her way to grandmother’s house with a basket full of basketcase brambles?” Spike asked, earning him a dirty look from both his lady’s sister, and his own. 

“Unless you know of another witch who’d go by Aspen Gothel.”

Spike barked a laugh, causing everyone to look at him in varying looks of confusion. “Oh, come- Gothel, as in Mother Gothel, the famous witch in that blasted nursery rhyme?” The other women blinked owlishly at him, except for Tara, who let her head fall into her hands, defeated at the recognition. “Seri- she’s a Jewish witch. Gee, I wonder if there are any other Jewish witches we might know of? Aspen’s obviously a tr-”

Dawn cut him off with a raised hand. “We get it. What do we do now? I mean, how can we even be sure we don’t, like, have the whammy on us? Or that she’ll just whammy us all again after?”

He didn’t know. He did, however, know that he had to keep Willow on lockdown. “We need to have an…”

“Intervention,” Buffy finished for her Watcher, frowning at the ragged expression on his brow. He must have just gotten in from the airport, or they lost his luggage. Again. “Can you do some trapping spell to keep her powers on lock?” His grim nod was all she needed. “Good. Do it.”

 

----------

 

Willow should have seen the intervention coming. Really, she should’ve seen it from a mile away, waving its red and gold flags, disco music blaring. But when Buffy told her to come meet her at the Box for a last minute Scooby meeting, she didn’t bat an eye. Lots of last minute meetings were called for all kinds of reasons, especially now that Charlotte was in town. So she made her way into town after catching up on homework, and ate a slice of extra cheesy pizza, before heading to the store. Sitting down at the table in the Box, she should have noticed the metaphorical confetti when Tara refused to look at her, quite literally hiding behind Spike. Spike! Using him like a punk shaped shield between the pair of them, not to mention the way he was looking at her. Two parts pity, two parts disgust, with a dash of rage. 

“Uh, so, what’s goin’ on?” She looked at the friends around her, Anya frowning as she twirled her new engagement ring, Xander standing behind the counter next to her. No one else was sitting. Huh… Why was no one else sitting? And why did they all look like they’d already talked before she got in? Something was very wrong. Way with the wrongness. “Why does everyone look like someone d-? Oh, God.” She covered her mouth, looking at her blonde BFF in fear. Charlotte. No, Goddess, please no, she begged. Don’t take Lottie! She just got here! She- no! She can’t die now!

But Buffy didn’t say a thing. Walking forwards, she slapped down a bud in her hand onto the table, then stepped back. The redhead blinked down at the dried sprig, her heart rising to her throat. 

Giles cleared his throat, hesitantly stepping closer. The waves of paternal care were there, but muted. Like an undercurrent in comparison to the scolding she felt was heading her way. “Care to explain?”

Blinking repeatedly, she looked up, trying to understand the thick goop in the room, tension heavy enough to choke an elephant. “I… it- it’s a nice flower, I guess.”

Which was the wrong thing to say, judging by everyone’s reactions. Her oldest friend frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in disappointment, as his fiancée folded her arms, unimpressed. And Tara. Oh, Tara actually turned away from her! What the hell..? “Do not play games with us Willow, or so help me-”

“What are you-? What is this?”

“You know damned well what this is,” Giles vaulted back to her, getting closer than before. “Considering you’ve been the biggest purchaser of it in not only this shop, but in no less than three others in a two hour radius of your dorm.”

Oh, no. They knew. Tara found it under her pillow, and now they all knew. Oh, Goddess! She was sunk. This was an intervention. 

“What do you think gives you the right?” 

Wait, what? “What gives me the right?” she parroted back, trying to stand. She faltered. That- why couldn’t she stand? She- “You’ve spelled the chair,” she breathed back, looking utterly betrayed. “What I do in my personal life is none of your business!”

Finally, Buffy broke her silence. “It does when you’re messing with our minds!”

That threw her for a loop. “Your- what are you talking about?” 

“That was under Tara’s pillow!” 

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, this was worse. Way, way, way, way worse. They thought she- no! She would never! Tara still had nightmares about Glory mindsucking her, being stuck reliant on literally everyone. She’d never do that to her love! “I didn’t!”

“Willow,” Giles ground out, teeth clenched in painful ways. “We have the proof right here, and-”

“No, it’s not- I’ve been having nightmares!” Her sobs filled the shop with harrowing hiccups, genuine terror in her heart. It halted everyone’s movements. “E- ever s- since Glory, I- I’ve been h- having night terr- terrors.” Twin rivers of salt ran down her cheeks, tears marking her flesh with the sorrow she’d been stuffing down, too ashamed to admit. “I- I didn’t mean f- for anyone to- to get hurt. Tara,” she sniffed, looking desperately at her girlfriend. “I’m so, so, so sorry, baby. It was m- meant for me, not you! I don’t know how it got to your side o- of the bed, I swear! You have to believe me! I would never do that to you, not on purpose, I swear it! I- I just-”

“Then why don’t I remember conversations, Wills?” Buffy demanded, feeling conflicted. She believed the witch about the nightmares, what with how much Glory terrorised them. But there were things that just didn’t fit. Something more was going on, and she didn’t want to open a Jack in the box too soon. Except the blonde wasn’t the most patient of people, and poking the proverbial Baloo was kinda in her wheelhouse. “Or why you used a fake name in another store, a whole town over?”

Sniffing, she nodded numbly. Looking away, she uttered, “because those were ones I- I told you about the- the nightmares, and…”

“And?”

“And you pitied me,” she admitted, sniffing. “I- I can give the memories back, bu- but please don’t make me remember,” she begged, blubbering. “Please, Giles.” She was desperate, straining against the magic bindings, hoping her mentor would see that despite the error in her ways, she just wanted peace. Inner peace was so hard to find lately, and she couldn’t stomach another nightmare where she had to watch her friends die. Or worse, see her own lifeless eyes stare back at her. “Please don’t make me remember! I- I can’t- please!”

Surprise didn’t cover it. Gobsmacked was too small a phrase. Earth shattering news like that was one none of them could prepare for, but one they could work through- as a team. Right? I mean, Buffy thought. If the nightmares are that bad, maybe Giles can just do a blanket memory spell for it, and we’re all fine and dandy. Except that squicked her out, too. Rooting around in someone else’s brain was a major violation, and she wasn’t sure if it made her a better or worse person to want him to cast it on her friend. Her best friend. The friend who had bent over backwards for her more times than she could count. The friend who was there no matter what. The friend who’d cast spells on her without her consent. Dammit! “Do it,” she croaked, tired of the lies, of the deception. “Break the memory spells.”

Nodding, she hiccuped as she told them what to do. Each spell involved a bramble, but the bigger ones also involved the crystals she’d stashed away where no one could have stumbled upon them. Sending Anya and Xander to the cemetery near the college, she directed them to the old crypt Oz used to use for his full moons, the stash hidden behind one of the loose bricks in the wall. Giles ordered the box to be brought back to the store, checking his reference books to see that it was in fact possible to break. The ones who’d be cast could break it just by looking at the bramble in question, and breaking the crystals would break the heavier hitting spells. And ooooh, mama! There were more crystals in that box than Salem ever saw! Spilling its contents out onto the main table, Xander frowned at the mess his friend had put herself into. She’d been doing too much magic and-

‘Don’t you think you’ve been hitting the juice too hard?’ The memory popped up as he pinched a dehydrated sprig between his index finger and thumb. ‘This can’t be healthy, Wills. Just tell me what’s wrong.’  

‘The Hellmouth,’ memory Willow croaked, the pair sitting outside the Pump, coffees in hand, as the early morning sun started its lazy climb up in the cloudless sky. ‘It opened up and sucked us all into it.’

One by one, they picked up brambles that called to them, the spells breaking, and it only seemed to incense some of them more than ease their worries. Spike, for example, grew furious. So much so, that he swiped a handful of crystals off the table, flinging them against the back wall, shattering more than half. Floodgates opened, the memories spilling back in. 

‘God, Wills,’ memory!Buffy cried. ‘I never saw someone’s head explode like tha- like that before. I- I can’t stop seeing it. I close my eyes, an- and it’s there. His dead eyes just staring at me! I wish I could forget.’

‘I can’t sleep,’ another memory played out, this time Willow confessing to her friends, memory!Xander and Buffy giving her twin looks of worry. ‘I just keep seeing these- these ugly, primordial ooze things, coming after u- us. I- I don’t know why it’s happening? I- I can’t- it’s too much!’

Memory!Giles counselling her, Tara telling her of her own nightmares, Willow being desperate and stealing the bramble from the Box, then making the fake name- 

As more memories flooded back, the more they itched to break the rest free. Soon enough, the floor was splattered in shards of stone, painting a perfect portrait of a witch gone rogue. Once the last spell broke, Buffy sobbed sharply. 

As if she’d been stabbed through the heart, she fell forwards, hands splayed on the table top to steady herself. Shaking, she felt her world shatter as the memory flooded in. 

‘I saw her go up in flames, Buffy,’ memory!Willow said, Tara sitting next to her. They were in the witches’ shared dorm, sitting on their bed while Buffy took the one chair. Their faces were grave, showing her they weren’t messing around. ‘Tara had the same dream- together. We- we don’t know what it means, b- but…’

Gasping as it all came flooding back, she raised her eyes up at Willow, the pair sharing a look of hurt, betrayal, and understanding so raw, it was agony in its own right. 

‘Do it,’ memory!Buffy said. ‘If- if you can figure out what it means, and we can stop it, then I want you to break it.’ In it, she was holding the crystal out to her friend, desperate in a way she never never felt before. ‘I- I don’t want to remember.’  

“Buffy!” She hadn’t noticed her fall to the floor, Spike holding her hands in his, concern bleeding into the baby blues. She blinked hard against the tears in her eyes, her boyfriend coming into sharp relief as the memory was pushed back. Looking down, she saw the blood on her hands, tiny cuts from broken shards embedded in her flesh, nothing more than an ache in comparison to the hard, cold, steel fist squeezing her heart at the memory that bled in. She’d asked Willow - begged her! - to erase the memory. That she didn’t want to remember her best friend telling her about her family going up in flames. Oh, God! That had been weeks ago! And Willow still hadn’t found out the cause? Or how to stop it?! Oh, no. Oh, God! “Luv, we gotta get you off the floor.”

“Huh?” Head tilting upwards, she caught his eyes again, feeling almost numb. She couldn’t tell him, not now. Not yet. Not until she talked to Willow one-on-one. “Oh, right.” Letting him help her off the floor, the energy in the room was way off now. Anger in some ebbed to horror, or concern. Concern in others turned to fury. Tara just looked torn up inside, like she had no idea what to feel, which was more than fair, considering how many times she’d been accidentally wiped. “I, uh- first aid kit?”

Wiping the seat off for her, he set her down, kissing her forehead before going to grab it himself. She was glad the rest of her family stayed home. She couldn’t bear to look at the three faces, knowing one of them might die a fiery inferno of a death. Soon, too. Not tomorrow, or next week, but soon. It was too much too fast, the crystal crash. No, stone shattering shindig. No, she couldn’t come up with anything witty with her soul so weary. ‘Up in flames’ wasn’t one of those things that was up to interpretation. Pretty much on par with ‘throwing water onto a towel makes it wet’. She let him and Tara tend to her wounds, the other woman avoiding her eyes as the memory broke for them both simultaneously. It was more than she could handle, telling Giles she was taking off once her hands were wound up. 

Spike had been uncharacteristically silent on the ride home, only speaking once the DeSoto was parked behind her mom’s car, in the driveway. “Whatever it was,” he said carefully, hands gripping the leather of the steering wheel. “Whatever she did- whenever you wanna talk about it, you know where I lay my head.” The gentle palm cupping her face brought her calculating gaze up to his loving. “Don’t shut me out, yeah? Partners, ain’t we?”

Nodding, she felt numb. No way she could open her mouth and tell him. Not now. Now of all times she just felt gutted. First her own nightmares, now Willow and Tara’s? God, no wonder she’d begged for the memory to be erased. She didn’t have it in herself to handle it all, especially not with Charlotte in their lives now. Oh, God. Poor Charlotte. “Not,” she winced at how raw her throat sounded. “Not tonight. Too…”

“Too fresh, or too much?” he asked, her nod too telling. “Ah. Want me to Patrol?” 

Shrugging, she looked up at the house, staring at the stonework, willing for the strength of stone herself. It didn’t work. Only made the pain worse. Without another word, they extracted themselves from the car, Buffy numbing herself as she walked through the front door, ignoring Dawn, mom, and Charlotte, before climbing up the stairs, and heading to bed. 

She’d deal with it later, she promised herself, as she tucked her body into bed at the earliest she’d ever been in the past seven years. 

 

----------

 

Joyce hung up the phone as her daughter walked into the house, missing her as she ran up the stairs to her room. Confused, she turned to Spike, her heart sinking at his torn expression. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

He nodded, hanging up his jacket before following her. Sitting on the stool he favoured, he watched her pull mugs off the dish rack he’d left them to dry on, just that afternoon. Blimey, felt like a lifetime away. “She admitted to it.”

Sighing, she stilled her hands, shoulders dropping. “That’s the first step.”

“She wasn’t doing it just for kicks,” he continued gravely. “Little witch’s been having nightmares, and was usin’ the brambles to forget.” His friend turned sharply at the confession, eyes harried as she gaped at him. “Some of them spilled to her lady’s side of the bed, but some memories… she took on purpose.”

He explained the basics to her, Joyce feeling like her bellybutton opened into a six inch hole, her guts spilling onto the freshly mopped kitchen floor. Willow. Poor, lost Willow. She’d be put under strict watch, forced to stay at Giles’ until he deemed her fit for the masses, if only to give Tara some semblance of safety in their shared dorm. A dorm she wasn’t sleeping in tonight, crashing on Xander and Anya’s couch, no doubt wishing she’d taken someone up on the offer of a stiff drink right about then. There was no way to tell what would happen after this, if the two witches would even stay together, or if this was it for good. No one dared to speculate. 

Especially not Spike. The pair of witches were, in his eyes, a perfect match. When he’d taken up with the Slayer, he relied on Tara to keep him honest - as honest as a soulless vamp could get, at least - and she’d become a good friend to him. They’d bonded, the pair of them who sacrificed themselves, in order to keep that lopsided-arsed hellbitch away from Dawn. Then she’d taken his and Buffy’s side after the rest of the Slayerettes turned on him, when they’d found out who Buffy's new beau was. She’d even sat with him this afternoon, playing poker, and asking him to teach her Whist. 

And Willow? She was meant to be the Slayers BBFFF or what have you, moral compass pointing North. Nothing felt right anymore, but he figured that’d just be him. Now that it wasn’t… “What was all that before about your rotten luck?” he asked, wanting to keep himself from spiralling once more. 

Joyce’s brow took its sweet time to morph from confusion to understanding, but in a split second, it went to annoyance. “The damn boys at the end of the block put a whole bunch of fishing line between the trees again. But they somehow made the line sticky this time. It’s all over everything out there! It caught poor Mr. Janowski’s puppy up, and the man nearly dislocated a hip getting the little guy out! Those boys are a menace.”

“Want me to use my powers of evil for moderately evil purposes?”

She laughed, picturing the look of horror on the boys faces, as her daughter’s boyfriend went all demon face on them. “Oh, I’m tempted to agree, but I think Mr. Janowski suing them should be plenty to scare them into behaving. If it doesn’t…”

“Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there, boss.” He added a mock salute, the woman clinking mugs with him. 

She chuckled as she shook her head. “Ever wish for a dull moment?”

“Now,” he asked, topping her up with extra cream, just because. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Chapter 33

Summary:

1630 Revello Drive gets hit with a surprise Kath-attack, and Willow divulges the horrors plaguing her head. Also, a bit of H’Lenna advice for Spike, cuz why not?

Chapter Text

Friday, November 8th, 2002

 

Katherine Richardson arrived at the train station at exactly 11:01 A.M. that fateful Friday morning, her suit pressed, and eyes bright. There was no chance in hell she was taking a flight out to Sunnydale from Illinois, so she’d settled on the ridiculously long rails instead. Stuck in the air, unable to escape, tin metal can, cabin pressure, the stale air slowly suffocating her, and- no. A world of no. Could barely do it last time. So she got the first train ticket she could get, broke out Arlene’s (barely touched) clothing iron, and got herself together. When she’d gotten Buffy’s call, the young woman had sounded frantic in a way she’d not heard in years. It frightened her, that a Slayer could be so scared to sound like that, as she begged her aunt for aid. Her human aunt, with no mystical prophetic powers, no real fighting know-how. Just family she could rely on. And Kathy was determined to be just that. 

So as she disembarked her train, she didn’t call her sister to come pick her up. She instead caught a cab, her entire life’s possessions split in two bags - one at Arlene’s, one in her hands - and fixed her hat where it lay lopsided on her head. It would be a long time before her hair would grow back, but the little bits that were growing in made her feel like a Chia Pet, so on the hat went. The little curls on each side had stayed, if only to remind her of what she’d survived, untucked. As she approached the house, though, she felt her heart sink. The weight of why Buffy had called was finally sinking in, and it was enough to knock the breath from her lungs. 

Joy should have called me, she thought bitterly, passing her cabbie the bills, tipping him another fiver when he brought her bag to the door. Why the hell didn’t she call me before galavanting over the Atlantic?! 

But she knew why. Pride. Stupid, stinking pride and stubbornness. She’d say ‘oh, but Kath, Arlene and Dave need you more’, or ‘we can’t monopolise your time every time something hellmouthy comes up’, or a stupid ‘you’re worth more than just serving your family like the prodigal older daughter, sent to clean up our messes’. HA! Like she gave a crap about all that. Her family was hurting, so here she was. 

Knocking at the door softly, she knew her sister would still hear her, reluctant to use the doorbell. Spike would hear either way, if he were awake, but the bell might trigger another delusional state, and that would be way of the bad. 

As it so happened, Joyce decided to grace her with her presence just seven seconds later, bright eyes blinking rapidly in shock at her big sister standing on her doorstep. “Kath?”

“My train was right on time,” the older woman said, casual as casual could be, letting herself into the house. Her sister stepped back in shock, one hand rubbing at her eye like she could wipe away the image of the other woman, but all it managed to do was ruin her carefully applied mascara. “Have to admit, the train system has definitely changed for the better since I was last on it. Gosh, that had to be when I was… what? Twenty-three? Twenty-four? Man! Those were some rough days.”

“Kathy?”

“Yeah….” Stepping closer, she poked Joyce’s side, causing the blonde to yelp in shock. Grinning from ear to ear, she looked at her sister’s little scowl, adding, “were you thinking I turned into a sugar glider between getting on the train and showing up here? Cuz I’d say I was sorry to disappoint, but that’d be a big old lie. Much as I like marsupials, I’d hate to lose my opposable thumbs.”

“Why- you- huh? I don’t-” Floundering, she didn’t need much coaxing, before her brain settled on the most logical answer. “Buffy. She called you, even after I told her not to.”

“Yeah. And you should have called before you decided to go to the middle of the desert, across the stinking ocean, with a vampire into God knows where-”

“Oh, here we go again in the ‘Kathy Knows Best’ olympics. You-”

“I’m not here to fight. I’m here to help. You,” she pointed to her little sister sternly, slipping back into the role she once felt strangled by easily. Now, it wasn’t about needing to be that, but her choice to. So she could make up for lost time, in a way. “Need to go back to work. And you,” she pointed at the vampire sitting at the dining room table, bleary eyed and exhausted, cup of blood in one hand, and a teacup of what she hoped was actual tea next to the other. “Should get to bed.”

“What-” “But-”

Without being deterred, she dropped her luggage by the living room door, heading right for the kitchen. “I’m gonna make us some lunch, then you’re gonna eat, and go do what I suggested, or I’m gonna be very cranky. You hear me?” Without waiting for confirmation, she swept herself into the kitchen, ready to boil some noodles for some easy pasta. 

Spike stared at the door as it swung a bit between rooms, before looking at his friend in barely concealed shock. “What just bloody happened?”

“We got hit with a sneak Kath-Attack,” Joyce mumbled, scowling at the pair of bags on the ground. She wasn’t gonna get much sleep the next few days, huh? “Can you help me with her bag?”

“Basement or upstairs?”

Sighing, she resigned herself to having Miss Bossy Boots dictating her life for the next however many days. God, she really hoped it was only for a few days. “Buffy did say everyone here sleeps upstairs, so…”

“You get yet another night of flailing arms courtesy of big sis?” he offered dryly. 

“I heard that!”

 

----------

 

“Your nightmares,” he started, now that she’d drank a quarter of her tea. “What can you tell me about them?”

“Which ones do you wanna know?”

“They’re recurring?” At Willow’s sombre nod, Giles scribbled more in his notes. He’d been taking a lot of those lately. It was way of the badness that a lot of them were about her, but if that’s what it took to get better… “How many do you have that are recurring?”

Counting on her hands, she looked just as lost as they both knew she was. Nothing said ‘you’ve done f-ed up’ quite like being on house arrest with her mentor. At her mentor’s house. “A few.”

“Tell me about the first one.”

Oh, boy. That was gonna be tough. Not because she forgot which one it was, no, no, no. She could never forget the sharp acid rising in her throat, gasping for breath in the room she shared with Tara, sobbing as she awoke from the terror of her subconscious. “M- my body. It- in the dream, something happened. Before,” she added, keeping herself on the clinical side of things. Distancing herself from the reality of her brain was necessary. “And then the nightmare starts with- with my body, dead. Hanging in the middle of town, on- on this- I don’t know what you’d call it. It- I was… it was like a marionette. But instead of above?” she offered, twirling the magic dampener he gave her. He said he got it off one of the human acolytes at the cult, and reworked it into a bracelet for her. It felt like… almost like she was magically backed up. But at least she wasn’t spinning out of control. “It- it was like there were all these… cables. Like, steel, Golden Gate Bridge cables, from- from every angle, holding me above city hall.”

“Cables?” he asked curiously, and she nodded numbly. “But… why have you been strung up in the middle of town?”

“I- there’s a sign, in front of me. It says ‘don’t say no.’”

“That seems… peculiar.” Horrific. Cruel. Barbaric. “Do you see who put you there?”

Shaking her head, Willow dabbed at her misty eyelashes with her tissue, trying to get her bearings. “But I know it was a man. I- every time I wake up from it, I- I can smell his aftershave, and, hello? Lesbian. We don’t use that stuff, so- so it couldn’t have been our stuff.”

“‘ Don’t say no’. Rather odd choice of words,” he mused, feeling hollow. It was no wonder why she’d been leaning on brambles so heavily. She’d been traumatised every single time she shut her eyes. Dear Lord, he thought, writing the words she detailed to him, avoiding her gaze for just a moment longer. Must collect myself. Cannot let her down anymore than I already have. 

“I think I know why. I- I think it was a warning- that- that maybe I was made to be an example. Like, ‘this is what happens to anyone if they ever say ‘no’ to him.’”

“And you say you remember his aftershave?”

“Aqua Velva’s hard to forget.”

Scribbling down more, he sighed. This was one problem no Council sponsored class could ever help him handle. “Tell me about the other ones. How many are recurring?”

“Seven.”

Stopping his pen where it was poised about his pad, he blinked at her. “Beg pardon? As in seven tim-”

“No. Seven separate dreams- terrors.” Lifting the sleeve of her shirt, she showed him the scar she’d been hiding from everyone since the week before Halloween. “This one…. It left a reminder, if- if you remember.”

And yes. Now that the crystal had shattered, he did recall her telling him about it, very clearly. “That one’s still recurring?”

Lifting her other sleeve, she showed him the other arm. Twin scars - like bruises from a lightning strike - littered her arms in fractal patterns. “Th- this morning. When…”

When you held me, after I sobbed myself into a headache, was left up in the air. Some things didn’t need voicing aloud; they were just shared by feelings alone. Setting the paper aside, he held her hand, pulling the sleeves back down to hide the marks. “My contact from England suggested a cream for these,” he uttered lowly, knowing that there was going to be much he would have to keep from Buffy today, if he was going to give her some semblance of peace. Later, he’d tell her. She’d need to know, even if she didn’t wish to hear it. He’d have to go through the books again, any how. The imagery of both women’s nightmares had left him with the choking suspicion that - coupled with what happened in the Council - things on the Hellmouth were about to become a great deal more difficult for his misfit little family. “Said it would help their appearance, and with time, they should fade. We’ll figure this out, alright?”

Even though he didn’t say it out loud, she knew what he was thinking. 

Before it comes to pass…

 

----------

 

Sunday, November 10th, 2002

 

H’Lenna should be used to it by now, honestly. He did it more often then he didn’t, but it still threw her for a loop whenever their ‘Mr. DeSoto’ surprised her by showing up when she least expected it. But this time, she couldn’t contain her shock when she saw him in a new light. He’d been MIA from group for a while, even after Clement informed her of the vampire returning from his overseas trip. But this. Oh, this was a whole new level of shock. 

Heading in early as always to set up the room at the community centre for the other participants, the mole demon froze when her eyes landed on him, the bag slung over her shoulder slipping to the floor. “Oh good golly, miss Molly.” He- he- but.. how?! It just- and he- HOW?! 

Striding closer, he bent down, smoothly picking up the bag, and handed it to her with a smile. At least she thought it was a smile. She could barely tell these days. Her coke bottle glasses needed glasses of their own. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he confessed genuinely. Politely. Far more polite and genuine than in the past. Almost as if… but she already knew the answer to that, didn’t she? He did. He had his soul back. And based on the shine of his aura, it was earned, not cursed. “Came to ask for some of that patent pending- Woah!”

Grabbing his arm, she dragged him forwards, pushing the door open with her other arm. Huh. The previous group forgot to lock up. Typical. Since the creative writing class took over, there were a lot of infractions H’Lenna noticed. Chairs not being put away, tables still out, and now- oh, who cares?! The vampire had a SOUL! Pushing the door closed, she rounded on him, flicking the lights on to get a better look. “You have your soul,” she breathed, smelling it on him better than she saw it. And it smelt like… like strawberries, and vanilla, and clotted cream, and warm paper, and old books, and fresh popcorn, and warm fall breezes, and new baby smell, and hope. God, the smell of hope was- why was the sweet scent of hope so intertwined with shame? “Grab a chair,” she insisted, sitting in the one the writers left behind. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Doing as instructed, Mr. DeSoto ran a nervous hand through his hair. Laughing shakily, he asked, “that bloody obvious then, is it?”

“Only to me,” she offered, his head ducking as a coy quirk of his lips refused to grow bigger. Oh, he was definitely hurting. “Does it… you’re in pain. Because of it?”

“You could say that.”

“What do you need?” She inched her way closer, putting her bigger paw on his jean clad knee. It forced him to look up at her, and despite her eyesight being utter blah, she could tell his face was conflicted. “Do you need advice? Or just someone to listen to your woes? Or someone to, what was it you called it again? Ah yes, ‘give you a swift kick in the arse’ to get you going?”

By the way he spoke, she knew he was grinning. “Not sure ‘bout the last one, but… lend an ear, and let’s see?”

Nodding, she waited for him with a wave of her paw, and while it took a while for him to start, once he did, he didn’t stop. On and on, he spoke for twenty minutes straight, not just on his trials with the demon Llyod - the same Llyod she had heard legends about from back in her youth - but the torment he’d been facing since getting back. 

When he neared the end, he sounded so lost, so untethered. “So, now,” he shook his head, adjusting his limbs in the chair. “Doubt you know any other souled demon about, otherwise-” he shrugged, cutting himself off. “I uh, I can’t stay for group, and-”

“No, I dare say you can’t,” she sighed, rubbing at her temples. “Unlike myself and Clem, the other demons won’t understand.”

“Right. I’ll just get out of your proverbial h-”

“So we’ll have to meet one-on-one some other time,” she barrelled on, rifling through her bag for her date book. 

“What?”

Scoffing, she pulled out the book, feeling the raised bumps carefully, she explained, “I’m not leaving you to work this out on your own. Your human friend might be helping you through this, but you can’t build a house with just two people.” 

“What’s with you and house metaphors? You in the building industry or sommin?”

Chuckling, she flipped the page, rifling in her bag for her braille slate and stylus, thankful her wife made her buy the neon orange one - despite her hatred for the traffic cone colour - instead of the green, finding it easily amongst her other items. “I’m the descendant of a long line of mole demons,” she simply explained. “We aren’t exactly known to rent, nor outsource our housing needs. Now, I can do Wednesday evenings, from eight to eight forty-fine, or Thursday’s from eleven to midnight.”

“How come the shorter time on the first one?”

“I’m allowed a private life, aren’t I?” 

“Right. Uh… Wednesday, for now. If I leave my lady for more than that, she’ll think I’m up to no good.”

Readying her slate, she paused. Did he-? No, he hadn’t, had he? “You still haven’t told her about the group, have you?”

Scoffing, he angled himself away from her. “Don’t have a sodding death wish, H’Lenna. I blab to her, the demons of this group won’t bloody want to come back here. Or worse, come after us, and I can’t have that.”

“No, I suppose not. Where does she think you go, in the interim?”

“Dave’s. Clem hosts a poker game after, every Sunday.”

“Ah. So, what will you tell her about your Wednesday meetings with me?”

Going quiet, he stared down at his hands, trying to figure it out himself. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Wish I bloody knew.”

“Tell her you’re meeting with a peaceful demon,” she offered helpfully. Always so helpful. If she didn’t look like a giant Morocco Mole with cheap pearl costume jewellery, one might think her St. Padre Pio’s right hand lady. “One who’s fascinated with the intricacies of the soul? Not a fib, though it does skirt around the issue.”

“No kiddin’.”

“Want me to meet with her?”

His eyes widened in fear, or disgust, perhaps both. Not that H’Lenna could tell. She definitely needed a stronger prescription. “Not a bloody chance! Are you mental? She-”

“Has seen me at the bowling alley more than a few times,” she pointed out to him. “Don’t think I don’t know who she is- who you really are.”

“You- why haven’t you said anything before?”

“I would have thought my reasons for discretion were obvious by now: because I’m a professional. But your lady,” she insisted. “She might be relieved to know the truth.”

“You’re not going-”

“Like I said, ‘Mr. DeSoto’,” she interrupted. “I'm a professional, and I take pride in my ability to keep that level of discretion, regardless of who my clients are romantically involved with.”

“Clie- I don’t have the dosh to-”

“Dosh?”

“Uh… funds. I, uh, haven’t been working since…”

“Oh. Ah, well, don’t worry about all that. I don’t do any of this for money.”

“Uh huh. Just suppose you gamble your way to retirement, then?”

“Oh, no,” she chuckled, attempting to wink. It probably fell flat, a blink instead. She never could wink in all her years. “Let’s just say I know how to read a yellow sheet.” 

His grin was lopsided, and if she had better eyesight, she’d say he almost looked boyish. “With those glasses?” he ribbed, the mole demon chuckling dryly. “So, what then? This just a hobby of yours?”

Snorting, she shook her head. “Oh, good golly, no! My vocation . Just… not exactly as if any university is willing to give a demon a degree in psychiatry,” she shrugged. “So I make do with helping fellow demons instead. Now,” she gestured back to her book. “Should we say… Wednesdays here?”

“Starting next week,” he promised. “Got somethin’ more pressing this week, I’m afraid.”

“Dare I ask?” 

Blowing out a gust of unnecessary air, she already had her answer. “If I knew how to put it into words,” he answered, vague as vague could be. “I would. As it stands…”

“Next week it is.”

Chapter 34

Summary:

Goin’ to a gallery and we’re gonna get married. After a trip to Bananack on a hunch

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Wednesday, November 15th, 2002

 

“I don’t know what to say,” he answered harrowingly. It wasn’t what he expected his bachelor party to be like. Him and his best friend since preschool, sitting side by side on his couch, watching movies, pigging out on funyuns and Chinese takeout. Xander definitely didn’t picture consoling his ‘best woman’ on said couch, the witch crying her eyes out as she not only apologised for all the Etcha-Sketching she did to his head (and everyone else’s), but also told him about the memory she restored to Buffy- the terrible night terror. 

And it was harrowing. ‘She went up in flames’, Willow said. Every tiny hair, each stitch of clothing, every little inch of flesh: engulfed. After everything they’d gone through, all the crap they’d survived, nothing could’ve predicted this kind of disaster looming over their heads. One person in particular. One who had been through enough. Enough people treating her like she wasn’t able to have an opinion as a Scooby like the others. Enough heartbreak. Enough pain. And WAY more than her fair share of hospitals. But magical fire burning you to a crisp was a pretty clear premonition, whether any of them liked it or not. 

“I won’t- I'm sorry,” Willow sniffed, blowing her nose heavily. The cuff around her wrist was keeping her magic in check, Giles promising that it’d hold until he got back into town. “I didn’t mean to- to ruin your bachelor party! I- I just- I’m so bad at everything lately. Just a big ole sucky Brewster, minus the golden retriever.”

“Wasn’t it a yellow lab?” He grimaced at the sorrow filled look she tossed him, dropping the subject. “Right. Not important. Are you sure it was-?”

“Clear as day. I saw her- her face like I was- like I was the balloons an- and she was Tom Hanks!” Gesturing to the screen where the movie was paused, she sniffed pathetically. “I- I’ve looked through every single magic book, message board, and forum, and nothing. Zip! Nada! Neyn!” She went very quiet, stone still as the numb feeling of hopelessness settled over her, and not for the first time. “I’m so scared.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he reassured her, slinging an arm over her shoulders. If the evening was ruined with her meltdown, they could at least make a plan for a better week afterwards. She needed the comfort more now than he needed a good laugh, anyhow. “Hey, c’mon. Who figured out how to restore someone, post mindsuck?”

Sniffing, she answered stiffly, “me.”

“And who shoved a soul back into a rampaging vampire, while recovering from a head wound in a hospital bed?” 

“I did.”

“And what brilliant redhead managed to counteract the chemical doohickies in the water supply, and stopped a dino-demon from controlling a whole town of-” 

“I get it, Xan.” Shaking her head, she wiped at her eyes almost furiously. “They won’t talk to me,” she admitted, voice cracking. Poor little witch, in a mess of her own making, yet other people had a hand in. An invisible hand in particular, shoving the nightmares into her noggin without her permission- or knowledge. If only she knew it wasn’t about whose hand was in it, but that she was the one who made a decision she had no business following through on. 

“Give them time.”

“You're getting married on Saturday!” 

“Yeah, well. Listen,” he pulled out his serious friend Xander face on, turning it on her. “Just… its not gonna happen this weekend, so we’ll break out the books Monday, okay?”  

“What? No honeymoon?”

“HA! With the way Anya’s planning that new expansion? Yeah, right! Weekend retreat at the hotel by the airport, and right back to work. Since the cult left, Laguna Beach’ll need that extra good juju to undo that OSHA violation of a mess, so Ahn’s intending to ‘fill that gap in the market with the Box’s branded goodness’. Shame the compliance safety and health officers are up to their butts in dealing with that mess- I won’t name names,” he muttered, jaw tight like he was worried someone might overhear them. “But it rhymes with Schmow Shmeepole to handle it. But at least I don’t need to worry about that with my guys. Worst thing we’ve had to deal with is Greg. Boy, that man with his mustard.”

Smiling politely at her friend’s work related rant, she’d known that Xander had her back. She wished things weren’t so messed up. But at least the night wasn’t total trashola. She just hoped Buffy would get the answers to their nightmares on their excursion to the place… that was the feature of a bunch of them. Damn! Would nothing for her friends ever be easy? 

 

----------

 

The drive to Bananack, Montana was long, but not as long as the last one they took. Plus, it had the added bonus of not having a hell biotch on their heels. But it was still a drive none of the five humans - and one recently re-souled vampire - enjoyed taking. Three days on the road, and they were all ready to go on a long term vacation. Maybe one where no driving was required at all. Just them, the couch, some snackage, and a Jim Carrey movie marathon. “Joy,” Dawn said hollowly as she stepped out of Spike’s ride. “The place that plagues my nightmares. Neat.”

“At least the stench is gone,” Giles offered, climbing out of his own car. Joyce followed, settled in the other seat of the convertible. Her scarf held back her hair from becoming a veritable birdsnest, the top still down despite the chill in the air. “Though I would be rather shocked if it remained after all this time.”

Charlotte looked around as she climbed out of her brother’s car, picturing the town more… she didn’t know what. A few spider corpses, perhaps? The three other passengers that rode with her had nearly lost their lives here! She expected them to look more torn. But instead, they looked resigned. 

“Think Kathy’s alright back in Sunny-Hell?”

Snorting, Joyce rolled her eyes as she let the gravel crunch under foot. “She never had a rebellious streak growing up, so she could be throwing a rager in the living room right now, for all we know.”

“Or perhaps she’s simply glued to the telly, with Gemini on her lap,” Giles offered politely, trying to cheer her up. “Perhaps eating too much chocolate, or ice cream.”

Which was entirely the wrong thing to say, the woman’s eyes popping near out of her head at that assumption. “Oh, God. I have to call her again,” she breathed in a daze, pulling the phone from her pocket on instinct. 

“What did…?”

Dawn rolled her eyes at the Watcher, zipping her hoodie up against the sudden chill in the air. “Aunt Kathy’s diabetic, Giles,” she answered him, bored out of her skull. Not like people didn’t keep telling him or anything. You’d think for an academic, he’d do better to remember that once in a while. “Are we gonna do the ‘woo-woo’ soon? Cuz the faster this is done, the faster we get back to the motel and get some shut eye. I’m beat.” 

Clearing his throat, he got to work. Grabbing his supplies with his Slayer, the pair gathered bags and the cardboard box of books he’d insisted on bringing as well. With Buffy’s nightmares being as vivid as they had been, they’d come to the ghost town for some answers. Willow’s own night terrors had their own baggage attached to them, and the overlap between both girls’ dreamlands had them itching for a solution. So when he’d found the passage in one of his books of a spell that could work to get some answers, they didn’t waste time. If they did it right, a guide would appear where the showdown happened, and their swami would lead them to water. Or whatever he’d said. They’d been driving too dang long for her to remember.  

At least the girls had the week off school. Some chaotic boys had broken into the building, thinking they’d make themselves gods with a spell. It didn’t. It did, however, end up torching the east hallway of the first and second floors, and the administration was airing it out to keep the smoke inhalation for the kids to a minimum. Not that they’d have let Lottie go to school at that point, anyhow. More hospital time? Uh, yeah, right!

“Oh, look,” Buffy said dryly, watching Giles pull out a familiar looking dried fruit from the duffle. “Return of the magic gourd.”

Frowning that patented ‘don’t be a pest’ Watcher frown, he handed it to her to hold. “Be useful: stand where you three were when… you know.”

Dawn sighed, stuffing her hands in her hoodie pockets. “Where are you three gonna stand?” Gesturing to the opposite side of the town with a jerk of her head, she waited until her mom snapped her cell shut before continuing. “Cuz I don’t think the water tower sounds like fun.” Charlotte opened her mouth to say she wouldn’t hate being up that high, only to have her friend add, “except Lottie might like it. Probably the only time she’ll ever be taller than Spike.”

“Absolutely. Wait, hey!”

“No, we shall mirror you, in a way,” Giles explained, setting up the rest of the items. “Joyce will be across from Buffy, I from Spike, and Charlotte-”

“Shall bring up the rear,” Lottie sighed, her sneakers lighting up with every step. They came in rather handy in the abandoned town, the night seeming darker than in the city. The only lights in the vicinity came from the two cars parked on either side of the final showdown. “Is that…?”

But she needn’t have asked, as the rains couldn’t have washed away every single speck of evidence the town still held of the night Glory was no more. There were still quite a few stones stained with the oxidised blood of the doctor who shared a body with her, scattered about with enough pebbles to know. Know that was where Ben last stood- before Joyce struck him down. And Joyce was staring at the spot with the same hollow compliance she did the night she killed a HellGod. “I’m not going to have to chant Latin, right?” the woman asked, taking position almost numbly. This was the place of nightmares. Numb helped. Numb kept her from crumbling. “You promised no chanting was necessary.” Numb kept her from puking up all over the gravel at remembering what she did here. 

“No, no,” he insisted, standing across from the vampire while holding the book. “It isn’t that kind of ritual.”

“We just have to do the mystical hokey-pokey and click our heels three times,” Buffy sassed, earning her twin looks of unamused adult apathy, and one confused teenage head tilt. “Unless we Macarena to this one, that is.”

“Ah. Humour,” Charlotte nodded, winking exaggeratedly towards the Slayer, if only to let the woman know that despite the dry tone, she appreciated the joke immensely. Once she understood it. Man, Lottie was a weird kid, but she really had a lot of awesome in her, too. 

Jaw clenched in British dissatisfaction, he shot them a look. “If I could have some semblance of peace and quiet while we work…”

Lifting her hand, Dawn said, “can I ask what work exactly that is?”

“Oh. Right.” Pulling out jars and bags of dusty things from the duffle, he started instructing the others. “Spike, you take this rattle dust, make a circle around this… general area. Buffy, use the eggshell powder and make a smaller circle there, between both our side and yours, and place the gourd in the centre. Dawn,” he handed the flashlight to the young girl. “Shine that on the gourd when I start the incantation. The guide should appear there.” 

Handing Joyce and Charlotte a talisman each, he continued his own work, lighting the ceremonial candles. In all, there were eight, in each corner of a compass (and then some), the water tower acting as due north. Once they’d completed their duties, they slid into formation, waiting for the next part. 

Dusting her hands off, the Slayer regarded her Watcher. “Okay Mr. Gourdy Lightfeet, what now?”

Levelling his student of six and half years with a dry expression, he lifted the text closer to his face. Joyce held a light for him, though he did wish he’d sprung for the better model of lantern- six dollars be damned. Clearing his throat, he began reciting. 

 

“Oh wretched place,

Where chaos reigned,

The evil struck down by a soul of worth,

And stones were stained.

We beseech thee to show thy face,

Us of generations three,

For guidance through the hallowed earth,

 

“We summon thee!”

 

AND- 

 

Nothing happened. 

Blinking slowly, the shopkeeper turned his head around in hopes to find the answer. There should’ve been a spirit guide between them now, where Ben-Glory became no more. But there was nothing. Not even a whisper of recognition that a spell had been cast in the first place. “Hmm,” he settled on, several tense moments later. The others were also looking around, as confused as he was. “I could have sworn that would work.”

Dawn folded her arms unpulsed, light bobbing around. “Yeah, Giles. What gives?”

He blinked in confusion, looking around once again. Nothing of note had changed. Perhaps they needed more light. Or extra rattle dust. “I- I don’t understand. The emissary should be here… Let me try again.”

“Please don’t.” 

They jumped back at the new voice, shocked to see the woman standing where the diner used to be, her white gown flowing in the non-existent breeze. She was beautiful, in a haunting sort of way, skin like Selena at the ‘94 Grammy awards, her features indistinct. The gown was old, way older than Spring 2002, though it was simple, without any lace or beadwork, so she had to have been here for a while. Whoever she was, their own Slayer itched all over, like this ghost of fashion runway past was familiar, somehow. “It itches something fierce, that rattle dust. Even for a non-corporal such as myself.” Oh, maybe it was the dust. 

But it didn’t feel like it was. Buffy stepped forwards, unsure if she was hallucinating the other woman or not. Something was unsettling sorrowful about the lady in white, and she needed to know why. Stat. “Who- who are you?”

The lady smiled, a pained, slow smile. “I am like you,” she said, her dark hair moving in the breeze. Stepping forwards, they noticed she didn’t have shoes on, her feet blackened from soot underneath the fabric, like her feet and calves had once caught fire. Even though she was a spectre, Buffy didn’t feel any fear around her, but something so achingly familiar. “But not.”

Like you… like you… and the familiarity? “A Slayer?”

“Yes.” She reached out to touch Buffy, but hesitated when she saw Giles creep closer. Tilting her head, the ghost regarded the Watcher with a critical eye, missing the others have their epiphanies behind her. “I see the Shadow Watchers are still hovering over us, aren’t they?”

“He’s... he’s not like the others.”

“So he did not subject you to the Cruciamentum?”

Buffy winced, trying to ease the spirit’s trepidation. “He- well, that’s a long story. B- but he told me about it, as soon as I told him I was, um, feeling crappy. Stopped it before it could kill me. Before the vampire I was facing could-”

“The vampire behind you,” the slayer spirit asked, pointing to Spike. “Was he not the one who-?”

“Oh, no! No, that’s Spike. He, um… that’s a long story.”

“Of that, I am well aware, Miss Summers,” she nodded, hand swaying in front of her face to indicate a bad smell, expression unchanged. “He enjoys his tobacco. And you both enjoy cocktails of the Molotov variety. I am rather surprised to see that his metal beast is still in one piece.” She eyed the car in fascination, as if she were an engineer, trying to unlock its secrets. 

“You… you were here, then?” the blonde asked, her mind barreling to a rather glaring thought. “You were… you cut the brake lines?”

“Guilty, I’m afraid.”

“But why?!”

She grimaced, bowing her head in guilt. “I had to make you stay. I needed… I needed her to die here.”

“What? What do you… Glory?” The Slayer spirit nodded. “You personally wanted to watch her bite the big one that badly?”

But despite the snarky attitude from her modern day equivalent, the gossamer shimmering slayer of the past surprisingly stayed rather neutral. “In every generation, a Slayer is born,” she answered simply, her face serious, but not stern. “And she alone stands before the demons, the vampires, and on and on, they drone.” And now she was rolling her eyes. Buffy had thought she’d seen practically everything slayer related in life, but watching the ghost of a dead slayer roll her eyes was definitely not on a square on her BINGO card she expected to ever check off. “Do they not simply make you wish to tear your hair out?”

Sometimes, Buffy thought absently, wondering what the ghost’s point was. But you’re kinda the one going all stiff upper lip here, lady. “Uh, yeah. That’s great and all - not a fan of the company motto, and I’ve heard it more times than that Cucaracha song - but I’m still not following.”

Tilting her head, she gazed at the shorter slayer in confusion, before nodding once. “I see. No one told you of me, have they?” They all shook their heads, and within a blink, the spirit was standing in front of Giles, face close enough to see she was just a touch diaphanous. He flinched, but stood his ground. “Watcher Man, did they not tell you of my story?”

“Er, no, I’m sorry,” Giles offered pathetically. He was definitely out of his element here. It was one thing to be face to face with a demon, going toe-to-toe, or sword-to-horn as it often were. But a Slayer ghost? If the Academy had that kind of situation in their syllabus, it was added after he graduated and left for the colonies. “There are…. We have some Watcher diaries missing from our archives. Um, what year were you active?” he floundered, her silvery presence inching closer. Rupert Giles was not a man that frightened easily. But good Lord, the power radiating off of her was… there was nothing to compare it to. Not even Buffy. “I can... I can try to work backwards from there.”

Sorrow coloured her features as she floated backwards from him. The news that she wasn’t mentioned clearly had been devastating. Her life’s work, boiled down to phantom scribbles, lost to time. Sighing, she swept an arm around them. “See my town around you? This used to be an active hellmouth.”

“Used to…” No. She couldn’t possibly mean… could she?  “How? You closed it?”

Smiling softly, he could see the crinkles around her eyes. His original impression of her had belated her age. Instead of eighteen or so, she was at least twenty- upon her death, in any case. “I did.” Her smile turned bittersweet, playing with a gold ring on her left hand idly, the way Anya often did of her own engagement ring. “But at great cost. All around me perished. Even my husband and twin girls.”

“Hus- you were married?!” Their minds all whirred, each one trying to process the news, none having a better time than the rest. 

She chuckled warmly, showing off her ring to the group. Simple, but no less lovely, as it glinted against the headlights washing her in their halogen glow. “But of course! As if my father would have allowed me to raise my- Ah, I see. I understand now why they-” She stomped her foot, the sole making n’ary a sound as it disappeared in the gravel for a split second, finally showing off that patented Slayer rage. “Oh! They vex me so, these Shadow Men you work for. Their constant secreting-” She turned away from them, pointing at a house down the way. “Our home was there.” 

Dawn followed her gesture, a lump rising in her throat at the familiar shape of the structure. “That- that’s the house where the spiders came from.”

“Yes. The Najakot demons enjoyed nesting there often. I was sadly not fast enough to rid the town of them all, but I am eternally grateful you did. Now, the people can use this town for more than just a graveyard of dead dreams.” She sighed heavily, looking longingly back at the home. “We built it brick by brick ourselves. My mother and I even dug out the very clay to make the first… but that was then.” The sorrow bled from her in waves, making both Charlotte and Dawn’s tongues swell, Joyce’s heart breaking as she watched the spectre’s face. She lost everything, and was forced to grieve for what looked like a century. Unable to touch, unable to rest. She mourns her daughters, the mother thought, a lump forming in her throat. She’s stuck mourning them forever, the Woman in White.  

Buffy spoke first, breaking the spell of silence around them. “How did you close the hellmouth?”

The spirit shook her head gravely. “The sacrifice… it was too great. I… I had no idea…” she sighed, eyes cast down as she floated back over to Buffy. “Before you, I was the oldest living Slayer since Dri. Yet they do not mention me.”

“Dri?”

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she began. “The Powers do not wish for me to ever speak of her. Her work is unfinished, you see. Much like mine is.”

“Your unfinished work… is it helping us to close the hellmouth of Sunnydale?”

She shook her head. “Sun-ee-Dale,” she rolled the words in her mouth, trying to make sense of it. “No, I have not heard of this Sunnie. It is to get her son back home to her.”

Everyone looked confused. “Um.. How about we start over?” Buffy suggested. “Hi, I’m Buffy Summers, this is-”

“Your sister, Dawn Summers, formally known as The Key. Your mother, Joyce Summers, whom killed the hell beast in a rather loud, yet impressive fashion,” she continued, as if they were all old friends. “Though one I hope she does not make a habit of. Your vampire lover, William James ‘Spike’ Pratt, and his sister out of time, Charlotte Anne Pratt, a human with a soul brighter than my girls’ souls combined. And your Watcher, Rupert Edmund Giles.” She curtsied like an old hand. “You may call me Kiara. It means light.”

“Kiara, um, how old were you when you…?” Buffy asked, getting to the root of the matter. Oldest living Slayer since Dri held its weight in mayochup, and then some. 

“Two hundred and ninety-four months, or four-and-twenty years of age.”

Buffy felt her heart try to ram itself up out of her throat. Spike probably could hear it, worried about her. “You…” Twenty four, she thought, breath caught in her throat. Everyone else in our line doesn’t live past that, but Dri did. How old was she when she passed? But Kiara couldn’t answer, or wouldn’t, so instead she asked, “how did you live so long?”

Kiara’s laugh was lilting, varying between a giggle and a chuckle. “The same way you have: by refusing to go it alone.”

“You…you had a team?”

“Yes,” she nodded, the sorrow lifting just enough to see her brilliance. Her smile was bright, and her eyes crinkled in a beautiful promise of ageing gracefully, broken only as she died before she had a chance to. “My father was a blacksmith, coming here from what you now call Australia, leaving his tribe behind to marry my mother. The people here would not accept their marriage at first, but the townsfolk dearly loved her, as she was like you,” she smiled even brighter as she turned to Mrs. Summers, floating close enough to regard her with a gentle longing. Joyce didn’t question where it came from. No matter how many years passed by, she still missed her own mother at times, especially when her Singer jammed, or she was laying in the CAT scan machine. 

“I was their third attempt at a family, you see, and they were shattered upon hearing my destiny. But they refused to fight against me when I saved the town healer from a rather nasty Thricewise demon. They became my team. My father made me a training room in the back of his shop, and he used to forge all my weapons. My mother, the town seamstress, sewed all my clothes to best ensure I survive.” She waved a hand in front of herself in a broad sweep, her little audience watching in silence. The magic surrounding her worked quickly, showing the corporeal beings how the dress once looked. The fabric went up to her neck, covering her arms in a thick, durable canvas, layered to prevent any nasty bites. The leather cuff on her arm made Buffy extremely jealous (in that totally healthy Slayer way, thank you very much), watching it glint where a rivet kept it in place on the sleeve, several stakes slipped in the loops. 

Even her shoes magically appeared, the heel perfect for running through the sandy town, ready to take down a whole gang of baddies. The whole thing looked like it was older than Spike was, from a time before all of them. “She fashioned me many bodices and neck coverings to withstand the bite of most beasts.” Kiara waved her hand near Dawn’s hair, as if she was petting it. She seemed to like both girls, as if she was remembering family through them. “My husband was my childhood friend, and when his dear sister died at the hands of an ancient demon, he fought by my side.” The extras of her outfit disappeared, and she was there again, in the plain white dress. Like she was heading to her own wedding. Not from her own time, but an even older one, one before even Anya’s human days. Simple, but comfortable, and structured. “We married young, but now I do wish we had wed a year earlier. I miss my Mathew, and our girls,” she sighed, wistfully looking back down where her house still stood, empty, without her bosom friend’s baking, or her daughters’ laughter. Never again to house the love they had, even amongst the more dire of circumstances. “But until I complete my mission, I am bound here.”

“So you trapped us here to kill Glory?” Kiara nodded at Dawn’s question. “Why make us all bleed?”

The Spirit frowned, confused. “I do not understand. I did not make any of you bleed. That was not my doing.”

“But.. it's how Charlotte woke up, right?”

Floating close to the blonde girl in question, she focused her gaze more intently on the blue eyes. Looking through her, within her, not just at her. “Yes… I believe so,” she landed on, after Charlotte started twitching uncomfortably. “I am unsure completely, as I am merely a conduit, though it seems that was the night. But I vow that I had no hand in such a matter. I only clipped the cable under your steel carriage. Or, had my familiar do so, rather.”

“Fami- you were a witch?!”

Chuckling lightly, she shrugged simply. “But of course! How else could I have lived so long without being one. Honestly, I expected Frennick to keep better notes. How on earth could he… ah. I see. Frennick’s notes were destroyed, were they not?”

Giles wiped down his glasses, still desperately trying to come to terms with what she was saying. If he could, he’d have been writing notes the entire time. “Yes. I- I am sorry that I do not know your name, Miss Kiara, but Frennick… that one I know. His flat in what we now call Sheridan burned down, shortly after your death. Everything was lost.” Including him was left unsaid, but she could read between the lines. 

Kiara nodded, floating closer to the road the smithy used to be on, stopping just in the edge of their casting circle. She could continue on, but chose not to. Stuck only in a living memory. “I suspected as much. Death is what a slayer breathes, what a slayer dreams of when she sleeps. Death is how a slayer lives. It has been our gift, as much as our curse. I always was surrounded by death, no surprise that Frennick did as well,” she sniffed, turning back to them as she regarded Giles. “He was a decent man, for a Shadow Watcher.” One who was involved in her life more than anyone knew. He didn’t just train her, he was her confidant when Mathew’s sister died. Frennick helped carry the girl’s coffin with Mathew and Kiara’s father. Helped her beloved sort papers, deal with the estate, even stayed in the house many nights so Mathew would not do something foolish, like drink himself to death. To hear how he perished, only after she’d made the ultimate sacrifice, tore her to shreds. He wasn’t supposed to suffer such a fate. None of them were. “He gave me an advantage during my Cruciamentum, one the other slayers did not have.”

“Which is…?”

Her grin looked smugger than she seemed capable of doing. “Ah, now you are asking the correct questions, Mr. Giles.” She held up her hand again, showing off her wedding ring. No, her hand… it… was that a tattoo? “He marked me like my foremothers were, a magical sigil for protection. But not just any protection. It magnified my soul.”

Joyce gaped at the suggestion. That- that wasn’t possible! “Your soul?!” Wasn’t it? “How? Is that even possible?”

“Oh yes, but at a great cost.” Kiara sighed again, shaking her head. “See, it was not enough. To magnify a soul takes great power, and it can be incredibly painful. I almost did not survive after. Mathew and my parents watched me around the clock for sixteen days, as all I did was breathe with my eyes closed. Frennick was certain he had killed me with the gift. But I did not perish, perhaps because like you, Miss Summers, I am too stubborn to roll over and let death consume me.”

Buffy couldn’t help but grin. Some say stubborn, she mused ruefully. We say fiercely motivated . Glad to know some things are universal with us, at least. But something niggled at the back of her head, making her wonder what it all meant. “So, you… magnifying your soul, that’s what closed the hellmouth here?”

Kiara frowned. “No. I-” she tore at her hair, all of it falling away to dust, almost instantly re-growing before their very eyes. Wide eyes that watched in various stages of fear and confusion at the slayer spirit’s huffing reaction, more annoyed than shocked. “Ah. The Powers wish me to not divulge. Very rude of them. But you are close.”

Dawn gasped softly, stepping closer. “Wait, can… if they’re controlling what you tell us, will they stop us if we guess? Can we, like, guess and you tell us yes or no?”

Kiara looked back towards the firehouse, as if it had answers for them. For all they knew, it did. “I… believe so. We may try.”

“So closing the hellmouth here, it took more than your soul?”

“Yes.” No hair fell out, either by chance, or Kiara’s compulsion of it. But by the smile on her face, it seemed the plan would hold. For now. “Ah, I do believe our youngest Miss Summers has circumvented the Powers’ stipulations.” 

“And it wiped out the town?”

“Yes.”

Charlotte’s jaw dropped, understanding where Dawn was headed to. “You… it wasn’t just your soul that powered it?”

The look in Kiara’s eyes could only be described as a maelstrom of torment. “No.”

“You had to…” the youngest blonde hedged carefully, mind going a million miles a minute. “Had to use everyone else’s because.. Because you needed more power.”

Kiara tilted her head, looking to the side, hearing an unseen presence almost. “I cannot answer.”

Joyce stepped forwards, trying to pick up the dropped thread. “You didn’t mean to use their souls, but it happened anyways, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Murmurs erupted between them. The potential to shut the Hellmouth for good… that was something none of them ever expected. If they could manage it - without the carnage of everyone's souls going poof along with it - they had to at least try. 

“Can we do that? Close the Hellmouth like you did?”

“No.” Oh. Well, then. That just didn’t sit well with them. Not one bit. 

Especially their Slayer. “But we need a soul to power it, or multiple?”

“Yes.”

“But the tattoo isn’t enough,” Dawn mused, shoulders slumping just a fraction. “Is it?”

Kiara smiled at the brunette longingly. “No, it is not. It does not concentrate the power-” her hell fell out again, regrowing in seconds. “Oh, my goodness. Alright! My word, the Powers are incredibly rude tonight!” she called out into the night in rage, as if the PTB were hanging around at the burnt out husk of the diner, dropping some major eaves. “Of everything I ever gave up for the good of humanity, you would think they would allow me to keep my hair in death.”

“So we just need something to concentrate the power,” Buffy mused aloud. “And- hey, where did she go?”

Kiara blinked back into existence by the old foundery, still in the confines of the casting circle. “Terribly sorry. I seem to be losing my tether to this-” she popped out, then back in again, this time in front of Buffy. “Plane of existence. The Powers are summoning me back.”

Charlotte felt herself go frantic at the sight of the spirit slipping away. “Who brought me back in time?” she asked, hoping for some answers. Any answers. “Do you know why?”

Kiara shook her head. “I am sorry, but no. I do not. All I know is your name and your brilliance, how it matches Dawn’s.” Her bittersweet smile tugged at Joyce’s heartstrings. “You two remind me of my girls. The complimentary fashion in which your souls entwine, of royalty, how they shine.”

“How old were they? When you lost your girls?”

Kiara looked down at her dress, a jagged line of blood flowing from her belly. Somehow, Buffy had the sneaky feeling that it was how the ghostly Slayer kicked the bucket. “Too young,” she breathed. “Not yet four. You will have more time than they did, if you do it-” her hair fell out again, this time regrowing grey, instead of black. “I must go. My mother calls me. Mathew and I have a wedding to attend. His sister is-” Her hair folded itself up into twin plaits, moving up on their own as they created an updo for her, the dress turning a harrowing crimson where her blood stained it. “Sineya didn’t deserve that,” her voice went suddenly serious, face hard as she stood just inches from Buffy’s own. “They did that to her- not the Powers, but the Shadow Men. They started the line- Oh, what an adorable baby!” And like a light switch, she went back to jovial, like a mask, or a mental break. “So much like- and her daughter will travel a great way to-” Popping out, she reappeared with her entire body covered in soot, her face showcasing a gash on her cheek, oozing blood. Ugh. She reeked of burnt bacon and antiseptic. “May our paths cross again only in our final resting spot, and Electrone shall regale us with her tales of- take care, Miss Summers,” she landed on, hand ghosting through Buffy as she cupped her cheek, her pinky finger gone where it once was just a moment ago. “Have a little Faith, and you shall resurface a Champion. And tell Jo-” 

Without finishing her sentence, Kiara blinked out of existence.

 

----------

 

Saturday, November 16th, 2002

“Dri? You sure there’s nothing on her? Not even a footnote?” She was exhausted, sleeping a total of four hours since getting home from Montana. God, that drive was a pain in the butt. Dawn and Charlotte had wiped out in the backseat on the last three hours back, and she and Spike had to carry their sisters to bed. Least he had it easy, the way Lottie curled up in a neat, tidy, little ball when she slept. Dawn’s flailing limbs made it way with the hard to get her up the stairs, without a hand or foot getting caught on something- like Buffy’s face. Now, the four adults tried to piece together what they had found in the books, Kathy asleep upstairs, along with the teens in their own room.

What Giles found in the books, more like. She was way too wiped to make sense of words on paper. They went in search for answers, but only got more questions. Putting his glasses back on his nose bridge, he nodded. “I’ve tried everything, Buffy, but no. No Dri has ever been mentioned in any of the Watchers’ files.”

“Could… maybe she didn’t have one?”

“I very much doubt it.”

“But.. it's possible, right? Maybe like Kiara, her family kept her alive, or maybe the records went, ya know, on a little stroll around the block?”

“Possible, but a slayer living past twenty is rare. And Frennick was known, so…”

Spike scoffed, pulling his lady’s coffee closer to her. “How many slayers have there been? There must be at least a couple dozen no one knows about. I don’t trust spooks, but she… I dunno. Didn’t feel like any of it was a lie to me.”

“Me neither,” Buffy nodded. “A Slayer that’s also a witch, though… With kids, and her dad made all her weapons? That’s rare on its own, isn’t it? I mean, kids!” she insisted, still shocked beyond belief at that little nugget of truth. She didn’t know of any previous slayer with kids in any of the Watcher diaries. She and Giles had gone through every possible one they could get their hands on a few years back, and despite not knowing how each one died, she would have remembered something as majorly as… Well, major as that! “Twins! She had- she had kids. Are we even sure her records were all lost? Cuz, I’m thinking news as big as that might have been… ‘misplaced’ by some head Watcher guy, somewhere along the way. Can’t have a new slayer thinking she can just have that Carol Brady life, and expect her to bend to every whim of the Council.”

Giles did see where she was coming from, at least. “I managed to get in touch with Robson an hour back, and while he said there was a witch turned slayer active here in the mid-to-late 1800’s, they didn’t have her name.” The girls wandered down from their room, hair a complete bird’s nest on Lottie’s head. She tried to tame it, as her brunette friend grabbed a few of the sandwiches off the table. “Frennick kept meticulous notes, but he often filed reports far later than expected. So it’s possible. But… past twenty four? I don’t know if something like that could be hidden so easily. For one thing, the line of succession would be very difficult to forge. Not without raised brows and several inquiries, at the least”

“Perhaps we should try searching in a different way,” Lottie suggested, accepting Mrs. Summers’ help with her hair, sitting precariously on the edge of the chair as the older lady  worked out the knots. “Instead of looking in slayer books, we could look for warriors who were of extraordinary healing, possibly staring those who had sons. She mentioned a son, did she not?”

“She did…”

“And Electrone? Perhaps she is the light in Buffy’s slayer dream.”

“Why’s that?” Dawn asked, wrinkling her nose in confusion. Sometimes it was like Charlotte wasn’t just out of time, but out in her own little world. “Cuz there’s some Light Brite demon coming for us?”

Huffing, her BFF explained, “Electrone - or Alectrona, as is the common pronunciation - is the Greek goddess of sunrise.”

“Daughter of Helios and Rhodes,” Giles continued, intrigued. “Sun and island. Though I hardly think- you don’t suppose that was the significance of the light?”

“With Electrone in the middle?” she asked back. Shrugging, she worried her bottom lip in her teeth, wishing things were a touch easier of late. “I wish I knew. Though it’s the only Electrone I’ve ever heard of.”

Buffy wanted to throw her hands up in the air, and scream her head off. First a hellgod, now a goddess of the literal freaking SUN?! No. Nope. Nuh-uh! There was no freaking way she was gonna get through that. At least now she knew that if her boyfriend was hinting on a connection between goddess and human, that there was a reason for- oh. I can’t kill a person, she thought, worrying her own lip between her teeth. Mom had nightmares for weeks after Glory-Ben, an- and I don’t- I don’t think I could do it without upchucking. Maybe there’s just some bo-ho free spirit that named their kid that. I’d be cool with it just being a person who’s helping, but when did THAT reality ever happen for us?!  

Unaware of his Slayer’s inner strife, the ex-librarian straightened his spine, a plan formulating in his own noodle. “Alright, we can look for that later, and after, that mention of Sineya. I’m sure I know her name from somewhere… First, we must find this supposed thing that’ll concentrate the power of a soul.”

“No,” Joyce corrected sternly. “First we get ready for a wedding.”

“Joyce, please tell me you're not serious.”

But she was. Steadfast, their Dzelarhons.“You heard her! She and Matthew have a wedding to attend. So do we. We need to get the gallery ready for Anya and Xander, so we can all have a little happiness, before the week’s worth of all night researching I’m sure is inevitable.” Standing, she cracked her neck, relieving the tension there. A little. “And I don’t know about you, Rupert, but I’m not hauling all those stinkin’ tables and chairs all over the place alone.”

Groaning, he relented. Ha had promised Anya, after all. And a gentleman’s word was his bond. “Fine. I gather you’ve handled the floral arrangements?”

“Mmm,” she hummed, keeping some things secret without lying. So what if Spike had ordered the flowers from Fiona’s? He was the only one outside of Charlotte who was alive during the height of floral exchanges. And with a whole list of meanings for each individual bloom, they all knew Anya would pick up on it if Joyce accidentally got one that meant ‘booger’ or ‘May your marriage suck forever’ or something, and assume she was being insulted. “Tara finished the cake at your place?”

“No,” he trailed along after her, Buffy behind them to help pick up the tent from the rental place opposite the mall. Better to have the randos not peering in with a whole bunch of demons in the Slayer’s mom’s gallery’s parking lot- behind the building. Although, there probably wouldn’t be a whole lotta demons at this shindig either way, what with the lack of notice. “The bride insisted on purchasing her own from the local bakery. Though I believe she informed them on an engagement cake, so I suppose someone will have to make the top more appealing.”

And someone - cough, Tara, cough - did just that. Smoothing the top of the cake where ‘Congratulations on your engagement, Xaivier and Anna’ was splashed on in blocky green icing, and topping it with some plain buttercream. The two tiered confection looked perfect on the desk in Joyce’s office. Where everyone not Anya, Joyce, or Tara was firmly banned from entering into. The ceremony itself was short, Xander stumbling over his vows, while Anya choked out some of her own, both looking absolutely incredible in their wedding day attire. Without a second thought, the groom chose Willow as his ‘best man’, the redhead touched, and more than a little excited to be wearing a rental tux. Although, it did kinda swallow her around the shoulders, which she only grumbled about away from the happy couple. 

Anya’s bridesmaid pick was a long, long, long list, but considering the rush, she settled on bestowing the honour to the one person she knew could always count on for good relationship advice: Joyce. Who kept insisting she was ‘too old’ to be a bridesmaid, or maid of honour - or was it matron? She wasn’t married anymore, but it still was matron, wasn’t it? Oh, gosh, she felt old - which was pointless to a millennia old being. Still, the outfit the bride insisted Mrs. Summers wear, started to make the matriarch wonder if she was actually being honoured, or if she was just being used as a prop. She never made her own bridesmaids wear such a jarring shade of green. And Kathy was having way too much fun at her sister’s expense because of it. Jerk. 

The guest list was small, the wedding more intimate than Anya had been originally planning, but that just made the day all the more special. After a second past sunset ceremony - that lasted a whopping total of twelve minutes, and forty three seconds - some of the chairs were brought out from the main room to the top level, some to the back, the folding tables already set up for dinner. The main level was left up to the couple milling around, grabbing a drink, and dancing. Catered by a local chef friend of a friend, there wasn’t much else the building full of friends and family had left to do, but enjoy the night until clean up time. 

Except one. 

“Might I have this dance?” Buffy looked at the hand in front of her slice of cake, eyes following up the arm, to the face of her boyfriend, smiling at his earnest expression. “They’re playing our song.”

Raising her eyebrow, she strained to hear the lyrics from the less than ideal sound system. Snorting, she rolled her eyes. “Did you make them add that to the playlist or something?”

“Nah,” he grinned, his lady taking his hand, following him out on the makeshift dance floor. Clem had brought more flower petals than necessary, sprinkling them with the girls for Anya’s surprise, and the couple had a hard time finding a place to dance without slipping on them. “Harris’ uncle had it in one of the wedding CDs he brought over, though I have to admit.” He paused in his thought as he twirled her into his arms. “Glad the man didn’t stay himself, already smelling like a distillery. Don’t need Pidge or Nibblet smelling that on a night like this.”

Letting him lead, she felt herself melt in his arms. Mocking her for the song once upon a time, she no longer cared who judged her on the Bette Middler classic. She was happy. Her friends were married, she found out there might be a way to close the Hellmouth, and her boyfriend had a small reprieve from the mental torture he’d been dealing with since he got his soul back. She allowed herself to soak up the good moments, however short they might be. “Mmm. We should dance like this every night,” she sighed, laying her head where his shoulder met his chest. “Or every morning. Promise me we’ll try?”

Kissing the top of her head, he missed the pair of yellow eyes staring down at them from across the street, watching them from the coffee shop’s patio, growling at his arch nemesis. “Promise, sweetheart. I’ll even steal the disc for you.”

“Mmm, sap.” 

Notes:

Willow and Xander are watching Bachelor Party, rattle dust is not a real thing, but the demon spiders were apparently in the Buffy comics. I wouldn’t know, didn’t read 'em.

 

I don't know when I'll have time to update after this, so I hope this can settle y'all for at least a week and a half

Chapter 35

Summary:

After Mini Scoobies 2.0 go in search of Kit’s foster brother and deliver him safely home, Dawn and Charlotte get kidnapped by some very stupid vampires. I mean, how dumb do you have to be to kidnap the sisters of the Vampire Slayer and William the Bloody? In SUNNYDALE of all places????

Featuring: Joyce being so done with the Hellmouth

Chapter Text

Tuesday, November 19th, 2002

 

Charlotte had to admit that her grounding for going to a den of demons without permission was tough, but fair. In the Smith residence, whenever she had done something her jailors- er, ‘guardians’ did not like, she was expected to write a two hundred word essay on the subject, and read it aloud to them. As if the pair of Wolfram and Hart employees got a kick from watching her humiliation. In the Summers’ home, she was given a list of boring, yet manageable set of chores. She wasn’t very good at laundry - RIP to Dawn’s favourite crimson hoodie - but she could wash a dish like a pro. And she’d even taken it upon herself to deep clean the freezer, which Mrs. Summers was extremely impressed with, as no one had managed to motivate themselves to do it in more time than she cared to mention. So when she came home from school that Tuesday afternoon, William surprised her with the best news.

Her punishment? Over! After already writing an apology letter to each of her friends - and the adults in their group - for frightening them, he was assured that she wouldn’t repeat the experience. He was allowing her to have a social life again, within reason. No ‘Bronzing’ for a few more weeks, and she had an even stricter curfew, but he - and Mrs. Summers and Buffy - agreed to reinstate movie nights. 

So later that evening, Charlotte and Dawn found themselves at Kit’s foster home, the three watching a movie on the old tube TV, Kit’s younger foster siblings riveted. They freaking loved the Muppets, and seeing as how Lottie had never seen the flicks, she was glued to the screen as much as the six and eight year old. All was well, until a certain someone went missing. 

“Where’s Danny?” 

The living room occupants all turned from the television to look at Kit’s normally not so frazzled face. “In his room,” the eight year old Donna said, looking back at the screen, before looking back at her foster sister. “Isn’t he?”

“No.”

“Basement?”

“I checked the whole house. Oh, no. Oh, God.”

“He’s probably with Finley,” the youngest boy of the house piped up. “They were talking about chickens.”

Which made zero sense. “Chickens?” Dawn asked, putting her juice down on the worn coffee table. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah!” Jeremy exclaimed. “They wanted to ‘pick up chicks’ tonight! Think we’re gonna have a coop? I don’t really like eggs.”

Kit’s eyes slid shut, her smudged eyeliner making her look older. And more importantly, pissed off. “Damnit. Jay? Where did Danny and Finley say they were gonna get those chicks at?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, shoving another chip into his mouth. “Some big party, I think. But I told them we were having enchiladas tonight, and we’re not allowed out after curfew when mom and dad are at the movies.”

The three teens looked at one another, all immediately conferencing in the kitchen. “Think Carlos would know where?” Dawn asked, knowing their running back friend had the lowdown on all things teen party related. 

Nodding, Kit picked up the phone. “I’m calling reinforcements.”

“Should we call Buffy and William?” Lottie offered, anxiety cranked to eleven. “We could use his vehicle.”

“I dunno. I don’t want my foster parents to know. I’m already in trouble for accidentally melting the spatula- don’t ask. Can- can we just…”

“Let’s just call Los and see what’s up, then we can formulate a plan, kay?” Dawn touched her hand in reassurance, pulling out her cell as well. “I’ll call him, you call Tom?”

“Oh!” Lottie grabbed the phone from Kit’s outstretched hand, the blonde dialling from memory. “Perhaps he’s simply down at the end of the street, and we won’t even need to worry any adults in the manner.”

Dawn and Lottie had many great breaks in their short lives. Unfortunately, this night was not one of them. Because Daniel hadn’t just snuck out of the house to ‘pick up chicks’ at some house parth down the block, oh no. Finley had the pair of them living it up on campus. As in UC Sunnydale’s campus, Los’ football teammate had found out. But which one? Apparently, Tuesday nights in the dead of November was cause for celebration for many a college student. Whatever happened to cramming for examinations?! 

The party at the second biggest fraternity house was so not where they thought they’d be spending their evening, but desperate times make strange bedfellows, or whatever. “Over here!” Dawn motioned, a group of people looking way too young to be drinking clustered in the corner. The duo made their way over, spotting Kit’s foster brother in the middle of them. “Daniel! Come on, let’s go!”

Embarrassed, he shook his head, trying to wave them off. “Get lost!”

Charlotte scoffed, crossing her arms as Dawn grabbed for him. “You get your ass up right now, or I tell everyone at this party exactly how old you really are!” the brunette hissed. 

“Then I’ll tell everyone how old you are!” he hissed back. 

“I’m still older than you,” she countered, hand tight around his wrist. “And unless you want me to call the cops, and have your ‘friends’ arrested for underage drinking, you’ll get your butt up off that totally grody bean bag chair, and come with us.” 

Danny paled at the sight of her cellphone in the blonde’s hand, the number 9-1-1 already keyed in, awaiting the girl to press DIAL to send it through. “Alright, alright,” he sighed, brushing himself off as he stood. “Sorry, guys. Gotta go with my little sisters here,” he jerked his thumb back towards the girls. “And get them tucked into bed.” 

Charlotte scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I’m technically old enough to be your great-great- great - grandmother,” she muttered only loud enough for Dawn to hear over the music. “But draw on a semi-convincing moustache with an eyeliner pencil, and suddenly you’re of voting age.”

He grumbled the whole way back into town, and scowled at his foster sister when they met up with her and Carlos. Tom, wary of the campus, stayed behind to keep an eye on the remaining kids. 

“Thanks guys,” Kit breathed, the emo girl smiled in relief at them as she shoved Daniel forwards. “I’ll get him home before the parentals get in. You two coming with?”

“We’ll be okay,” Dawn nodded, their street within view. “It’s only a five minute walk. We gotta get back before our own curfew. And I’ve got Mr. Stabby and his friend with me.”

Daniel’s eyes bulged out at the knife the brunette flashed at him. “Woah! Where’d you get that?!”

“None of your beeswax,” she countered, pointing in the opposite direction. “Don’t you have Batman sheets to crawl under?” 

He grumbled but relented, letting Carlos and Kit push him down their way. The trio waved off the pair of them, Charlotte turning to face her, once they started their way to their own home. 

“Mr. Stabby was a gift from my brother, I take it,” the blonde nodded towards the knife the girl was now tucking safely away. 

But the snort from Dawn was less convincing on the matter. “Yeah, right. Like he’d ever give me a knife this big. No, I bought it with my ‘pin money’.” 

“No, you did not!” she scoffed. “No store would willingly sell a minor such a knife!”

“No, they wouldn’t,” she agreed, grin spreading across her face as she revealed her secrets. “But I did pay for it. Just… had someone else go buy it, is all.”

“Who?” 

“Now,” a new voice broke out behind them. “That would spoil the fun, don’t ya think?”

By all accounts, Dawn’s quick draw was a lot faster than it had been two years ago, when Spike had started teaching her to defend herself. With the much smaller Swiss Army knife he loaned her, of course. And her training with Buffy made her way more accurate. But a conk to the head was totally faster than her on her best day. “Nn!” she grunted from the impact before she could fully unsheath her weapon, mid-turn. 

The blonde was no better, her hand on her doctored pepper spray canister barely raised, when it was kicked from her grasp. Agony washed over her at the crunch of the impact, letting out a gut wrenching scream. Backhanding her, she hit the ground hard, the vampire pair leaning over her, their yellow eyes the last thing she saw, before her vision blinked out. Her brother was going to be furious. 

 

----------

 

Gemini whined as he scratched at the back door incessantly. He needed out! He needed to go outside right away! It was an memergency! Bemergency? Whatever mother human friend Joyce Mom called it. But he needed OUT! And he was being ignored. Again! 

“What’s with him?” human friend Xander said, petting the dog form’s head a bit too enthusiastically. Human friend Xander never had a dog, he could tell. Just like he could tell that human friend Xander had pepperoni sticks in his pocket, that he wasn’t sharing. Hmm. Sometimes, humans were selfish. “You just went outside, boy. You need to tinkle again?” 

Human friend Slayer Buffy lowered herself down to look at Gemini’s face better, the animal trying to convey his desperation to the powerful woman. “I hope he’s not sick. That demon vet guy costs a fortune.” He huffed at her face, resuming his scratches again. Didn’t she understand? There was something wrong, and he was trying to get her to go outside with him!

“Maybe he smells something?” human friend Xander offered. “Is that it? Do you smell something? Is it a squirrel?”

No! It was not a disgusting little squirrel! It was human friend Dawn! And human friend Charlotte! And they needed help! He kept scratching, barking interspersed with his whining. 

Human friend Buffy relented, unlocking the door, and opening it for him. “Okay, Gem. Just five minutes and- hey!”

Taking matters into his own paws, he ran full tilt at the fence, and used what energy he could to launch himself over the gate. He missed, whining as his shoulder joint rammed into the wood, causing a big owie, right where his human enemy Doug had put those yucky needles into, before human friend Buffy and vampire friend Spike brought him here, saving him from more boo-boos. Whining for kissies and pets, he limped back to the deck, motioning for them to follow. 

“Wassit?” vampire friend Spike asked, head tilting in concern. He was smoking those yucky stinky stickies again, putting it out in the glass dishie by the door. “Why’s he limping? Dawnie’s gonna have a fit.”

Barking, Gemini grasped vampire friend Spike’s pant leg in his jaw, trying to drag him out. He had to smell it! He knew vampires could smell things better than humans, human friend Dawn told him so! How could he not smell it? How were none of them responding to the emergency?! Oh, Eee- mergency, not Bee- mergency! 

Cursing, vampire friend Spike tried to shake him off, failing to do so gently. “What the bloody hell is his problem?”

Human friend Xander scrunched his brow in confusion, climbing down the steps. Crouching, he grasped Gem’s collar. “I dunno! He tried to jump the fence, and-” gasping softly, he snapped his fingers to get the animal’s attention. “Gemini. Gemini! You wanna go for a walk?” Letting go of the denim, he huffed, shaking his head, before tilting it at the carpenter. “Do you want us to take you for a walk? Huh, boy? Little Timmy stuck in the well?” Gemini growled back, earning him a confused expression from human friend Xander. “Not a fan of Old Yeller. Duly noted.”

Vampire friend Spike grabbed his leash, attaching it to his collar with an odd expression. “What is it? Want a walk? Is that it?” Gemini growled, the vampire’s eyebrows furrowing further. “Do you want… a treat? Ay? Harris, hand us one of them pepperettes from your pockets.”

“What? I don’t have any-” cowing under the heavy glare from the vamp, he relented, handing the blonde one of the snacks. “Here.” 

“Here, this what you-?” Growling again, Gemini tugged on the leash once more, trying to get the point across. “That’s- you’re turnin’ down meat?” He turned to face Buffy, looking concerned. “Is he ill?”

“God, I hope not,” Buffy replied, grabbing a jacket and exiting the house, just as the phone began to ring from inside.  

Human friend Anya munched on her own snacks, tilting her head as she watched the scene from the kitchen with the rest of them. “Look at him!  He clearly wants you to follow him.”

Barking, Gemini wagged his tail in happy relief. Oh boy! Ex-demon new-human friend Anya was right! Why didn’t the others see his very obvious signs all night?! The girls were in trouble. His girls were in trouble. They needed him! Needed human friend Slayer Buffy and vampire friend Spike, too! 

“Guys?” human friend Tara showed up in the middle of their meeting, holding up the telephone. “Th- that was Kit. She um, she wanted to know if- if Dawn and Lottie got in okay. Sh- she said they left almost an hour ago…”

“Gemini?” Buffy leaned in closer to the dog speaking slowly. “Bark twice if you can smell where Dawn and Charlotte went.”

Easy! BARK! BARK! Now would they open the gatie, and let him go save the girls already?!

“Bollocks. Not this shite, again.” 

 

----------

 

Pain. All she felt was pain. “Dawn?” No, she thought. I don’t wanna go to school. Five more minutes, Buffy. “Dawn?” Ugh, not Buffy. Lottie. Right, right, right. Lottie lives with us now, but geez, does she have to wake up this early every day? “Dawn!” 

Her eyes cracked open, groaning as they shut promptly from the agony in her head. “Ow. What… What happened? Where are we?”

She felt something struggle against her as Lottie’s voice rang out all around her. “Vampires. And I don’t know. Some kind of water closet. A rather disgusting one, by even my grandfather Elliot’s childhood standards,” she heard the disgust in her friend’s tone, eyes cracking open, looking around.

A bathroom, but with just a toilet and sink. Simple. Industrial vibes. And absolutely puke-worthy. Eeeewww. The health department really needed to come and shut the place down, ASAP. Looking up, she groaned at the flickering light where it floressed, the tile ceiling all too familiar to her. “Ugh. We’re in some kind of warehouse, or school, or something. See the ceiling?”

“Oh. Yes, that’s the same ceiling we have at our school. But the building is in much worse shape. You don’t suppose we’re… in the… in the basement, again?”

Squinting against the light, she inspected their surroundings more closely. Tiles from the 70’s, she suspected, coming up from the subfloor beneath it. Paint peeled back from the walls, a jawbreaker of paint layers beneath it in varying shades of yuck. The sink looked in better shape than the toilet, which had that gross pink tint to it that her granny Jane’s toilet had. “No,” she decided, knowing that while the school was negligent, Xander wouldn’t have left this kind of tidbit out of his report on the re-build. “The pukar decor? It’s gotta be from the 70’s, at least. And that toilet? Our granny bought one before Buffy was born. This place looks abandoned, but for way longer than Sunnydale High was.” 

Eyes boring into the other girl’s face, Charlotte felt herself sour. “Fantastic,” she huffed, struggling again. “Stuck in a filthy bathroom from an era gone by - two decades past at the very least - kidnapped by vampires, and to make a bad situation worse, I’m fairly certain that my wrist is broken.”

Looking down, Dawn finally noticed how they were tied up. A lone pipe attached to the wall held their bound hands, keeping them from doing much else outside of standing and sitting. “Let me see?” Turning her friend’s freed left hand carefully, she received a sharp hiss in response. “Sorry! Sorry. Woah, yeah… think you might be right, there.” The brunette winced in sympathy as she saw the darkened discolouration at the already forming bruise. Which meant that they’d been attacked hours ago. Crap. CRAP! This was bad. This was very, very bad. A whole world of badness, with a scoop badness ice cream on the side, topped with horribleness fudge sauce. “Buffy will find us. Spi- Will can probably track our scent or something. I bet they’re already looking for us.”

Lottie’s face didn’t seem to agree, despite her head already nodding. “Yes. Right. Okay. We shall be rescued, and the vampires dusted, an- and then we’ll be fine. Safe. But, Dawn? How?”

“Don’t worry. Buffy deals with this kind of thing all the time. You know,” she started, trying to distract the girl. “This gang of vampires once took me, and Buffy found them in their super secret hide out in, like, an hour. This is easy peasy. No sweat.”

“Dawn… it’s been multiple hours, at the very least.”

Damn. Charlotte was too smart for her own good sometimes. Without warning, the door wrenched open to reveal one of their attackers. “Hey! Right you are, little blondie!” His face had stayed all bumpy, Buffy right in her assumption that most vampires lived in their demon face more often than not. “And I think you’ve been well and truly marinated now, don’t you?”

Their second attacker slipped into view, popping in from their left, snarling to get a rise out of both girls. “Absolutely! I’m starving.”

“Don’t you touch her!”

 

          SLAP!

 

Vampire two smacked her hard, sending her careening to the grimey floor with her hands still attached to the pole. “Shut up!”

“Dawn!” She dove for her friend, using what strength she had to try and get the brunette upright. “You’re going to regret this!” Charlotte yelled, wriggling to try and break free of the ropes. “Just wait until my brother hears of this! He shall rip you both limb from limb!”

The vampire laughed, yanking her by the hair back, her neck bent to look up at him from an uncomfortable angle. “Oh yeah? Your brother? Awww… colour me unimpressed of some teeny, tiny little human.”

“He’s not a human, you ignoramus,” she spat back. “He’s a vampire . And a far more illustrious one than either of you are! Combined!”

“Ooooh, I’m all a titter!” the second one mocked, dragging Dawn up from where he’d smacked her. “And what about you? Hmmm? Got a vampire brother, too?”

The brunette’s stomach lurched, but sheer stubbornness kept her from hurling all over the vamp. “No,” she coughed, the feel of a chipped tooth rough on her lip as she spoke. Aww man! Another trip to the dentist in less than a month? Ugh! “My best friend is, though. My sister, however, she’s the one you really should be scared of.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

Dawn laughed, hollow and terrifying, just like Spike had taught her to practise, in case some beast ever tried to have her for lunch. Like right now. “Because she’s going to kill you!” She knew how creepy the singing sounded, banked on it. “She’s also dating her brother,” she added, jerking her head to Lottie. “And you know, I don’t think anyone could ever be as stupid as the two of you just were, cuz the last time I was kidnapped by vampires? There were a whole pack of ‘em, and in about… twenty seconds? Poof! Dust.” She rolled her head towards the first one, her eyes glinting in the low light of the scummy bathroom. She knew she looked creepy, total serial killer vibes coming out of her newly unclogged pores. Creepy was how she was gonna keep them distracted, long enough to keep Lottie alive until help got there. Also, she was gonna need a facial after this. Yuck! “Imagine what she’ll do to you. The two of them? Together? Lottie, don’t you think they’d want to… draw it out? The punishment?”

Lottie’s voice was strained, anger seeping in, fear bleeding out into the heavily soiled grout beneath them. “William once kept a copper alive for a whole month, playing with his insides- and that was simply over a speeding ticket.”

“William?” The vampires burst into laughter. “We’re supposed to be afraid of a freaking vamp named William?!”

“Perhaps his moniker is more accurate,” Lottie sneered. “For once you know it, you’ll regret your words. It was, after all, his favourite weap-”

 

           SLAP!

 

The first vamp slapped her, her head whipping to the right. “Shut up!”

“Lottie!”

“How about you, little girl?” He advanced towards Dawn, ready to sink his fangs into her pale neck. “Wanna call out your big sister’s name? Maybe you’ll be lucky, and she’ll come save you before you bleed out.”

“Peters!” a gruff voice called out from further in the building, angry as all heck. “Simmons!” Stomping footsteps alerted them to the boss of the operation. “I told you,” he sneered, stepping into the light, his once human visage all too familiar to the brunette. “No taunting the Lean Cuisines!” 

Laughing hollowly, Dawn sneered at the new vampire sauntering in. “Warren Mears. Why am I not surprised?”

With a snap, he was crouched in front of them, grasping the brunette’s hair in his hand, yanking it back. Hard. Throat exposed, she swallowed involuntarily. “Now, now, Dawnie,” he tittered, a lone finger trailing down the exposed skin. “Is that any way to treat your host?”

“Eat my shorts,” she spat back at him, nearly feral in her anger. “Wasn’t last year’s creature feature enough for you? How’d you even manage to get away, huh?”

Something about the name seemed familiar to her, and Lottie wracked her brain for any mem- of course! The man who built the sexual congress automatons! Who then built ‘robots’ in the guise of the Summers sisters, then terrorised the town with the lesser demon Rex, and his two friends. Friends who are now in the Sunnydale penitentiary.

“Listen here, you little snot nosed brat,” he hissed, fury unlike anything she’d seen in her brother before. Unlike William’s own pride, Warren’s had only intensified to toxic waste disposal site levels. Although, she had little experience with William pre-chip, so she couldn’t say for sure. “If you don’t shut the hell up-”

“My sister’s gonna peel you like an apple,” she threatened, struggling against him. “And then I’m gonna-”

Interrupting her bosom friend, Charlotte cried out, “Dawn! Control yourself.” 

“Wha-?”

“This is clearly a man of some rather notable intellect,” she pressed upon, an idea forming in her head. He’s also an ignoramus, with an ego larger than this very town, she thought with disgust. We can use it to our advantage. “Perhaps even more intelligent than us mere girls.”

What the hell was Lottie talking about? Sure, Mears was book smart, robotics major and all. But Charlotte would never willingly call any guy smarter than her- and definitely not someone like Mears! Why was she-? Oooh… Dawn mused, her eyes twinkling as she got it. Damn. If she hadn’t been in a coma for five years, she’d probably be in Buffy’s class, not mine. “I- I must have forgotten my manners,” she offered, coughing at the nasty air around them. “The conk on the old noggin must have, like, shaken them loose.” 

Looking between the girls, he bought it, letting go of the Slayer’s sister’s hair. “Yeah, must’ve.” Sniffing, the dunce stood, hand on his hip. “What’s your name, strawberry shortcake?”

“Ch- Charlotte, sir,” she nodded, as she might if she curtsied, trying for casual. “Am I right to suppose you are the same Warren Mears who has a degree in robotics?”

“Yeah, close enough.”

“I must confess,” she said, stalling as long as she could, hoping Kit or Carlos would call the house, let the adults know they were missing. She’d be grounded for sure for their adventure, but at least they’d be ALIVE! “I find the entire subject fascinating.” Shifting in an effort to relieve the pressure of their bindings, she added, “tell me: what do you think of the da Vinci robotic surgical system? Will it genuinely replace hu- human surgeons?”

Scowling, he scoffed at her. “How the hell does a pipsqueak like you know about the da Vinci?”

“I- I wish to be a surgeon, one day.”

One of the vampire cronies snorted, rolling his yellow eyes. “Like we’re gonna keep you alive long enough.”

Shifting into his vampire visage, Warren growled at the other vamp. “Shut up! And keep these two in one piece. Just until our guest of honour gets here.” Sculking away, he added, “I’ll be in the office. Don’t interrupt me, unless the Barbie bitch shows up.” 

 

---------- 

 

Gemini led them to the corner of Revello and Thousand Oaks, where Spike swore a blue streak at the hair barrette that was obviously Pidge’s, nestled in the grass. “I bloody knew I shouldn’t have let her go to that house,” he growled, kicking the post box a few paces away. The metal crunched, a noticeable dent where the aluminium was once flat. “Now she’s gone and-”

“Uh, guys?” Xander interrupted the tirade, the vamp glaring daggers at him. Pointing to the animal, he asked, “quick question, but uh… Does Gemini have vamp-dar, or something? Cuz…”

Following his extended hand, Buffy, Anya, and Spike looked down, Gem standing with one front paw curled up near his chest, his nose and tail both extended. His whole body pointed West, towards where he smelled the trail of a vampire. “Gem?” Buffy asked. “Where’s Dawn?”

Barking once, he continued his stance. “Should we tell him to get-” but Xander didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence, Gemini hearing ‘get’ and following the inadvertent command. Running towards the source of the smell, Spike was forced to follow, his wrist still in the loop of the leash. “Oh. Uh…” 

Shaking her head, Buffy followed, quickly catching up to her boyfriend, the pair chasing the animal’s dog form, as he ran down Thousand Oaks. About to make chase, Anya stopped her husband with a palm to his chest, insisting, “you have a car, and I’m wearing heels.”

“Right,” he nodded, the pair heading back to the house. “I’ll drive.”

“No, doy!”

 

----------

 

The vampires known as Peters and Simmons hadn’t followed Mears’ orders past a few minutes, back to antagonising the pair of them. First, with taunts, then with offering them water, and dumping it on their heads. Now, they were back to threat making. 

“Can’t wait till the boss cuts you open,” Peters sneared. Or was it Simmons? She couldn’t keep track of them. “He said your big sis broke his heart, and the bitch is gonna fall at his feet after this.”

“Liar!” Charlotte cried, Dawn trying to shush her. “She would never give that troll the time of day!”

Advancing her, he rose his arm to strike her, stopped only by the brunette’s kick to his shins. Grunting as he stumbled, he gripped the sink, snarling. “Bitch!” Raising his opposite hand, he backhanded her cheek with a sickening crack. 

 

           SLAP!

 

“Stop it, man!” The other vampire grabbed him, yanking him back. “The boss said-”

“Screw the boss!” he sneered back. “I doubt her sister is worth the time of day. And we’re….” The girls couldn’t hear what he whispered, his back turned to them. “I say we have a little snack, first.”

Lottie felt her heart race in her chest, praying she wouldn’t have another one of her fainting spells now. “He- he said we were to be unharmed! An- and when our siblings find us-”

The pair laughed, their bumpy faces making the sound garbled and slurred. “You think they’re gonna come… what? Save you? Ha! Not against the likes of us.” 

“Oh, you think I need saving?” Dawn barked a laugh, hysterical in her relief, as she saw the twin blonde manes of their siblings, in the dirty glass beyond the room. It was the best thing she’d seen all night. “No, you’re the ones that’ll need saving. Quick, riddle me this, Thing One and Thing Two. What’s blonde, fights demons, and is currently dating a vampire? Gee, I wonder who that could be?”

Vamp two sneared, “you’re wasting our time.”

“And you’re wasting the food!” vamp one threw back at him. 

“And you’re wasting your breath,” she spat, making sure the loogie hit her assailant square on the nose. “Because honestly, fellas, how dumb can you be? Her brother’s gonna drown you in a vat of holy water, if there’s even one blonde hair out of place.”

“Let me drain her!” vamp two begged. “She’s so fucking annoying!”

“Not yet,” his buddy threw back. “Let’s see where this goes.” Turning to the girls, he said, “fine, I’ll play.” Glaring at Charlotte, he grabbed her face in his palms. “Who’s your brother, really?”

“You can’t see the family resemblance?” Dawn asked, fidgeting at how close he was to her friend. “Oh, would a last name help?”

“Dawn…”

“Fine, tell me, what’s this one’s last name!”

“The. Bloody.” She watched as the first vamp’s face fell, understanding dawning on him. “Yeah, oh, does your sidekick not know?” She turned to face him, fear ebbing away to something else as the one gripping Lottie stumbled back, ready to poop his pants. She didn’t know if the emotion was joy, or hysteria, or what, but it was something powerful. “Oh! I get it. New fledge, am I right?”

“No! I’ve been a vampire for thirty years!” How the hell was a fledgling like Mears in charge of these two old fogies?

“And you never paid attention in vampire history 101?” she smarted back. “William the Bloody? Scourge of London? No?” He shook his head. “Then how about the name… Spike?”

That left a lasting impression. “Spike? Your brother is Spike? Like, the Spike?”

“Yep!”

“That means your sister is…”

“Slayer, comma The. Summers, comma Buffy.” She cackled, tilting her head back momentarily. Damn. Kit was right. Crazy works, nearly every time. “And you fellas, you just signed your own death certificates.”

“We-”

“Gotta get out of here.”

“What about the boss?” The two stared at one another, looking at the girls, then promptly ran away. Cowards. 

Running to the main exit, Peters doubled back, leaving Simmons to go out the front, taking the back way. Only to be stopped by a familiar faced vamp. “Uh… hi!” 

“Peters?” Spike asked, pointing at the vampire in recognition. “I thought I smelt you! Say, you haven’t seen some teenage girls around you, have you? About yay tall, sneaking outta the house, up to no good?”

Shrugging, he tried to back away, hoping to climb the stairs to the second floor, escape out the window or something. “Nope! Haven’t. Sorry, uh, maybe try up the road.”

Unlucky for him, Spike wasn’t fooled. He shifted into his demon face, twirling the stake in his hands. “Always were a lousy liar.” Chasing after the now running vamp, he grabbed the arsehole, tossing him into the wall. “This would go a lot better for you,” he punched the opponent in the jaw. “If you tell me,” another to the gut, forcing him forward minutely. “The truth.” 

Snarling, he attacked the master vampire, kicking him in the knee, making himself crumple. “I told you-”

The shattering of glass alerted them to the Slayer, Simmons hitting the wall next to them. If Peters could pale anymore than he already had post-death, he’d be whiter than a Limp Biscuit concert. “Hello, fellas,” the Slayer grinned, throwing her stake into Simmons’ chest, on the opposite side of his heart. “Oh, darn. Must be losing my touch.” Simmons snarled, his wound smoking as he writhed on the ground, agony ripped through his face. Holy water. The bitch had dipped the stake in holy water! “Hmm. Then again…” 

“It- it wasn’t our idea!” Peters cried, Spike’s hand on his throat, shoving the younger vamp against the wall. “It- it was the boss!”

Buffy sauntered up to the vamp writhing in agony, booted foot pressed to his breastbone. “Boss, huh? Where’s this so-called bossman at? Getting some office supplies at the blood bank?”

“Well,” a voice called out from the shadows, the lovers tensing at the familiar timbre. “Isn’t this a treat?”

“Warren,” the Slayer sneared, the yellow eyes of the now vampire highlighted the rest of him as he stalked forwards. Lifting her foot off the writhing vamp, she stepped closer. “Where are they?

Laughing, he shook his head. “Whatever happened to pleasantries? Come on, Buffy,” he got closer, hands behind his back, cockier than ever. “Pull up a chair, stay a while.”

Staking Peters without so much as another word, Spike stalked forward. Stopped by his lady, she hissed, “oh, no, baby. This one’s all mine.” 

“Baby?!” Snorting, Mears circled her, Spike slipping after the escaping Simmons. “So you’re still boinking the undead, huh? Well,” he rubbed his hands down his chest, then grabbed his tiny, unimpressive package. “How about one closer to your age? Hmm?”

“Mmm….” She pretended to think about it, covertly slipping another stake out her jacket pocket. “Let me think… boyfriend who rocks my world as often as he rocks my palate with his cooking, or a guy who - while human - made a sexbot, instead of getting an actual girlfrie-”

“I had a girlfriend!” he snarled back. “And you took her from me!” Launching at her throat, he grappled inelegantly with her, and she easily socked him in the jaw in response. 

He snarled at her, missing her head as he threw an inexperienced punch, Buffy dodging him easily. “Me?!” she scoffed, kicking him in the torso, hard enough that he careened into the wall where Simmons had hit earlier. “Oh, no, buster.” Socking him in the jaw again, she pinned him to the wall with her hand, her other grasping the stake. “That was all your doing, Bot Boy. Now,” she held the stake to his chest threateningly. “Tell me where the girls are, or-” Grunting in pain, her head flew back, hair grasped in the vampire’s arm, Mears grinning where he stood. Tossed to the ground, she sputtered as a boot pressed into her breastbone, Simmons snarling on top of her. “Nnn!” 

Laughing, Mears crouched in front of her. “Not so fun now, is it? Shoe on the other foot? Say, I know what might change your mind.” He leaned down, holding her arms in his hands. “I’ll just turn you.” 

Eyes widening in fear, she thrashed, pulling her knees up in an attempt to get herself free, the weight suddenly off her chest, Simmons dusting over her jeans. Inhaling oxygen greedily, she twisted herself to the right, dislodging Mears and grappling for her stake. Before he could pounce on her again, a growl emitted from the entrance, the vampire turning just in time for Gemini to leap onto him, turning into his cat form, mid leap. The yowling hiss echoed off the walls of the room, Buffy’s eyes widening as she watched the two beings scuffle. Sparing a look to the front entrance, she saw Anya standing in shock, crossbow still raised, sans bolt, Xander jogging after her. Turning back to the fight at hand, she stood, stake in hand.  Flinging the animal off him, Warren hissed, “what the fuck kinda demon is that?!” He heaved his chest, trying to get oxygen in, despite not needing it anymore. Covered in scratches from the animal, Gemini got quite a few licks in. Including a chunk of vampire’s ear, it seemed. 

“Not a demon,” Buffy insisted, grabbing the jerkwad by the neck. “Only demon between the pair of you is… well, you.” Lifting him up against the wall, his feet ineffectively dangling, she glared at the pest. “Tell me where they are.” Meowing fiercely, Gemini ran down a hallway, his collar jangling as he did. “Ya know what? Nevermind,” and with a swift thrust downwards, Warren Mears turned to dust. 

Spike burst in through the front, holding his head in his right hand, stake in his left. “Bugger got the drop on me. Where’s the pooch?”

“Catified and went that-a-way,” their dark haired man gestured to the direction of their animal companion, the pair taking after it without another word. “Cool, great talk.” 

 

----------

 

Trying to break free of ropes wasn’t easy, harder still when you were wet, some jerkwad of a vampire dumping water over ya. And stole your freaking knife! Still, neither girl gave up, working at the knots tirelessly. A scuffle broke out beyond the room, clear sounds of fighting, before a snarl erupted. 

“Wh- what was that?” Charlotte shook, shivers wracking her thin frame. The chill in the air was one thing, the fact that she was soaked to the skin…

Focusing on the sound beyond the room, she picked up on the unmistakable yowl of her favourite creature. “Gemini,” she breathed, struggling to stand. “Gem! In here!” She kept her voice even, just loud enough for her pet to hear them, but not loud enough to shout at top volume. Her throat was way sore, and she had a feeling she and Lottie were gonna be stuck in bed for a while, likely with a nasty head cold. “Come on, baby! Find me- find us!”

Meowing, he ran into the room, the girls brightening up as he curled around the pair of them, purring as he was greeted. Within seconds, their Slayer skidded to a halt outside the door. 

“Buffy!”

Don’t say another word!” Uh oh. They were screwed. Really, really screwed. “You are so grounded after this.”

Dawn winced. Oh, yeah. Royally screwed. “For how long?”

“For… until college.”

“For ‘till college?!” the brunette cried, Spike rushing in after his lady. 

“For ‘till college!!!”

“You can’t say that every time I-”

“You could have died!” the Slayer insisted, pulling her knife from her boot, flipping it open. Hacking at the rope around Dawn’s wrist, she continued berating her sister’s idiotic behaviour. They were clear: after dark, call the house, someone would come get them. But they didn’t, and with Dawn having more life experience in Sunnydale than Lottie, the brunette was responsible for the blonde’s safety. “You could have had Charlotte killed! Do you know how dumb that was?!”

Free from her own bindings, her brother having his own knife to saw through the rope, she stood. “Now, hold on,” Lottie grunted, dusting the floor off her body. “Dawn isn’t entirely at fault here.”

“Don’t think we forgot about you,” Spike pointed, anger flaring in his own right. “Of all the scummy, lowest of the low, disgusting demon hideouts, you end up here?!”

“Don’t yell at me like that!” she cried. “We weren’t any- anywhere near here when we were- we were jumped!”

“Where’s your pepper spray?! The one Mrs. Summers outfitted with holy water?!”

“Mom made a holy water pepper spray?” Buffy asked, genuinely impressed. “Why doesn’t anyone ever tell me anything?!”

Shivering, she hugged herself, staring down the pair of them. “They destroyed them!” she cried. “They kn- knocked Dawn unc- unconscious, an-  and when I t- tried to use it, the- they kicked me in the wr- wrist, stepped on it, an- an- and now my wrist h- hurts, and I think it’s b- broken.”

“Lemme see,” Buffy confirmed it upon sight, the sickening angle and subsequent bruising all too familiar. “Yeah. Okay, hospital; both of you. You should consider yourselves lucky Xander’s here, and not mom. Cuz if she wasn’t at the movies with Kathy right now, you two would be Rupunzeled until you both go grey!” 

“And in the waiting room” Spike continued, “we’ll have ourselves a frank discussion on your little Houdini act. You think you know a person, and she turns into a bloody criminal overnight!”

“Well,” Charlotte countered, the foot in her mouth not stopping her from being a smartass. “I app- apparently hail from a l- long line of criminals. Bloody, c- comma The.”

“Oh ha, comma bloody ha. Shift it,” he pointed to the exit, shaking his head. “How’d you get soaked? This sodding block doesn’t have running water. Christe, Bit.” Taking off his jacket, he pulled off the overshirt he had on, wrapping it around his kid sis. “You’re shaking like a sodding leaf.”

Her teeth chattered as she followed them out, her brother holding onto her round the shoulders to keep her from careening into the cement floor. “O- one of the v- vampires p- p- poured it o- over u- us. W- w- water bottles. T- the T- T- Toth.” 

Getting them to the car, Buffy and Spike insisted they could handle the walk to the hospital, so long as Xander and Anya didn’t mind taking Gemini with them. And hold the criminals until they could get there. 

Spike turned to his lady, sighing as both teenagers were safe in the backseat, Xander putting down a blanket for warmth- and to protect the seats. “When did we become bloody wardens?”

“You? Recently. I apparently have been since the fall of 2000.” She winked, a playful way to break the ice around his heart. “Come on, let’s get walkin’,” she sighed, watching the pair of friends peel away from the curb. “I don’t want to be stuck in that ER till sunrise.”

 

----------

 

After getting them both looked at, the police had some questions for the girls. Describing the pair of vampires and Mears to the detectives without technically lying, they simply failed to mention the rather… undead nature of their attackers. By some miracle, they hadn’t contracted anything, and had only been damp in the cold for about twenty-six minutes, getting off relatively easy Dawn was treated for her bruises, and Lottie got herself a bright pink cast, pouting adorably when the doctor first insisted on boring white. If only that pout could keep Mrs. Summers’ fury at bay. 

Upon arrival home, the matriarch sent them to the couch, ready to throw her own temper tantrum at not only the girls’ actions, but at the other adults in the house for not calling her sooner! She’d driven to the hospital with a change of clean clothes, Kathy nearly as worried as she was. But once the pair of the teens sat on the couch, their looks sullen, and defeated, she couldn’t find it in her to yell. 

“I- I can’t deal with this,” Joyce sighed. “I just had to choose Sunnydale. Could have gone to Albekerkie, but no ,” she stood, walking towards the stairs, resigned. Kathy’d gone straight to the kitchen to make them some tea, and missed the spectacle. “That wouldn’t be fair to Hank. Wouldn’t be fair to keep him away from his daughters, couldn’t be cruel! Ha!” She shook her head, continuing the muttered conversation with her own psyche, as she meandered up the stairs. “What a joke . Doesn’t call, doesn’t visit, doesn’t write. I damn near died , and he just wouldn’t have been able to justify the drive.”

“Joyce?” Spike followed her, confused. “Where are you going?”

“Me? Bed.” 

“But-”

“You know what?” She turned to the couple in the entryway, looking at them with long suffering exhaustion. “I have the utmost faith that the two of you can come up with a fair and just punishment for our little delinquents over there. You know which ones worked best for you, anyhow. I’m going to bed.”

“Mom, you can’t just-”

“Dawn,” her mother said, voice wavering. “So help me… if you so much as breathe another word, I’ll have your sister wax your head bald, and have you go the rest of the school year wearing Amish clothes.” Dawn’s mouth snapped shut in terror. Mom's anger alert: hide! “Good. Goodnight everyone. Or morning. Whatever. It’s Saturday; I’m sleeping in. Oh,” she stopped a second time. “And I want a long, long, long list of grovelling apologies when I wake up. And I plan on sleeping at least… six hours, so you’ll have some time.” Then she was up the stairs and in her room, door slamming shut behind her. 

“So… for ‘till college?” Charlotte asked, getting a kick from Dawn a moment later. “Ow!”

Chapter 36

Summary:

Charlotte’s birthday in December, and some Christmasy holiday fic: the calm before the storm, as it were. This is a ridiculously long chapter because I no longer care about consistent length, it seems.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Monday, December 9th, 2002

 

Christmas Time was always Anne Pratt’s favourite holiday. When the German princess Charlotte married the British king George, the country gained the new (to them) tradition of dressing up an evergreen tree in the middle of the great room. Something their mother adored doing, once she had her own family. It hadn’t gone up the year Pidge died, nor on their father’s passing, and after he became a vampire, Spike stopped caring about that childish tradition. But Joyce loved it, nearly as much as his own mum had, so picking out the perfect tree was tippity-top of his to-do list. Right after getting his kid sis a perfect birthday gift. Which was turning into its own bloody hassle. 

“Just get her a hat, Spike,” his lady love sighed, as he scowled at yet another shop. They’d gone through every damned store at the mall and downtown, and nothing seemed posh enough for the girl. What did one even get a girl who was mentally both turning eleven years old, stuck in a time of modesty and repression, yet in the body of a near sixteen-year-old, with both hormones and grief ingrained in her DNA? Not a bloody bookmark, that was damn certain. “Willow already got her a book, and a notebook with one of those,” she wiggled her fingers over her closed fist, “feather topped pens all the girls are still using. Plus, I’m sure Xander and Anya’ll just stuff an envelope with some gift cards for clo- ugh, come on!” Buffy dragged him away from the window display of novelty mugs, annoyed at his dillydallying. 

Allowing himself to be manhandled, he stuffed his other hand into his jeans pocket. He hadn’t had the heart to put the duster on since he’d gotten his soul back, opting for the leather jacket he’d gotten from her instead. It was shameful to wear the jacket of the woman he’d killed - the woman who, had he not, his current girl wouldn’t be who she was - especially in front of his impressionable sister, and if he could, he’d burn it. But as it stood, even he couldn’t stomach setting such fine Italian craftsmanship ablaze. Stupid sodding soul makin’ him soft. “Like it’s so easy to get her a hat, and call it a bloody night,” he muttered, eyes haggard. Buffy had been his rock through the whole ordeal. He felt guilt surge up into him at how much she was doing to keep him grounded, but he couldn’t do much else than what he was already doing. No sense prattling about like a pathetic sod. Or getting pished to the gills. 

“She’ll love whatever you get her, because it’ll be from you,” she pushed, dragging him towards the hat store in the mall she’d taken Charlotte to in the past. “And the girls are supposed to still be grounded, remember? Too many presents kinda contradicts that, don’t cha think?”

“And if you missed a hundred and thirty birthdays and Christmases with Dawnie,” he countered with a slight edge. “You’d be fine settlin’ on a single bloody hat?”

She didn’t argue, knowing he was right. God, why did he have to be so right all of a sudden? It was way with the annoying. “Two hats, then,” she said instead, plastering on that thousand watt smile he loved so much. “And you got her that necklace at that last place. Honestly, Bunbury, you’re gonna go broke if you’re not careful.”

She wasn’t wrong. He’d only had the one gig since coming back from his jaunt to the caverns, Arturo having work for a line of men’s rings that only Spike would do for. It had been a subdued shoot, Joyce keeping a close eye while her daughter busied herself with keeping the rest of the demon population in check. As a result, his cash flow was rapidly dwindling, excluding Lottie’s ‘shoe inheritance’. “Thank my lucky stars your mum was smarter than I am, and already put some of it aside for Pidge’s schooling,” he muttered, looking around the fluorescent lit hat shop as they stepped inside, suddenly overwhelmed by the selection. And the electrics. “Bollocks. I didn’t expect it to be….”

“So big?” He nodded numbly. “I know, it’s like Hat-stock in here. C’mon. She liked these ones last time, but they only had them in brown- you know how much she hates wearing brown.”

He had a hard time picking something out of the mass amounts of styles and colours, part of him still loathe to believe Charlotte was becoming a modern girl. Still picturing her with ribbons in her hair, nattering his ears off about how aggravating Anastasia was, then motionless, in her coffin. Now, an enigma of unanswered questions, and breathtaking zest for life that rivalled all the Scoobies- combined. Made any bloke dazed, vamp or not. Much like Dawnie, in a way. He lingered amongst the fascinators, though their selection was geared towards grannies, not teenagers besotted with glitter gel pens, Dawson’s Creek, and glow in the dark stickers. Eventually - after Buffy explained his sister’s eclectic style to the employee offering them help - he settled on a simple one with a few feathers, a package of satin butterfly clips, and one of silk rosettes to add into her hair. If she wanted to decorate herself like a gaudy Patty Pocket doll, so be it. 

“So, who’s coming to her party again?” she asked, walking hand in hand with their purchases back to the house. Spike had been reluctant to drive the DeSoto since coming home, something about the suspension needing work or whatever, but she had a feeling there was more to that story than he was letting on. Still, she didn’t push. Not on this. The night air was perfect, and it gave them much needed one-on-one time, which was practically nonexistent since Lottie moved in. “Scoobies are down, though Giles said he’s not planning on staying long. I think maybe Olivia and him are on the outs right now.”

Spike snorted, rolling his eyes as he adjusted his grip on the bags in his other hands. They weren’t too heavy for the vampire, but the handles were made of that stupid raffia paper that dug into his rings, getting caught up between metal and skin. Slayer had insisted he put some of them on, so she could hold his hand and feel the familiar cold steel against her palm- to ground her. But he was starting to regret putting them on his dominant hand. The handles kept catching, rubbing uncomfortably against his fingers. Still, he had to admit, it was a miniscule comfort to remind himself it wasn’t the agony of undergoing the trials. “There’s a shocker of a headline,” he answered dryly. “She never was a fan of Sunnydale. ‘Specially after the mess of the Gentlemen.” They turned down their street, 1630 coming into view a handful of houses ahead. “Uh, he’s still bringing the piñata, yeah? Little madam’s determined on getting it exactly as she sketched out ”

“Duh. He got it custom, just like she wanted. A sweet sixteen with a piñata,” she grinned. “And all I got was expelled.”

Spike snorted, rolling his eyes. “And not even a gift receipt attached? Shame, that.” He squeezed her hand gently thrice, his silent ‘I love you’ to his lady. She reciprocated right back, smiling at him with the level of affection and understanding that may have made his knees a little weak. Just for a split second, of course. He was still tough as nails. “The mini Scoobies will be there, too. Tommy’s bringin’ some bloke named Koana who competed with- er, against her at semi-finals, and I think some girls from the chess team, but I can’t remember a single of their sodding names.” 

“Um, Kelsey, maybe? Or Karen? I dunno either. She’s really expanded that team, so we might need name tags. Or I’ll be calling them all ‘hey you’ all night.”

“Mmm. Effective, to the point, works for me.”

Rolling her eyes, she slowed her steps deliberately. “I know this isn’t the best time to bring this up,” she sighed, stopping them a house away from their own, turning to look at him more clearly. And, uh-oh. Slayer had that look in her eyes. “But I think maybe we should revisit the moving idea again.”

“Buffy…”

“I just think they need more room!” She felt the start of their weeks long argument bloom to the surface again, not bothering to stop it anymore. If she caused a scene, then she caused a stinking scene! But maybe hold back a little, she thought. Full out screaming match in front of the Rogers’ place isn’t on the schedze today. Or any day. “Two teenage girls in that tiny space? It’s a minor miracle they haven’t killed each other yet!” Or just do whatever you want, Buffy. Yeah, way to play it cool. 

“And I keep on telling you,” he responded with half his usual gusto. “That I ain’t sleeping in a lilac covered teenie bopper room.”

“Paint exists, you know.”

“And deal with the fumes for a week? Rather inhale Harris’ constipated cheese farts.”

Buffy smiled, that twinkle in her eye telling him that he was about to lose the sodding argument before she opened her pretty little mouth. “It would make the bestest Christmas gift to them both.”

Bollocks. There it was. Her sense making at its finest. Christ, but he hated when she won. “Can’t- I don’t want- We just got the bookcase in there looking the way- argh! Fine!” he scowled. “You win, again.”

She leaned in, kissing his nose, gentle and quick. “We all win, boyfriend mine,” she said simply, his insides melting just a bit. He loved being called hers, especially when she was the one openly expressing it, unprompted. Made him feel all manly and wanted. “The girls don’t drive us nuts, and we get to have the room with the bigger closet.”

“And they get the room with the easy escape access, for when they want to sneak out in the dead of night,” he smugly added.

Her grin slipped off her face, forgetting completely about that little caveat. “Oh, crap. Dammit! Ugh, fine. I’ll talk to mom about her switching with them again. Dammit, how could I forget about old oaky?!”

“That’s not an oak.”

“Whatever. Ugh. Mom’s gonna be peeved. She really loves that wallpaper, you know.” He hummed in affirmation, climbing the steps with her. Opening the door, she barely noticed the mess until she stepped onto a piece of foam, the crunch of packing peanuts all too familiar. “I just hope they don’t stick us with tearing it all… down… uh, what the hell happened here?”

As if a hurricane of packing peanuts had blown through, every inch of the entryway was covered in the tiny pieces, the styrofoam stuck to their shoes as they entered the house. The mess spilled into the dining room, and down the side hallway, to the alcove that Joyce envisioned as an office for herself, once upon a time. Dawn bounded down the stairs, her hair a mess where it hung in twin braids by her ears. “Hey! Woah, did you guys get all your shopping done at once? Geez, you could have left some stuff for the rest of the town to buy.”

“Ha bloody ha, Niblet. Answer big sis’ question, ‘fore I make you carry all this up the stairs.”

Rolling her eyes, she adjusted her sleeves where they were tucked up. She’d been doing a whole lotta something, if the dust on her pants had something to say about it. “Oh, mom’s switching rooms with us,” she said simply, like it was common sense. What else would prompt the siege of polystyrene in the entryway?

“Thank Christ for that,” he muttered, the couple’s twin sighs of relief palpable in the chilled air.

Buffy gestured to the floor with her boot, trying to step in a way that didn’t track up the little things through the entire house. It was way with the impossible, but she still tried. “And the foam litter?”

“Oh, uh… she ordered a new lamp and, um, Gem kinda had a bit too much fun with the unpacking.” Like he’d been summoned, Gemini’s tiny cat head popped up out of one of the boxes in the dining room, packing peanuts spraying out, the meow he let out both long and excited. Whatever the hell kinda mad science experiment the animal had been part of, the Frankenstein who stitched him together never took the being’s fondness of play out of the equation. Buffy had genuinely never seen any animal so excited as she did Gemini, his fat little cat butt wiggling, as he let the foam bits consume him into their depths. If they ever unleashed him in a Chucky Cheese ball pit, he might never come home. “I’ll… go get the vacuum.” 

“You do that.”

“Oh! And she ordered new wallpaper. Said you two have to put it up in her new room, cuz she refuses to ‘relive her band candy days’, whatever that means.”

The adults groaned, but trudged up the stairs regardless. Best get the crap out of the way now, before they had to go out and patrol (and maybe an extended makeout when they could sneak one in). It was a pretty late start for them, but it wasn’t like she could take her boyfriend shopping in the middle of the day. The mall had skylights . “Oh, you’re back!” her mother exclaimed as she caught them in the hallway. “Great! When you’re done with that stuff, come help me move the beds.”

Buffy huffed in frustration at the order. “We have Patrol, and-”

“Giles and Xander took it. Come on.”

The Slayer scowled at her mother’s back, but followed her into the master bedroom anyway. “You hoisted off my sacred duty so I could move your bed?!”

“No, I asked your friend and Watcher to handle slaying some low level fledges, so my super strong family members could help me rearrange our sleeping situations, thus limiting the chances that the two teenagers in our house might end up killing each other in their cramped room, down to about twelve percent,” she countered, handing Buffy a box of her dresser drawer contents. “Spike’s old bed barely fits in there with Dawn’s anyhow, and there’s no way it’d be up to code. I’m not going to make you move the dressers at least, even though this one’s my favourite. Besides, would you rather I make you two switch with them instead?”

The responding sigh was followed by an eye roll, both of which Buffy couldn’t care she’d given her mother. She was planning on studying for her finals after her slayage, but she had to probably settle on a much longer night than previously thought. “Fine. But I’m not putting up that wallpaper. That glue smells like death, and I think I’m kind of an authority on that smell now, miss missy.”

“It’s peel and stick,” Joyce countered with a cheeky grin of her own, knowing exactly how to play her cards right with her eldest. 

Spike snorted as he entered the room, taking the clothes Joyce motioned to lay on their bed, still on the hangers. “I’ll do it, J. But after the holidays. Slayer’s got finals to cram for, and we’ve got some slaying to do that Harris and Watcher man ain’t qualified for.”

“That better not be code for sexual congress,” Lottie called from the hallway in front of the purple room, her uncasted arm laden with her own clothes. She’d amassed a decent collection since moving in, including a pair of slacks she called her ‘serious women trousers’ that she’d worn to three different tests. Apparently, they were somewhat of a good luck charm- in addition to the extra cramming. ‘Cept now they looked less serious, barely hanging onto their own hanger as she put them in their box. “Because despite how old I look, I still think it’s, as Dawn says, ‘way with the yucky’ .”

“I didn’t say that! I said it was gross when I can hear them goin-”

“Okay!” their mother interrupted, shaking her head. Teenagers. “Let’s just finish up so we can get to sleep before one in the morning.” 

 

----------

 

Sitting outside for his tobacco fix, Spike didn’t need any warning to extinguish the smoke before she came through the back door, her heartbeat easily telling him where she was heading to the second she entered through the kitchen. “Hey, got room for one more?”

Turning, he smiled at his friend, dragging the patio chair cushion off the adirondack chair, and laid it on the porch next to him. “Course.” It would do well to have her outside any road. It quieted his thoughts, having her near. 

Joyce sat heavily on the cushion, sighing as she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Breezes were getting chillier, but she wasn’t breaking out the winter sweaters. Yet. “Were the stores crowded tonight?”

He shrugged, looking off into the trees of the neighbour’s house beyond the property border. “A bit. No incidents, so that’s a relief.”

She hummed next to him, toeing the wooden step with her shoe. She knew how bad he was with crowds since his soul was reinstalled, but he’d put off avoiding them long enough. He’d all but stopped going to his meetings, not just of the support group variety, but his poker and bowling games, too. It was too much, but she knew it wasn’t going to get her anywhere if she pushed. Instead, she settled for breezier topics, until he looked less ready to bolt. “I got the decorations for the party in the Jeep, and Tara’s picking up the cake the day of. Charlotte said she’d not fussy with food, so long as we have popcorn and pizza. Does she like peaches? Cuz Kathy’s bringing her peach cobbler.”

“A peach cobbler she can’t even eat?” Spike asked, perplexed. “Does your big sis have some kinda weird torture fetish we don’t know about?”

“Ewww! Spike, that’s disgusting!” She wrinkled her nose at the vampire, feeling queasy at the mere thought. “No, she’s making it with Sweet n Low instead. Don’t even joke about that.”

He snorted, rolling his shoulders out. “She shouldn’t go through so much trouble. Still rebuilding her life, yeah? Gotta prioritise her spending.”

“This is how she shows her love, S,” she sighed, lost in her own memory lane. Their littlest sister had big sis for the past two weeks, and the constant back and forth was making Joyce a little edgy. “Arlene and I were always the closer ones, and Kathy had to be the oldest, had to shoulder everything when our parents died. Their business, their home, her own business and marriage. She ended up kinda… shutting down when mom finally passed. And then with Celia…” she shivered. No matter how much time passed her by, Joyce could never unsee the still form of the girl, never breathing, or laughing, or crying again. It was a miracle Kathy didn’t turn feral after that. She would. Joyce absolutely would have. It was the image burned into her mind’s eye when she sent her daughters away with Spike, praying it wouldn’t be their reality. “She shows her love by feeding people, and doing things. She’s barely said the words ‘I love you’ since she lost her daughter.” She shivered at the memory. The teeny tiny casket her niece was lowered into, her sister’s vacant stare that didn’t get any better, as hours turned to months. 

The fight between Joyce, Hank, Arlene, Dave, and Kevin to ship her off to a full time facility had been an epic one. She was surprised the neighbours hadn’t called the police on them. Especially when the shouting had escalated, Kevin throwing his fist into Hank’s jaw. Hanks’s own fault, really. Insinuating that Kevin should have sent her to the ‘nuthouse’ the second he noticed the rapid decline of his wife’s mental health was so NOT the way to go, m’kay. It was a damn good thing she never had to share a bed with her ex ever again, or else Joyce might be tempted to smother the jerk in his sleep. Not that she would, but she’d be tempted. “Even if she doesn’t eat it herself, she’ll make it for her family. The fact that she’s offering to make it for Charlotte is a pretty big deal, but if Lottie doesn’t like peaches-”

“She likes ‘em,” he nodded decisively. “Strawberries, too. Not bananas. Think she might be allergic, though I don’t rightly know what an allergic reaction sodding looks like. Do bleeding gums count as an allergy?”

“Uh, yeah!”

“Then she’s allergic to ‘em.”

“Okay. Got it. No banana pudding, check.” Laughter emanated from the living room where the girls were watching a movie, Buffy studying upstairs. “She’s happy here, isn’t she?”

That earned her a grin from the vampire, who’d been uncharacteristically stoic in the past few weeks. “Yeah. That she is. Hard not to be, in the presence of the Summers family,” he knocked shoulders with his friend, relieved as all hell that she was still breathing. He’d miss her terribly, that was for certain. But those girls… first two, now three. All would be devastated if she- No, he reminded himself. Don’t go down that road, plonker. Nothin’ good comes from that. “Can attest to that myself.”

“Good.”

 

----------

 

Saturday, December 14th, 2002

 

The party was well and truly underway by the time Giles got to Joyce’s front door. Her request to find a piñata in the shape of the queen from Charlotte’s favourite chess set had been difficult, but it was the one thing asked of him- the girl vehemently declining any other present from the man. He’d called around, and finally found a shop who had a plethora of what the owner called ‘reject piñatas’, on account of most children requisitioning literally any other kind of party decorations, other than chess sets. Still, he brought it, pre-filled with the girl’s favourite sweets, hoping she’d be thankful for his effort. Things had strained between them after Buffy informed the girl of what Rupert had regretfully said a year and a half ago, and he hoped the olive branch would be accepted, so they could move forwards. He found Charlotte rather delightful, and incredibly bright, despite her constant interrupting and naïveté. She had a genuine thirst for knowledge like Willow used to, although he was rather grateful that their little Curly Sue didn’t find magic as fascinating as the redhead. They didn’t need another witch to have to keep under wraps. 

“A piñata?” Carlos asked, eyebrows raised as he opened the door for the librarian. It seemed Rupert was far later than he assumed. Everyone else was already in attendance, as far as he could tell. So much for fashionably late, he mused bitterly. “Aren’t we a little too old for that?”

“Speak for yourself,” Marigold or Marnie said, he couldn’t remember the girl’s name. “We get to hit something really hard, and candy pops out. Win-win for me.” She snorted as she saw the shape, making like the Cheshire cat with her broad grin. “Oh, man . I gotta take a picture of that to show Bradley on Monday. He’s gonna flip when he sees it. His old man was beggin’ places to find him a chess themed balloon set for his birthday in May, and no one could do it. Where’d you find this?”

“Next town over,” Giles said simply, setting it down on the dining room table. “The owner had a great deal of chess themed party items she said she’d had for years. Perhaps Bradley’s father did not search as hard as he claimed to have.”

“No kidding.” Kit bounced over to look at the cardboard and crepe paper appreciatively. “Oh, I don’t think we have anything to put into- it’s already filled, isn’t it?” Giles nodded. “Cuz Charlotte wanted it filled with her faves, right? You’re still on the grovel train?”

He hummed. “Midnight express, it seems.” 

Humming back, the girl offered him a soda while he busied himself with finding a spot for his coat. They'd done an exceptional job in decorating the house, little chess themed cutouts for the walls, a checkered tablecloth on the dining room table, and twisted black and white streamers everywhere. “We also have a pot of tea in the kitchen. Like, an actual teapot and cup set.” He looked at her curiously, but she simply shrugged. “It was on her wishlist, so Tom and Kanoa found a set for her. So, ya know, I don’t have to tell you to keep it away from Mr. Butterfingers.”

“Hey!” Thomas shouted from inside the living room, the doors closed for a change, to keep noise low. Not that it worked much. “I said I was sorry! It- it was an accident! I swear on my grandma’s cherry pie recipe!”

He was about to ask what the fuss was all about, when the birthday girl herself arrived. Dressed in a clash of florals and rainbows, she looked like a children’s craft show exploded on her person. Not that he would mention that, with how happy she looked in clothes she picked all on her own. Buffy looked so heartbroken when she’d told her Watcher about the state the young girl had been living in. But he hadn’t noticed the full extent quite as he did when he’d seen ‘Dr. Ashley Smith’ at the Espresso Pump one afternoon, and nearly slapped the woman in the middle of the café. The so-called doctor wore high quality clothing, designer shoes and handbag to match. While Charlotte stood next to her, slouching as if the world had robbed all her joy, dress and cardi in a state of disrepair, shoes worn down to the sole. He knew there was neglect, but this was obscene. Worse than the kind Willow had faced in school (which was saying something), and worse still, than the blonde ever let on. 

If she wanted to dress like a five year old’s Barbie doll, complete with stickers on her casted arm, so be it. She looked happy, and well fed for the first time in a long time, her brother, Joyce, and their Slayer ensuring she was well taken care of. Spike, a good brother, he thought with an internal scoff. The Council would never believe it. But then again, this vampire’s always keeping us on our bloody toes. At least the leech had his soul now- earned at that. No need for alarm in case it was whisked away, because it wasn’t volatile. It was stuck, just like his sister was. “Happy birthday, Charlotte,” he greeted, the girl bounding down the stairs with a goth looking girl behind her. “I hope this is to your satisfaction,” he gestured to the piñata on the table awkwardly. “If not, I-”

Charlotte was not a child - or teenager - who normally screamed. She barely made noises of squealing, that was for certain. But the high pitched exclamation of joy at the sight of what Mr. Giles brought was definitely emanating from the sort-of sixteen-year-old. “Oh! It’s absolutely perfect! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Her arms were not weak, not with the training Buffy had insisted on giving her. She wasn’t well enough to Patrol like the others, but she was doing better, it seemed, based on how hard she was squeezing the man. “Could we play now?”

Joyce shrugged, watching as both Xander and Giles got rope to set it up. “So long as no one gets hurt, sure. Just not in here. Basement or outside: take your pick.”

“Are you nuts?” Carlos snorted, immediately regretting the decision. “S- sorry, Mrs. S, but it’s way too cold out for Lottie’s lungs, isn’t it?”

“I’m not a baby,” she pouted, crossing her arms at the boy’s comment. “I can handle a bit of a breeze. I did grow up in London, after all. This weather’s closer to our late spring mornings than it does December. Once, I had to drag our dear kitten - Mrs. Whiskers - out of a snow drift, saving her from great peril. In my combinations!”

Rolling his eyes, Spike didn’t answer the queries of the boys asking what ‘combinations’ were, knowing full well that everytime she told the story, she added more danger than there actually was. The cat wasn’t in any sodding peril. She was in four, maybe five inches of snow. It wasn’t dangerous, but the old kitten had sore paws, and only Pidge and da were allowed to pick up the feline. And she wasn’t in her combinations, because A. they hadn’t been bloody invented yet, and B. even if they had been, she’d have been too sodding young to have mother allow her to wear ’em! Waving them along, he led the blokes to the lower level. 

Since moving back upstairs for good, he’d turned the basement into a bit of a training spot for the girls. Buffy definitely showed her thanks for the new set up, especially the Wing Chung. Most of the gear was pushed to the side now, Joyce suggesting it in case Giles pulled through. The mats were haphazardly laying about, but the blokes would earn their keep, move them out of the way. After all, their queen/chess club prezzie Lottie was the belle of the ball, and quite a few of the less fair sex were under her thumb. Tommy and his ‘friend of Dorothy’ were already making the night worthwhile for the birthday girl, proving to her vampire brother that they really did have the best intentions at heart. Carlos, on the other hand, while helpful, was too busy trying to impress the girls on the chess team, thus had missed the cue, and ended up being smacked unintentionally by Joyce as she handed Tom a few sticks. Well, an old broom handle, a few cheap golf clubs, and an old dowel that used to be a curtain rod. It became pricey living in a house with the Slayer. Something was always trying to break through a window.  

Once the carpenter and the shopkeeper got the piñata into position, the stage was set, and the director looked upon her soon to be masterpiece with glee. Charlotte practically vibrated with excitement, never having the opportunity to smash a bit of cardboard for candy before, and happily chatted with the ladies at the foot of the stairs. Closer to the washer, the boys were debating some inane topic, the vampire joining them whilst he had the opening. Leaning towards the boys, Spike hissed, “if Lottie doesn’t get the final strike, I’ll make sure none of you sleeps without a sodding diaper again.”

Carlos snorted while the others paled at the threat. Mr. Linebacker knew damn well about his chip, and was making him look an utter dunce now. “Like any of us are stupid enough to take that away from her. Look at her,” he gestured to see where Kit and some other goth girl were spinning their blindfolded gal in circles, before letting her go towards the piñata, cheap golf club in hand. She staggered a bit as she swung blindly with her good arm, laughing the whole way. “She’s missed enough birthday blowouts, and we’re not killjoys.”

“Besides,” the boy he was sure Tommy was dating piped up. “Dawn already promised she’d ‘make it look like an accident’ if we didn’t let Charlotte win. And she genuinely terrifies me.”

Eyes flitting over to where Dawn was snapping photos with her digital camera, Spike felt pride bloom in his chest. Bloody hell, he shook his head, watching her nearly trip on Gemini’s dog body where he was splayed on the floor, the mutt getting his belly rubbed by Willow and one of Pidge’s chess club friends. Buffy and I created a monster. Is this what fatherhood feels like? Which was a barmy thought. Him? A father?! Barmier than a bum in a boat factory! Never gonna happen. But he couldn’t stop picturing it. 

Since his kid sis wouldn’t drop the topic of little nippers running underfoot, he felt like a complete ponce knowing he could never give his woman that kinda future. And God, they’d make beautiful babies together. A little girl with her mouth, his eyes, her mother’s curls, his father’s chin… oh, she’d be the envy of the world. And a son with his love of poetry, her adoration of skating, and her eyes, with that quirk of her mouth… When they weren’t white-hating it, they could build good memories, take them all to cheese festivals, and museums, and marking their heights on the wall the way father used to do, and watching them learn how to play football- proper English football, and teach them good music and its history… Yeah. He reckoned they’d make perfect babies. 

But it was a fool’s goal. Being a vampire meant his swimmers were DOA the second his heart stopped beating. Even if Red could magic up some anti-Durex spell, there was no chance in hell she’d go for it. Either Willow in casting it, or Buffy in agreeing to it. She’d said it herself: she killed her goldfish, and every flower he’d ever given her. A baby? That was too much to bear the thought of ever letting down. 

So absorbed in his thoughts, he barely noticed the change in company, until he felt the warm hand on his bicep. “Are you alright?”

Inhaling unnecessarily, he turned to Tara where she looked on in concern at his side, the boys now having a go at the piñata, and faking their hits to ensure minimal damage. “Fine. It’s a party, ain’t it?”

“Mmm…” 

“What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I just said mmm.”

“Yeah… but that was your ‘I don’t believe you mmmm,’ not your ‘I’m simply listening to you mmmm’, so spit it out,” he sighed, plucking the bottle of beer Xander held out of his hand as he walked by, ignoring the carpenter’s protests. “What is it?”

She waited until the man got back to holding the other end of the rope, further away, so they’d be alone in the corner again. “Your aura.”

“My… aura.” Her nod cleared up none of that. “What’s wrong with it? Too evil for the festivities?”

“N- not that. Just… I’m getting a lot of… of longing. From you,” she hedged carefully. “It- it’s really um, strong.”

“Ah.” Blast! And he was so hoping he played it cool. Damned the new soul making him want impossible, barmy shite. “Just… family,” he shrugged, picking absently at the label. “‘S a lot, yeah?”

She shrugged back, looking back at the teens spinning one another, before taking another whack at the chess piece. While they were closer to adulthood mentally than Lottie was, the piñata didn’t seem childish one bit. It made her wonder if adult parties should have them now and again, but filled with something more grownup. Crystals would be bad, and cash seemed... “More than that,” she said instead of continuing on with her pointless mental piñata musings. “Can… Do you want to.. sit outside for a bit? W- would that help?”

God, and what would that solve? Wouldn’t make him sodding human, with a lady who might one day want to have his sprog, now, would it? “No,” he clenched out. “It’s Pidge’s birthday. I’m staying put. Missed out on enough of ‘em already.” 

“Okay,” she agreed, watching the girls laugh as Tommy tried to block a hit that was heading for them, only for the would-be assailant to trip on his own two feet, and crash into Carlos. “B- but if you change your mind, or n- need to talk… I’m very good at keeping secrets, you know.”

“Yeah, ducks,” he grinned sadly. “I remember. ‘S why I respect you so much.”

“Wh- what?” Of all the things he could have said to her, she really wasn’t expecting that. “I.. don’t understand.”

Sighing, he gestured to Dawn, the one woman photography team, snapping pics wherever an opportunity presented itself. “You took a hit for her, knowing you likely wouldn’t survive. I’m a vampire, and even I was bloody frightened by that permed bitch psycho.” Spike admitted it so freely, she wondered if he practised the speech in front of a mirror. Er, camera. “But you… you’ve got a moral compass and you’re fiercely loyal, which comes in handy, being a vamp in need of a cricket on his shoulder, to counteract the demon on the other. Plus,” he gestured to his sister, bounding over to them excitedly. “Pidge likes you, and trusts you nearly as much as Dawnie does. Not easy, if you ask me.”

“Hitting the piñata?” Lottie asked, a little breathless from all the laughing. “It may be a touch difficult, but therein lies the fun! Tara,” she grinned, fascinator tilted amusingly to the right as it slipped off her head. The older girl adjusted it for her, the teen chattering happily as she rocked back and forth on her feet. “Will you play with us? I do believe the inner structures have weakened, and if you go before me, it’ll break the second I hit it.”

“I- I think I better not,” she grimaced, showing off the sore hand, fingers from ring to index a bright pink. “I kinda banged it in the silverware drawer earlier.”

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry!” she replied, taking the hand and blowing a kiss on it. “There. I may not be a witch, but I do know a little magic.” Her grin was wide as she looked proud of the little joke.

The grownups chuckled with her, shaking their heads in mirth. “Oh, much better. B- but I think your friend Casey hasn’t gone yet, a- and she looks like she’s itching to go.”

Turning back around, she looked to see Casey eyeing the piece curiously, and resigned herself to make a good example. “Of course. Thank you!” She hugged the witch suddenly, gripping her around the middle with her good arm, then dashing off to her friend. “Hey! Casey hasn’t had a go yet!”

“You’re good with them,” he noted. 

Shrugging, she avoided his gaze as she watched the perky girl blindfold her friend, a sharp contrast of aesthetics between them. “Spent a lot of time babysitting wh- when I w- l- lived b- back home,”

“Tara,” he broached carefully, knowing if he spooked her, Pidge would have a meltdown, and then both girls would be wrecked. “This is your home now, innit?” She nodded. Smiling softly, she didn’t look away as Casey genuinely tried to kill the chess piece, missing only by a scant inch. “You’re allowed to live, you know, how you want now.” Soundin’ like one of H’Lenna’s sodding books, he thought bitterly. But he finished his thought, his consciousness or soul pushing it outta his mouth, without much resistance. Even though the chit was barely looking at him. “Free will, and the like.”

Humming, she waited until Charlotte went up to bat. This time, after she finished spinning. She waited until she got her balance, before raising the golf club higher. Swinging down, the witch knew she was gonna miss, but with a split second, the rope twitched, and the piñata swung a bit into her downward trajectory, shattering. Candy went flying, the kids descending on it like murder of crows, Lottie squealing in glee as she joined them, blindfold slipped down around her neck. 

“Did you just…?” he started asking, seeing her face knit in confusion at the scene. She shook her head, trying to figure it out herself, the pair looking at Giles. “Oh, the pity party passenger is on an express route of grovelling, ain’t he?” The Watcher winked at them, cementing their theory of the sudden death of Mister Chess piece. 

Giggling, she gestured to Xander, the man winking at them far less subtly. “Looks like he’s j- joined by Conductor Xander,” she watched the carpenter pick up a strewn candy near his foot, unwrapping it to pop in his mouth. His face scrunched in confusion with a pinch of disgust as he meandered to them. “What’s wrong? Au de Basement get on the candy?”

“No,” he hesitantly said, letting the sugary treat roll around in his gob. “Just… is it supposed to taste like this?” Picking up a few stranglers near them, he offered one to each of them, the pair popping one into their mouths. “Well?”

Shrugging, Tara seemed unphased. “Tastes fine to me. Kinda got a hit to it, b- but I like it. It’s like Red Hots, but… mellowed, ya know?”

Spike grunted. “Same as ever. They haven’t changed their sodding recipe in fifteen decades.” 

“Man, you two are nuts. It tastes like old lady purse candy from when Hoover wa- hey, birthday girl!” he exclaimed, trying to change the topic before her feelings got hurt. “So, Miss Pratt, tell your adoring public what your first piñata experience was like,” he demanded good naturedly, holding out the broom handle like a microphone. 

Giggling, she took it with gusto. “Well, Mr. Harris,” she announced, playing into the game of field journalist, with the level of childlike flair that Spike had missed seeing in her. “It’s a beautiful evening here in the Summers Family basement, and the crowd is absolutely spectacular! A once in a lifetime opportunity to ensure a swift victory among the youth of Sunnydale, and one we intend to maintain for many years to come. We may not have won the gold today,” she held up the little bag with her candy rattling around inside, the cacophony of colours blinding her Paint It Black brother. “But we sure did win the silver. Back to you in the studio, Alex.”

Snorting, he high fived the girl, who then gave one to Tara and her brother. “How about we bring the party back upstairs for cake and presents?”

“Okay!” Bounding up the stairs, her brother stepped quickly, arms catching her armpits as she missed a step and nearly crashed into it face first. Yelping, she got upright, shaking her head. Cobwebs cleared, she offered him a sheepish smile. “Thank you.”

“No running on the stairs, lest a beastie’s chasing you. And Harris is still human, last I checked.” 

Shaking her head, she continued up the rest of the way, linking arms with Kit when she came to grab the birthday girl at the top of the stairs. 

Tara, as promised, had picked up the cake Joyce had ordered from the bakers earlier in the day, and much like the rest of the party theme, it was shaped like a chess board. The little checkered squares were perfect for portioning slices, and the candle shaped like pieces took forever to light, but when she was illuminated by the glow, Spike couldn’t give a toss. His sister was safe, she wasn’t dying, and she was happy. Kathy had even beamed at her when she’d hugged the older woman, excited to have some world famous peach cobbler. Buffy lay her head on his bicep as they watched, and he felt at peace. Even if it were only for a brief moment, because as much as he loved his sister, he couldn’t stand her choices in birthday cake flavours. Honestly, carrot cake?! God, she was like an eighty-five year old retiree. 

Having her open presents in front of others wasn’t going to happen, according to her, as it was impolite. But then Kit insisted she at least open the biggest one, which turned out to be a not so great idea, because Gemini immediately took a shine to it, dragging the beige Chupalla hat through the house amidst teenager screechings. 

Eventually, the hat was rescued - though full of Gem’s slobber - and the party continued. Charlotte - much to the chagrin of her brother - had developed a taste for pop music, the noise grating as it pumped through the stereo. Least she had the common sense to like some British artists, even if one was called ‘posh spice’ . And while she was an excellent and smooth chess player, she did not have the inherent skill of dancing smoothly. In fact, her YMCA was more of a WOCA than anything, and her cabbage patch was closer to a field of recently germinated sprouts, but she was having too much fun to care. Even when Dawn kept snapping extremely unflattering photos of her. Joyce - bless her- managed to get some nicer shots, and as he sat down with Tara to teach Kit and Los how Whist was played, he saw true happiness in his sister. It’d been far too bloody long since he’d seen it last. 

 

----------

 

Buffy was happy. She was allowed to be, right? Even with the headache she woke up with, the nightmare leaving her mouth drier than dirt, she felt pretty good. Dawn had really pulled through with her on the decorations, and Lottie hugged each of them no less than three times! for the party. The Smiths ‘didn’t believe in silly parties for children’, surprise, surprise. But still, the girl told them she’d be happy with some pizza, cake, and a piñata. She tried to make a big fuss of them doing more than the bare minimum, but once Dawn reminded her that they were family, and ‘this is what family does, Lottie,’ the teenager smiled through happy tears. Already, the girl started planning on how to top it for Buffy’s own day, which they held off on discouraging her over just yet. Right now, it was just about the kid being a kid. 

Entering the room, she found her boyfriend chatting up her aunt and Kit, gravitating over. Leaning against his side, she smiled up at him coyly, a little more relaxed than she’d been an hour earlier. “Well, you survived the unspeakable horrors of yet another teenager’s birthday party. Not as bad as you thought, right?” 

“Mmm.” Turning his head, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “If we had that bloody hat-making farce on our hands, I’m not so sure we’d be singing the same tune.”

Groaning next to them, Joyce rolled her eyes heavensward. “The second I heard ‘glitter’, I knew I had to put my foot down.”

“Smart thinking, Mrs. S. There’s a reason they call glitter the herpes of craft supplies-  no matter how hard you try to get rid of it, it always comes back.” 

About to ream the carpenter out for bringing that up, and just when they were having a bally good time of it, he was interrupted by a boy taller than him. “Umm, Mr. Spike, sir?”

“Yeah, Tom?” he asked the boy, the kid fidgeting where he stood.  

“I, uh, I think Lottie’s had a umm, a bit too much sugar.”

Looking over, the adults found young Thomas was in fact correct. Laying with her head over the back of the leather armchair, her curls hanging below her in a curtain, her eyes were wide as saucers. Nearing closer, they noticed her blink, scowling a moment later. “Drat! That’s three games you’ve won now, Gem! So unfair!”

“Uh… Pidge? Who’re you talkin’ to?”

“Gemini. He’s right over there.”  

Turning around, they watched as she pointed to a framed photo of the pet, the real Gemini sitting curled up in a ball on the couch. In the opposite direction. She was having a bloody staring contest with a sodding photograph. “That’s not…. Alright, c’mon. Up. You’re cut off, young lady.”

“NO!” Wrenching herself from her brother’s hands, she stood on the armchair. “You can’t catch me, I’m the chess Queen!” Taking two steps away, a wave of vertigo knocked her down, her good arm just barely stopping her from bashing her face into the wooden floor. “Ow.”

Rolling his eyes, Spike scooped up his teenie bopper sister into his arms. “Alright, party’s over.”

“Noooooooooo, come off it!” she whined, pouting. “Please, please, please! I’ll be good, I promise!”

Kathy chuckled next to her sister, watching as the teenager tried to slither out of her brother’s grasp. “Remember that year Arlene got into all the Halloween candy that one night, and decided on having a free for all?”

Gasping, she gripped her sister’s sleeve instinctually. “YES! We had to spend Thanksgiving in the ER, waiting for her stomach to be pumped. Second worst thanksgiving ever.”

Xander blinked, beer halfway to his mouth before stopping. “God, I probably shouldn’t ask, but I gotta know. Cuz my worst one was where I got syph- uh, I mean,” he backpedalled, clearing his throat. He so wasn’t about to bring up the day of a thousand diseases. “What was the worst?”

“Uncle Greg set fire to the Station Wagon.”

“On… purpose?” Kit looked genuinely concerned. 

Shaking her head, Kathy put a comforting arm around the girl. “No, he was trying to deep fry the bird in the driveway. It did NOT end well.”

“The fire marshals came,” Joyce continued, watching as Thomas and Dawn followed the Pratts closely behind, Carlos snapping pictures of Lottie’s attempt to do the Worm while in someone else’s arms. “Dad and uncle Greg started arguing about the fine.”

“Aunt Gertrude slapped mom,” Kathy shook her head. “It was a whole thing. This was before the kids were born, or else uncle Greg would have ended up being iced out of the family forever, instead of the decade he got.”

“Oh, man, I remember that stupid contract dad made us sign!” Joyce shook her head as she turned to Giles and Buffy. “It said we couldn’t play with our own cousins, or speak to them in any way, shape, or form until Greg paid for the repairs and the new car: in full. That’s why Kathy and our cousin Karen learned morse code. So we could use dad’s old telegraph machine in the store.”

“Seriously?!”

Kathy nodded. “Yup. Karen ended up using that skill to work for the National Coast Guard, telegraphing ships and stuff. I’m really rusty, or else I’d call her up for work. Still, Charlotte’s not going to forget that tummy ache so soon.”

“Nope.”

 

----------

 

Sunday, December 15th, 2002

 

Charlotte awoke with the most overwhelming sense of nausea in her stomach, threatening to burst forth. “Oh, no.” Jumping from bed, she hurtled herself out of the bedroom she shared with her best friend, barreled down the hall, and barely made it to the toilet, before unloading her stomach into the porcelain bowl. “Ick.”

“Lottie, are you- oh, boy.” Dawn pulled blonde hair back from her friend’s face, securing it with one of the big claw clips she’d gifted the blonde with the night prior. “Overdid it on the sweet, sweet sugary goodness, huh?”

“Don’t say sugar.”

“Kay.”

After puking up everything, Dawn helped her tidy herself up, before the pair slowly made their way to the dining room. 

Sitting heavily in the chair, she avoided her brother’s obvious stare. “Yes, alright. I should have taken it easy on the cake and ice cream, go ahead. Say you told me so, and we can all move on with our lives.”

Spike’s responding smirk was two parts smug, one part smarmy, and one part fond. She’d never been encouraged to eat so much sugar in one sitting in her entire short life. It was his God-given duty as her older brother to give the squirt a hard time. But he was still tired from dealing with all the bloody teenagers invading their inner sanctum the evening prior. Not to mention Gemini waking them up at daybreak, sneaking into his and Buffy’s room at first light, rubbing his wet, mingy nose in the vampire’s ear, whining for a milk bone or some tuna treats. The sodding dog-cat could never make up his bloody mind. “Mmmm… maybe later. Eat up. Got lots of cleaning to do in your future.”

“I'm the birthday girl! Don’t I get a break from my chores?”

“That was yesterday, Pidge. Eat. Clean.”

“Ugh!” 

Yep, she was a teenager alright. 

 

----------

 

Thursday, December 19th, 2002

 

“Are we having goose or turkey for Christmas dinner?”

Dawn paused where she was signing her name on the Christmas card. The five of them - them two, Kit, Tom, and Los - had agreed to a secret Santa, and Dawn had lucked out with getting Carlos. The guy only wanted two things: Carla Saunders’ phone number, and a gift card to the record shop. Easy peasy. One gift card, one holiday card- sans number, as Carla had eyes for Melanie Schwartz. Nuff said. Sign, sealed, nearly-delivered, she was done! Now, the rest of the family. Wait, what was that about Christmas dinner? “Uh… that’s a good question.”

“And where is your bottle jack?” she asked offhandedly, signing her name on her own secret Santa card with a flourish. “We’ll need to have enough wood in the fireplace to cook the bird in front of it.”

The Summers girls looked at one another in confusion, before the eldest abandoned the wrapping she was doing next to them, and went in search of their resident Victorian expert. Who may still be half delirious from the nightmare that plagued him early in the morning. 

And his sister didn’t give her brother any gentle encouragement, launching right into the inquisition. “Where is the family bottle jack? For the Christmas bird?”

Blinking bleary eyed at his sister, he tilted his head. “Buffy, luv?”

“She’s real, babe,” the Slayer reassured her vampire. The nightmare that the ringlet-having girl was a figment of his imagination, stuck over a cliff, then melted like ice under his fingers when he tried to help her to safety had seriously messed him up. “You’re okay. Charlotte’s okay.”

“No, I know.” He nodded, turning to his love. “I just haven’t the foggiest ‘bout why she’s nattering on about a bottle of Jack.”

“Not a bottle of whiskey, you booze hound! The bottle jack!” She motioned to the fireplace in hopes that he’d understand. He didn’t. 

“Still the same bloke as I was thirteen seconds ago, Pidge,” he reassured her, the witches both entering the house with cheery faces. At least they were back on speaking terms again. “Not a single clue what you’re banging on about.”

She huffed, utterly frustrated. “How do you not know what a bottle jack is?! Did you not make a goose for Christmas supper last year?”

“No! We ordered in.”

Tara, ever patient and knowledge hungry witch, gently laid a hand on Charlotte's shaking shoulder. “The bottle jack is like a- a device, right? Kinda like a clock that turns…” she motioned the half turn with her hand, before rotating back around. “Like this?”

“Yes! Finally! Starting to think I must have imagined it.”

“No, they just fell out of use, sin- since ovens got bigger. Plus, safer in the oven, you know?”

Charlotte nodded, smiling gently at the other woman. “Thank you Miss M- Tara. Well, that solves one mystery. Now,” she clapped her hands, rubbing them together the way she’d seen her peers do often. “Is anyone going to decide on what bird we shall roast in the oven instead of the bottle jack?”

“What did you do last year?”

“Spent it in the hospital,” she shrugged casually. “They had a man dressed in red as Father Christmas, but he kept saying ‘ho, ho, ho’ like a drunkard.”

Willow winced in sympathy. “That’s bleak,” she muttered, mouth snapping shut at Lottie’s look of displeasure. Man, why was Tara so much better at this than her? She was great with Dawnie! Why was Lottie so much harder to connect with?! “Which- which means this year is going to be even better in, um, in comparison.”

Ever the lady - or trying to be - the ringlet wearing blonde shifted the topic an inch to the left. “What do the Juda-wiccans do for the holiday? I do hope you shall join us for the dinner on Christmas D- oh!” Turning on her heel she asked her brother, “William, do you have cousin Eunnie’s Christmas pudding recipe? I was hoping we could attempt to recreate it.”

Blinking in curiosity at the name drop, the Slayer turned to her man, parroting, “Eunnie?” 

“Short for Eunice, and no. Suppose the library would have some books on the sort, yeah?”

Pulling a small thin rectangle from her bag, Willow pushed the gift into the Victorian girl’s hands carefully, finally feeling like she did something right. “Happy early Christmas.”

Dawn wrinkled her nose, waiting for Jewish Santa to give her a gift too. Not that she was jealous, or anything…. “I think its Merry-”

“Not in England. Open it.”

Tearing into it greedily, she gasped in delight, squealing in glee at the book she’d been gifted. “My own Save-all! Oh, this was the last book she published before she perished! Before I perished,” she snorted, carefully opening it and scanning the first few pages. The binding was similar to her coil bound science notebook, something she was certain the author would be shocked at seeing. “Is this a reproduction?”

The redhead’s face was starting to make her hair, twitching with… was that guilt? “Uh, yeah. They don’t, um, sell it anymore so… I kinda, sorta, maybe photocopied all the pages, and bound it together.”

Buffy mocked a gasp, holding her hand to her chest. “Willow! You pirated a book?!”

“There wasn’t any other way! I wasn’t gonna steal it from the library!”

Spike snorted, looking over his sister’s shoulder to catch a recipe or two as she flipped through. “Prolly should’ve. Paying them a bloody fortune enough as it is.”

“Yes, yes. You’re a petty thief,” Charlotte replied, almost bored, rolling her eyes. “Demons tremble when you are near- oh! Here it is! And it’s- My goodness! Did Eunnie use that much brandy in hers?”

Looking down at the recipe, he snorted a second time. “Not a chance.”

“Oh, good.”

“Double that, at least.”

“What?! Oh. Oh, no,” she shook her head, closing the book slowly. “Oh… that explains uncle Philip’s bribes to bring him home a slice.” She shivered at the memory of the dipso, then looked at Willow fondly. “Thank you Miss Ro- Thank you, Willow. I shall treasure it, always.”

“Anytime. And, you know,” she added, pulling up a bag of shopping from the couch with a grin. “I did look at the recipe, and got some of the ingredients for the um, pudding, if you’re interested in-”

“Yes, please!” She all but dragged the redhead to the kitchen, Dawn dejectedly following. 

Smiling shyly, Tara held her own bag of gifts. “Where should I…?”

Buffy left Spike to sort out the gift sitch with the witch, heading to check outside again. Giles had taken her aunt to the post office to pick up something important, but that was hours ago. She knew her Watcher could handle his own, and her aunt wasn’t exactly a shaking leaf, but they weren’t spring chickens, either. They were old…er. And Sunnydale tended to have things go wrong more ways than it went right. 

Once everyone else was out of the room, Spike sat on the couch, turning a calculating eye on the witch. “So, you and Red?” he asked, subtle as a car on fire in the middle of an ice rink. “You seem better.”

“Mmm.”

“Get more information from thin air,” he replied dryly. 

“She- she’s doing better,” she offered as she sat on the other end of the couch, hoping no one was overhearing the conversation- in case he took it in a possibly sexual direction. Again. “I’m still- at the dorm, and she’s still a- at Mr. Giles’, so we’re just… slow. You know?” Her face flamed in embarrassment as she told him. Even with the girls, talking about that stuff was so not with the easy for her.

“Good.” Huh? He wasn’t poking fun at her? Did she hit her head? Or fall into an alternate universe? “Not good for you to be doing anything like that when she can’t respect you. And- stop looking at me like that.”

“Wh- like what?”

“Like you think I’ve gone completely carrot top.”

“N- I’m not! Just… you’re the first to… to say that. To me. A- about this.”

Leaning back, he sniffed thoughtfully. “Mmm. What’d the Slayer say?”

She fidgeted with her hands, to have something to do. “She’s happy w- with Willow’s progress. An- and that I’m safe.”

“Makes all of us,” Dawn said, collapsing on the couch next to her. She tried baking a few times, and it wasn’t her bag. As much as she loved hanging out with Willow and Lottie, she was cool to leave the dessert making to them. “You don’t think Lottie’s gonna convince mom to make goose for dinner, do you? Cuz… no.” Shivering, she looked ready to hurl. “A world of no.”

“Not so bad,” he shrugged. “With some cherry glaze.”

“Ugh! You’re worse than Giles.”

“Oi!”

 

----------

 

“Hey,” Buffy pulled her friend gently aside, Charlotte momentarily absorbed in her task and not paying them a lick of attention. Baking was a science, and even though the dish was meant to be boiled - seriously England? Why? - not baked, the chess loving gal had all her attention on chopping the dried fruit. “How’s my favourite Willow doing?”

Shrugging, she self consciously pulled down her sleeve to keep her injuries a secret. Giles was right. The cream did help speed up her healing, but then another nightmare spun them up on her skin, all over again. “Fine,” she lied, which was dumb. Hiding how bad things were was so freaking dumb! But she hated the pity so much, she’d tried to erase it. Did that help? Nope! Sighing, she shook her head. “Sleep’s been… a challenge.”

Gently touching her BFF’s bicep, she tried to soothe the ache in the redhead’s heart. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” She got a tentative smile and a reassured nod in response. “You’re not alone. Don’t shut us out, okay?” 

“I won’t,” Willow answered, lost in her own thought vortex. She didn’t mean to shut them out, but she had been doing that way too much lately, that she didn’t know how to stop. It was easier to say ‘I’m fine’ than ‘I feel like if I don’t have this mystical bracelet thingy on, that I’ll go off the deep end, and my nightmares aren’t as vivid anymore with it, but they’re still there, and still frightening the stuffing outta me, and I think if I can find a cabin in the middle of nowhere, or a big, big, BIG hole to hide in, I’ll be okay, cuz no one’s safe around me, not even me!’ Fewer words, too. Hanging By A Thread Willow was fully aware of how bad she was at balancing her life lately. Between school and friendships and magic and Tara… her nightmares were the tippy-top of the iceberg. No, wait, the big ole honking bottom. No, geez, that sounded so dirty! 

“Willow?” Turning back to the girl three feet away, the women looked at the blonde expectantly. “Is this measurement accurate? I’m terribly inept with baked goods.” 

Wincing, Buffy gestured covertly to her BFF, hoping they could talk more about things before the end of the holidays. Things weren’t sitting right with her on the whole ‘I’m fine, and I won’t shut you out’ bit. But now was about family time. And Dawn would need some sister hang time just as much as Charlotte and the Slayer did. “Well, you’re in luck. Willow makes the best cookies around. Don’t tell mom I said that.”

“I shan’t, so long as you help?” 

“Oh, no. I’m just here for moral support. You two bake away, and I’ll…” looking at the alcohol with a grimace, she tried to slip into a more cheerful tone. “Guard the booze! Bartender Buffy, reporting for duty.” She saluted them both, parking herself on a stool, watching the pair work together. Wills and Charlotte didn’t get much one on one time together normally, and while the witch and Dawn got along famously, this duo seemed to have more of a pair of false starts, and- okay, so they were hella awkward together. So what? So were Dawn and Thomas at first, and they were best buds now! Things’ll get better, she reassured herself, more of a threat to the PTB than hope for herself. We’ll stop whatever it is that’s gunning for us, and we’ll survive, and then no one has to grieve- no. No. Willow’s nightmare was wrong. She is NOT dying. Not on my watch. And that was both a threat and a promise. 

 

----------

 

“Hello, Goldilocks.”

Half paying attention as she wrapped the presents haphazardly on the bed, she threw back a, “hey, handsome,” eyes trained on the CD she was wrapping for her sister. 

So preoccupied, she missed the frown on his face, as she taped the last corner before the bed dipped. “Got a sec?”

“Is this demon-related, or ‘our sisters driving you up the wall’ related?”

“Neither.”

Putting the tape aside, she turned to face him. “What’s up?” At the tilt of his head, she traced her eyes to catch- “Seriously?”

“Can’t find real mistletoe in this two-bit town,” he shrugged, the sprig of eucalyptus dangled above their heads. “Improvised, didn’t I?”

Rolling her eyes at the cheesiness, she leaned forwards, meeting her lips to his in a loving press. As cliche as it was, she felt her butterflies flurrying in her whole body at the romantic gesture. It’d been too long since they had a good makeout sesh, and she’d been itching for-

“Ewww! Don’t you know how to close a door?”

GOD! Wasn’t she allowed a MOMENT of peace with her boyfriend? “Get out, Dawn,” she muttered against his lips, refusing to break their stride, his hand already on her jaw, stroking dizzying patterns with his thumb. 

“Ugh!”

“What is it?” Oh, great. Now Charlotte was- “Awww… They remind me of that lovely elderly couple who we passed by on our way home yesterday.”

That served to cool both halves of the couple, breaking apart. “Oi! What gives? We’re not tossin’ birdseed anytime soon.”

“See?” the blonde teen beamed at her friend. “My way works better.”

“God, Lottie! Don’t be a total brat.”

“Get. Out!”

“We’re not even in your precious room.”

“You’re still in our bloody sight,” Spike grumbled, striding and holding the door. “Go… do some schoolwork or something.”

“It’s winter break.”

“Go re-organize your sodding pencils then, or take the pooch for a walkabout.” Shutting the door firmly, he sauntered to the boombox, flicking on a station at random, and slinked his way back to his lady. God, that sexy strut shouldn’t still work on her like it did, but woo-wee! did it ever work her up when he did that sexy little flick of his hips, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “Where were we? Oh, yes. Right… about… here.” Without pretending that they had a potential audience on the opposite side of the door, he slid on top of her in the bed, the scrap paper crinkling beneath them. Planting one hand in a fist near her head, he used the other to thread through her golden locks, guiding her mouth to his. “Mmmm…”

“We should-” kiss, “make sure they-” kiss, “aren’t- Spike-” kiss, kiss, kiss. Oh! He was melting her brain. Kissing him was always of the good. Not only because he was a damn amazing kisser, but cuz of how in love they were, and the oxytocin rushing to her brain, and- wasn’t she supposed to be stopping him? But why would she want-? “The girls….” she whined, but let him lower her back down on the bed. “Should check to see they’re okay.”

“They’re fine. Relax, luv. Missed you.”

Yeah. They’d be fine for twenty- thirty five- fifty minutes. Right? Yeah, right. Except when they went off galavanting into evil law firms. Or being kidnapped by vampires. Damnit! Now she couldn’t stop thinking about-

“Fine.” Rolling off her, he pulled her upright by her hands. “Any stiffer,” he answered her questioning brow raise. “And you could make a lovely department store mannequin. C’mon, let’s sort this out.”

Blinking at her man, she felt another wave of love flood her heart. No one seemed to love drawn out, heavy petting-esque, gentle caressing, all night lovemaking the way Spike did. At least, with her. But he was prioritising things based on need, not on his desires to head on down to Bonetown. Responsible Spike was a rare sight, but he’d been really trying. God, she secretly loved seeing it in tandem with his kinkier side. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Then….” He wiggled his brows suggestively, topping it all off with his tongue pressed to his bottom teeth in a suggestive leer.  

And like hell was she gonna miss that! “Mmmhmm.” Taking his hand, she led them downstairs to check on the girls; just in time, too. Poor Gemini didn’t deserve to have his fur dyed green and red- even if it was with Koolaid packets.  

 

----------

 

Wednesday, December 25th, 2002

 

Presents, back in his youth, were opened after Christmas dinner. But the Summers ladies loved nothing more than waking up on Christmas morn, still bundled up in their bedclothes, tearing into the paper with reckless abandon, hot cocoa on the table. So he relented the year before, and again now, despite Spike being a creature of the night who hadn’t celebrated the holiday for the past… three, maybe four decades. He was, after all, a big softy around all four of the ladies in the house. Pidge included. 

Who nearly destroyed his eardrums, when she shrieked in joy at the gift Joyce had surprised her with. “Look, look, look!” she exclaimed, shoving the box into his face. “She looks just like cousin Eunnie!” 

Pulling it back enough to see it clearly, he noticed she was right. Except Eunice was never that tall, and the chit only wore green and black, for some sodding reason. Plus, no one had ears quite like their cousin. But the hair, the garb, right down to the little parasol the plastic doll had showed off the era of their youth rather well. “Huh. Would you look at that? Sure you’re not too old for a Barbie doll, Pidge?”

Scoffing, she pulled it back to hold it to her chest comfortingly. Perhaps in fear that he’d chuck it out. “Just you wait, brother. She’ll become a collectible yet.”

Not to leave Dawn out, Spike made sure he got both girls something on each of their wish lists, earning him a groan from Buffy at the little dagger he’d gotten the Nibblet, and a cheer from his sister as she put on her new cloche, modelling it with the pyjamas Buffy had gotten her that matched. He’d gotten Dawnie her own winter hat, too! He wasn’t daft. The duo were starting to act like real sisters, and even a complete dunce knew that you never ought to show favourites with sisters. The girls laughed, happy as a pair of madcaps, and he knew, he knew it was the right thing, getting his soul back. It burned, all the hell he’d put everyone around him through, especially when his lady came to mind. But having his Pidge and Nibblet together, smiling, laughing, dancing, having the time of their young lives? It filled him with so much joy, he was surprised he didn’t explode in a puff of smoke. 

But the books Kathy had gotten the girls left them all rather at sixes and sevens. “Anne of Green Gables,” Charlotte read the title carefully, Dawn’s little frown creasing her face in obvious distaste. “Hmm. I don’t believe I have ever heard of this author before.”

“Kath,” Joyce warned firmly, staring her sister down. “We talked about this…”

But Kathy - like Buffy and Joyce - had a quick response at the ready, so she could plead her case. Or demand her sister just shut it. “Mom got us those books when we were kids, and I remember a certain sister of mine who used to read them till the spines popped off.”

“But the girls aren’t us,” she insisted back. “Don’t you think some of those themes in there are a little… mature for them?”

Sure, Lottie obviously worried about the contents inside at her current guardian’s words. But the picture on the cover was just too compelling for the young Victorian to ignore. “What is the series about?”

“An orphan girl goes to live on a farm, but she wasn’t supposed to, cuz the Cuthberts wanted a boy. But Anne’s so wonderful that they eventually adopt her, and-”

“You’re gonna ruin the ending!”

“It’s set in the tail end of the 19th century. So I figured you two could read it for book club. You two kinda remind me of a modern Anne and Diana.” Kathy shrugged where she sat, already in her slacks and blouse despite the hour. The woman loathed wearing pyjamas past 8A.M.  

Flipping open the front cover, Lottie’s little fingers found the first page. “‘Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies' eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place.’ Oooh. The prose reads like verse. I think I shall enjoy this series,” she replied with a genuine smile. “Thank you, Miss Ric- Ka- aun- umm…”

“Kathy’s fine by me.”

“Kathy. Thank you.”

But Dawn looked less than thrilled. “Uh-huh.” Bored. She looked nearly as bored as she did whenever Giles mentioned the difference between different tie knots. Nearly. “Thanks.” 

“Try….” Opening up to chapter fifteen, Kathy flipped over to the section she knew her niece would enjoy. “About here.”

Reading it to herself, the brunette only frowned deeper, before her eyebrows jumped up in shock. “Okay. I like Anne. She kicks ass.”

“Language!”   “Language.” both Richardson ladies chastised in tandem, Dawn rolling her eyes, but relented. 

Like the year before, Buffy insisted they open gifts in private later, just between the lovers. And like the year prior, he got her a new pendant to be opened in front of the family, while her real gift sat upstairs, under the bed. He knew his lady, and no way would she be comfortable opening that in front of the girls. And knowing him, she followed his example, and put a little sommin-sommin under the tree for posterity. The girls did well, too. Dawn got him a new cufflink set with her well earned chore money, and Pidge surprised him with not only a hand embroidered handkerchief, but a homemade card. She’d snipped pieces from old magazine clippings, and he had a hard time keeping in a laugh at the gaudy display. A congregation of different animals sat around a table, a feast of fruit between them, an abashed looking squirrel holding a tomato. Opening it, he couldn’t hold back any longer, chortling like a loon.

“What’s so-?” Taking the card from her boyfriend, Buffy looked at the front, then read the inside inscription, before turning the card back around, and giggled. “It- it- you made this?” she asked Charlotte, the girl nodding proudly. Showing it off to the family, Buffy read, “I’m telling you, gents! The humans swear this one’s a fruit!” 

Stuck in stitches, the family got themselves ready for the day, by parking it on the couch, binging on holiday movies. Even Kathy sat around and watched, trying to relax. It felt almost perfect. Almost. 

Because just as dinner was meant to start - where her friends were all heading over to celebrate with them - Buffy’s vision of sugarplum fairies doing the river dance was cut short, when a snow demon tried to crash the party with an ice storm. Ugh! 

Couldn’t she just get through a single stinking holiday without having to avert another apocalypse? Was that really, truly too much to ask for?! Because she didn’t think that was too much to ask for.

“Flamethrower?” Spike asked her, watching the snow and ice jerk kicking the Hudson’s tree down.

“Flamethrower,” she replied, gathering up other supplies as Giles glued his face to the window, apparently trying to commune with the beast through the glass. 

The couple had it handled, gearing up for yet another battle. “Not in the house!” With Joyce’s reminder for just a modicum of respect for private property, the pair flying out the door. 

 

----------

 

All in all, a good holiday, she supposed. Except for the ice demon skeleton in the front yard. Who knew a being of essentially 98% water had bones? Thankfully, Buffy and William seemed to be able to handle that situation without her intervention. Charlotte couldn’t help but watch them dispose of it, the pair going from determined, to arguing, to working together within minutes of each other, before it was loaded up, heading to be incinerated at the town dump. When they came home after, she peeked in from the window again, smiling at the scene before her. William held his sweetheart’s hand as he pulled her closer, Buffy and him practically dancing together outside, smiling fondly at one another, the pain of the battle with the demon melting away. It made sense more and more to her, their coupling. The reflection of light and dark they brought out in one another. Their fighting style was smooth, well practised and balanced after years of fighting first against one another, then side by side. 

She sure hoped she would be around to see it for years to come. 

Notes:

The scene that makes Dawn relate to Anne Shirley is the famous slate over Gilbert’s head scene. If you’ve never seen it, I highly recommend you search ‘carrots slate scene’ and enjoy.

Chapter 37

Summary:

Buffy gives Charlotte some one-on-one time, and then the blonde Victorian helps Kit after school in the highschool library. Which is exactly the moment our foe strikes

Chapter Text

Friday, January 3rd, 2003

 

“Again.”

Huffing, Charlotte readjusted her stance, raising her fists to protect her face. The air in the training room was dry, dehumidifier on max to keep her lungs from burning- too much. They were still strained from the hand to hand combat the two had been doing. “I want… to try… again,” she puffed as her chest rose and fell from exertion. 

Buffy, on the other hand, barely looked like she was strained in the slightest, not even a sheen of sweat on her brow. She did have a frown, though, one that was not buying what her trainee was selling. “Time for a break,” she rationalised instead. She’d followed through on her promise, making time to train the girl to handle her own, in cases of self defence. And after the kerfuffle with Mears, they’d been trying to work her up to it. Shame Lottie’s lungs weren’t as on board as the rest of the girl. Neither was her wrist, still in that cast. But the teen was determined. “Nothing like some sugary goodness to reward that hard work. I think Xander got extra jellies, so you- Charlotte!”

The girl hadn’t been listening. Instead, she’d advanced, throwing a right hook at her trainer, putting too much weight into it. Without connecting, it toppled her over, the Slayer catching her before she made out with the floor mat. “Oh, Biscuits!” Her breath laboured in her chest, rising and falling rapidly, as the other blonde dragged her to collapse on the couch. “I thought… I’d have you… for certain… then.”

“Charlotte, you have to pace yourself,” she all but begged, crouching down to rifle in the other girl’s bag for the inhaler. Dawn had gotten her new friend a bunch of stickers at the fair, from a water squirting game she managed to beat a bunch of frat boys at. It made the blonde girl cheer in excitement, especially when the pair of them split the pot, the Victorian decorating her outer puffer case with the designs. It made it easier to find, especially with the glow in the dark ones literally lighting the way. Grasping it, Buffy pulled it out, holding it to the girl, who took it with shaking fingers to use. “Doing too much, and too fast is a-”

Back door bursting open, Xander looked frantically at the pair with a first aid kit in his hands, interrupting her pep talk. “Who’s bleeding?”

Snorting, the Slayer shook her head. “No one here, Doogie Harris. Charlotte just needs a bit of rest, and a donut- stat!”

“Aye, aye, Buffy Nightingale, ma’am,” he mock saluted her, ditching the kit for the snacks. 

“I hate this,” the teen grumbled dismally, looking at the medicine in her hands. 

“I thought you liked the stickers.”

“Oh, I do. I just… nevermind.”

Oh. The inhaler. Buffy grimaced, wishing she could somehow empathise with the girl, but slayer genes meant she was in pretty tip-top fighting shape. The only time she’d gotten anywhere close, was when Angel had drained her. And the time she’d undergone her Crucenturium. And der Kindestod. But Lottie didn’t need to know about all that. “It's keeping you alive, isn’t it?” The girl nodded, still despondent. “Maybe you can talk to your doctors, and see if they’ll change it to a better one. Like… a cherry flavoured one. Or, oooh, strawberry? I know you like strawberries.”

“Strawberry jelly for the lady,” Xander imitated her posh accent as he presented her with the dessert, extra napkins for the girl. She was a bit uncoordinated after spending years in a coma. Buffy had a feeling Faith got off lucky only because of her slayer blood- in comparison, at least. Spike had been against her training his sister at first, because of the weakness in the girl’s muscles that Dawn never had. Eventually, he relented. He’d do anything to get Charlotte to smile, and having Buffy run a sparring session was better than whatever the physiotherapist did at the hospital. And here, they could keep an eye on her, and build up some trust. “Might I also interest you in our latest vintage?” Once the donut settled on her lap - with minimum powder sugar spillage - he pulled out a can of pop from his back pocket, offering it like a bottle of expensive champagne.

Eyeing it with trepidation, she shook her head. “I believe this is more sugar than I ought to have, thank you. Having both would surely keep me up till well past sunrise. Perhaps… water?”

“Or tea,” he offered, trying to make her comfortable. Dawn’s other friends warmed up to the guy way faster, but she was a tough nut to crack. “Giles definitely has a bunch of old guy British blends. Not that, you’re, you know, old, or anyth-”

Anya’s voice broke out ahead of them, calling him to her from the other room. “Xander?”

“Just saying, we have lots of them, and the kettle’s nearby, and-”

“Xander!”

He winced, standing. “Duty calls,” he gestured to the back where he came from, hustling to get his wife whatever it was she was hollering about. “Buffster, you good?”

“Yeah, I’ll just get my own jelly,” she nodded, grabbing water out of the mini fridge in the corner. “Go, before she goes all nuclear.”

Saluting the pair, he did just that, closing the door behind himself, leaving just a crack. 

Heading to the couch, the Slayer regarded her young friend carefully. Her shoulders slumped, face drawn together, avoiding Buffy’s gaze. Gee, great. Sitting down, she kept her eyes carefully set on the girl’s face. “So… why do you hate-? It’s cuz you rely on it, isn’t it?”

Sighing, Charlotte shut her eyes. “Yes.”

Oh, dang. Wonder if Spike knows. Probably not. “Do…?” Shifting in her seat, she rested the water bottles between them. “No one makes fun of you for it, do they?”

“Not… as such.”

“Charlotte?”

Shaking her head, she opened her eyes, picking apart the pastry. Like a little bird, she picked her food, as if she was determined to make every crumb last. It made Buffy worried, wondering if she’d have to ask her mom about a psychiatrist for the girl. But mom seemed non-pulsed by it, since the girl eventually did eat everything off her plate. Maybe it was a Victorian lady thing? “It- they don’t outwardly say anything, simply…. I used to love playing outside,” she sighed. “Before I fell ill. We had this tree- out in the summer home.”

“Norfolk.”

“Mmm. We had this beautiful , gargantuan oak, the top branches damaged from the awful winter before William was born. But,” she laughed a little breathlessly at the memory. “If you got far up it enough, you could see for miles. It… I felt such peace up there. And, with this,” she held up the inhaler, the shiny stickers catching the light. “I feel like I shall always be stuck with my feet buried to the ankles, trapped from climbing again.”

“But, Dawn said you still climb trees.”

“Yes, but only the first few branches, far lower to the ground. My limbs are longer now, I should be able to climb an aspen of four years, as if it were a staircase. But I labour to get my footing, an- and my hands slip, an- and my heart races in my chest, and- and I- ugh! I feel so weak!” She huffed at the mess in her fingers, squeezing the donut on instinct, causing jelly to spill out onto the napkin in a red splotch. “Oops.”

“Charlotte… Why are you so hard on yourself? You were in a coma. For years!” Buffy added, pressing upon the girl. “You’re smarter than- than half of the rest of your grade! Probably the school.”

“Because! I don’t like being treated like- like an invalid! I am not infirm, nor am I incapable of doing chores and the like,” she huffed, trying to get her point across. “I should be able to- to throw a punch! To- to climb trees, an- and…”

“Be a kid? Have a childhood?”

Nodding, she deflated, using the back of her hand to wipe her tears. “I missed six years of it. I don’t wish to- to miss any more than I al- already have.”

Oh, Charlotte. Of course she was all conflicted! Who wouldn’t be? “Charlotte,” the Slayer hedged carefully, placing a comforting hand on the other girl’s arm. “Your body is fifteen, but your brain? It still thinks you’re ten. Which means,” she continued, already seeing the argument forming behind her eyes. “That everything you’ve done with your schoolwork is nothing short of awesome. I mean, if I woke up right now, coma like yours? Psht! Instant college dropout. But you?” Her grin was warm and wide, the other blonde feeling a bit better about things. “You’re aceing classes left and right, like a pro.”

“I just work hard,” she reasoned, dismissing the praise.

“Even more awesome. It’s paying off, and you are gonna get this other stuff, too,” she assured her. “Just… we don’t need to push you to the brink, okay? That would be of the bad.”

“But vampires, and demons, and jerk football players won’t give me a break in the heat of battle.”

“Well… it’s a good thing that this is just practice, huh?”

“Mmm. I suppose.” Sipping her water, she grimaced at her still sticky hands, as the fingers tried to take the label with them. “I forgot I hadn’t yet washed this off.”

Huffing a good natured breath of relief, Buffy shook her head, digging into her own purse. “No worries. Mom’s good at always making me take some of these,” she held up the travel pack of wet wipes, “wherever I go.”

“Ah. Disposables. You know,” she thanked the young woman, wiping her fingers first, then the bottle. “If I could, I would invent something that would automatically launder and dry one’s handkerchief, right in their pocket. Therefore eliminating wasted wipes that do not biodegrade for a millennia.”

“Mmm. Famous inventor, Charlotte Pratt. I like the sound of that.”

“Famous inventor, Charlotte Anne Pratt,” she corrected. “After mother’s Christian name, and her favourite aunt.”

“Christian name? You mean her first name? Oh, right. Church of England and stuff, right,” she nodded, remembering the short history from both Giles and Spike. Not at the same time, cuz there’d totally be bloodshed if they did. “I keep forgetting, ya know, since we’re like… secular? Is that the word? I dunno, we don’t go to church, per se.” Which has to be obvious to the girl, what with her living under the Summers roof the past few months. 

“Mmm. For the best. One sermon, our minister let out a… gas emission,” she said carefully, Buffy grinning widely. “So loud, it echoed throughout the church. Then, he blamed demons on the sound.”

“You’re kidding.”

Scoffing, she rolled her eyes. “I wish. He was a… pardon the expression, but ‘crackpot’ seems the only phrase to describe him. I’m sure there’s a more appropriate term, but I haven’t the foggiest. He once showed up to a Christmas sermon, halfway up the pole, ranting about the peas and carrots of Christmas dinner, as though they were Mary and Joseph, in search of an inn! He kept on and on about the snow, and sleet, and blight- Buffy,” she impressed upon her brother’s sweetheart, who was snickering behind her hand. “Jesus was born in BETHLEHEM! They’re not known for their snow! Because - as nearly everyone can attest to - the town is in the desert.”  

Giggling with the girl, she couldn’t help but notice her student’s ease once the mention of medication was lifted. “Wow. Up a couple poles, huh?” 

“That’s not- well, possibly,” she shrugged. “I… after our break,” she changed gears, not up for having a deep spiritual discussion in the training room, especially with the door slightly ajar. Nor was she going to correct the woman’s mistake in 19th century slang. “Could you show me that kick again?”

Nodding, the Slayer agreed. “Yeah! Totally. I’m gonna get two jellies,” she smiled, taking the mess from the girl’s lap. “Need anything else?”

“No. I’m quite set here.” And she was, in more ways than one. Till she was taken for a ride. 

 

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Monday, January 6th, 2003 - Part A

 

“And then you can finish up with the geology section, and we’ll be done.”

Charlotte and Kit agreed, taking the carts from the high school librarian to reshelve, before the adult headed into her office to answer more emailed. Lottie was lost in thought as she did, wondering why half of all electronic mail was simply junk. Seemed like a waste of time to create, let alone send. And the lack of artistry was appalling! Half the thrill of sending or receiving a letter was the collection of unique artwork in the form of stamps. Her mother used to have the most beautiful stationary, with little blue bi-

“Umm, I think that one goes on my side.”

“Hmmm? Oh!” Charlotte shook herself from her musings to hand Kit the book she gestured for. “Sorry, simply reminiscing again.”

Her friend nodded, becoming well versed in the ramblings of their Victorian time skipper. “No biggie. What was it this time?”

Lottie let out a long suffering sigh, as if she’d gone forty years in the bogs of melancholy, hunting for treasures without finding a single ray of hope of a sliver of gold coin. “Stamps.” At Kit’s raised brow, she added, “electronic mail lacks the artistry. And it vexes me that the modern child has never had the pleasure of receiving a letter, adorned with a beautiful landscape design the size of their pencil sharpening tool. Smaller, even! Such a shame.”

Kit chuckled good naturedly at her friend. Charlotte had a zest for life that the goth girl would normally hate, but being friends with both her and Dawn made life more bearable. They were peppy so she didn’t have to be. In fact, both girls seemed to admire her normally laissez-faire attitude. The contrasts between them made them stronger. “Really is. We’re all missing out.”

“I can no longer tell, but are you mocking me?”

“Nope,” the other girl answered genuinely. “I used to have a foster dad who collected them. Like… massively. I’m talkin’ more binders of them than Mrs. McNeil has on proper science lab procedures. He was my favourite. Him and his wife were just…” she shrugged, letting the sentence trail off there. 

Stopping her own shelving, the blonde turned around to look at her friend empathetically. “May I ask…?”

“Cancer,” she shrugged again, shelving the books without looking back. “Hoped they’d adopt me, but after he got sick, she did too, so…”

“I’m so sorry, Kit. That… that is a level of devastation no one should have to endure. Ever.”

“Thanks,” she ducked her head, staring at the books in her hands. “I don’t like to talk about them, talk about… I’m not like you and Dawn,” she said carefully, facing the spines instead of her friend. It was easier to tell a book things. They rarely judged, and never pitied. “You both… you had moms who loved you the second you were born. Or existed, in Dawn’s case. Mine… mine died when I was. Born, I mean.” She didn’t see Lottie step closer, hovering to comfort her when she was ready. “It… I see it, ya know, what I’m missing? But…” she trailed off, Lottie’s warm hand landing on her shoulder. 

Taking a breath, the blonde spoke softly. “Carlos… he mentioned- not much, if I’m to be honest. Said you had no blood relations willing to- to step up. Do the right thing. I think it’s shameful to not be there for a baby who lost her mother. But then again,” she huffed dryly. “You know who my father was.” And she did. The ballad of Alexander Pratt raising his siblings to keep his bastard psychopath pops away from them was one their friend group had memorised by now. 

Sniffing, Kit nodded, turning to face her friend. “She was… she was our age, Lottie,” she admitted softly, allowing her guard down for just a split moment. “Younger, actually, cuz… cuz I was born a week before her sixteenth birthday.”

“Oh… Kit, I-”

“Don’t. Please don’t pity me, cuz I hate when people pity me like I’m some freak.”

“No, I was going to say that I wish I knew what to say,” she admitted, grasping her friend’s hands. “I… I never met anyone who lived like you have. Someone my age who- who lived more days than their parents had. I d- it’s not something they taught us in London. Or Los Angel-eeze. Just… I wish I knew how to support you. Make you feel less… alone.” She rifled around her pockets when the first tear fell, pulling out the packet of disposable facial tissues her brother gave her, taking one out, and dabbing at her friend’s face. “Because you are not alone, alright? You have us. Me. And I love you, a whole bundle of Twizzlers worth.”

Sniffing, Kit laughed despite the tears. She’d expected some platitudes about God or something, but that helped better. Way better. “Ye- yeah. Thanks. Los… I haven’t told anyone yet. Los only knows cuz he… he kinda read my diary- not on purpose, or anything. My fault, really.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“He asked to borrow my geography notes, and I use the same kinda notebook thickness for both the diary and geography, and they’re the same colour, and…”

“You handed him the wrong one.”

“Yeah.”

“Mmm. See, this is why I write mine all in code,” she added breezily, knowing the goth girl needed a chance to chuckle after spilling her proverbial guts on the library carpet. “Just in case Bradley decides to break into my personal items, and rifle through my innermost secrets.”

“You write your diary in code? What, like pig Latin?”

Reeling her head back in shock, Lottie blinked repeatedly at her friend. “What on God’s green earth is ‘pig Latin’? Pigs have no need of the classics!”

Snorting a laugh, the rocker chic teen slapped her hand over her mouth, embarrassment covering her face, before the two of them erupted in giggles. Once calmer, she described the basics of the made-up language, the two trying it out as they continued shelving. 

It was good, the pair helping out. A lot of the books were new, some replacing the old ones damaged by smoke from the fire back in November. Some were recently donated by a private collector. And while Kit was technically working off some detention hours, Mrs. Paige wasn’t opposed to extra helping hands. And she knew both girls would respect the books, unlike her last teenage ‘helpers’. Plus, with the grounding she and Dawn had been under, Charlotte had a very short list of socialising activities that she was still allowed to engage in. 

Once she’d gone through her cart, Kit stretched her arms above her head, excusing herself to ask the librarian for more, leaving her friend to reshelve in the classics section. 

“Hmm,” the blonde girl frowned, reading the titles on a few of the spines. “The Molecular Basis Of Life. My! You’re in the wrong place, little book. And I suppose extremely outdated. Why are you-?”

Something… wasn’t right. Not only the placement of the book itself, but the entire room. The hair on her arms stood on end, her good hand slipped into her cardi pocket, gripping the stake Buffy gifted her as she turned the corner, just in case. This was, after all, a school, not a domicile. Anything could simply… waltz in. And then she would be-

“Oh!” Charlotte laughed breezily, startled by the sudden presence of the woman in front of her. A decidedly human woman. “Terribly sorry, ma’am. But the school’s closed at this hour. Are you here to pick up your child?”

Something felt… off about this stranger. She didn’t exhude the same air as a vampire, or smell, or movement, but… something was off. Perhaps it was the eerie smile on her face, or the fact that her clothing looked a little soiled. Not excessively, but as if she’d fallen onto the dirty floor of the second floor’s AV cart room, taking the dustmotes with her. She looked pale, but not vampire pale, just… palid. “No, actually,” she said surely in her American accent. Stepping forwards, the floral pattern chiffon of her skirt swayed gently with her movements, a chill filling the air. “I’m here to help you, Charlotte.”

Oh! Was this a teacher? Mr. Grant said there was a teacher in the school who had requested the girl come volunteer for some after school tutoring program. They were in need of someone to fill in the spot a recent graduate left vacant, and since the blonde had a natural knack for biology… “If this is regarding the tutoring program, I’m terribly sorry to have to turn you down, but my schedule is chock-a-block at the moment. I don’t believe-”

“No,” the dark haired woman said with an edge, face darkening a moment before faux sweetness took over. “No, Charlotte Anne Pratt. I’m here to help you. With your little… problem.”

“My-” Oh, good heavens. The familiar sting of fear crawled up her spine, sinking it’s nasty pincers every other inch, rendering her frozen on the spot. This was no ordinary woman. Whoever- whatever this was, it was Hellmouth bad. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do, little bird,” she said, stepping even closer. Now, Lottie could see that the way she walked was reminiscent of the spirits in the basement. Alright, an apparition. If she could find the talisman, her ‘real problem’ would be solved. But in the meantime, if she could use the training Buffy taught her- “You need help with the Seal.”

Wait… “Seal? I have no idea what you’re nattering on about. I don’t own any seal toys. I have a frog, Mr. Toad, if that’s what-”

“Do you humans never-” she stopped, pointing to a book on the shelf, just to the Victorian’s left. “You and your brother have barely had any time to spend together, haven’t you?” Her dark hair didn’t move as she stepped closer, frozen in place, frozen in time. Unlike the rest of this… this Dickensian character of woe, it remained untouched, stopping at her shoulders, or just past them. “If you want more time, you’ll need that book to do it. Help him, and your Slayer heroine.”

“Buffy? This will help….? How do you know my name? My brother? You-” reaching out, she tried to brush off the dust on her shoulder, her fingers going right through the thing. Because that wasn’t terrifying. “S- sorry,” she stuttered, frozen in place. “Dirt.”

“Take the book, Charlotte,” the thing pressed on, the girl’s body even more rigid than before. “Save the world, if you want.”

Without her permission, her hand reached towards the book, and before she could scold herself for trusting a stupid apparition, her mind went blank. 

 

----------

 

“What muscles make up the trunk of the body?”

Buffy rubbed her face, wishing she could go back in time, and chose a less painful major. What was she thinking?! Kinesiology? Pah! That was full of tiny little bits of medical knowhow that she didn’t know how to make heads or tails of! “The… bark muscles?”

Frowning, her study buddy shook her head. “Buffy…”

“What?! I’m trying! My brain and medical jargon are way with the unmixy. If there were a song, like, involved, hey! No sweat! But all these Latin-y names?”

“Fine, we’ll skip that one. How about…. What is the most common reason for a shoulder injury in a child under the age of fourteen?”

“Ooh! That’s easy. Little league-ing.”

Joyce blinked back at her in confusion, holding the flash cards away from the younger woman. “What?”

“Too much over-hand throwing, straining the muscles at the- the- the growth plate…?” she tried to explain. Her mom was nice enough to push off her book club for that evening to help with the quizzing, after all. And after aunt Kathy left yesterday to stay with Arlene for a bit, she knew her mom had been looking forward to having fun with her own friends, be social, drink wine, whatever else middle aged women in Sunnydale did that didn’t involve demons. “It’s the cartilage-y part under the shoulder joint. It’s common with little league players-”

“Thus the name. Gotcha. And how would you treat it?”

“First, the injury’s gotta be assessed,” she answered almost automatically. “Gotta get X-rays, and check to see if there’s a-”

 

      BANG!

 

Startled, Joyce jumped at the opening of the door, the slam of the wood against the wall jarring her into the flurry of movement at the entryway. “Easy with the glass,” she warned the vampire, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of Dawn following him in with Gemini tucked in her arms, the pet whining in his dog form. “What’s going on? Didn’t you just leave?”

And then, because their life had never been normal since moving to this hell of a town, Thomas and Carlos entered next, Kit leaning against both of them as she hobbled to the dining room. Buffy stood, noting the dishevelled state of the eyelinered girl, jaw tightening at the wrongness of it all. “What happened?”

Tears ran down her cheeks as she sniffed, the boys lowering Kit to the closest chair. Her knees were scraped up, and an ice pack materialised from Dawn’s hand, pressing it to the back of her friend’s head. “One minute, I’m shelving with Char, and then- oh, God.”

“Charlotte?” Joyce asked, heart in her throat. “Where’s Charlotte?” 

“I- I don’t know, I-”

Frowning deeply, Buffy exchanged a confused expression with Spike, who was arming himself in the living room, before turning back to the injured party. “What do you mean you don’t know? How could you-? What attacked you?”

Trembling in a way none of them had never seen, Kit looked like a completely helpless and terrified child. The same way Tara had when Glory sucked her mind outta her skull. But there was no hellgod here. Just fear. “Evil, Buffy. An- and I tried the trick Willow taught me- but…” Lifting her free hand, she showed them the matching bracelets the five of them had gotten in the Sunnydale mall. It was stupid, cheesy on more than one level. But having the same pizza slice charm bracelet had helped ease everyone’s minds after Lottie did her disappearing Victorian act in the fall. But instead of the silvery shine of the cheap metal, the entire charm was soot black. The locator spell Kit had done, backfired. Crap! “I woke up on the floor in the earth sciences section, alone. As in, the entire building left with Elivs, alone. Even the librarian was gone! I tried the locator spell, but I’m not wandering the halls alone at night!”

“She’s not at the school?” Joyce asked, fretting. The girl was so sick, all the time. And the temperatures lately- “Where could she be?”

Spike re-entered the dining room, armed to the teeth. “We ought to call the Watcher, get a new locator spell goin’.”

But Buffy had another idea. One that she knew had worked pretty well once before. Turning to the pet sitting by the stairs, she ran up them, straight to the girls’ room. Ignoring her boyfriend’s agitated shouts, she grabbed the one thing she knew the little blonde girl in the house touched more than anything else, and stomped down the stairs. “Who needs witchcraft,” she said, shaking Mr. Toad in front of the dog’s nose. “When we have a tracker right here? C’mon, buddy. Let’s go find our girl.”

 

----------

 

There were many beings Krollix had taken to possessing in the past. He made a whole village move a bunch of stones some four or five millennia ago, after it possessed a so-called ‘holy man’, convincing the community with just a few shouts. In the third century, it had a grand old time with leading humans into committing multiple assassinations. While the codex he had made a monk illustrate had stumped the human populace for the last five centuries, the theory of that sunken city was way more fun. But this tiny delicious morsel was definitely one of his favourites.

She was weak, he could feel it, but boy, oh boy, was her heart full of emotion! And her soul? Mmmm slurp: delicious. So full of love and doubt, joy and dread, grief colouring it in glimmering gunpowder. The pinks and purples were overwhelmingly powerful, and the tiny bands of gold gossamer thread showed him that she had no idea. No clue of her true power, of her ability to- Oh. Ooohhh, that was interesting. Hmmm. He’d never possessed someone with one of those before. He’d heard of it, of course, and in theory, he should be able to break that lock, but…

Snarling, he took the girl’s body further away from the Hellmouth, hoping it would help. Whatever this puny human did to get so powerful, she’d managed to lock it away, just beyond the surface. It was like she was… scared of it. Or maybe, he mused. Someone else was feeling frightened of the implications, and locked it all away from her. Yeah, that was it. Had to be. This little weakling couldn’t handle that much power. Had to be a witch. A powerful one; a priestess, perhaps. Clever, really. That kind of power was the stuff of dreams! Oh, they were going to have so much fun! Well, he would. She was as unconscious as she’d be under the influence of those potions humans created for those surgeries they invented. But, oh, to be corporeal again! Stretching her arms above her head, he shuddered in pleasure. He’d missed the pop of joints, pressure between the shoulder blades relieved just, mmmhmhmhmhm! Perfection. 

But this scene is so overplayed, he thought, frowning at the odd beasts in the road. Cars. UGH. Don’t they ever use horses anymore? Lazy humans. No wonder they’re all so easy to possess. 

Striding down Jefferson Avenue, Krollix looked around through cerulean windows, wiping the golden tresses out of the eyelashes they’d fallen into. What a hindrance, this hair. But, he had to admit, it was a rip-roaring good fortune that this little slip of a thing had any at all. The last slob he’d possessed didn’t even have eyelashes. Bleh. He got dirty, fast, and expired before they could have any fun. This little button wasn’t so easily broken like old Les had been, oh no! She was what those humans called resilient. 

Patting her pockets, he looked for any cash, frowning when all he found was American currency. Great. The colonies. He hadn’t been on this miserable slice of crap since Harding, and there sure as shit wasn’t any good old fashioned revelry this side of the Atlantic since. Man, those were some good times. Especially boozing. This one was probably too young to get any drinks anyhow, but that wasn’t a big deal. He could get creative. He just needed to get his bearings-

Sunnydale? Stepping closer to the bus stop, he tilted the girl’s head to the side as he regarded the bench. The smiling, almost smarmy face of a middle aged man adorned the back, the words ‘#1 real estate agent in Sunnydale of 2002’ emblazoned to the left of his mug. Huh. So it’s that Hellmouth, then? Perfect! I left that little prezzie here last time, and I bet it’s still right there. Snapping her fingers, he looked up to reorient himself with the stars, scowling when the streetlights dimmed some of the glow. No matter. He had enough of a sight line to go straight there. After all, no idiot would go and tear up a temple, right? 

 

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Apparently, they would. Not directly, sure. But the old Satanic temple had sunken into the sandy shore of Kingman’s Bluff. Well, shoot. There went that plan. Proserpexa wasn’t gonna like that! But… humans liked collecting things, too. Maybe one of those- those- argh! What were those places they called again? Those artefact storage places? With the glass, and the secur- museum! That’s it! He just had to find the closest museum. Turning back around, he kept walking. He’d just have to find a map. Humans loved maps! It’d be a cinch. 

Too bad this dolly’s body was already fighting him. Ugh! But she has so much power, he pouted, forcing her legs to keep moving forwards. Why doesn’t she use it? Especially with these terrible wind holders. These lungs- He stopped, looking down at her chest in confusion. “Huh…” That- how the hell-? Those weren’t hers, originally. How’d she get new ones? And how hadn’t he noticed that before? Stranger and stranger, this enigma of a vessel. “No matter,” he mumbled, humming as he started to skip. Skipping was way more fun than boring old walking, anyhow. At least her casted up wrist couldn’t stop them from doing that. 

Stopping at the closest bus stop, he grinned, his puppet matching the expression. Oh, humans. So predictable! Putting a little map right on the route schedule made his task that much easier! Now, if only this bus was coming within the hour. But her watch told him ‘fat chance’, so he sighed, and kept walking. Sooner or later, someone would be missing her, he just knew it. Maybe that girl she was in the book reliquary with. Once she woke up from the love tap he left her with. Heh heh heh. Sucker!  

Entering the museum turned out to be harder than getting her to touch the book. Even with his added demon powers, her noodle arms weren’t enough to break the lock on the doors. Grunting in frustration at the twelfth door, he decided there might be more luck in an underground entrance. Yeah… he could do that! This town was full of ‘em, after all. 

Jumping over the curb, he vaulted her body into the parking garage, barely missing the guardrail. Easy peasy. Now, where would a human builder put an underground entrance? Following the handy-dandy arrows, he moved his temporary meat-sack to the bottom floor, where a curious little door was tucked away, practically hidden among the dumpsters. Ha! No problem-o! Sliding past the foetid stank from the bins, he jiggled the knob to find it unlocked. “And these are the apex predators of this world?” her voice box echoed against her will. Oh, she really didn’t want to be here. He could feel it, how her consciousness was trying to revolt. “Cute, but useless.” He slipped into the new space, blinking to get used to the lighting differences. 

Stairs! He knew how to work those! Taking them down - there was no other way - he came across a curious room. Or rather, open expanse. “Huh. Sub Basement? Doubt these puny guys know this place even ex-”

“Mummy’s home,” the voice called out, making Krollix freeze in his quest to find the little trinket. It was a haunting sound, sorta… melodical. It both soothed the beast, and made the mortal he was hitching a ride on’s heart speed up a smidgen. Familiar, but not. Oh, boy. What a fun little puzzle to solve!

Chapter 38

Summary:

Druscilla shows up and some stuff happens. That’s it. That’s all you’re gettin’ for a synopsis (said playfully).

TW: demonic possession, mention of r*pe that Angelus did in Dru's past

Chapter Text

 

Monday, January 6th, 2003 - Part B

 

Buffy didn’t like Gemini all that much on the daily. Sure, he was cute, in an ‘I was a science experiment, lost part of an eye’ kinda way. And sure, he was a good snuggle buddy when watching tv or doing her homework. But he left his toys everywhere, he constantly barged in when she and Spike had * ahem * alone time, and he chewed her third favourite stake! Ugh! But where he lacked in keeping his shared living spaces tidy, he made up for in tracking abilities. Holding Charlotte’s stuffed frog to his snout, he only needed a deep sniff before he was off. Following in the car, Joyce and Dawn were on edge as much as Buffy, holding the leash tightly, the dog form of their Nibblet’s pet leading the way. But no one was more on edge than the vampire. 

Where Gemini pulled on the leash, Spike wanted to run ahead of him. What made the Brit even more incensed at his sister’s disappearance - besides the fact that she had pulled this stunt with Dawn not even two months ago - was that the mutt was doing a better job tracking the girl than he was. He was a sodding vampire, for fuck sake! A master vamp, at that! He shouldn’t be relying on a- 

“Bloody hell!” Gem yanked the leash abruptly to the right, heading West on Oak Park Street. “I don’t think wrenching her shoulder out the socket will do much good.”

Nearing the museum, Buffy watched as the pooch slowed down, sniffing more deliberately at the sidewalk. “I think we’re close.”

“Thank bloody Christe for that.”

Sitting in front of the building, he whined, refusing to budge. “She’s in there?” the Slayer asked. He laid his head down on his paws, nose pointed straight ahead. Ears pulled back, tail tucked in- he was frightened. Whatever was in there was terrifying him. “Dawn?”

“Yeah, that’s what he does when- what is it, boy?” He stood, running to the car, and jumped into the open window to hide in human friend mom Joyce’s lap. “Oh…. Kay…. She’s in there. But maybe-”

“Spike and I will go in, you two stay here with the car. Be ready for a Raines and Wayland getaway.”

Heading to the museum together, they went through the back way, Buffy slipping herself through an open basement window. Taking a look around, nothing immediately jumped out at her, other than the museum’s lack of interest in keeping their locker room secure. Propping the window open a far as possible, she grunted with the effort of holding it open, watching him shimmy himself in. “I dunno what she wants from here that she couldn’t wait for,” she whispered, breathing out a sigh of relief once she let go of the glass. “But I’m so ready to suggest a year long ban from all museums for her.”

“Might have to make it ‘till she gets into uni,” he grumbled, following her to the door, dark storm clouds hanging over his head. He’d armed himself with a machete, in case he had to do some decapitation, and she knew he was gonna flip if it turned out his sister just wanted to do some petty thieving. Or does this count as a felony? she thought, the pair splitting up at the first set of stairs they came across. There were a hell of a lot of floors, and not a heck of a lot of patience to search through. B&E, trespassing, possible burglary- she’s so grounded from everything after this. I might even take away her chess board!

But Buffy knew she wouldn’t. Not really. She couldn’t be like the so-called Smiths. They’d probably set it on fire, and have gotten off on making her cry over the cinders. Shuddering against the cold thought, she kept sneaking through the museum, hissing out the girl’s name, hoping that they’d find her before the security guard did. Hopefully no one’s gone all husk-y from a mummy this time around. Argh! C’mon, Buffy. Focus! God! Where is she?!

 

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“Oh. Look at the poppet.” Movement from the left made him spin, but the girl’s eyes strained against the dim lighting. Damn. He forgot how pathetic humans were at night. “Miss Edith gets a new friend.” 

Spinning to the right, he saw her. There! Oh, wow. Wowie, wow, wow. This was some beauty! Dark hair, paler than stone, dress flowing as she strode forwards. Stopping, he watched her clap her hands like a child, the seal excited for the fish the zookeeper tossed it. This one’s different, he thought. A vampiress who has…. She has the sight. Would prove useful, having her on my side, especially when- 

At the shifting inside the human’s chest, Krollix frowned. This girl shouldn’t be able to do that. His hold on her should be stronger than her will. Maybe he was getting rusty. Didn’t matter. If he could use the dark one’s power, he could eviscerate the blonde in a snap. “What do you call yourself?” he asked, Charlotte’s voice uttering out her lips, against her will. 

“Mmm, the goddess of death calls me,” she responded instead, fingers twitching as she caressed herself from hips to neck, lost in her own vision. “She’s travelling through the river Styx, but tut, tut, tut. She’s not meant to go there.”

“Who? This meat suit?” he asked, gesturing down the expanse of multi-coloured crap the shell decorated herself with. Honestly, he didn’t understand humans and their need to hide their countenance behind glittering merchandise. 

But the dark lady only laughed, shaking her head as she gripped her shoulders. “So cold, she is,” she continued, stepping to the side, circling him slowly. Like predator and prey, he followed, making sure he’d have the upper hand, if need be. “Little dolly’s lost, but I see her. See her in the white silk robe, like mummy used to have, before- no!” Slapping herself in the cheek, he stepped back in confusion. She was unstable. Good. Would make things easier. “Mustn't think of mummy like that. Where’s my mummy gone? She’s not a real boy,” she cackled. Hands gripping her hair as she shook. “She’s made of light, hiding in the dark, and ashes, ashes,” she sang, swaying dangerously back and forth. “We all fall into the pit; to grandmother’s house we go!”

Okay, so she was madder than he originally suspected? Who cares! As long as his boss was happy, Krollix was happy. But geez! Did she ever shut up?! “Are you gonna answer me, or are we gonna keep playing these stupid games?!”

Giggling, she bowed, exaggerated for the invisible audience in the museum parking garage. “They call me Druscilla, oh old one. Your fleshy dolly shouldn’t be here.”

“Why do you care? You could be on my side, if you play your cards right.”

“Oooh, so daddy wants to play games after all. Do we have to keep score?” Her pout made her look twenty two, but he knew better. She was old. Not as old as he was, obviously, but she’d do nicely. 

 

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Nothing. Charlotte hadn’t been inside the museum at all! Spike had gone on the top floors, while she covered the bottom two. And the night was getting colder. If Charlotte got caught outside without her jacket on-

Oh, crap. Going on instinct, however, Buffy immediately headed for the parking garage, mentally kicking herself for not realising sooner. Gemini hadn’t pointed his nose at the main building, but at the parking garage! Duh! Starting on the first floor, she knelt down where something glittery caught her eye. A sticker. Not just any- she’d stuck this very one into Charlotte’s cast after their last practise at the Box herself. The holographic duck had cute sunglasses on, and Lotte had told the woman that she’d treasure it always. Why was it-? There! Up ahead, just eight feet away, was another sticker, this time the Lisa Frank unicorn one Thomas stuck onto- She’s leaving breadcrumbs, she thought. Halle-freakin-lujiah. 

Six. She found only six stickers, and now- “Huh.” She froze, her eyes catching a flicker of light, coming right through the ground. “Gee, what’d ya know: they’ll put electrics anywhere, if they can afford it.” Oh, God. She was starting to sound like her mother. Or Giles. Bleugh! 

Getting closer, her head cocked curiously to the side, looking carefully at the weird crack in the ground. She was pretty sure the museum didn’t have a sub basement under the parking garage, but her Slayer instincts told her to check it out- ASAP. She only managed a single step forward before the ground fought back. 

Slipping, Buffy felt the pavement give out under her, her ankle breaking her fall in a sickening crack. Hissing in agony, she coughed, waving her hand in front of her face. The dust had un-settled itself right up in her face, like a real jerk. Not that she was gonna be deterred by that. “Ow!” But she might be with a broken leg. Gently pushing on the limb, she was relieved when all she felt was pain shooting from her ankle. Okay, still not of the good, but way more manageable than a leg fracture. Standing, she grit her teeth with each step, freezing when she heard something close by. It almost sounded like… 

Voices. Charlotte was here. 

Moving closer to the sounds, she fumbled for her cell, getting Spike’s voicemail before trying again. He picked up on the first ring with a, “playing broken telephone with you-”

“Parking garage,” she whispered back, cutting him off. “I hear voices. Lottie’s with someone. I’m on the lower level- Xander’s guys missed a crack, cuz I fell into the sub-garage, or whatever this place is called.”

“Voices plural? Not good.”

“Same page here, babe.”

“No, luv,” he hissed back, the sound of movement emanating from his end. Running. He was running. “The security guard’s been drained.”

Crap! That meant- “vampire. Oh, God. Hurry!” Hanging up, she sprinted herself, ignoring the pain in her foot and ankle, gritting her teeth against it. There was scaffolding further in, holding up the tools and materials, left by the crews to do maintenance on the bottom of the floor above. Weaving past them, she nearly felt her heart lurch at the sound of the vampire who had their charge in her thrall. She knew that voice, and- “No.” 

But there, awashed in the lone floodlight the work crew left behind, was the ex-girlfriend of her current boyfriend. His ex-dark princess, trussed up in crushed velvet, and fascinated with his sister. “Naughty, naughty,” Drusilla sashayed closer, hand reaching out to touch the blonde coils. She was supposed to be stuck at the bottom of the ocean! What the hell happened?! Harmony had receipts! Didn’t anyone stay where ya stuck ‘em anymore?! 

Buffy ran on her sprained ankle despite the agony. If only Charlotte could open her eyes, if she’d only move! No, opening her eyes would be of the bad, but what was she doing? Move, dammit! MOVE! “Charlotte! Don’t open your eyes!” 

Snarling, the vampire hissed around her fangs at the woman weaving through unsafe conditions. “Not your fight, Slayer.” Turning back to the littler blonde, she reached a bony hand out again. “What’s this little lamb doing so far from the farm? I know! You’ll turn to bleat at the moon, and I shall bathe in your b-”

Before her fingers made contact, Lottie’s good hand shot up, grasping her wrist. Lids popping open, she stared at the vampire with hollow eyes. “Silla,” she cried in an unfamiliar voice. “Please! Why did you let him hurt us, Silla?”

Except it was only unfamiliar to Buffy, because the reaction from the vampiress told the Slayer she’d heard it before. Gasping, Druscilla tried to wrench her hand back, but couldn’t, the girl’s grip tighter than it ever should have been. “No. No! Foul conjurer, cease your torrent of lies, or I’ll-”

With a tilt of her head, a new voice appeared, sounding increasingly petrified. “Silla! Silla!” she shouted, her expression blank, despite the fear billowed out with the tone. “He- he’s got me! Run, sister! Save yourself!”

“No! No, no, no! NOOO!!!” She yanked harder, but still, she was stuck. Lottie must have had something possessing her to have that kinda strength. “Stop that! You’ve been very naughty, Miss Edith, and now I shall have to punish you!” Raising her hand to smack the girl, she was stopped by her other hand, gripping the vampire’s opposite wrist steadfast. Whining like a high pitched tea kettle, Dru tried to break free uselessly. “Let go! Let gooooo!” 

“Get away from her!” Buffy gasped, avoiding some rebar- just barely. “Don’t touch her!”

Turning her head to the side, the voice changed again, deeper, older. “You’ve brought shame upon our family,” it boomed, echoing off the cement walls. “Wicked! Encrusted in sin, the devil’s mistress. These visions are a curse. You are a blemish on the Murton name, and I should wipe you out!”

“No! I’m the mummy now! I am! Me! Me! Meeeeeeee!”

“Charlotte! Hold on!”

Tilting back at a sharp angle, another clicking sound filled the air, before a cacophony of terrified voices spilled out the teen’s mouth, enveloping the vampiress in a tormenting avalanche. “Sister Mary Eustice! Save yourself!” one called out to her, Dru digging her heels in now, sobbing as she tried to break free. “Mother Superior! Help us! Help- Aaaaahhhh!”

“No more! No more!!!”

“Buffy?!” Spike’s voice broke out behind her, his footfalls echoing as his boots hit the concrete. “Pidge?!”

Pushing herself forwards, she slipped the stake from her jacket pocket, raising as she advanced. “Here!” she shouted, ready to dust the dark haired vamp, pronto. 

“Sister! Sister Mary Eustice!” another cried. “He’s- he’s coming for you! Run! He’ll get you! He’ll brand you, as he’s branded me!” Quickly shifting through them, one by one, they all cried for the nun she once was, the Slayer trying to get through the dilapidated garage to get to the teenager, but the damage was done. However it happened, Charlotte was channelling the voices of Drusilla’s past, tormenting her for something that happened aeons before the curly haired blonde girl was even born. “Silla! Silla! He- he killed mother! He killed father! He ra- raped Margaret, and killed her too- oh, God!”

Sobbing, Dru sank to the ground, pathetic in her misery as the Slayer got close enough to touch. “I’m sorry! I’m so- sorry, Edith!” she cried, tears rolling her mascara down her cheeks. She was crying so hard, in fact, that her left eye started leaking blood, too. “I failed you! I f- failed you, and Margaret! I failed my fa- family!”

Releasing her wrists, the voices layered all at once, a burst of air from somewhere not of their earth, uttering, “go with God, Drusilla. And never return to this family, or you shall suffer, for all of eternity.”

Scampering up, the dark haired beauty of the night heeded the warning, scarpering off before the Slayer could dust her. 

As if whatever spectre had her in its clutches was exorcised, Lottie twitched before her eyes rolled back into her head, collapsing with her strings severed. “Charlotte!” Buffy sprinted the last two feet towards the girl, catching her before her head hit the ground. “Oomph!” The stake clattered as they all hit the deck, her body cushioning the girl’s fall. “God, Charlotte! Spike…”

He was on them in seconds, Drusilla not coming back anytime soon. He pulled his sister’s hair back from her face, petrified from what he just witnessed. “Pidge?” Shaking her shoulder, he willed her to wake. But it was fruitless. No matter how much he shook her, she wouldn’t budge. “Come on, Pidge. Up and at ‘em. Time to get that worm.” He pulled her from Buffy’s grasp, trembling himself as she slouched in his lap limply. “I can’t- I- I can’t- I don’t know what to- Buffy?” 

She nodded, knowing what he was asking her. “I’m so, so sorry Charlotte,” she whispered, before slapping the girl’s cheek. 

“Ginger mints and clotted cream!” the teenager shouted, sitting upright before collapsing back to her brother’s chest. “Ow! My head…” She gripped her temples in both hands before looking around. “Buffy? William? Wha- what happened?” She blinked against the darkness, the lights simultaneously too bright, and not nearly bright enough. If she wasn’t careful, she’d bring up her evening snack all over her family. From experience, she knew that would be of the utmost badness, what with the scratching of raw carrot bits against her already sore throat. “Where are we? How did we get here?”

“Pidge… do you remember anything?”

“Y- yes. There.. there was a woman,” she pointed, looking for her, and found dead air. “But... not here. Oh, heavens. My legs do ache something fierce. I was- I- I was at the school. I was helping Kit, when- when this woman appeared, like a spectre.”

“Drusilla.”

“Dru- no,” she pushed away from him, trying to stand without much success. She let them both support her, keeping her from collapsing a second time, her head spinning like a top. Shivering against the chill, she finally recognized how much colder it was here than in the school library. Mrs. Summers told the girls she’d pick them up when they were done, to just give her a ring, and maybe Charlotte should take her coat as well as her jumper when they got a ride to school that morning. Now, she wished she’d listened. Would have behoved her to. “N- no, you said she was from back home, from England. She would have- she- she wouldn’t have sounded American, would she?”

That piqued Buffy’s interest. “American? There was an American woman? What did she look like?” 

“A bit taller than you, Buffy, b- but not as tall as Dawn. Thin, but healthy, dark hair t- to here,” she motioned her good hand just under the chin, near shoulder length. “Sh- she was maybe thirty? Couldn’t have been older than that, although I never can tell anymore, ow!” She gripped her temples again, wondering if her brother felt this awful whenever his chip fired. “She said she could help. I thought she could help. Honest, I did.”

Slinging Lottie’s book bag over her shoulder, Buffy asked, “What did she do?”

“Said- she said I was meant to help you.” Spike took the sweater his Slayer had passed him, helping his coughing sister put it on. If he grumbled the whole way he did it, so be it. “Help you both, w- with some seal.”

The lovers shared a very tense look before Buffy looked back at her. “What seal?”

“I don’t kn-, oh, my head!” Lurching forwards, the girl looked seconds from tossing her cookies. “She’s left the whole world spinning in her wake.”

“Possession?” Spike asked. “You let her possess you?!”  

“I did no such thing!” Charlotte retorted. “She gave me a book, that’s all.” Sticking her hand in the messenger bag, she pulled a book out, handing it to her brother who promptly riffled through the pages. 

“Pidge… this is a spell book. Where did she get this?”

“Did she touch you?”

“Touch…?” She looked at Buffy in exasperation before understanding dawned on her. “No. I- I tried to reach out, to- to brush something off her blouse. I think it was soil or- or something, but she just… like a spectre.”

The two stared at each other, while Spike looked ready to tear a hole into the space time continuum. “Will someone tell me what’s bloody well going on?!”

“What blouse? Describe it.”

“What?”

“Just-” Buffy huffed trying to calm down. “Please. It could help.”

“Sheer, with- with a motif of flowers, some purple, some pink, mostly pale though, as- as though it had been washed too many times.”

“Pants? Uh, trousers?”

“N- no, a long skirt in the same material. Flowing about and-” 

“Fashion?!” he barked. “You’re standing about, in some dank sub-garage from Belzabub’s cellar, talking about fashion?!

Buffy’s face was grave, paler than she’d ever seen it. But it wasn’t from her sweetheart’s outburst. “Miss Buffy?” Charlotte asked. “Do you know of her?”

Spike finally caught on, tone gentling. “Pet?”

“No,” she gasped, her eyes wide and heart pounding in her throat. “Oh God, no.”

“Buffy, you’re scaring me,” she said, very quietly. 

That snapped herself forwards, helping Spike support Lottie as they made their way out. “We need a Scoobie meeting. NOW.” At Charlotte’s continued coughing, she shook her head. “Hospital first. Then, the meeting. God, Charlotte!” Wrapping her up in the second sweater was helping, but not by much. “You’re freezing!”

“I actually feel rather warm. Oh. Th- that seems troubling.”

“You’re the one acing biology, so I think you’re right on the money there.”

 

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“So what was it?” Xander asked, leaning back in the swivel chair. 

Charlotte received help in the ER upon arrival, and had gotten a bed within minutes. Either it was a slow night at Sunnydale Memorial, or they were just so familiar with her - and her little entourage - that no one could deny her. 

After getting her checked in, Buffy called Giles to get his butt over asap, and see if it was anything residual from the possession making her sick, or if it was the mix of Lottie being underdressed in chilly weather, with a side of yuck from the parking garage they found her in. Thankfully, whatever had possessed her had gone. It wasn’t likely to come back, Giles and Willow both assured her, as it seemed to have been ejected in such a way that survival was not possible. Whatever that meant. She didn’t know how it happened, or how they knew, all she knew was it was a damn good thing the girl was found when she had been. 

Unfortunately for Lottie, she was exhausted. Her body had been thrown through a wash cycle of epic proportions, not only from the demonic possession, but also from her environment. Between the school and the museum was a long walk, and the parking garage wasn’t exactly sterile by any means. The doctors had insisted on keeping her overnight, already giving her a chest x-Ray, and drawn more vials of blood than Buffy had ever seen taken from such a thin patient. After her nurse put those oxygen toggles up her nose, the hospital had two police detectives come to interview the girl, Mrs. S by her side. Charlotte didn’t lie outright, saying she remembered the woman in the library approaching her one minute, and waking up the next, in Buffy’s arms, unaware of the hours in between. Joyce told them about their dog finding her scent, which was nothing strange to the younger detective, having seen both Dawn and Lottie walking Gem a few times before. They’d put out an APB for the woman they had no chance of finding, and left. And now that visiting hours were over, the rest of the Slayer’s crew had to commandeer an empty conference room on the second floor, for their own debriefing. 

Buffy turned to the girl, pushing her hair off her forehead. The blonde was trembling from being in the hospital, yet again, but everyone promised she’d never be alone. Already, Anya was drawing up a schedule to ensure maximum efficiency, much to the chagrin of her husband, who was instantly regretting signing her up for the Woman Who Work Empowerment Conference. He thought it would be like tax breaks and negotiation tactics. Turns out, it was a whole lotta ‘Anya comes back 40% more controlling, with a bag of post its and pens’. “Describe her again, Charlotte?” she asked, smiling with a, “please?” And so Charlotte did, slowly, trying to recall each detail from the moment the apparition materialised. Pulling the book out, she showed the cover to everyone, Giles recognizing it instantly. 

His legs gave out from under him as a sob wrenched from his chest, grateful for the chair beneath his legs. “Jenny…”

Xander sat straighter, looking at the shopkeeper with a frown. “Miss Calendar?”

“The teacher Angel killed when he lost his soul,” Willow said softly to Tara, who was on the opposite side of the table, Dawn between her and the patient. 

“No,” Buffy said, jaw clenched. “It was that thing , using her face. It can only use the likeness of someone who’s already dead. I saw it, after Miss Calendar was killed,” her heart hammered in her chest, body feeling both adrenaline flood through her, and exhaustion sucking energy out of her twofold. “It used her face, the face of the first human I really trusted who was killed by a demon, because it knew it would hurt the most. It’s back. It’s here, it’s coming for us, and it used Charlotte like a puppet to try and mess us up. To get us to stop what we do best.”

“To kill her,” Anya added point blank, Lottie recoiling in fear. “It’s happening then, isn’t it? The First. It’s here to open the Hellmouth. Kill us all.”

Eyes widening, Dawn felt her blood curdle at the thought. “Your nightmares,” she breathed, looking at her sister with terror. “You- do you remember what you said when you- after you woke up from the one yesterday? Cuz…”

Nodding gravely, Buffy repeated the words to her compatriots, wishing she had never dreamt them up in the first place. That it didn’t haunt her over and over again, night after night. That it wasn’t coming true before her very eyes. “From beneath you, it devours.”

Chapter 39

Summary:

Joyce sells her gallery, the First Potentials get brought over, and Buffy learns just why her mom trusts a freaking psychic. Oh, and Spike and Giles bicker like schoolyard boys, cuz this is just the slayer's freakign life now, apparently

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Wednesday, January 8th, 2003

 

Buffy stopped short, turning around to peer into the dining room, head tilted at the trompe-l'œil being painted there. At the table, her mom looked like she was signing some papers, two men and a woman the blonde didn’t recognize flanking either side of her. Whatever was going down, it looked serious. “Uh… hey everyone,” she hesitantly said, the others in the room turning to face her. “Do I need an invite?”

“Buffy,” her mom smiled warmly. “Are you heading out?”

As a matter of fact, the Slayer was. Charlotte had to be admitted into Sunnydale General for an upper respiratory infection - mild, but still distressing for everyone - after her jaunt through horrors past, and was on the mend. But also bored. Absolutely, utterly bored. Willow and Tara were with her now, keeping her company while Buffy got some stuff done at home. She was expecting her mother to already be over there herself, and was more than a little thrown at the impromptu dining room table conference. “Uh, I was, but then I saw your little pow-wow and thought, ‘gee, maybe I should stick around, see what all the hubbub’s about’. So… what’s with all the,” she gestured to the papers on the table with her hand, nearing the end where her mom sat. “You planning for world domination without me?”

Chuckling lightly, the man to her left shook his head. “You were right, Joyce,” the familiar voice said. “Still as witty as ever.”

I know that voice, she thought, wracking her brain for the answer. He… gosh, hang on. Mmmm… money. Something to do with money…? Managing it some way…? The business manager! For the gallery, duh! But, wait. What’s he doing here? And who the heck are these other two?!

“Perfect timing,” the woman next to her mom spoke up, handing Buffy a pen. The woman’s hair was cropped short, the adorable pixie cut highlighting her high cheekbones and sharp jawline. “Now if you can just sign as witness, we can get out of your hair.”

Blinking down at the document her mom was signing, Buffy baulked. “You’re selling the gallery?! Mom-”

“Don’t ‘mom’ me,” Joyce replied calmly. Evenly. Like she’d been practising it in the mirror, or something. “It’s time. And anyways, I got a heck of an offer on it, and I’d be foolish to turn it down.”

Ready to argue over it, how it was her mom’s dream, and she shouldn’t have to give it up just because some faceless benefactor offered her a load of- Woah, she thought, eyes falling on the number on one of the papers. No friggin’ way! “Is that their phone number, or are they just happy to see you?”

The business people chuckled good naturedly, showing her where to sign, and explaining to her mom on their next steps, assuring them both that they had it all handled. So Buffy sighed. And signed. And signed her name ag- seriously, why did they need like, a million signatures to prove her witnesstude? Did they really need three copies of the same document signed? Couldn’t they just, like, photocopy it twice? Then, hey, presto! No hand crampage! 

When all was said and done, the suits shook their hands, collected the massive stack of documents, and left their house. The second the door shut, she was on her mom like white on rice. “I just don’t understand why. Why now?”

Sighing, her mom shook her head. “I… I called the psychic, and-”

“Oh, my God mom! You sold the business of your dreams, because a psychic told you to?!”

“First off, don’t use that tone of voice with me, young lady. I don’t deserve your shouting, either. Secondly, I didn’t call her to ask her about the business.”

“Great. Just great. What did you call her about, hmm?”

“Gee, I wonder,” Joyce grumbled, cranky at the sheer volume of crap on her brain. Thank goodness her last scan was clean, or else she’d be sure she was having another tumour related episode. “With everything that’s happened this year, I thought I should call and ask what she saw about our future.”

“Uh-huh,” her daughter snarked back, unconvinced. “And you trust her to tell you the truth?”

Her mother levelled her with a heavy expression. “She hasn’t been wrong yet, if you don’t remember.”

Glory. Of course. Hard to forget your mom sending you on a roadtrip from a HellGod, only to show up at the last possible second, ending it with a long range weapon your whole family despised. “But… mom, look-”

“I’m an adult, it’s my business, and I can handle it myself.”

“I’m just worried that maybe she’s taking advantage of you. What did you tell her, exactly? How do you know you can trust her?”

“Because I only give her vague information, and she ends up telling me details back. Ones that she should have no idea about. Like how I first called her, back when I thought of that plan to outrun the clock? I asked her point blank, ‘I’m worried about my daughters, and I know that they’re strong, and resilient, so I should be fine. But I’m a wreck, and I don’t know what to do.’ That’s all I said, and you know what she told me?”

“Hey, build some bots and you’re golden?”

“No. She said, ‘ah, let me guess? Glorificus has crossed into our dimension?’”

Well, that was just…. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“Maybe. But she knows things, Buffy,” the mother pressed upon her eldest. “Things no one should. She knows you're the Slayer, knows Spike’s a vampire, knew what- knew what Dawn used to be. She- I used to have this recurring dream, where I’m dancing at the Louvre, and my hair is made of spaghetti, instead of,” she gestured to her beautiful curls. “But one night, I dreamt it was all falling out, and the paintings all started to melt, and I woke up in a cold sweat. She knew about that, Buffy. I’ve never told anyone that before. Didn’t even write it down in my diary. She asked if I was sleeping well, and I told her I had a weird dream, and she asked if the oil paintings were melting, or my hair all fell out, or if it was both. How else would she know that? About how your granny Jane tried to teach you how to knit with a song about Peter Cottontail, or that I once thought I would be a used bookshop owner when I was a teenager.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” she replied, confused and more than a little curious. 

Joyce laughed breathlessly, shaking her head. “Never told anyone that, sweetie. She- she just knows things. She feels… safe. Reliable. She hasn’t steered me wrong yet. Which reminds me,” she added, handing Buffy an embossed white envelope, her name in blue ink emblazoned on the front. “In case anything ever happens to me-”

“Mom, no!”

But Joyce was firm in her resolve. “Stop arguing with me for a minute and listen to me, okay? I want you to hide this in Spike’s car for me.”

Wait, what? “In his car? Mom-”

“Find somewhere- like hidden in a door panel, or something that would take a while to dig up from, alright?” Levelling her eldest with a firm stare, she added, “I’m serious, Buffy Anne. I don’t want even Spike being able to sniff this out unless he tries to disassemble the whole kit and caboodle. It’s important.”

Oh, boy. Her mom only ever used her middle name like that when things were verging on nuclear. “Is it too much to ask what’s in it?”

“Just business stuff,” she answered, waving her hand absently. Which didn’t feel reassuring in the slightest. “Better you don’t know, honey.”

Looking at the admittedly super luxurious feeling envelope, she wondered what the hell her mother had gotten herself into, this time. But… maybe it was better if she didn’t know. Buffy sure hadn’t told her yet of Willow’s nightmare. Hadn’t been able to even tell Spike yet. He knew she wanted to, but everytime she started to tell him, she’d break out into tears. Like a deflecting coward. So she didn’t open it, just nodded. “Okay. I’ll…. I’ll do it later, when he’s- I was gonna say at work with you, but-”

“Oh, no. He’s still going with me. We’re taking my car,” she reasoned, wrapping an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “He’s gonna help me clean out my office, instead of unloading the exhibit, so you have some time.”

Geez, when did her mom find time to plan all these things between drop off and… everything else? “You devious, devious fiend.”

Giggling, she grabbed her purse with her free hand. “C’mon, admonish me in the car. We have our chess prodigy to visit.”

 

----------

 

Monday, January 13th, 2003

 

Buffy paced. When Giles called her last night, he’d sounded harried. And from Maine of all places- good grief. She just had a feeling it was of the worst badness. He’d been flying everywhere lately, trying to fix the disaster of the missing Watchers. 

Well, whatever had taken them was long gone, but the Watchers themselves? Dead. Not all of them, but enough that an investigation had taken place, and then…. She didn’t know what she expected, but hearing that Quinten Travers had been gutted like a fish made her wretch. Literally. The evisceration (and Giles’ explanation on the phone of it) had been… thorough, to say the least, and his poor secretary had it worse. Not that Buffy felt particularly bad for the woman like she would, let's say, one of her high school teachers. She did work for the ‘Shadow Men’ after all. Had. Had worked. Debbie was deader than a doornail, now.

So were a lot of people, in fact. When Giles was called back to HQ to act as witness to the inquiry, he’d been lucky his plane to Heathrow had been delayed. Because at exactly 9:21 AM London time - nine minutes before the committee were meant to begin - a bomb had taken out the head office of Watcher central. Thankfully, only one bystander on the street was killed, and only a few were injured. His friend Robson had ended up in the hospital, shrapnel embedded in his gut, and Rupert Giles ended up finding himself in the unlikely position as new Head Watcher. Which meant travel, non-stop. And not on the fancy-schmancy jet the Watchers once had - seriously?! But they couldn’t offer to foot some of her mom’s hospital bills?! Tightwads - because that had also been blown up- right on the tarmac. 

That had been five days ago. Now, she was antsy as all heck waiting on Xander and Anya to bring him home, with a few ‘special items’ he’d boasted about. 

Unfortunately for her, no one told her the ‘items’ were actually people. 

“Um… is this your way of saying you had a wild night you couldn’t remember about back in ‘89, until some ‘special friends’ of yours looked you up in London?” she asked as she opened the front door. “Or is there another, non-kidnapping reason you’ve got three teenagers trailing after you?”

“He wishes,” the one closest to her said, rolling her brown eyes. All three girls pushed past her and Giles, filtering into the house. “My mom’s way outta his league.”

“Yes,” Mr. Frowny responded dryly, following them inside. “Thank you, Kennedy. For a moment there, I fancied myself Hugh Grant.”

Folding her arms over her chest, she turned her best Slayer Scowl at her Watcher. Her mother came over to see what the commotion was all about, blinking owlishly at the new arrivals from the dining room. “Alright, spill. Why’re you here with three-fifths of a pop girl group?”

“We’re the potential slayers, miss,” the tallest of the three offered cheerily. “We’d have expected you to know that, by now. Mister Giles says your slayer dreams would have told you so.”

Her slayer-? “The- Giles? Can I talk to you in the living room- alone.”

“Er, I suppose that’s best. Joyce?”

At the sight of her daughter’s stern stance, and his exhausted one, the woman jumped into action. “Right. You girls hungry?” she asked. “I just got a bunch of pasta.”

Once the girls were all shuffled past, Buffy cornered her Watcher. But what he told her had her legs giving out. Collapsing to the couch, her head swam. Her dreams… They were premonitions. Because of course they were. She’d seen actual girls- they were gone. Just- dead. The Bringers were snuffing them out, one by one. And without any Potential Slayers, killing her and Faith would mean the end of the line. Forever. But now… 

“What- what happens now? I mean, obviously I know what- you want me to train them. But they can’t stay at your place,” she hedged, already dreading the suggestion she knew he was going to offer. “Willow’s still living at your place, right?”

He pulled off his glasses, and- yep! There was that pesky cloth. “Er, about that….” No. No, no, no! 

“‘If Willow lives here, Buffy, then I can take them in,’ he hopefully says?” she asked brightly. Upon his sunken expression, however, she knew she wasn’t getting off that easily. Goddammit! “Giles! 

Putting the glasses back on his face, he dropped another bomb on her. “I already spoke to your mother-”

“Hey!”

“She said in the meantime, she’s alright with the three of them staying here for the next few nights,” he continued. “Just!” he added, trying to placate her. “Just until we can find a better solution.” ‘Trying’ being the key phrase. 

Scowl deepening, she whined, “Giles! Seriously, you can’t think that’s a good idea. Hello?” Dropping her voice, she hissed out, “remember who my boyfriend is?” 

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten, no matter how much I wish to.”

“Gee, cuz we all love having our love lives pulled apart,” she snarled back. Oh, if only she had more dirt on him in that regard, but she wasn’t gonna bring up Olivia and Jenny. That’d be tacky, and mean. She might be ‘biotchy’ sometimes. She could admit that much, but not tacky. Ever. 

“But where else would they be safer than here?” 

Oh, dammit! He knew those were the right words to use to get her to bend, the big, dumb, smart guy. “We’re gonna need more boxes.”

Sniffing, he let out a breath in relief. “I suppose I could make a stop at the grocers, and-”

“No, Giles. Special boxes. Ya know? For the bathrooms?”

“I- beg pardon?”

Oh, man. She was really gonna have to spell it out, huh? Probably should grab the visual aid. “The magical kind?” she continued. “To, ya know, deal with certain products of the… bloody nature?”

“What are you on ab-? Oh. Ah.” Figuring it out, his face pinked up, embarrassed as he cleaned his glasses in his British avoidance mode. At this rate, he was gonna change prescriptions by polishing alone. “Ahem! I- I shall endeavour to make, er, an inquiry with Tara on the matter. Perhaps…” he trailed off.

She knew where he was headed with that. Willow. “Only if you think she can handle it. Maybe… ya know, strength in numbers?” 

“Yes. Quite.” He startled at the knock on the glass, the pair turning to the living room door as it was pushed open. “How long have you been eavesdropping?”

“Just standin’ about,” Spike sniffed casually, sauntering in to sit by her side. Not that either of them believed that. “Heard a load of girlie chatterings, thought the girls were home, before… wassit?” Telling him the plan, his face grew more and more twisted up, anger filling his every pore. He didn’t like this one bit, and no one needed to be an expert in Spikenese to see that. “They know who I am?”

“Er, no. Simply that you live here, and to give you a wide berth. For now.”

“Gee, that’s swell. Here’s a thought,” Buffy added bitterly. “What happens when someone tries to open the curtain around… now-ish? Hmm? I will not have my boyfriend freaked out in his own home.”

Scoffing, said boyfriend rolled his eyes. “Well I ain’t goin’ to shack up with Red while Watcher Senior here’s off galavanting around-”

Scowling, her Watcher snapped right back at the vamp. “It is my job,” he stood, incensed. “Not galavanting-”

“And what about Buffy?” the blond lobbed back, matching his stance. “Hmm? Her job ain’t important? She’s the bloody Chosen One, and you’re just dropping this on her lap! Making decisions for her behin-”

“Enough!” She huffed as the pair of them sat back down, the tension between the men enough to choke a moose. “God, you two! I don’t need this level of testosterone poisoning in my house, alright?”

“He started it,” Spike sniffed pathetically. 

“I have a duty to-”

“Zip it!” she snapped, jaw clenched. She so didn’t need more of this crap, any time ever . “Now. You should’ve told me from the get-go,” she pointed at her Watcher sternly. He wanted to keep things from her like a child from their mother, he was gonna have to handle being scolded. “Cuz then I could’ve made a plan. And what with Charlotte in the hospital, this isn’t exactly casa de goodtimes lately, and we’re all a little more on edge than normal. And you,” she sighed, looking at her boyfriend. “I was about to cuss him out myself, okay? Stop stepping on my toes. I can handle myself.”

“Know that,” he grumbled back, a little abashed as he smoothed his hair down. “Just… hate when he makes you frazzled, is all. And using your mum as an excuse is just plain tacky.”

“I didn’t-”

“Shush! I know that, and I’ll have words with her later. Right now, I think we need a better strategy besides going at each other’s throats, kay?” She waited until she got their British grumbles in response, before continuing. “So. Names? Introductions? Cuz all I got was chutzpah from the tall one, and I think you called one Kennedy?”

Nodding, Giles stood, opening the door to the hallway, the girls all peering in from the kitchen doorway when they filtered in. “Buffy, this is Kennedy, Molly, and Annabelle. Girls, this is Buffy Anne Summers, the vampire Slayer. And the lovely lady you’ve already met is her mother,” he smiled easily. “Mrs. Summers.”

Taking his role as boyfriend of her eldest and as her friend, the vampire warned, “watch it, mate. Lady’s taken.”

“Not anymore,” Joyce mumbled, wincing when she remembered her friend could hear more than her daughter did. “Ahem! And that’s Spike,” she said more audibly. “He’s family.”

And like the floodgates of the Sunnydale Sewage Treatment Plant, the questions went flying. Slipping out of the room, Spike caught her before she could head up the stairs. “What’s that about ‘not anymore’?” he all but demanded. “Did he do somethin’ you haven’t told me ‘bout?”

Sighing, Joyce peered over the handrails minutely, seeing the others thoroughly in the depths of their interrogation, before gesturing upstairs with a tilt of her head. Once at the end of the hallway between her room and the girls’, she said, “first of all: you don’t need to fight my battles for me.”

“Didn’t say I would, now, did I?”

“Secondly,” she blew out a big breath, shoulders slumping. “I was the one who ended us.”

“Again, I ask: what did he do wrong?”

Her eyes were heavy, her jaw firm in its set as she took a deep breath in. “His only crime is wanting a baby.”

“Wanting…?” And then realisation hit. “Oh.” If his heart still beat, he was sure he’d have both gone paler than ever, and pink in the cheeks simultaneously. That wasn’t the kind of conversation either of them assumed they’d ever have together. “But… you don’t,” he settled on. 

“I have my babies, more than I ever expected,” she admitted. “I got a bargain on them, really. But I don’t feel the need to make more. I’ve done the dirty diapers and late night feedings already, and I’m content with never doing it again. Especially the birth giving part. But he… he’s not. It’s not fair to string him along like I’ll change my mind on this, cuz I won’t. I thought about it every single day since he mentioned it, around Charlotte’s birthday-”

“S’why he wasn’t ’round for the holidays, I take it,” he figured. 

“Yeah. I… I’ve been kinda cowardly in ignoring him,” she sighed. He didn’t like seeing her so dejected, especially over some bloke. Least it wasn’t over that pillock, Hank. “But we- I was gonna tell you last week, but then Charlotte’s been up and down with her meds at the hospital, and…”

“Never a good time to advertise a breakup, hmm?”

Chuckling, she shook her head. “Not a chance. But, ya know, what can ya do?”

Shrugging, he answered honestly. “Dunno. I usually take a page outta your book here, J.”

“Well, S, I guess the page would say, ‘nothing lasts forever, not even heartbreak’.”

“Mmm. That with the little kitten hangin’ from the clothesline, or the penguin diving for halibut?”

Shaking her head, she chuckled dryly. “The one with the blue llamas wearing orange tutus.”

 

----------

 

Sunday, January 19th, 2003

 

Five days later, their number of Potentials had dipped before they tripled. Annabelle had made the fatal error of wandering out alone at night, cut down by an unknown vicious vampire when Buffy was showering, leaving them with a corpse and oodles of unanswered questions. 

Steadily, they came into town, one by one, Giles calling from all over. Sometimes the Slayer would get a warning, sometimes not. Either way, she was starting to feel overwhelmed. After the sixth girl showed up, she started to get a swing of things, but forgot to submit her latest college essay. Not that it mattered, if The First decided to destroy the school before her final. It was almost a relief to visit with Lottie for an hour, sitting around with her and Dawn, watching reruns of 80’s tv-shows, and untangling the blonde’s curls. Poor girl’s hair was matted with teeny tiny knots. It was also the one slice of normal either of the girls had, the Slayer included.  

And while Buffy was on her way to the hospital with Dawn, she dropped off a new recruit for her mother to tour the house with, just for an hour. 

Rona watched Mrs. Summers carefully. She wasn’t staring, honest, just… perplexed. “So… you’re retired?” the black girl asked, hands stuffed into her overall pockets. Unlike the others stretching on the mats, her extra energy needed to pace or bounce her leg to expel the stress from her body. Her life was over, as far as she was concerned. An orphan at sixteen. Now with a prophecy hanging over her head. Yippee. 

“No,” Joyce waved her off, folding the towels from the dryer, the teenagers all congregating in the basement for some downtime. “I sold the gallery, now I’m doing laundry. For now.”

“Cuz… a psychic told you to.”

“Something like that,” she shrugged, closing the dryer with her hip. “Buffy told you about Slayer dreams, right?” The young girl nodded. “She was having them, frequently. It seemed as good a time as any.”

Kennedy winced, looking at the older blonde with an unreadable expression. “Psychics are notoriously unreliable.”

“True. But she and I have a good relationship, and I trust her.”

Kennedy sucked her teeth in response, dropping back to do more sit ups. “Must be nice.” 

She wasn’t the only one feeling a bit unlucky in comparison. If only I had that, Rona bitterly thought. Then maybe those Bringer guys wouldn’t have killed my entire family on their way to ice me. Having a psychic on standby could’ve given me a head’s up to have gran host the family reunion in the park, instead of aunt Naomi’s backyard. Or just cancel it. The horror of being the sole survivor of the entire family didn’t stop, thrusting her into a near-constant whirlwind of it, when a middle aged white guy told her of her ‘destiny’. Destiny was reserved for trust fund kids, and naming little yappy dogs carried in purses.  

At their flippant response, Mrs. Summers stopped, face stitched in contemplation. “Did Buffy tell you about the first time I called Miss Fletcher?” The girls shook their heads, all looking to one another for guidance. “Ask her. And she’ll tell you why I trust Moira B. Fletcher with this.”

“Moira B. Fletcher? Sounds like a stripper’s name,” Vi snorted, schooling her features moments later. “Not that I, ya know. Know many strippers. Or any! I don’t know any. Aha!” she laughed awkwardly, walking up the stairs, out of the room. “I’m… I’m gonna go see if Willow needs help. Researching!” 

Scratch that, the newest Potential thought. Silver-spooners, cocker spaniels, and strippers. 

Notes:

Yes, I gave Rona a tragic backstory like I did Kit. I apologize to no one as this isi fiction. And things get better for her later. Eventually.

Chapter 40

Summary:

Charlotte’s released from the hospital, more Potentials arrive, and Dawn’s scheming behind her sister’s back reveals a secret identity

Apologies in advance if my translation from Cantonese to English is crap. I did use an app as I am not a native speaker, and the English equivalent is found in brackets {like this} for readability

Chapter Text

Monday, January 20th, 2003

 

“Home, sweet home,” Mrs. Summers announced with a smile, shutting off the engine of her Jeep in the driveway. 1630 loomed above them, her passenger wringing her hands as they slid from their seats. “How about I grab your bag, and you head on in, okay?” 

Nodding, Charlotte beamed, elated to be home. Home. She was home. Nothing surprised her quite like the first morning she’d woken up under the Summers’ roof, feeling like she belonged there. Dawn was an alright roommate, aside from the statically raspy snores that resembled her own before her new lungs. Goodness, but it was distracting! But she found solace in those four brick walls sure hadn’t felt since Norfolk, and she was excited to be able to sleep in her own bed again. 

And to meet new potential friends! Being cleared from the hospital was incredible, but now her home was filled with more people. People she didn’t know. And her being a girl who didn’t do well in crowds, well…. But she was sure at least one of the girls would be friendly. Law of statistics, after all. Entering the house, she found Buffy discussing something with a strange girl she had yet to meet in the dining room, before four others came to greet her. “Good afternoon, I’m Charlotte,” she said anxiously, sticking her hand out to the closest girl to shake. Modern times, after all, meant that girls could shake hands now. “But my friends call me Lottie. Though Kit is fond of calling me ‘Char’, for… some odd and unknown reason. It’s lovely to meet you all.”

Rona quirked an eyebrow in curiosity, but shook the hand politely. British people were wiggy as heck normally, but this blonde was overly formal to boot. “Hey. Rona. So, where’d they find you? London?”

Oh. She faltered a step at the way it was phrased, uncertain what to say. They didn’t know, did they? Couldn’t spill the beans, as it were. “Not exactly…”

“Charlotte is… Charlotte’s family,” Buffy said instead, bypassing the awkward conversation of her origins. Temporarily, at least. “She and Dawn share a room upstairs.” 

The other girl nodded automatically. “Oh. Cool.” But her tone was a bit more dismissive than was expected by the Londoner. “So, you’re like, a cousin or something?”

“Or something,” Lottie nodded, desperate to change the subject as quickly as possible. Going through her whole life’s story was painful, and she didn’t want to scare anyone else off. Nothing said ‘stay away from me’ quite like ‘I’m a revived person from the 1800’s and my brother’s a master vampire with a soul’ did. The phone rang in the kitchen a beat later, their Slayer excusing herself to go pick it up. Perhaps Mr. Giles was calling about yet another potential slayer on her way to them. “I heard you’ve just arrived,” she said, hoping for a smooth segway. She didn’t do charm the way the Summers clan could.  “Perhaps you know Thomas.”

“Thomas?”

“He’s got dark skin as well, and-”

“Riiiiight,” the girl responded dryly, hands crossed over her chest. “Cuz all black people know each other.”

The blonde went cold. Oh, no. She did it again. Said the wrong words, made a mess of things. Made a social faux pas! Hurt poor Rona’s feelings. Oh! she thought, chastising herself. There I go again, mucking it all up. She’ll think I’m a cruel, unfeeling, racist, utter destroyer of souls now! “I- I didn’t mean- I just-”

“Uh-huh.”

Kennedy covered her mouth with her palm, smothering a laugh. “Wow.” The rest of the girls looked on in various degrees of shock or disapproval, only adding to her humiliation. 

Dawn reentered the room just as Charlotte turned scarlet in shame, the blonde running right up to their shared bedroom, to hide under the covers. 

“Lottie?” Her BFF turned to the other teens in the room, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Charlotte rarely ran, and not like that unless it was mondo. “What just happened?” The girls quickly replayed the conversation to the brunette, her face falling into her hand, groaning. Dammit! She knew she should have talked to the blonde about this the night before. Or at least warned the girls that Lottie was special. Why can’t we be a normal freaking family? she thought. And she quickly dismissed that thought to the void. Then we wouldn’t be us. But would ONE normal day kill us?!  “She didn’t- Thomas is her male BFF, and he’s practically joined to her shoulder. Well, maybe like, her shoulder, his elbow, cuz he’s going through the mother of all growth spurts, but she didn’t mean- I swear,” she insisted, palms up in earnest apology. “It’s just- she’s… Lottie’s different.”

“How?” 

Ooh boy. Good question. Gooooood question. “When she was nine, she slipped into a coma, until, like…” she counted on her fingers, trying to remember the number of years that had gone by. “Fourteen.” The girls all looked cowed at the statement, smirks and scowls slipping to the wayside. Except Rona and Kennedy, who looked on sceptically. “She ended up in, like, a totally weird adoption sitch, and we didn’t even know she was alive until, like, a few months ago. She sometimes says the wrong things, but it’s not on purpose. She wasn’t trying to be racist, she probably just wanted to like, introduce you to his sisters, and all. I swear!” The bell rang, turning the girls’ attention to the front door. “I bet that’s Tom now.” 

Thomas was in fact outside the door, as predicted. He was holding a casserole dish with his mom in tow, who was holding a basket of something sweet smelling, both surprises covered with tea towels. “Hey- uh, I mean good afternoon, Dawn,” he corrected himself, his mother stressing the importance of gentlemanly behaviour onto her only son. “We heard Charlotte’s out of the hospital, and we thought you might like some… dinner… oh! You have company. Are- we’re not crashing a- a party, are we?” 

“Nope! You’re always welcome here.” Spying her mom entering the backdoor, she added, “mom! Mrs. Anderson’s here!” 

The two mothers greeted one another warmly, becoming pretty friendly over the past few months. They weren’t ready to get matching tattoos yet, or anything, but they enjoyed a nice coffee together now and again.

Dawn couldn’t care less, frankly, going right to the meat of the conversation. “Rona, Tom. Thomas, this is Rona, Kennedy, and Vi. And you know the rest.”

“Hello,” he wiggled his fingers in a semblance of a wave where they lay holding the dish, smile widening when Molly gave him a wave back. The Brit was always nice to him and his sisters, after all. “We brought um, sh- shepherd’s pie,” he handed the dish to his friend’s mother, the woman’s eyes widening in shock. “Tara said you were having chilli for dinner, b- but maybe for tomorrow?” She thanked him cheerily, the boy immediately turning to the real reason for his unannounced visit. “Is she upstairs?”

Dawn gave the other girls a poignant eyebrow raise of ‘see? Told you so’, before looking at the boy. Man, soon. Yeesh, he was gonna be towering over Spike by the time he hit eighteen. Maybe even the tree the Dobson’s planted in their backyard last year. “Yeah.  But she’s ‘in the morbs , so I’d give it a minute. Or five.”

“I thought the doctors said she was all back to normal- for her, at least. Did something happen?”

“Misunderstanding,” she assured him, leading the party to the living room. “You know how it is.”

Did he ever. Lottie’s curiosity got her into trouble- a lot. And it made her an anxious, slightly spazzy mess whenever she did. He’d loaned her a few books to better catch her footing, Steele’s The Content of Our Character being an especially important eye opener. Since she devoured it, she’d gotten better, but the chess queen’s over-eager attitude was still a bit much for some people. Nodding, he sat on the couch, his mom and Dawn’s in the kitchen, laughing at something out of their earshot. “That I do. Did Casey bring her the card? The whole team signed it, e- even Lance, who we know is… well,” he shrugged. “You know Lance.”

“Yep. Casey’s been dealing with her own family drama,” she waved it off, lowering her voice to the Potentials. “Mrs. Anderson doesn’t know, ya know, about the slaying and demons and stuff. But Tom, Kit, and Carlos do. Lottie, too. Just… don’t let anything slip to the civilians. Cuz then things go all kablooey, and I so don’t wanna deal with all that.”

Rona looked over the thin boy with a curious eye. This was the coma-blonde’s BFF? The male one, at least. Scrawny, she thought. Guess they do the Watchery stuff. “So… you patrol like Willow and Xander and them?” she asked. 

Which led to his eyes nearly bugging out of his head in shock. “Me?! Oh, God no. I- I’m not very umm, good w- with, ya know, stress. B- but Buffy and Dawn taught me some self defence, ya know, in- in case. The only vampire I can h- handle is-”

“Count Chocula,” Dawn joked, making the rest of the room laugh. They hadn’t brought up the big pink vampire Buffy was dating to all the girls yet, so she definitely needed to change the subject pronto. “Oh, man. That was a great costume.”

“You went as Count Chocula for Halloween?” Vi asked, genuinely intrigued. 

He shook his head, relaxing into the couch cushions. He knew that look. Dawn’s ‘just go with it’ look. “My dad,” he offered, slipping into his role. Technically, he wasn’t lying. Just… not spilling any beans his friend wanted kept in the bag. Can. Jar…? “Mom hated Halloween un- until she married dad. He’s been going as mascots since- oh, geez.” He counted backwards in his head, trying to remember the first year when he rounded the corner one October day, walking into the kitchen in a full tiger suit, scaring the living tar outta his visiting aunt. That was one hell of a holiday. “For the last ten years, at least. He went as the red shirt guy from the rice cereal box with my uncles last year, but that was when we lived, ya know, not here?”

“So, like; is it always so hellmouthy here?”

“Let’s just say my resting heart rate makes my cardiologist’s wallet fat,” he quipped. 

His brunette friend scrunched her eyebrows in concern. “Since when do you have a cardiologist?”

“It- its a joke, Dawn,” he muttered, a little sad. “Carlos and Xander aren’t the only ones who can tell ‘em.”

“Oh! That was funny. Just… the tone.”

Sighing, he stood, heading for the stairs. “If it’s okay w- with you ladies, I’m gonna-” gesturing above his head, the others agreed, waving him off. “Lottie would have laughed.”

Rolling her eyes at her friend, she watched in amusement as Gem followed the tall boy up the stairs, nearly tripping the guy when the pet deemed him too slow. 

“Your mom’s pretty chill if she’s cool with that,” Rona admitted. 

Vi nodded in agreement. “My parents would never have allowed a boy in my room back home.”

Dawn shrugged, knowing it was more than that. Thomas wasn’t just a guy friend, he was family. “Tom’s boyfriend trusts him, so do we.”

“Boyfriend?”

Oh, no. Did she just out her friend? Without permission?! Good going, Dawn. Way to be a freakin' ally. “What? Oh, look! Buffy’s home!” Standing swiftly, she slung an arm around the Slayer’s shoulders, startling her sister next to her. “Hey, sis. Why don’t you tell them about the time you totally stopped a demon ascension?” Clapping the startled blonde on the back, she didn’t wait around long enough to hear the rest, flying up the stairs for more damage control. Hopefully they hadn’t started a game of chess yet. Crashing that would be worse than accidentally bleaching Spike’s grody socks. Gah!

 

----------

 

Tuesday, January 27th, 2003

 

Giles had been racking up his airline miles, that was for sure. The latest Potential had been rushed to Beijing International Airport, where he met her and whisked her to America. So quickly, in fact, that she ended up with no luggage, no clothing- not even a bar of soap. So it was no surprise that they entered the Summers residence, arms laden down with shopping bags hopefully full of the essentials. 

“Dear Lord,” he huffed, placing the bags on the floor, leaning against the living room door jamb. The doors to both it and the dining room had been kept open during the day, now that they had a gaggle of girls in the house. It just made them all feel a little less caged in. “I hate that mall. The shop assistants are all self-obsessed, vapid, little, rude… people,” he complained, Buffy’s mouth pressed in a line, trying not to laugh. Giles was a respectable gentleman, when he tried, and seeing him bitch about something as mundane as shopping was pretty funny. “And everything in the food court is sticky. They must disinfect everything with Inglehoffer.”

Willow hummed as she joined the rest of them in the hallway, abandoning her research in hopes of a reprieve. They’d been trying to find out more about the soul amplifying thingy that Kiara mentioned, hoping that closing the hellmouth would put the First to bed. Shame they couldn’t find the metaphorical bed frame, let alone the bedsheets. “Looks like you found her some stuff,” she noted with a smile, waving encouragingly at the new face. 

Turning to face his protégé, he startled, completely missing the Willow shaped statuette at the table when they’d walked in, too absorbed in his impromptu tirade. “Oh, hello. Yes.”

“That's gotta be rough,” Xander sympathised, collecting dishes that always seemed to migrate to the coffee table. Buffy and Spike were on the couch, Lottie in the chair across from them, the trio discussing her homework again. Poor girl was behind, but catching up with help from the Scoobies. Slowly. At least she’d handed in her biology paper on time. Well, a day late, but considering the hospitalisation and the fact that Evil was afoot (again), Buffy called it a win. Unlike her own homework. “Getting just, like, pulled out of your home, being told you're a potential slayer, not being able to bring anything. Not even a toothbrush! I’d be lost without that thing.” 

“Yes,” Giles agreed, trying to include the girl next to him. She looked extremely lost and confused, but kept on a polite smile despite it all. “And the language barrier is formidable. I was concerned that my Mandarin is a little thin, but as it turns out, Chao-Ahn speaks Cantonese, which is thinner.” He grimaced a touch, letting them know it was more than likely emaciated. “Though we’ve persevered, despite it, and as I suspected, ice cream is a universal language.”

Their Slayer smiled at the girl, hoping to make her feel welcome, despite her own lack of foreign language knowingness. She noted that Chao-Ahn was very pretty, well groomed, her posture stately, like she came from money. And her voice was lyrical when she spoke. “Hé xǔduō yàzhōu rén yīyàng, wǒ yǒu rǔtáng bù nài zhèng. Wǒ hěn bú shūfú.” {‘Like many from Asia, I am lactose intolerant. I'm very uncomfortable.’} Not that the blonde could understand a single word of what she said. 

But another blonde in the room apparently did. Standing, Charlotte stepped forwards, face drawn in. “Nǐ bùnéng chī nǎi zhìpǐn ma?” {‘Are you unable to eat dairy?’} she asked haltingly. She knew her Cantonese was akin to brick dust, her accent having a hard time translating, but hoped it was even partially understandable. 

It seemed to be serviceable enough, the way Chao-Ahn’s face lit up at the stilted words in her native tongue, speaking a mile a minute to the Victorian girl. “Dāngrán bùshì! Nǐmen de hān dòu xiānshēng nándào bù míngbái wǒ wénhuà zhōng zhème jiǎndān de shìqíng ma?!” {Of course not! Does your Mr. Bean not understand such simple things of my culture?!’}

“Woah, goodness!” The frazzled blonde held up her hands, overwhelmed by the fast speech. “Màn man de. Qǐng. Wǒ shì xīnshǒu.” {‘Slowly. Please. I am novice.’}

Understanding, Chao-Ahn repeated herself slowly, Charlotte’s expression becoming more twisted, until finally she turned to face the patriarch of their little misfit family, fuming. “You fed a lactose intolerant girl ice cream?” she all but cried. Thankfully, Joyce was out of the house to deal with a post office issue - seriously, the post carriers in Sunnydale were majorly slacking the past few months - and wasn’t there to chide the girl at her volume. “Are you trying to alienate her further?!” 

“Y- you understand her?” Giles asked, shocked. 

Xander was equally surprised. “You speak Chinese?” 

“Cantonese,” she clarified. “There were a lot of competitors from China, Shanghai, and Singapore. I pick up languages as quickly as our father did. As William does.” She turned back to the newest Potential slayer, gesturing to the Watcher as she apologised. “Wǒ duì tā gǎndào bàoqiàn. Tā shì……lǎotóuzi. Yǒu yīgè lǎorén de dànǎo.” {‘I am sorry about him. He is... old man. Has an old man's brain.’} Shaking her head, she faced Giles yet again, hands on her hips, a habit she no doubt picked up from their Slayer. “Most of Asia’s people are born with the inability to process dairy, which is why plant milk is preferred. I shall add it to this week’s shopping list. Zhèlǐ de shāngdiàn yǒu mǐfàn hé dòujiāng. Nǐ xǐhuān nǎge?” she asked haltingly. She was sure her grammar was atrocious, only speaking the language for a few months. {‘The store here has rice and soy milk. Which you like?’}

The two girls spoke, stumbling over some phrases as Lottie took the girl through the house for a tour. And - hopefully - some Pepto. 

Giles turned to the recently re-souled vampire, seeing the blond’s perplexed expression matching his own. “You didn’t know she was learning Cantonese?”

“Did she learn that milk thing in her class too?” Xander added, earning an exasperated expression from the Watcher. 

Spike shook his head, sitting heavily back down on the couch, tea in hand. “Coulda sworn it was Japanese.” Part of him was also touched at the errant compliment his sister threw his way. Not that he’d say anything about it aloud. “And Jeopardy, I’m sure.”

“Not a whole lotta variety on hospital sponsored cable. And I’m pretty sure that’s Kit,” Buffy corrected him. “Cuz of the Japanese comic book… things she reads. I think.” It was harder and harder for the Slayer to remember her sister’s friends and their hobbies, let alone Charlotte’s. Little social butterflies lately, the pair seemed to know a lotta people. Not that they hung out exclusively or anything. Mainly, the mini Scoobies just stuck together. 

And now their leader had to try and remember little bits of info about the other girls in her care. It wasn’t like she was still in school, desperately attempting to at least finish a single class, and stopping the First Evil ever from destroying the world or anything. Oh, wait…. 

“Manga,” Xander corrected, changing topics when he noticed the questioning expressions. “Uh,” he cleared his throat. “So no Watcher for her either, then?”

“No. I tried to explain the situation with pictures,” Giles sighed, sinking into the armchair across the blonde couple, pouring himself a cuppa from the pot Spike had brought out. Since Charlotte had officially moved in, the vampire was keeping up with the girl’s old childhood habits, including mid-afternoon tea time. It was a refreshing sight, if absolutely absurd from the William the Bloody that Rupert was used to. Apparently, the only way the vampire would behave was in a house full of women. Go figure. “It… did not go as well as expected.”

“Lemme guess,” Willow offered. “She screamed and/or fainted?”

Grimacing, the Brit admitted more with his face than any words ever could. “Mmm. I’d say her reaction was pretty much that.”

“Maybe we can ask Lottie to translate,” the carpenter offered. “I mean, even stumbling over her words, she’d explain it better than we could try to Macgyver it.”

The adults around him nodded, Dawn choosing that moment to walk into the room, a harrowed expression splashed across her face. “Dawn,” Buffy patted the couch cushion next to her, already concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Sniffing, she sat down on top of her hands. Everything about the girl’s posture was screaming out to the Slayer as majorly bad, right down to the crease in her sister’s brow she knew to mean ‘I did something you’re gonna hate’. “I think… you might be right about Principal Wood, you know, not being just a principal.”

“So he is a demon!”

Dawn snorted, rolling her eyes. “Oh, no, he’s 100% human, Xan. But, uh… not like a regular human, you know?”

They shared a heavy look with one another as Tara walked in. “What are you talking about?” Buffy asked, looking from her sister to the witch. Both of them were way too twitchy for her liking. Oh, God. What did Dawn rope the bottle blonde into now? “What is she talking about?”

The other woman grimaced, closing the double doors behind herself. The Potentials were all greeting the newest addition in the basement, but she wasn’t going to risk anyone eavesdropping. “Willow and I, w- we- we couldn’t find anything in the, uh, ‘Net’,” she fidgeted with the hanging jute cord of her belt nervously. Whatever the witch was about to say, was probably going to give Giles an ulcer by the look of things. “But… some- something didn’t, umm, sit well with me? So, uh… p- please don’t get mad.”

Buffy blinked in confusion. What on earth could Tara and Dawn have done - together - that would upset the Scoobies? To upset her? The only time that ever happened, was when the pair of them made nachos, and then ate the majority of them before the rest of them got a bite. “Why would we get ma- you broke into his office, didn’t you?”

“N- no,” Tara reassured her, hands up in surrender. “Umm… we uh… I kinda- see, the funny thing is-”

“Glinda? Out with it while Harris is still relatively young, please.”

She sighed, nodding. Looking at her feet, she murmured out, “we asked Xerxes to tail him.”

“You-” Giles stood furiously, barely held back by the carpenter’s hand on his shoulder. “You had a demon following a human?!” 

At the shouting, Tara shrunk back, and Spike got up and stood between the two of them in an instant. “Oi!” He held a hand up to the Watcher to warn him about raising his voice at the traumatised witch. “Xerx wouldn't hurt a human unless it was life and death, yeah? And he bloody well helped in a pinch when the permed bitch of hell tried to mincemeat ya, so watch the tone. Second, we don’t yell at Glinda, got it?” Giles looked ready to chew out the vampire, but looking over the blond’s shoulder, he deflated. His shouts hadn’t just startled her. She looked petrified of him, and he just would not have that. It was so bizarre, the leech standing up for the girl. Their friendship made less sense than Dawn’s love of peanut butter and sauerkraut sandwiches, but Buffy wouldn’t have allowed it unless it was at least halfway decent. “Right.” He stepped back, and turning to face Tara, Spike ducked his head to make himself the same height as the bottle blonde. “Haven’t seen Xer in a bit,” he told her, tone more gentle than Giles was used to hearing. Seems we found his biggest weakness, the shopkeeper thought as he watched on in befuddled awe. Women who treat him like one of the group. Hmm. He really isn’t like Angel, at all. “What’d he find?”

While on the couch, Buffy couldn’t feel more proud. The past few weeks had been hellish, and everyone was starting to get on one another’s nerves, pushing buttons like an Olympic sport. Her boyfriend was no different, his bouts of temper tantrum levels of anger and frustration being felt by the vampire population of town, his mitts ripping them apart at the neck. But he was still her man, her William the poet, who had the capacity to show kindness deep, deep within him. She saw it everyday with Dawn, and Charlotte, and her mom- her. But having her friends see it for themselves was rather life-affirming in its own way. Shame Anya missed it, tending to the store. 

The anxiety faded in fractions, the witch taking a few deep breaths, before coming back from whatever fearful place in her head she’d locked herself into. She nodded, pulling the crumpled paper from her pockets. Smoothing it out on the coffee table, she showed them the map of Sunnydale, crudely drawn by the artistically hampered demon, red and purple dots all over the place. He had the sneaking suspicion that it was done in crayon, but Giles was too focused on the sheer plethora of markings, pushing the thought to the back of his head. “He- he found Mr. Wood dusting vamps. Here, here, an- and here.”

“What do you mean-? He’s hunting vampires?” Spike sat back in his seat, rubbing his chin as he looked at the purple dots. “Why? And if the red’s the kills..?”

“Purple dots are the places he s- saw Mr. Wood at. B- but no Slayage. This was- it’s on- only been since Th- Thursday.”

“Damn. Xerxes moves fast,” Xander mused. “When does he find time with his wife?” ‘And when do I find the time for mine,’ was left unsaid, but very much felt by the group. 

Tara shrugged. “I- I think she was he- helping, too. I saw a slightly l- larger Crotivilic demon with him wh- when he gave me the map. He- her beads- she had on a lot more.”

Spike nodded, pulling the map closer. “Yeah, that’d be Meerna. Taller and wider, yeah?” She nodded. “Yeah, that’d be the missus. Right. So, what are we thinkin’? Wannabe Watcher?’

“Uh, not exactly,” Dawn’s wince spoke volumes. And it brought her sister to the present, remembering why she was ramped up in the event she needed to give the girl a lecture. “Since, we uh, couldn’t find much on the internet, um… Kit kinda got into trouble last week, when her and this girl Amanda kinda… they kinda had a fist fight?” She held up her hands in defence, knowing the argument coming her way. They had taught Kit how to defend herself. How to throw a punch. “Total misunderstanding, I promise! Actually,” she continued, a little off topic. “She might be a Potential. Amanda, not Kit. She’s not superstrong or anything, but she can hold her own, and it took  Carlos and Lance to hold her off Kit, which is so wild cuz Mandy’s, like, all gangly, and- Any way, um… Mr. Wood’s got a lot of certificates from New York colleges, so, um... Kit kinda went rogue, and called the schools to try to find out what’s what, cuz you know,” she laughed awkwardly. “Kit-Kat’s really, really good at the fake accents, an- and it’s not like- and, uh… I kinda decided to look somewhere else….”

The adults looked at one another, hoping someone was picking up whatever the hell Dawn was putting down. “Can you make with the explainy better?” Buffy asked, patience wearing thin. 

Dawn looked to her pseudo sister, Tara nodding assuringly. She had the teenager’s back. Sighing, she admitted carefully, “I kinda, sorta, maybe… read some Watcher journals. Umm. Without permission…?”

“What?!”

“I’m sorry!” she pleaded with the man who once thought to sacrifice her for a hell god, standing suddenly, fury replacing her regret. “But I’m glad I did! Otherwise… he, um. I think I know who he is, now. Um, there was a Watcher who, uh, he kinda… he raised a boy,” she said hesitantly. The news she and Tara uncovered was pretty huge, and she had to say it right, or else all hell would break loose. AGAIN. “He- see, he raised a boy after- well, after his slayer was… killed.”

“A… a slayer with a kid?” Buffy asked, standing in shock. “Slayers.. There were more than two slayers who had kids?” She looked at her Watcher with a careful expression. “Why didn’t you tell me? I… I thought they weren’t supposed to have a life outside slaying?”

Giles shook his head, ripping his glasses off to polish them aggressively. “Yes,” he retorted dryly, “because teenage girls follow every rule given to them to the letter.” He sighed before delving deeper. “There were a few who did, yes, have children, but… they usually-” His grimace was felt throughout the group. Died. They ended up dead, fast. Slayers or their kids, it didn’t matter. Either way, it lay heavy on their minds. “I haven’t heard of any Watchers raising their Slayer’s children, though.”

“The, um, the Watcher who’s journal I found- we found,” Dawn corrected herself, trying to stay calm. “His name was Bernard Crowley, and-”

As expected, Giles swore a blue streak, downing his tea and letting the china clink loudly on the table-top as he set it down. “You’re not suggesting….” But by her face, he knew she was. And it was just- “Bloody hell!”

“What?” their Slayer asked, wondering if she was going to need to get her Watcher an ambulance. The vein in his neck was threatening to jump off his body, after all. “What’s going on?”

Dawn sighed, watching the Brit storm out, to avoid throttling the vampire in the room. “He- well, see,  he was the Watcher for the, um, for the Slayer in the 70’s, in… in New York.” She looked at Spike, just a glance, but it was enough. The room knew the implications, and Buffy felt herself grow cold at the thought. “It- the timeline fits. Her, um, her name was-”

“Nicki. Nicki Wood,” Spike finished for her, shoulders slumped as the wave of pain from his newly acquired soul stabbed at him. “Oh, God. He- he’s her son? She had a son?” He looked up at Dawn with a tortured expression. One she knew he wouldn’t have before the soul. But now with it and Lottie… “I took his mother from him. That’s why he’s here, innit? To finish-”

“No.” Buffy gripped his forearm, face steely. “No, he’s- no one’s finishing anyone. I won’t let him.”
Xander raised a tentative hand towards her, hoping to console his friend. “Buffy-”

“No!” she shouted, fury in her veins. “You- would you be able to let someone come after Anya? To- to come exact revenge against your wife, for something she did decades- centuries ago? Could you honestly stand there, and tell me you wouldn’t fight? That you’d just roll over?” His grim expression spoke volumes. “Exactly. That’s what I thought. No one’s killing one of mine, you hear me?” She looked around the room, Giles back with a fractionally calmer expression. “All of you are under my protection. We’re a family, and like it or not, I’m not letting anyone in this house die if I can help it. Got it?”

“Hear you loud and clear, Buffster,” Xander nodded. “I was actually wondering something else.” Turning their heads to give him their undivided attention, he shifted from foot to foot. “He, uh, if he was raised by a Watcher, and he can hunt vampires, um… wouldn’t he, like, have connections to the Council?”

That was a good point. A really good point. “Huh. Maybe? Giles?”

The exhausted Brit shook his head. “Unlikely. Considering I didn’t even know… Well, Crowley was excommunicated after…” He trailed off, the implication unsaid, but well understood. “Well, now we know why he was excommunicated. Whatever Mr. Wood has at his disposal is completely outside our purview. He was legendary, however. Crowley. He trained under the ‘best of the best’ in both London and Brazil. He, er, was recruited by the Council after saving one of the administrators from a mugging. Crowley would have trained Mr. Wood the same way he trained Nicki- that is, in not only the knowledge of the texts, but also in martial arts..” He glanced at their resident vampire who was staring at his hands in shame. “She… she was skilled in martial arts, yes?”

Spike raised his eyes up to the Watcher, lost in swirling thoughts of his own. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Strong fighter. Uh, a lil older than the average Slayer, too. ‘Bout… round about your age, pet.” He said the last part softly, face full of shame and remorse as he turned to face his love. “I wish I had never-”

“Stop.”

“I’m so sorry, luv. I’m a monster, undes-”

Slapping a hand to her lover’s mouth, she levelled him with a two ton stare. This wasn’t her guy. He didn’t wallow and mope like a big, insecure, brooding lump. Normally, he'd grumble, and pick a fight with some demon, tear them apart, then tell her about how he messed up and apologise- unless it was to Giles, in which case he half-apologised begrudgingly. He’d done a bad thing and had to own up to it. Lottie had told her that ‘William always was a sensitive soul’, but this was getting ridiculous! Her boyfriend at the very least had more of a freaking backbone than this- this Millhouse-esque crap he was spewing. And if he was thinking she’d coddle him cuz of it, he was gonna have to snap out of it. ASAP. “You wish you could take it back?” He nodded enthusiastically. “But you can’t.” His face sank, body trying to curl in on itself, much like when she’d seen him back from Africa, post soul-ification. “That’s life with a soul. We can’t go back and undo it all. So, let’s just work with what we can, or so help me, I’m donating your Docs to Goodwill. What else did you find about him?” she asked her sister and Watcher expectedly, missing the way Spike’s eyes widened in fear of losing his beloved boots. “Did this Crowley guy write about the slayer line? Cuz most of what we know is- no offence Giles, but it’s a big crap sandwich on a crap plate of nothing.”

Spike murmured behind her hand, the Slayer obliging and letting up. “Didn’t you say there was some place in the desert Slayers could go?” he asked Giles. “Where she can commune with past slayers?”

“Yes, but I think Kiara gave us more than that place can offer us.”

Willow lifted her hand tentatively, all eyes on her. “I have an idea. It’s… nevermind.”

Buffy’s mouth became a thin line, but she figured, “no bad ideas here.” Hopefully it’s not the Willow getting drunk on magic again, she thought- nay, prayed. 

“Why don’t you… talk to him?” the redhead offered. “Tell him you’re the Slayer, and you know who he is- just… maybe leave the ‘how’ part of it out. See if he’ll help with the cause. I bet he’s a strong fighter.”

Nodding, Dawn agreed. “Xerxes said he was. Said he does that same kinda high kick that Buffy does. Except, ya know, not as good as you can, obvi.”

“I…” She couldn’t tell the man about his mom’s demise, but she also knew withholding that was a world of impossible. If it were her mom, she’d have trained her whole life to hunt the vamp who took her down. Might even draw it out- or be tempted to. Especially since it sounded like his own dad dipped out on his duties, leaving a Watcher to raise a little boy. Alone. He probably already knew exactly who she was, and who Spike was, too. It’s probably why he’s in town now, she bitterly thought. He found Spike, and he’s 100% here to dust my boyfriend. Happy belated freakin’ birthday to me. “I gotta think about it.”

On the other side of the glass, another blonde was thinking about it carefully too, the group unaware of her eavesdropping. 

Chapter 41

Summary:

The Potentials are really getting a rhythm in their training, and who knew Daniel the environmental undead student had a brother? And what the heck happened to the Alpha Delts?

Chapter Text

Friday, February 7th, 2003

 

God, this night just went from bad to worse! This was supposed to be training? For what?! The worst night of their lives?! These suckers were fast- way faster than last time, and this cemetery was organised about as well as a junk drawer, the tombstones littering the ground haphazardly. Running, they tried to get away from the last vampire on their tail- all except one. 

“Move!” she demanded of the girl, but little curly locks refused. “What are you-?”

 

     TWANG!

 

The bolt hit home, and the vampire dusting in seconds. Their teachers joined them moments later, Buffy grinning crookedly while Spike scowled. “You got lucky,” he grumbled at the blonde, who scoffed at him. “You know better than to-”

“Do us both… a favour,” Charlotte snapped back, only slightly out of breath. At least she had yet to spew her cookies everywhere this time. So far. “And check to see… if there are any remaining vamp… vampires on our trail. No? You’re welcome.” 

“Any more cheek from you, and you'll find yourself grounded- for the rest of the month,” he warned with a stern finger in her direction, earning himself a pout. And dammit! She really did do that well. “Never worked on father,” he replied bitterly, “won’t work on me.” 

But she wasn’t trying to get it to work on him. “Spike,” Buffy sighed. Aha! Eureka! “Ease up. Okay,” she added, addressing the others. “What went right, and what didn’t?”

They’d been taking the Potentials out nightly for drills and training sessions, from explaining their stance with the peaceful demons in their town, to running mini missions. Like tonight, where everyone was paired up, and tasked with making dust mites out of recent fledges. Tonight, they were in groups of four; Charlotte had volunteered to help even out the numbers. Her, Kennedy, Rona, and Chao-Anne were struggling, while the other three and Dawn took theirs down in a third of the time. It was a tough decision, having the two troublemakers join them in the cemetery, or hitting up local hot spots. But after all the crap that had transpired that year, 

If their sisters were training with them, at least the couple could keep their eyes on them both, keeping the pair from making boneheaded decisions that landed them in hot water. Even if they had graveyard dirt on their knees. 

Raising her hand, Lottie offered, “we had a language barrier, which proved difficult.”

“Proved difficult,” Kennedy mocked under her breath, earning her a scowl from both Rona and Spike, who only heard her from proximity and being a vampire, respectively. 

“And how do you overcome that?”

“Only slay with people who speak English?” Amanda the latest potential offered tentatively. “Or- or, umm…?”

“Use other methods of communication,” Buffy offered. “When you four hid behind the Morganson crypt, you didn’t use words to split up. Body language is the first language we all speak, so get fluent, fast. What else?”

“Charlotte stopped instead of listening to m- us,” Kennedy added. The others might not have noticed the slip of tongue, but Buffy and Spike did. It was becoming increasingly obvious to the Slayer that some of the girls were pushing boundaries a little more than before, and made a mental note to discuss it with the brunette. Again. “She’s a civilian- in comparison.”

At the curt tone of the other girl, their Susan Foreman raised her chin in defiance. “Yes, but I defeated the fiend despite that all,” she grumbled. “Which means that even I can hold my own.”

And while Spike had been a soft touch with her in the past, he wasn’t afraid of giving her a spot of tough love, now and again. “Also means some ‘civilian’ will always be in your way,” he replied tersely, levelling his kid sis with a stern expression. She didn’t back down, but she did clench her jaw in understanding. Her risk taking was noted, and she’d get a few choice words about all that later. “So you either learn to work with ‘em, or get ‘em to safety right quick, or you’ll end up with another causality on your hands.” 

Grumbling, Lottie folded her arms over her chest. “Are you going to be finished berating me anytime soon?”

“No.”

If I wish really, REALLY hard, Buffy hoped. Maybe they’d stop bickering for one night. Maybe even apologise to one another, and- Oh, who am I freaking kidding? Spike has a higher chance at winning the Publishers’ Clearing House . Rolling her eyes at the display from the sibling squabble squad, she stepped between them, facing Dawn’s team. “What did they do right?”

“Kennedy made an effort to get Lottie outta there,” her sister offered, her brown hair in matching braids as her blonde BFF. Their mom had stepped up in teaching both girls how to French braid, and they had a grand ole time playing hair salon on the daily. “And Lottie’s hands didn’t shake as much when she aimed, so she didn’t miss.”

“Thank you!”

“An- and Rona and Choa-Anne did a good job knocking him down on his butt,” Vi also offered cheerily. She was getting about as sick of the in-fighting as Mrs. S was. “Ya know, umm, before the whole… popping up like a daisy, gonna rip your throat out-y part.”

“Rule two of Slaying?”

“Don’t go it alone.” 

“Company line, one of a million.”

“Ha!” Spike snorted, shaking his head. “If the bleeding Watchers had their way, they’d never have let this little pow-wow with the Slayer here.”

“Pow-wow isn’t culturally appropriate,” his sister sniped back. 

Gesturing to himself, he scowled back at her. “Vampire, pet.”

“And giant pain in my- vamp!” The blonde pointed to the tombstone seven feet away, scampering back to shakingly reload her crossbow. 

Rising from his grave, the fledge spat out dirt as he did, facing away from them, towards his gravestone. Huh. Someone must have mishandled the casket, and buried him feet first. Bummer. Moving the dirt from his eyes, he blinked at the marker, groaning. “Aww, man!” he whined, the tone of voice oddly familiar. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone to that damn frat party.”

Eyes flicking to the gravestone, Spike snorted softly, elbowing his Slayer with a gentle nudge, indicating the name carved in the granite. Jacob Donovan. As in relation to Daniel Donovan, whose own gravestone - two spots away - had been repaired in the two years since his own demise, after Buffy and Spike met the fledge, and had a blast taking him down. Welp, she guessed vampirism just ran in some families. 

Motioning to the girls to stay quiet, she watched them duck down behind some larger markers, then nodded to her boyfriend on the order of the evening, holding up two fingers, then four, then one. Running around the streets for as long as they had, the pair had a shorthand no one else ever understood in battle, but their allies respected. And Jacob was no ally. 

Clearing his throat, Spike slipped into game face as Buffy edged around the opposite edge of the burial plot, her vamp gaining Jake’s attention. “Woke up on the wrong side of your beddy-bye, I take it.”

“Woah! Dude…. You know your eyes are glowing, right?”

Oh, my God. Did Daniel get all the brains in the family? Oh, that was just plain sad. Holding her stake above her shoulder, she slid whisper quiet just a tad closer, still cloaked in shadow. 

“Yeah, mate,” her boyfriend grumbled. “Vampire. Same as you.”

“Vam…? So she wasn’t a cannibal in a zombie costume?” Did she say sad? She meant pathetic.

“How sodding old are you?”

“Nineteen,” Jacob answered, struggling to get upright. “Aww, man! I think some jabroni totally tied my shoes together under here.” A snort came from behind him, one of the girls unable to keep it together. He tried to peer around, but his angle sucked- she hoped. “Did you hear something?”

“No,” Spike lied, offering him a hand. “Want help up?”

“You’re not… gonna kill me, are you? Cuz I still have a final I need to re-take in six days- or is it four. Man, that party sucked!”

“Uh huh. And where would that be?”

“Hmm? Oh, dude, don’t go there. It’s so lame! Shuester totally waters down the keg, but then added something so totally nasty in there.”

“Just for our records, ya know, of places to avoid.” 

“Our? Is- is there a girl nearby? Yikes, my hair’s probably a wreck! You got a mirror?”

Now it was Buffy’s turn to keep from laughing. A vamp? Needing a mirror?! Geez, this guy was thicker than his tombstone! Before she could get closer, a car backfired from the nearby road, the vampire swivelling to face the opposite side, right where she stood. Oh, crap. Well, there went the benefit of surprise. “Yeah, we’re uh, from the-”

“Buffy Summers?” Jacob asked, squinting up at her, which he so didn’t need to do. Hello? Vampire! Use your stinking keen eyesight, dude! “You’re- hey, you are!”

“Yep.”

“Man, how’s kinesiology treating you?” he asked, completely unaware of the stake in her hands, as he tried to smooth down his hair. He was still two-thirds of the way buried, but God forbid a woman see him with wild, graveyard dirt encrusted, unwashed for a week, gross hair! “Isn’t Annie Brachen a total legend?!”

They were in a graveyard. The same one he’d been buried into not two days prior. And he wanted to chat about her professor?! “Yeah, listen, about that frat house-”

“Ugh! Why’d you want to go there? It’s so gross! Not as grody as this… place… hey, quick question: am I dead?”

“Uh-yep.”

“Dammit! I knew it,” he sighed, face falling in dejection. “I just knew that those girls were way too out of my league to want me around for anything other than my body.” Rolling their eyes, the couple were really nearing their limit with the fledge, ready to just stake him and get it over with. Which was the exact moment when he let a crucial piece of information escape. “But that’s what I get for trusting Benny Garrison.”

Uh-oh. She knew that name. “Benny Garrison, president of the Alpha Deltas?”

He grinned in response, utterly pleased with himself. Seriously, man, she thought. Just freaking dust already. “Hey, yeah! You know him, too, huh?”

Groaning internally, she shook her head. “Sorry Jacob, the party stops here.” With a quick thrust down, she staked him right in the heart, yanking back just as quickly. 

“Aw, ma-” He was dust before he could finish his sentence. 

Standing, she regarded the Potentials with a cheeky smile, finally jazzed about the rest of their night. “Let’s go crash a frat party.”

Holding up her hand tentatively, Charlotte squeaked out, “may I sit this one out?” 

 

----------

 

Alpha Delta house looked nearly identical as it had been since the Halloween party of ‘99, save for a few cosmetic changes. Like the landscaping out front, and the new porch lattice work by the main entrance. And - oh, yeah - the certain undead quality of a few of its recent pledges. 

Looking around at the party winding down, some of their attendees were more than just passed out cold from skunky beer. Oh, no. She counted at least six bitten victims being moved from the window. Crouching down to look in, she and three Potentials gathered as much information as they could. It was of the good that Lottie was back home, but dang it if they couldn’t use her right then. Chao-Anne looked ready to head for the hills, muttering in Chinese as Vi tried to calm her down. Counting the exits, Buffy could only assume the pledges were bringing the fledges to the basement. Pledges and Fledges, she snorted internally. SNL’s unaired skit on how college parties stink. 

Gesturing to retreat, she looped around back, just in time to see her boneheaded boyfriend waltz into the house from the back. Huh… he didn’t need an invitation? That was… that didn’t make sense. Unless party rules at frats were like public accommodation rules in motels. Vamp rules were weird. Shaking her head, she still cautiously led the girls to the front, instructing Molly to stay with Chao-Anne and catch any stragglers. 

Tiptoeing in, she watched a girl groan from a beanbag chair near the door, crouching down to check her pulse. Thank God she still had one. “So… cold,” she murmured, eyes trying to keep open. 

Buffy felt for the girl, she really did. But she had to admit that the slumped woman probably should have chosen a better place to be on a Friday night. “It’s okay, help’s coming,” she whispered back, inspecting her for any bite marks. “What happened?”

“D- don’t drink the beer,” she whined, gesturing meekly at the keg in the corner, blood crusted on the tap. “Said it was… said it was that cherry stuff. S’not cherry.”

Lifting the girl’s shirt collar to the side, she breathed a sigh of relief. No wounds there. Okay so far. “Did they bite you?” The girl shook her head, then groaned again as the motion made her queasy. “Vi, call 9-1-1. Quietly. Stay with her.”

Nodding, the girl did as asked, leaving the front door open so they had their frontline clear, and could hear any approaching sirens. 

Stalking further into the house, Buffy sniffed the spout of the keg before grimacing. Yep, that was blood laced beer, all right. Bleh! Some vampire jerk was making himself an army! And she was so gonna make Garrison pay for- Raising her stake at the tinglies on her neck, she pushed the girls behind her, about to attack the figure turning the corner, when her hand stopped just inches away. Letting out a frustrated breath of air, she stared down at Spike, making an aborted motion he knew to mean ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing?! Don’t sneak up on me like that! I almost dusted you, you idiot!’

Shaking his head, he motioned to the basement below them, then took his index and middle fingers, tapping his neck twice. ‘Bite party downstairs, no invite necessary.’

Gesturing to the keg, she raised a brow, getting a grimacing head nod in response. Great. There was no way to tell how many college kids had gotten a taste of Undead Homebrewed Lager that evening. No wonder things were so screwy lately! Some jabroni was messing with her town, alright. 

Why? Why couldn’t the vampires of Sunnydale just be normal, huh? Was that too much to ask? Going back to basics, turning just one or two people a year, raise a little hell- maybe even rob April Fools’. Why make a freaking undead frat?! Totally clichéd, if you asked her. 

Sneaking to the basement, they watched in silence as the group of three men and two women were being fed on by no less than seven vampires. But it wasn’t the most concerning part of the display. Up at the other end of the room stood a makeshift throne, a vampiress sitting on the Alpha Delts’ leader’s lap, purring to him. “I know, puppy,” she pouted, running her fingers through his hair as the nasty vamps slurped their brunch. “But you’d look sooooo hot as a vamp.”

“I get that, Greta,” he replied sternly. Greta? What, did they run outta vampire names in the 60’s? Cuz her outfit was totally groovy in the unfashionable way. “But if I can’t go in the sun, then I can’t get your stuff, and daddy knows his kitten likes her furs and Channel.”

Ugh! This whole scene was just getting ickier and sqwickier. It was one thing to wanna be kinky - she’d done kinky before, after all - but subjecting strangers to that? While they were being fed on by vamps? Nope. Not sympatico with her. Buffy wanted to hurl her guts over the steps, barely getting a second to think of her next step, when a siren broke out over the sucking. 

“What was that?”

Oh, crap. Every pair of yellow eyes flicked up at them, the Slayer and her posse caught out. “Hey, Benny!” she cheerily called out. Since the cat was out of the bag, they might as well have a little fun. “Great party. Quick question: how many people do you think were here tonight?”

“Slayer!” ‘Kitten’ hissed, standing in a single fluid motion. “You’re not welcome in my house, bitch!”

“Your house? Gee, show of hands, but who’s believing that obvious load of phooey?” The other vampires hissed and snarled in response, starting their ascent from the basement of hell. “Dang, were my instructions unclear? Huh. Well, guess that means it’s time to clean house.” Striking down, she dusted the first vampire coming for them, twice as big as the rest, grunting as the heavy hitter threw her against the wall before he floated away. Coughing against the dusty assault, she felt a hand wrap around her ankle, dragging her down the rickety stairs. Kicking the assailant off her, she threw a left hook, slinking back to bring the rest of them up out of the nasty depths. 

The Potentials fought hard, taking the vamps in pairs, Vi jumping back into the fray now that the authorities were on their way. Buffy managed to take down another three, getting a fist to the jaw for her efforts. She raised her hand to dust her seventh kill for the night, when ‘Kitten’ tackled her from the side, knocking her off kilter. “You bitch!” Greta snarled around her fangs, lifting the Slayer by the ears, then slammed her head down onto the crusty rug beneath them. “I’ll kill you for-”

“No,” she replied as she slayed the fiend with a sharp thrust. “You won’t.” Coughing against the dust formally known as Greta, Buffy rolled to the side in time to see the red and blue lights cast a light show on the pavement from the thin windows above. Frantically looking around, she counted just the one vamp left in the joint- hers. 

Striding quickly to her, he grasped her arm, helping her to her feet, before kissing her fiercely. “You were bloody brilliant,” he murmured against her lips in that sexy low growl of his. “She didn’t even notice you still had your stake gripped in that hot little hand of yours.” 

Shivering in the uptick of arousal, she kissed him hard back, quickly pulling away to ask if there was anyone left. He had just enough time to slip out of the back when the EMS and police officers came in, asking a million questions at once.

“Buffy?” And by some miracle from the PTB themselves, the first responder who walked in to assess the damage had a familiar face, too. “What’s going on?”

“Stacey,” Buffy breathed, rushing to her. “I’m so glad to see you, you have no idea.” Coming up with a highly edited version of the truth - out for some self-defence training with her class, when they heard about a sketchy party that sounded ten kinds of screwy - she led the other paramedics to the basement. There, the five victims were still holding on for dear life, a thump leading the police to the back fence, where Benny tried to make his escape. Tried, and failed. Badly. 

Once they had their story somewhat corroborated by the beanbag chair girl, they were released, the frat house president cursing them up and down the block as he was stuffed into the back of a squad car. 

Heading back to the house, morale was high. Smugly, Kennedy asked, “so, does it always feel like this?” 

“Like what?”

“Like a rush of adrenaline and awesomeness?”

Rona snorted, rubbing her bruised shoulder. A vamp had slammed her against the wall, Molly kicking him off the other girl before they dusted him together. “Awesomeness? All I feel is tired and sore.”

“Oh, c’mon! You had fun, admit it.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she replied, before turning serious again. “But they had like- like a homemade… vamp farm in there. And who knows what’s gonna happen to the rest of those victims, ya know?”

Stopping ahead of them, Buffy treated the teachable moment with the set of her jaw. “You’re both right. Slaying isn’t just about taking them down fast and hard, going home to pass out, and doing it all again tomorrow night. It’s about all of it, and a lot of it is pretty ugly. That was a pretty big nest, but I’ve seen bigger.” She felt Spike’s presence as he crept up behind her, but she doubted the girls would know. “I’ve taken down bigger, and badder vampires than that- alone. And you can’t save everyone, no matter how hard you try.” Not even yourself. 

“But- but that’s the whole point,” Vi cried, downtrodden. “Isn’t it?”

“Do you think Stacey Holden became a paramedic cuz she was gonna save everyone?” their teacher asked back. “No. We do what we do because it's who we are. Only difference between us is that she gets paid.”

“And has a schedule,” Spike sniffed, making two of the girls jump in shock. Hadn’t noticed the master vamp behind the tree, just four feet away. Yeesh! They needed a whole lotta work. “And had her own sodding supply mobile with her. All slayers have is what they can carry.”

“And their team,” Rona nodded, earning her a tentative smile from both Slayer and Vi. “Rule number two of slaying, right?”

“Right. And now we go and do rule number sixteen,” the Slayer nodded, leading her little pack back home, Spike taking up the rear. “We have snacks, and give our reports for the night.” The girls groaned at the thought of paperwork, the vampire chuckling behind them. “And then watch the latest Dawson episode, obviously.” Which led to a chorus of cheers. Sometimes, she loved her job.

Chapter 42

Summary:

Charlotte does something way stupid because the kid’s got the same level of impulse control that Dawn and Spike have! Ft. the uber-vamps from Gemini’s perspective. Also, Buffy finally tells Spike about Willow’s vision

Chapter Text

Monday, February 10th, 2003

 

God, sometimes she freaking hated her job. Leaving Sunnydale High, Buffy was sure her blood pressure was gonna jump up into the stratosphere. Charlotte was an utter disaster in Principal Wood’s office! Threatening him with a ‘threatening non-threat’ was a serious no-no! What the hell had she been thinking?! Sure, she felt defensive over the potential threat against her brother’s unlife, but to be so impulsive as to blurt out all that crap?! Holy smokes, that was a huge risk. And not to mention stupid! Now Mr. Wood knew where the vampire who killed his mother was, if not in at least the vicinity. Knew the vamp had a sister - a human, vulnerable one at that - and where she lived. And just as she was about to get the pair out of there, the teenager started spouting off accusations- about a teacher dealing drugs on campus! 

The Slayer had meant to just go in, get the lay of the land with him, that’s it. Maybe her team was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t in Sunnydale to kill her boyfriend as a vendetta. But then the chess captain waltzed in, and got to the meat of everything….

Reaching the sidewalk, Buffy finally found the pair of them far enough away to really admonish the girl. “Charlotte, that was insane!”

Leaning over the nearest shrub, the teenager pitched forwards, and unceremoniously heaved her entire stomach contents into the brush in response. “I am well aware,” she groaned, spitting out any lingering yuck. “Dear heavens, but that is foul!” 

Immediately, she flew to the girl’s aid, holding her shoulders as she hurled a second time. Adrenaline wearing off into a crash was never fun. “God, are you okay?”

“I will be, so long as I never have to do that again.”

“How’d you know about Fogerty?” she demanded, rifling through her pockets for something to get the taste of yarlf outta the other's mouth. I know I have some mints here, somewhere, Buffy thought, opening her purse to thoroughly investigate. “Mr. Fogerty isn’t even one of your teachers, is he?” she asked, holding the silver foil wrapped sweet. Thank goodness I remembered this time. Eww, is that corn-? Bad Buffy! Don’t look at the puke pile.  

“R.J.,” she grimaced, taking the mint gratefully. “When I fell under that dreaded infatuation spell, I thought it would be a good idea to try and give him some helpful suggestions- from a medical standpoint only!” Lottie firmly asserted at the heated look thrown her way, catching her breath. “He said ‘coach has it handled’, and left it at that. When I then noticed a teammate of his with the pills, I remembered a fellow patient at the hospital took them for her ADD, and put two and two together. It wasn’t difficult to figure out how Mr. Fogerty obtained them.” At Buffy’s raised brow, she added, “Mrs. Garrison?” 

“Because of their affair…?” It had been a bit of a shock to find out the two teachers were hooking up in the Home Econ room after hours, but it wasn’t just cause for a DEA raid. 

And by Charlotte’s pinched expression, it might as well have been. “Oh, broth- her husband works for a pharmaceutical company. I’ve seen him peddling his wares in the hospital numerous times. He’s given away more samples in that sanitarium than the coupon inserts do on weekly flyer delivery day. It wasn’t difficult to surmise she’s stolen some of them to give to her affair partner.”

Folding her arms over her chest, she regarded the youngest Pratt with a narrowed eye. Buffy might not have the brain of Isaac Newton, but even she knew when the math was being way with the unmathy, and the math wasn’t mathing right here. “And you figured they’re seeing each other… how?”

“Amanda’s a bit of a gossip- when she’s being treated for a split lip,” she sniffed. “She caught them snogging on the third floor.”

“Wow.” Right in the open and everything. Huh. Some people really have no shame. “So- what happens if you’re wrong?”

“Sorry, officer, but I have no idea what you mean. Miss Summers and I were simply discussing any chance of extra credit with Principal Wood, what with my recent stay in the hospital’s intensive care ward,” she said evenly, fanning her eyelashes. 

Oh, boy. That was freakishly effective in the ‘we’re gonna need bail money for her before she hits college at this rate’ kinda way. “Okay. You need to not get advice from your brother, cuz that’s just plain creepy,” she frowned. 

Snorting, Lottie looked at her with a bemused expression. “William? Pfft! I learned that from television.”

Shaking her head, the Slayer wanted to shout at the girl, shake some sense into that blonde, curly haired head. Tell her she was nuts, reckless, and morally questionable. But instead, she kept them walking. The girl needed to not be near that school at night, thanks. Once was more than enough. “They say TV rots the brain, you know.”

“Mmm. Perhaps why I need the extra credit.” After five steps, she asked in a more subdued tone, “will I be receiving more grounding for this?”

Woof. She probably should have, if only to deter the girl from pulling that kinda stunt again. But on the other hand, she couldn’t help but feel a little proud at the girl’s steadfast determination. She’d stared down the man gunning for her brother, and really laid down the law with him. Told him in no uncertain terms that no one messed with her family. In that 1800’s, Lady of Mayfair kinda way- but still. Polite, yet vicious. Smartly using the leverage of knowing about the real reason for the fire back in November, plus the possibility of a ‘beloved’ teacher dealing drugs to get him to back off. It was ballsy, but it seemed to be working. At least it gave him major pausage in going after the vampire. God. And how messed up did their lives have to be for her to consider the stay of execution of her boyfriend as her win of the day?! 

“You shouldn’t have threatened him with the self-defence talk, that’s for darn-tootin’,” she decided, head a ping-ping game of more and more reasons to go full steam ahead with an epic grounding of the century. “He was raised by a Slayer and a Watcher, Charlotte. He’s a trained fighter, and we have no clue how good he might-”

“He wouldn’t hurt an innocent,” she countered, hands stuck in her pockets. “I think that’s more important to him than his career as an educator. A code to live by. I… I suppose I’ll have to grovel to William for forgiveness, won’t I?”

Sighing, the Slayer took pity on the girl. It really was easier to let her get away with little things, since she was Spike’s sister, not her own. Probably why he lets Dawn get away with everything, she noted dryly. And why he keeps buying her weapons. “Tell you what: let’s swing by the store on the way home, and you can get him some of those limited edition Hot Pockets he practically inhales. Soften him up before the inevitable house of cards comes a’collapsin’.”

“Mmm. Do you suppose the Piggly Wiggly has a limit on how many boxes are allowed per person in a single purchase?” 

Oh, boy. This was so not gonna go over well with their vampire. “Let’s hope not.”

 

----------

 

Tuesday, February 11th, 2003

 

Being a pet was not as easy as he made it look. Gemini hadn’t always been as loved as he was by the Summers family. Before he got brought here, he had a scary life. Human Enemy Doug had put him through hell. Not only putting yucky ouchy needles into his soft body, but making him fight other pets-es. He treated it like a sport, instead of Gem’s actual life. Now, he was safe. 

Well, safe from Awful Human Enemy Doug, at least. His new human family was always giving him treatsies and snuggle times, even when Human Friend Slayer Buffy pretended he was a ‘nuisance’. When she was doing her study times at her desk-table, she would pat his fur absently, scratch his chin, and let him have a little bite of her cheeses- if he was quiet enough. 

So his new home was full of humans who fought bad demony types? So what? He wasn’t forced to fight, so he could do what he wanted. And he loved to sleep and play and shuffle and snuggle with Human Best Friend Dawn. And she loved playing with him, getting him more toys than he’d ever seen before. Heck, he never even owned a bed before her, and now he had three! Ah, life was good. 

Except when one of his humans got in trouble, which they often did. He yawned, his little cat whiskers fanning out in a big arch, before he settled his head back down on his pawses. He could hear Vampire Friend Spike and Human Mom Friend Joyce arguing with some of the human girls who were now always there. Always, but not all good at giving him pats. He sighed, staring at the other side of the door into the food room, wondering why the new humans were trying to push Vampire Friend Spike to the downstairs cold place. Didn’t they know his room was upstairs with Human Friend Slayer Buffy? They were mates! Mates slept together, in the same beddie-bye. Great, more trouble for his family. 

I stay here, he thought, snuggling down deeper in the sweater Human Friend Charlotte left in the sitting and eating room, closing his eyes. No shoutings here. Shoutings bad, make Gem feel bad.  

The door to the downstairs cold place opened, Vampire Friend Spike grumbling as he stomped down the stairs in his stompy boots. Gem could hear the other human girls arguing, trying to hide his little earses in the sweater against the sound. He was having nappies! Why wouldn’t they leave him to nap! Ugh! And then Human Friend Slayer Buffy was following him, stomping her own boots on the stairs, making even more noise! So much noise, in fact, that he almost missed it.

It started with a hiss, and a horrible smell from outside. He twitched his little pink nose in disgust, eyes still closed. He tried burying his head into the fabric, hide his face from the assault on his senses. But that didn’t help. It smelled like death, like he smelt whenever he went for his ‘Patrol walkies’ , but worse. Stronger. A smell so yucky, it was almost like he was being choked by it. The pet blinked as he lifted his head, turning to the window, and growled. 

Ugly things were at the front of the yard, and they were so not allowed to be there. Before he could warn his family with a yowl, the first beastie broke through the front window with a smash. It skittered on it’s nasty clawses, making a racket. 

Human Friend Slayer Buffy grabbed a not-for-Gemini-stick from her pocket, launching herself at the first thing. But they were overrun. Three evil ugly dead things, vs. only two superstrong beings on their side. She abandoned it, grabbing an axe from the little hook Human Friend Xander hung up earlier that week. Swinging it at a beastie, another lunged for her friend, and he could no longer lay in his napping spot. 

Gemini hissed at the ugly thing trying to eat Human Friend Charlotte’s face, launching his cat body at the back of its neck. It was one thing to interrupt his nap times. It was another to go after his family. Sinking claws and fangs into the death covered thing, he latched on as hard as he could, yowling into the wound for extra effect. And the effect was instantaneous. 

The humans watched in shock as the ugly thing tried to trash Gem off, failing miserably. Gemini wasn’t an average pet. No siree Bob! His previous human master had been nothing but cruel and vindictive, delighting in twisting the animal’s already delicate DNA. But what he did manage to do right was make Gem exceptionally strong against demons. A total fluke, of course. If he had known, Gem wouldn’t have managed to escape when he did, finding Human Friend Slayer Buffy and Vampire Friend Spike when he had. Because of the mutation inside him, Gemini managed to incapacitate the ugly thing long enough for Vampire Friend Spike to rip the thing’s head clean off, turning it into dust mites. 

Without waiting for head scritches, or treaties like he normally did, the pet was on a mission. More ugly things were in the house when they shouldn’t have been. No entering unless invited, he thought angrily, chomping on another’s ankle as he dragged it to the door. Unless Gemini. Gem goes where Human Best Friend Dawn goes. Gem family. Gem protects family. Ugly dead thing not family, not even like Vampire Friend Spike. Vampire Friend Spike only un-dead, not dead-dead. And with the second ugly dead thing dusted, he jumped towards the third, only to miss when Human Friend Slayer Buffy dusted it without his help. 

Soaring in an arc, he yowled out until Dawn caught him in her arms, both teen and pet shocked at what had just transpired. Looking him over, she worried her lip between her teeth, stroking fingers in his fur, looking for injuries. She’d seen him fight before, but never a demon this big and bad. “Oh, thank God,” she breathed, finding him only bruised, but not bleeding. “Gem! You could have seriously gotten hurt!” And then she was hugging him, kissing his little kitten face sweetly. “It’s okay. It’s okay, see?” She staggered closer to Charlotte, the adults already securing the door and window, grabbing wood planks and screws to keep the carnage low. “She’s okay. You helped, Gem. She’s safe cuz you helped.”

And he did see. Squirming out of Dawn’s hold, he settled himself into Human Friend Charlotte’s lap, sniffing her over with his tiny, pink nose, making sure she was unharmed. Human Friend Charlotte wasn’t as strong as the other humans he’d met. She had bad lungs, and her falling trick wasn’t a trick, according to the way Vampire Friend Spike paced in worries whenever she did it. Human Best Friend Dawn told him to protect her, and the last time she’d been in trouble - when were these humans not in trouble? - she went away to the human vet place, and came back smelling of sad and disinfectant. But she didn’t smell like that now. She smelled of graveyard dirt and fear and relief and Human Mom Friend Joyce’s hot cocoa. And safe. She smelled of safe. Butting his head up to her chin, he silently asked for the affection he knew he was due, what with stopping the ugly dead thing from making treaties outta her. And she gave it freely, along with Human Best Friend Dawn. 

“What the hell is that thing?”

“Uber-vamp,” Human Friend Slayer Buffy answered, checking the other human girls over for surprise injuries. “Neanderthal version of vampires, way before neanderthals were homosapiening it up topside.”

“No, not the dust in the rug. THAT.”

Gemini blinked up at the yelling thing in confusion. There were a lot more people around than there normally were, even with the ‘party times’ the humans liked to have. But he didn’t remember this one. She smelled… like nothing. That- that didn’t make sense. Everything had a smell, especially humans. Emotions, soapies, clothes, the wind- humans carried their smells everywhere with them, even made some of their own. Why didn’t she have a smell?

Human Best Friend Dawn bristled at the tone the thing used. “That just saved your skin, and he’s-”

“Some kind of demon pet?” the thing countered, angrily. “Why do you even have that thing?”

“His name is Gemini, and he just proved that he can hold his own in a fight, so drop the tude, Cora.”

“You’re all nuts! That thing’s a killer! We’re not safe here.”

Oh, he really didn’t like that one. He may have helped take down ugly dead things and ugly un-alive things, but he never actually killed them. He only ever killed little insecties for demon friend Meera, when she went for her evening walkies sometimes. And that one evil squirrel who tried to steal one of Human Mom Joyce Friend’s french fries. He was only a little creature, and he didn’t want to hurt any one of them. He protected them! And- Why do you have no smell? he hissed as she stepped closer, which only proved her point, as much as it did his. Shifting back into his dog form, he growled, jumping down to stand in front of the girls against the thing. Because that was no girl. Evil. This is an evil thing.

“Gem, enough! What’s gotten into you?”

“He’s probably infected by that weird vamp-thing!”

“Come on, Gem. We’re safe now! Come upstairs. Upstairs! UPSTAIRS!”

But he refused to budge. 

Until Human Friend Slayer Buffy had enough, and scooped him up in her arms. “Upstairs. Now.”

Uh-oh. Human Friend Slayer Buffy was using her scary voice, like she had when those evil un-alive things took Human Best Friend Dawn and Human Friend Charlotte into their evil, ugly lair. He tried to tell her, to tell her that the thing wearing the girl’s face wasn’t safe, but his whine was cut short as she tightened her hold and marched upstairs. “Stay here,” she insisted, putting him in his carrier. He really hated that the humans didn’t have one they had to go into. But at least she looked sad to put him there. She smelled of sad a lot lately. He didn’t like it one bit. “Just until we can make sure you’re not infected, okay? Lottie’s bringing you a treat for helping with the baddies. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Sighing, he resigned himself to his fate, hoping that Vampire Friend Spike could smell the nothingness of the girl, and get her gone soon. Before another one died. 

 

----------

 

Spike sighed at the footsteps coming down the stairs an hour later. He was knackered, didn’t need- “Slayer?” Sitting upright, he felt his exhaustion dissipate at the sight of her, hair a little rumpled in her ponytail, dressed in sweats and one of his T-shirts. He knew it was his, cuz his lady bought it for him last summer. A birthday gift, in fact. 

As she neared, he saw her holding out another shirt for him, along with a pillow under her arm. “For the morning. Now, shove over.”

What? “What?”

“I know your hearing’s better than that,” she frowned, motioning him with the back of her hand. “C’mon, scooch. Or else I’m gonna end up falling asleep with one leg off this thing, and then you’re gonna have to deal with Cranky Pants Buffy tomorrow. And no one wants that.”

“You…” She… she came for him? Was choosing to share the thin sponge of a cot with him, then sleep in their plush, pillow topped, comfortable mattress alone? “If you’re here, who’s in our bed?”

Shrugging, she nudged him over with her foot, and he frowned back, but relented. “Pretty sure our sisters took it so no one else would. I didn’t bother checking.” Oh, God. She really did choose him over the bed, huh? She really DOES love me, he marvelled, not that there was any question. Luckiest bloke in this whole sodding country. “We’re gonna have to spoon so I don’t end up on the pavement, huh?”

Nodding, he arranged himself with his back to the wall, arms open as he awaited her. After quite a bit of shuffling on her part, they were snug together, the scratchy, woollen, saying ribbon edged blanket pulled up to her armpits. “Chose me over your room? Makes a bloke feel awfully lucky.” 

“Our room,” she corrected, tone just the teensiest bit pointed. “I had to sleep without you for three days already, and I’m not feeling peachy keen on doing it indefinitely.” At his stunned silence, she added, “you’re my boyfriend, I love you, I’m sleeping next to you- get over it.”  

“Plus, screaming yourself awake’s harder to explain when your man ain’t right there with you.”

Snorting at the piss-poor joke, she turned her head to press a kiss where she could reach, catching his chin and about three centimetres of his bottom lip. “Pig.”

“Oink, oink, baby.”

But then her back went rigid, and he could feel the startings of a big conversation. “This little piggy might need you to remind her she’s-”

“An amazing lover? A wonderful leader?”

Turning on the narrow edge of the cot was hard, but not impossible. Finding his eyes in the low ambient light of the street lights, just on the outskirts of their property, she continued. “Doing the right thing.”

“Which part? Ow!” He rubbed the part of his peck where she’d flicked him, hissing at the sharp sting. “What’d that particular nipple ever do to you?” he asked. “He owe you money, or sommin?”

“Just- this whole… Potential Slayer thing. I-” Alright, Buffy, she told herself. Just be honest with him. Even if he laughs - which he won’t, probably - he’ll still be here to support me. Love me. He has my back- always. “Gemini’s freakout earlier made me start thinking that I’m, I dunno… messing it all up. Like I’m missing something. Something mondo.”

“Ain’t a handbook for this, luv,” he reassured her, fingers grazing her skin as he pushed away strands of hair. Not a hint of a laugh anywhere in his face, because he got it. “No one ever figured a future where a Slayer had to train her Potential replacements under threat of her students’ deaths, while her ruggedly handsome vampire boyfriend - soul reattached via the demonic honour system - and his once-dead sister lent a few helping hands. Along with her mates,” he added dryly. “I suppose.”

Unbidden, the corner of her mouth twitched upwards. “You’re forgetting a few people there.”

“Santa and Mrs. Clause?” They turned towards one another a touch, his eyes playful, hers a little annoyed. “Like I could ever forgot about your mum and sister- and your mum’s sister. You know the woman tried to make me-” 

“Eat borscht? Yeah,” she sighed, turning herself back around. “She likes doing that. Don’t ask me why, cuz she’s the only one who likes it.”

“Good to know I passed the complicated Katherine Richardson initiation.” Sniffing the gentle tropical breeze off her hair, his arms tightened minutely around her form. “Whatever happens,” he promised her. “I’ve got your back.”

Sniffing against the tears pricking her eyes, she forced herself upright, turning to him expectantly. Now or never. TELL HIM. “Everyone’s asleep, right?” she whispered, waiting for his confused nod before continuing. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she knew he could hear it. It didn’t matter. The truth needed to be shared, would lighten the weight on her shoulders, just a bit. “Remember at the Box when all those crystals broke? And you told me that whenever I was ready to tell you, you’d listen?” At his second nod, she settled herself down, watching him slowly sit up in confusion too. “Clock’s striking midnight, and it sucks.” 

“Lay it on me.” So she did. And as she told him, she watched as his face steadily got more sour. “No.”

“Spike-”

“No, Buffy. Ain’t gonna bloody happen, you hear me?” He grasped her hands, hoping for a ‘ha, ha- sike!’ or some such to pop up. But nothing did. “Even if we have to wrap her up in- in sodding asbestos!”

“Asbestos?!”

“‘S fire retardant, ain’t it?” 

“And causes many, many tumours.”

“Well… we can build a moat around the house, then.” At her put upon expression, he deflated. “Right. Just… shoulda told me sooner.”

“I know. You’re right”

“Not just be- what? Did you just say I was ri-” 

“Don’t let it get to your already ginormous head.”

But the awe on his face was palpable. “My lady thinks I’m right. Ought to have a plaque made for this momentous occasion.” Aaaaand there was the smug vampire she had been anticipating. 

“If I wasn’t moments from slipping into dreamworld,” she glared, yawning despite her brain’s desire to stay awake against possible dangers. Shame her body didn’t bother reading the memo. “I’d have words. Scathing, even.”

Sliding back down, he pulled her up close to his chest, kissing her forehead as he did every night before she passed out. “I shall eagerly await their arrival.”

Chapter 43

Summary:

Willow hypes up Valentine’s Day, thinking Spike must have romantic plans all waiting for his love. Right? Wrong. Valentine’s Day’s cancelled on account of evil. So… one chipectomy, coming right up! Right after Joyce calls her favourite psychic.

Buffy tells Spike about Willow’s dream, and The First uses Father Dickhole to give our Slayer another cryptic message.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Wednesday, February 12th, 2003

 

“So…” Willow simpered, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Valentines is pretty dang close.”

“Is it?”

“Mmhmmmmmm. D’ya need us to watch over the Potentials for your big date?”

The pair of BFFs were walking back to Buffy’s, post-reconnaissance. Things were hinky townwide, and while they normally took the Potentials with them to check things out, the witch and the Slayer desperately needed some one-on-one bonding time. They’d been drifting apart again, and both women were determined to not let that be a perma-drift. And while the redhead was trying to cheer her up, the blonde hadn’t been paying attention, apparently. “What?”

“For Single Awareness Day?” At her friend’s confused cock of her head, she tried a more direct approach. “What are you and Spike doing for Valentine’s Day?”

“Oh.” That was tomorrow? Or maybe the day after…? Everything was so upside down, inside out lately, she barely knew the day of the week, let alone if they were in February. There were just so many girls in her care now - at least a dozen - and her life was feeling like one big training montage. No wonder she forgot! Not like they had much time for romance of late. Their couple time had become reduced to snuggling before passing out on the cot in the basement, cuz everything else ended up getting interrupted by one calamity or another. “Uh… I dunno. We haven’t discussed it, what with the sorority in our house,” she reasoned, shrugging it off. “I feel like we’re one more gal away from being the Bannisters. Might just end up sneaking to the backyard for some private smoochies, when we have a second- if we get one. Maybe binge on discount chocolate the day after or something.”

“Bet he has something up his leather clad sleeves. He’s like a massive hopeless romantic, isn’t he?” As much as Willow didn’t like the vampire as a whole for her BFF, she had to give him credit for making the Slayer happy. After the lacklustre romance from other men (and one vamp) of the past, Spike had managed to smoke them in that department. Not just with flowers or chocolates, but by planning picnics under the stars, and rom-com drive-ins, and dates so creative, Willow had no doubt on how he managed to keep Buffy so in love. It wasn’t just grand romantic gestures - of which he had done as well - but the little things. The way he took care of them when they needed it, the little origami animals he snuck onto her desk when she was doing homework, including not only her friends, but her family in things- even if it annoyed him. Cuz that was what was important to her, and she was important to him. On top of all that, he stood up for Tara when she was down, and while the redhead wished things between her and her lady love were better, she was glad the other woman had someone on her side. Even if it was Spike. “I’m sure he’s gonna have something up his sleeve, and knock those socks right off,” Red told her friend, honestly believing it.

Smiling despite the rolling boil of uncertainty in her gut at the evil looming in her town, she let herself briefly picture it. Walking into the basement to find he’d made a candlelit dinner for the pair of them, flower petals partially dehydrated from being picked the day before, her mixtape from him playing on the stereo... Sigh… That would make the most sense, but she wasn’t ruling out a romantic picnic at their spot, that would probably turn naughty real fast. This was probably their longest ever dry spell, if she thought hard about it. Which she didn’t want to, you judgy… Judge Judy’s. “Maybe… we’ll see. Things are so nuts lately, especially with Charlotte finally being all sixty-two inches of chess queen again.”

“Hacking up a lung Lottie was definitely of the bad. Poor girl. She barely slept a wink at that hospital,” she remembered sadly. The first few nights, the girl was petrified of closing her eyes, only sleeping if one of them were around. She’d sleep curled up on Tara’s lap like a toddler, gripping her shirt like a vice. It frightened them, until she did a 180, and suddenly seemed to be getting better. They assumed that was when Spike started sneaking in after hours to keep watch over her when she slept at that point, because she’d looked up the drugs they’d prescribed the girl online, and zero of them could work that fast. The body couldn’t heal with the mind in overdrive, couldn’t begin to cope with infection if it couldn’t rest.  

Buffy learned that herself over the years. “It’s the beeping, and the sheets. The antiseptic smell doesn’t bother her as much anymore- thank God. But she’s on antibiotics, and down to just the one puffer-”

“God, I can’t believe they gave her four of them!” Stuck in the hospital, Lottie had been so depressed being isolated, away from home and school. She and the witches had grown closer, both visiting the girl as often as they could, and the redhead always brought a surprise. They’d bonded over homework - big shocker - and Wills had helped her understand some of the more confusing lessons. Spike sneaked in pretty much every night, watching Golden Girls reruns with her for a few hours, just ‘till she fell asleep. And Dawn. God, the brunette had to be practically dragged away from her BFF every evening, the pair attached to the hip. Sure, they bickered like sisters, but not having the blonde in the bed on the other end of the room from her was wigging the former Key out each night. It was hard for them to see the girl stuck in such a state, but Willow had definitely had the most trouble coping with it outta all of them. “She- she’s just so young, ya know? I know I sound like old lady Willow right now, but I look at her and Dawn, and the rest of them, and it just- we were their age once, ya know? I remember how it felt. And it makes me think, is all…” she trailed off sadly.

“Definitely wiggsome,” her friend easily agreed. “And I’m so not missing those extra meds. Spike got her colour coded stickers for them, and she just started crying in thanks. I swear,” she promised as they neared the house. “If I ever get my stinking hands on those scummy evil law firm hucksters, I’m gonna reevaluate my policy on tossing humans into dumpsters.”

“You think they….” ‘Neglected her to the point of withholding medication’ was floating in her head. So was ‘made her feel unwanted cuz of her reliance on them’, and ‘mocked her for her colour coordination of things, which isn’t a bad thing- the colour part. I mean, who doesn’t love things organised in a fun, easy to use, streamlined kinda way?’ It has been a carousel of crap in her head all week long. “God. That makes me happy I didn’t finish that brownie from earlier, or else I’d be bringing it up right now.”

“I know. She’s been a trooper, but it’s not been all puppy dogs and rainbows.”

“Gemini stuck in cat-mode?”

It was such an innocent, pre-doom-and-gloom Willow thing to say, it put a little pep in her step. “Only in Sunnydale, huh?”

Giggling, the redhead shook her head in disbelief. “How’s our Dawnie handling everything?”

Shrugging, she didn’t stop her stride. “Okay, I guess. I think she’s scared, but she’s been putting on a brave face for her blondie BFF, and she’s gotten scary good at it,” she admitted, face falling minutely. Probably learned it from me, she mused sadly. Don’t know if I’m proud of her for that, or skeeved out. “She sleeps better now that Charlotte’s home, and I know Dawn’s got more experience with my slayage stuff, but…” Nearing the house, she slowed her steps. Some things were better said out of her sister’s earshot. “I wish I knew what to say to her. She’s technically sixteen, but she’s only really been around for a few years. And part of me wants to coddle her, the way we sometimes unconsciously do with Lottie, but… I also feel like I’m gonna tear all her hair out whenever she pushes my buttons.”

“Boy, am I ever glad to be an only child right now, or what?”

“It is what it is. I love them, but sometimes, it’s like an episode of Full House on crack under this roof.”

“I don’t know anything about sisters, but I know about you, and I think I know enough about Spike that he won’t let you deal with this alone.”

And she wasn’t wrong. Despite his tough exterior, Spike’s Achilles heel was all of them. ‘His girls’, so he said. Buffy was secure in knowing he wasn’t gonna run off, leaving her to pick up the pieces. Ever. Long haul, that’s what they were. What he promised her. ‘You’ll be enough for the right bloke,’ he told her. And she was his everything; he showed her that every single day.

“Yeah, he’s pretty great with that aspect of boyfriend-hood,” she grinned. “He still refuses to sweep or mop, cuz he’s all, ‘I’m too manly to do the floors’, and then I turn around, and all our laundry’s clean and put away- Did I ever tell you he ironed my khakis? Multiple times? Without being asked!”

“Spike knows how to iron?!”

“Mom said he asked her to teach him. He’s such a weirdo, but he’s my weirdo.” And he was. God, she loved him. Maybe he would surprise her with something beyond romantic for Valentine’s Day. 

But there weren’t any rose petals in the foyer when they got in. No candlelight, no romantic love songs crooning from the radio. Instead, they were greeted by frenzied movement, shouting from both the basement and bathroom. Within a hair of a second, her fantasy of spending a day of romance with her beau was shattered, and the Slayer was on the move. 

“What happened?”

Vi stopped with her arms full of first aid supplies, the tremor in her legs unmissable. “Spike collapsed- but he’s fine!” she insisted, their leader making a beeline for the basement. 

If she had her way, he’d be upstairs in their room. But with all the Potentials being freaked at the master vampire under their roof, he agreed it was best to catch his winks there, instead of up with the others. No point in tempting fate of the dusty variety in a house full of vampire hunters. Rushing down the stairs, her stomach bottomed out. He was back on that old cot again, thrashing like he was in the midst of an epileptic fit, gritting his teeth in agony. Screaming, clutching his head as he thrashed, her mom was nearby with a thermos, worn to the bone. Giles was on the phone nearby, looking near the end of his own rope. Almost as if this had been going on for hours and no one bothered to call her! It was a damn good thing it was a school day, or else their sisters would be here. And Charlotte seeing this…. No. It was of the good they weren’t here. 

“What’s-?”

“Don’t touch him,” her mother sternly warned, stopping her by the cuff of her sleeve. “It’ll pass. Just… give it a second.” When her daughter tried to move from her hold, she snapped, “Buffy! Holding him down hurt him last time.”

“Last-?” The Slayer felt her pulse ratchet up at the implication, her stomach turning over in a loop de loop. “Mom, what’s happening? Giles? How often-?”

Hanging up the phone, he regarded his Slayer with a heavy look. “The chip… it’s misfiring, we think.”

“You think? But you don’t know.”

“The only one who would know for sure is the one who designed and implanted it. And as both of those ‘doctors’ are deceased…” he offered her a sympathetic look. He wasn’t a fan of the vampire, but Charlotte was a darling child, and she’d be a wreck if anything tragedy befell him. All the Summers clan would, truthfully. “That was Anya. She’s looking into her demon contacts, to see if she can find a demon specialist to take a look at him. I’d reckon she’s bound to find at least one who can sneak us into an MRI, or- We’ll do what we can.” He tried to offer a comforting word, but it was a moot point. Telling her it would be alright was pointless. No one knew what was coming, because no one knew how the thing worked. No one they could call on, at least. He wanted to suggest ringing up Riley, to see if he still had some pull with anyone in that area of expertise. But when he’d mentioned it at the Box earlier, both Anya and Tara had practically thrown a fit. 

‘Are you NUTS?!’ Anya practically yelled at him as he left. Joyce had tried to call Buffy, but her mobile had died, ringing him when Willow didn’t pick up either. ‘You know he was cheating on her for weeks, right? And paid for it! He was going in and out of that suckhouse like it was a grocery store, and he was their sole freaking beef supplier!’

When he’d tried to explain that this was business, not pleasure, Tara added, ‘Giles. Please . He... Riley blamed her for it. And if he hears about this, he’ll show up. And… think of Charlotte. What happens if they h- hear about her? We- we can’t let them t- t- take her! P- please!’ And that had been the end of all that. 

But this happening in front of them was definitely not. “God.” No more, the blonde thought desperately as she looked at her boyfriend. Please, God. No more. As soon as the thrashing stopped, the Slayer moved to his side, only to be halted again. “Mom?”

“Wait ‘till he-”

“Bloody hell.” As soon as he grumbled, they rushed to the cot, Buffy grasping his hand in comfort, as her mom unscrewed the top of the thermos. “Buffy? When’d you get here?”

Grabbing a Kleenex box from the table nearby, she offered it to him, pushing the errant curls that refused to be kept away from his face. “Just a second ago. How do you feel?” 

Spike groaned, dabbing at his nose with the tissue. “Fantastic. Always pictured myself being the Trevi fountain.”

“This has to stop,” Buffy pleaded with her Watcher, nearing the end of her own triple-ply rope. She couldn’t handle watching her family suffer anymore. “Giles, we need to do something.”

“What, exactly, do you suggest we do?”

Scowling, she stared the man down with more fury than he expected, which was saying a lot more than he was. “How many years do they make the Watchers go through in that Academy? Cuz if it’s more than one, then you have more research squirrelled away in that noodle of yours, than all of Acapulco. Think of something- anything!”

“Squirrelled away?” Xander asked, climbing down the stairs to check in. And to lock her boyfriend up, by the looks of the chains in his hands. God, how was this their life?! 

“Chalk it up to everyone I’ve lived with for the past year or so,” she grumbled, holding the thermos of blood for her boyfriend. “Between Kathy, Charlotte, and this one,” she jerked her head to her man currently gulping down his dinner. Still squicked her out - the blood - but she didn’t care. He needed it, and she needed him to heal. “I’ve got a whole slew of words I didn’t have before. So either get me an answer, or leave me in the morbs.”

“That’s not exactly how- nevermind. I shall endeavour to get the girls on it, and-”

“The girls?! Nah, no. You.” The stare she levelled him with melted his patience. “You’re the head honcho Watcher now, don’t you have their resources?” 

“Ha!” He turned away from the lot of them, collapsing into the camping chair that had become a permanent fixture to the basement. Sighing heavily, he pulled his glasses off his face. “The bomb hit the base of the building, not just the top floors. The archived material- gone.” They stared at him with gaping mouths, not one of them knowing what to say. “The secondary blast took out the ‘digital backups’ of ancient scrolls, and major water damage took out nearly everything else that wasn’t incinerated. What remaining contacts I have are searching through their personal records, but those are far and few between. If the Initiative were still around,” he hedged carefully, monitoring their expressions. “I would suggest we start there.” And like the girls had suggested, Buffy, Spike, and Joyce all looked ready to throttle him for even suggesting that. Backtracking, he added, “but as they aren’t-”

“That’s not exactly true…” All eyes turned on Xander, curious at what plan the contractor was weaving. “That place was massive, right? So- God, I really see the world through my job. See, as big as it was, they’d need more cement and rebar to fill in that place than exists in the country,” he shook his head, setting the chains down nearby. “And we love that stuff in the great U.S. of A.”

“How much?”

Thinking, he did some quick math, looking up at the ceiling like he had the formula pasted up there. “One truck holds about eight to ten cubic yards- that’s the cement alone. Just the one room, where the Franken-mess VS Buffy-slash-us showdown was, carry the two,” his finger waggled like he was writing the numbers themselves. “That’d be…. Maybe six of ‘em, times every room, plus that giant pit they had…. That’d be at least six hundred cement trucks  - conservatively - that we’d have a hard time missing.”

“They wouldn’t fill the whole thing,” she reasoned. “What about just doors and vents?”

Thinking it over, he frowned. “Least… twelve, thirteen trucks,” he shrugged. “They’re bound to miss an entrance or two. Might be some equipment left over.”  

Joyce shook her head. “I don’t like it.” In fact, she hated that plan. 

“Joyce…”

“No, Rupert. I don’t trust them! If we go poking around in there, who’s to say they won’t know? They might have some kind of alarm system, and then what? Huh? A bunch of army jerks come here, order us about, put my daughter in jail for breaking into a defunct government facility?! That seems like a great plan- right next to boiling shoe leather for a bacon substitute!”

“Jo-”

“Don’t.” Her voice was even, nearly quiet, but barbed. Touching the subject would lead to an emotional bloodletting he wasn’t keen on enduring. “Don’t make me feel like I’m crazy for thinking that, cuz we all are. What they did in that place… no. I’m not risking my family for this. Find another way. Quickly.” And without another word, she finished climbing the stairs, slamming the door on her way out. 

 

----------

 

Future. What is it? The time that has yet to arrive, if you’re gonna be technical. But the problem with the future isn’t just being uncertain of what’s to come, it’s the inability to prepare. Joyce’s future was extended when her vampire friend risked his existence to save her life. And there was no way she was giving up the chance to return the favour now. Especially with how far he’d come. How far he and Buffy had gone together. So she did what any mom in her position would do: she grabbed the cordless phone and locked herself in her closet. 

Shutting the door firmly, she dialled the same number she had dialled a half dozen times before, hoping the psychic had the foresight to know the urgency, despite the hour. “Mistress Moira, speaking,” the older, Scottish woman answered, her voice lyrical in response. “I gather this must be my favourite client. Good evening, Joyce.”

“Moira,” she breathed, settling on the floor of her closet. It was small, unlike the one in her old room, but it would muffle the conversation enough that no one could overhear. “I’m sorry to call at such a late, or early hour. I just… I need help.”

“Do not fret, that is what I am here for. Would you scold one of your girls if they came to you, frightened in the dead of night, asking for a hand? No! You would make them chicken soup with stars, or chicken fingers with mustard, in m- in Dawn’s case,” she said simply. It was equal parts unsettling how much the woman knew, and comforting in how skilled she truly was. No psychic could do what Miss Moira did. None. “How can I help?”

“I… my friend, he…”

“Your friend the vampire?” she asked. “Or your friend the… what was he again? Oh, yes, Librarian.”

Seriously. The woman ought to charge more, but Joyce was glad she didn’t, or they’d be broke. “The vampire. He- something’s wrong. He- he has a… an implant, in his brain, and- and its malfunctioning.”

“Hmmm. Is he bleeding?”

“Y- yes. From his nose.”

“Ah,” she answered, a rattling sound on the other line indicating something being thrown on wood. Stones, maybe? Or bones; she knew witches used bones sometimes. “The… implant. It was a computer chip, was it not?”

How did she do that? The blonde never told her THAT before. “Uh… yeah. Yes.”

“Mmm. I see circuitry, and it’s failing. When… when it was implanted, what was its purpose?”

“To- he gets a shock, whenever he hurts a human.”

“And has he been hurting humans after he…? Joyce,” more rattling on the other line, before the woman’s voice grew closer. “There is a shift in the Ether. He… he has his soul again, doesn’t he?”

“Y- yes. He- how did you…? No, don’t tell me. I- he got his soul back about three months ago. He… I don’t think he has… oh. Oh, no. He- but he wasn’t in control!” she insisted, unconsciously covering her sleeved arm with a palm. He had thrown two other girls in the house in a daze, before she ended up clipped with a broken blade putter. He’d been utterly ashamed in the aftermath, but she knew, just knew he hadn’t been in control. The wound would heal, and not even a pockmark would remain. But it felt like the psychic could see it through the phone and her sleeve anyway. “The Fir- something got a hold of him- his motor function-”

“And the circuit board short circuited when he came to?”

“Yes,” she gulped, afraid of what might happen. Buffy would be devastated, but Dawn? Charlotte?! God, even Joyce would be a mess at losing her friend, she couldn’t deny it. And she couldn’t let that happen. He jumped in front of danger for their family more times than they could count, and she wasn’t letting him die this way. Not a chance. Loyalty meant something fierce in her heart, and she wasn’t going to let him go down like this. “What- what do I do? I- I don’t know what to do.”

Sighing, Moira leaned back in her creaking chair, thinking pensively. The matriarch always pictured the older woman in a rocking chair, staring at the horizon from her screened in porch, somewhere beautiful and away from prying eyes. Something about the way the other woman spoke just made her feel like that image was right. “There are a… few options, of which I know you must be considering. Tell me what you think, and I shall see the probability.”

“We- well,” she started. “The army put that in there, so they have to take it out.”

A rattling sound filtered in from the other line, a clatter echoing seconds later. “Mmm. Possible, but there’s a fifty percent chance of failure, the army dusting him, and… I see one timeline where… no. I suggest not.”

“Oh, God. Moira, he can’t die. Dust, he can’t dust. I can’t let them-”

“Breathe. In… out… good,” she sighed, the sound of a lighter flicking on in the background, lighting some incense, no doubt. Or a candle. She really hoped it wasn’t a cigarette. God, she could use one right about now. Maybe she could sneak one out of Spike’s pack, just when no one was lo- “What else?”

“Regular hospital, but he has no pulse, so we’d have to steal equipment and do it… ourselves...”

“Yeah, I’m thinking ‘no’. You definitely look good in orange, Joyce, but prison does not suit you- even if Spike taught you how to make a shiv.”

“A- were you there? At the compound?”

“With your sister Katherine? Why would I be? I was home with my sister-in-law, playing cards. Her hair grows back, by the way. Kathy’s. And you are very envious of it,” she giggled. For a second, the older woman sounded like Buffy, or even Dawn used to- younger and with far simpler worries. “But that doesn’t matter now. Witches… yes, I see magic. A stone.”

“A stone?”

“Yes, a stone. Your librarian has it. Oh, it's… it moves. Like a worm in the cerebellum, it… oh, that is so gross.”

Joyce could have sworn the woman’s accent slipped just then, but she didn’t dare comment. “What? What is it?”

“Eew. It, sorry- I just have a thing with worms,” she shuddered, sipping her tea. The mental picture of her wrapping her shawl around her body tighter materialised, a chill probably in the air. “But it will help by… crawling up his nose.”

Oh, God. Did she hear the other woman correctly? “His… nose?”

“Yes.” Great. She did. At least her ears still functioned. “It’s gotta get to the brain, after all. Oh, he’s going to hate it. Your vampire friend. I suggest you get some hard Scotch, to get you all through it. He… oh, yeah. He’ll be in a LOT of pain, but he’ll live. What day is it today?”

“Huh? Oh, it’s Wednesday.”

“That… doesn’t help. I don’t have a calendar in front of me, and the months all bleed together here.”

“Oh! Uh, February the 12th.”

“Oh, gosh. Yes, you need to go now. Right now. Get your Mr. Giles, have him find the stone,” the woman barrelled on quickly. “It’s a Prother-yote or Prokaryote. The stone that moves. Hurry. Then get your vampire some human blood- but not your own. The blood bank has the near expired bunch in the side fridge. And Joyce?”

“Ye- yes Moira?” 

“You’re doing an amazing job. Don’t doubt your instincts. Even if it makes your girls way with the angry at you.” Before hanging up, she added, “ there are a lot of lost little girls, looking to you as a mother figure. Have Faith, and you’ll get out okay. You’ll guide her through it the way you do everyone. You’re not an island. Don’t be a stranger.”

With the line dead, she scrambled up out of the closet to rush down the stairs, in search of Rupert. It wasn’t until the dark slayer was standing in front of her, a bit more than a week later, that she understood the last part of the cryptic message. But then again, what was Miss Fletcher if not a cryptic enigma? 

And while the ex-gallery owner believed in the older woman’s ability to lead her down the right path, not everyone felt the same way. “Joyce…” Giles hedged carefully, crushed velvet box in hand. “I don’t think this stone is capable of doing what your friend is suggesting.”

“Let’s just try it, okay?” she asked-slash-demanded. “She hasn’t been wrong once.”

“Joyce-”

“Ripper. Do it.”

“I’m not arguing with you on the validity of her claims, I simply- I’ve had this stone for nigh on twelve years,” he replied, trying to make her see reason. “And I doubt it’ll do much more than find out why the chip is misfiring now. Removal seems highly unlikely. But if Spike agrees….”

“He does. Don’t you, S?”

The way she was looking at him set his teeth on edge. It was that typical ‘Summers Woman’ expression he knew better than to question; less he fancied parting with his - ahem! - unmentionables. Plus, her psychic friend hadn’t been wrong yet. And his lady was looking at him like he was fragile, and that wouldn’t do. “Bloody hell. Fine, alright.”

Buffy gripped his hand, faith suddenly faltering. She didn’t want him dusting. Or worse- turning into an undead cabbage. If that was even possible. “Spike, you don’t have to if-” his love started reassuring him, a little worried herself. 

“No. I’ll do it,” he nodded, resolved to go through anything, if only to temporarily stop her worries. “Just hurry up before Pidge and Platelet get home.” As Giles chanted, the stone wiggled on his palm, twisting around like a reanimated maggot corpse, and suddenly, his bravery flew outta there, first class. “Nope!” he exclaimed angrily, frightened beyond belief. “Sod that! There ain’t a bleeding chance in HELL that is going anywhe-” Before he could finish his objection, the wormy stone thing jumped straight up off the Watcher’s hand and into his own left nostril. Whatever it was doing to him as it crawled around in his skull, it hurt. It hurt real bad. His entire form was thrashing on the cot, gripping the Slayer’s hand for dear life, letting out gut wrenching screams. 

At this point, several of the other inhabitants of the house rushed to help. Or snoop. It wasn’t everyday anyone saw a chipped vampire seizing on a cot in a slayer’s basement, let alone a gaggle of Potential Slayers.  

Buffy felt his finger bones give way, fracturing, with how hard he gripped her own. She was sure her pinky was broken, but refused to let go. If he dusted on her, she was going to drive her ass to that phoney psychic’s house, drag that bitch out by her probably culturally inappropriate hairdo, and-

-buy her a fruit basket the size of Texas. “Oh, my God.” Before their very eyes, the worm stone thing came back out, chip first. “Oh, my God. It- it worked.”

“How- it shouldn’t- Good Lord,” Giles grumbled, shock colouring every inch of his face. “She- Good Lord.” The thing jumped back into his open palm, stilling back to it’s original form, leaving behind a blood covered computer chip roughly the size of a camera SD card. 

“If Watcher-man says ‘good lord’ again, I win Giles bingo,” Spike snarked, rubbing the soreness out from his nose bridge. “What…?” Taking the help the Slayer gave him, he sat upright, leaning against the wall behind him, as Giles strode over to present it to the vampire. The ex-librarian looked about as perplexed as the rest of the gallery of gawkers. “Is that what I bloody think it is?” 

“Is it the thing that tried to tens machine your brain to bits?” his girl answered, just in as much astonishment as he was. “Yeah.” 

“Joyce?”

“Yeah?” she asked, hands still trembling by the stairs. That had been a horrifying sight, and she hoped to never have to see it happen ever, ever again. 

“Buy that psychic of yours the biggest bouquet you can get,” he muttered, holding the blood covered piece of circuitry in his fingers. “On me. Bloody hell.”

Sighing in relief, she collapsed in the camp chair, letting out a nervous breathy laugh. Rona looked at her poleaxed, Joyce turning to offer the girl a squeeze of her hand. “Told ya: Miss Fletcher’s never wrong.”

Blinking, mouth agape, Rona finally felt the earth shift under her feet in the right way. Since all the awful that happened to her family, she’d been untethered. But she knew, just knew that she was meant to be here, on this Hellmouth. Even if she died, she wasn’t going down without a fight. “Does this mean we still get to go train tonight?” she said instead of her racing thoughts claiming, ‘holy crap! A psychic was right?!’ 

“Uh…”

“‘Course,” Spike sniffed, inspecting the chip closely, a grin suddenly spreading across his face. “So long as someone finds me a shadow box for this little blighter.”

“Victorians and their shadow boxes,” the Slayer grumbled, shaking her head. Then stilled, a thought occurring to her. “Since that concludes magical stone assisted surgery, everyone mind clearing out? The patient needs rest, so, not to be rude or anything, but… shoo!” 

Reluctantly, they carried themselves out one by one, a few grumbling about being kicked out of the action. Once the last person - her mom - left, she collapsed around his form, pressing gentle kisses to his neck and jawline. That had been way with the too close for her comfort. “Are you in pain? Do you need anything? I can see if mom still has some pills left over from her last surgery.”

Smiling tiredly, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “M’alright, now. Shouldn’t have worried about me, luv,” he sighed, pulling her more securely on his chest. Only to wince at the state of his hands. “Bugger. Broke a few fingers, I suppose.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the man I love, you idiot! Of course I’m gonna be worried.”

“Can handle my own.”

“Worrying about my loved ones is totally part of the slayer package.”

Nudging her forehead with his chin, he looked at her sweetly. “C’mere.” As she tilted up, he tilted down, pressing a tender kiss upon her lips. “I’m well. Nothing a bit of kip and kiss can’t cure.”

“Sweet talker.” Sighing, she pressed her forehead to his bicep. “Being the Slayer is exhausting on all levels.”

“But you love it. It’s who you are.”

“Mmm. More than that.”

“It’s your very being,” he responded, knowing her better than anyone. “S’more than you ever imagined, but you take it in stride, even when you’d rather quit.” He waited until she looked up at him again before adding, “s’what makes you so bloody incredible. Can’t help but, well, help the world.”

Smiling softly back, her expression was bittersweet. Even post-brain surgery, he was all about making her feel better. God, she loved him. “Well, Happy Valentine’s Day. How many days ahead of schedule.”

“Oh, bollocks. Is it-?” Scowling at himself, the hand not on her fisted in the top sheet of the cot. He berated himself for dropping the ball on such an important day. Last year, they’d shagged six ways to Chelsea on their favourite spot, and this year, all he could offer was… this. He felt like a bumbling fool for forgetting. “Damnit.” Turning to her, he softened his face, insisting, “I swear, I meant to make us a reservation, I-”

“How about you and me just sneak out to the car for a nice long makeout sesh later, instead of all the hoopla?” she offered. In all honesty, after watching the impromptu surgery he’d just undergone, she wasn’t in the mood for dealing with other people. Valentine's Day should just be about them, not other couples. And besides, they weren’t gonna get more than an hour of getting cuddlesome with the smoochies before something hit the fan, again.

“God, you’re my dream woman, you know that?”

“I love you too, Bunbury.”

 

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Saturday, February 15th, 2003

 

Twice now, she’d seen the absolute nightmare of the shadowy figure, and the third time wasn’t much more fun. Especially not while she was finishing her shower. 

“So….” She gasped at the sudden voice, swivelling around to the apparition, currently watching from the perch he had on her toilet seat. “We meet again.”

Clutching the towel closer to her naked wet body, she looked around for a weapon. Except, no, that wouldn’t work, would it? Her foot went right through him last time. “Great. You again. Look, pal. I’ve got a whole slew of evil crap headed my way, so I don’t have time for your monologuing, Leno.”

“Hey, now. Don’t you wanna hear what I’m offering?”

“No.”

Standing, he tucked his hands into his pockets, dark slacks stained with blood on the hems. There was something… off about him. More than just evil. “Mmm. Shame. Guess she’ll go up in flames after all.”

Flames. God, no. Not that. How did he know-? “You stay the hell away from my family, or so help me-”

“There she is! Unh!” he grunted, thrusting his hips like the pervert he 100% was. “There’s that Slayer spirit in ya! Not that it did Dri any favours in the end.”

“Dri?” No, she thought. He- he’s messing with me. He HAS to be. But.... What if he isn’t? “You knew her? You… you killed her.”

“Mmmm… yes and no,” he hemmed, before hawing, “and no, but yes.”

Scowling, she knew better than to give into a demonic creature’s whims. Especially one as heebee geebee inducing as he was. “Listen, Dr. Seus. Either give it to me straight, or get the hell out of my face.”

“D’aww… you slayers. You’re all the same, you know that? You keep chasing for normal; for what? All you’re doing is putting people you love in my path. So easy for me to just manipulate how I see fit.”

Chasing normal? Her? With a master vampire for a boyfriend? Hardly! “You’re really getting on my last nerve, Sparky.”

“Didn’t know you had any of those left, blondie.”

“You make a better trashcan than advisor.”

“And you make a better corpse than a human, but… oh, wait,” he cackled, the fiend. “You were one. Not here, in this dimension…. Ooops? Did I say too much?”

Squaring her shoulders, she refused to back down. This was her house, in her town, and no FREAKING way was she gonna let this creep stay here for a second longer than he already had. “Get. Out.”

Sardonic grin slashing his cheeks with crimson, the low-rent Joker drawled, “oh, honey. I haven’t even shown you my opening act.” Ghost blood dripped down into his starched black collar, meant to be menacing, but only served to piss her off. As if she’d never seen that before! “I just know she’s gonna be a screamer.” And without another word, he disappeared. 

Leaning back against the wall, catching her breath, she distantly heard Gemini puttering around the house, while the girls in the backyard practised their drills. She needed to get dressed, tell her Watcher. God! Why couldn’t she just have one stinking day not suck?!

Notes:

Unneccessarily long, I know. But I'm not editing this a seventh time. Also, if you think you know who the psychic is, PLEASE don't spoil it cuz it's not touched on till the next installment, but yes, its exactly who you think it is

Chapter 44

Summary:

Buffy’s latest nightmare shows her more symbolism than she can make sense of, but one things for sure: Dawn and Char aren’t safe in Sunnydale. Shame that her and her mom’s plan goes sideways. Hello? It’s the duo of Summers and Pratt- shenanigans are expected.

Chapter Text

Sunday, February 16th, 2003

 

Huffing, she climbs out of the canyon in a frantic crawl. Dust, and sand, and gravel all kick up around her, as her foot can’t catch a hold. If only she’d had the foresight to pack her climbing gear, she wouldn’t be free-climbing herself out. But she didn’t, and now she’s stuck. Leather jacket slick with sweat and blood, it does nothing but slip as she tries to haul herself up. Glancing back down, she sees thousands of those- those THINGS. Writhing, jaws clamping down onto people parts like a bucket of fried chicken, snarling in their inhuman voices. Absolutely disgusting, and-

A scream emits above her, her head swivelling in time to see herself, offering a hand. Blinking, she reaches out, grasping it, and hauling both of them up, she grunts in effort. The outcropping of the cliff edge is small, too narrow for even one person, let alone two. But when have they ever let that stop them? Looking out, she sees a twinkle of something shiny out in the distance, glinting on the one spec of light in the vast terrain. 

‘Doomed,’ she hears the person next to her wearing her face say. ‘Ashes, ashes.’

‘They all fall down,’ she felt her own mouth say, the voice achingly familiar. Looking back at herself - at the person wearing her face - her eyes widen as the cliff face suddenly gives way. They fall down, down, down, hitting the earth so hard, it starts to pull them both further into its depths. She wants to scream, but her mouth is sewn shut, watching herself being buried alive. 

Touching her sore lips with dirty fingers, she sobs at the jagged edges of the twine, wounds weeping more than blood and tears. But the earth doesn’t care, it only tries to drag her down further. No. NO! She wasn’t going out like this!

She refuses to go quietly off into the gentle night, because she’d rarely known what a gentle night really was. Not since she’d been Called. She fights, as she’s always fought before, ripping the twine out with her nails, and claws her way out of the sand. Her mouth fills with grit as she nears the surface, coughing and hacking away. Once out of the pit, she blinks at the abrupt rush of stars above her, the top of the cavern firmly pulled back. Her eyes turn frantic as she tries to find herself. Her body, where did it go? 

If only there was a bit of movement somewh- THERE! 

Digging at the mound a few feet away, she feels her voice crack as she calls her own name. Where is she? Where’s the girl with her face? With her power? Wasn’t she stronger than this- this… force keeping her here?

She keeps digging, crying out in frustration as her black painted fingernails are ripped free, blood staining the earth. She can’t abandon her! Was the only one who believed in her! In- 

Wait. Something… something wasn’t right. Her nails weren’t black. She never painted them so dark- not even Spike painted her nails that dark! And- God, what the hell is that?! Another kind of movement…

Touching her belly, she can feel something kicking. Eyes widening, she looks down to see her stomach, but not. It wasn’t her body she was in, but the little thump against her diaphragm wasn’t just her own. Was she…? No, that was insane! She wasn’t- this was a dream. Had to be. Just an awful nightmare, and she would soon wake up, and-

 

          HSSSSS!

 

No. No, no, no! Not again! She’s so tired of these things. But as she gears herself up for fighting more primordial demons, the Hellmouth oozes out a dozen carbon copies of another nightmare. 

“Hello. Lil’ lady,” Henry Clayton Newfield the third hisses out, his roach demon form skittering towards her wearing a cowboy hat. “Afraid your time’s up.” He makes a grab at her with his bug buddies, all wearing the same stupidly expensive hat, but she’s stronger and faster, using her funky battle axe to mow them down, one by one. Where’d this thing come from? Who cares! She slays them in half the time, and that’s all that matters. 

She’s so tired. But she’s no quitter, not her. She’s a slayer, and she- 

Grunting in pain, she shrinks back as a Bringer stabs her arm, trying to sever the tendon. Except it looks like the monk’s bleeding himself, his neck slit from ear to ear, spraying his gore all over her. Rolling away, she stands, positioning herself against the new onslaught of monks and flying monkeys, the Turok-Han snarling as they grab at her. 

And she’s so tired now, and she sees herself fighting three feet away, like a reflection, as the woman who she thought SHE was runs to safety. Where was-? Did it matter? Not when she’s fighting for her life. Struggling, she kicks out, feeling her legs shatter. She needs to get out, needs to raise her axe- 

Seeds. Pomegranate seeds in her hands. Her weapon is gone, and the juices are staining her palms. But she can get out- she HAS to! 

Tossing them at the beast heading for her, it writhes on the ground in agony at instant contact, giving her a moment to escape. Climbing higher and higher out of the pit, she feels her head spinning, dizzy. But she keeps climbing. Even missing three toes, a pinky, and with a stab wound in the gut, she keeps on climbing. There’s still a flutter in her gut, so there’s still a chance. There's still hope. Reaching the peak, she sees two girls in a car, off in the distance, being driven to safety by a woman who looks strikingly like Kathy from afar, grey hair whipping in the wind. And this time, when the pringle can of swirling rave lights spread out, she doesn’t feel fear. But hope. 

 

Gasping awake, Buffy bolted upright, quaking as she gazed down at her hands. Her normal, non-bleeding hands. “Luv?” Turning sharply to her left, Spike’s eyes met hers in the dim light of the basement. He sat up himself, carefully gathering her in fear of her own skittishness. “Nightmare again? Same one?”

Shaking her head, she accepted his comfort, slumping into his arms. She let him press kisses to her head, trembling in his arms. Even slayers needed comfort with horror from time to time. She typically coped with raging against the evil special of the week, but she was too tired to do anything other than lay there. And she trusted him with this. With her heart. Once calmed, she turned to face him. Whispering out the details of her dream, she added, “I think mom’s right. I- I think we need to call Kathy, to do the pl-”

“Fine.” He hated it as much as she did, maybe more. But if her dreams were anything to go off of… they couldn’t afford not to.  “I- God, they’re gonna kill us.”

 

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Thursday, February 20th, 2003

 

Katherine Richardson was… weird. There just weren’t any other words Rona could come up with for the woman. For one thing, there was her hair. Like the Hasidic rabbis, with their two long curled pieces apart from the rest of their hair, she definitely made a statement there. But it wasn’t just that. Her two-piece was straight outta the 80’s, her broach nauseatingly tacky, her over application of blue eyeshadow- seriously? Was her inspiration Joan Cusak’s character in Working Girl? 

But then she’d heard the rumours from the other girls. 

“Her daughter was, like, totally killed by a demon when Buffy was a kid.”

“I heard they locked her up in a looney bin.”

“She was totally in this demon cult, I think maybe as a spy.”

“Did you hear she used to be friends with Princess Di?”

“You think she’s secretly Dawn’s real mom? Or Kit’s?!”

“Mrs. Summers and her haven’t talked in, like, twenty years. I wonder why she’s here.”

“Maybe she’s a time-traveller- like Charlotte!”

Honestly, it was getting kind of ridiculous. Demon cults and Princess Diana?! No, there was just no way.

“Orange?”

Shaken from her thoughts, Rona looked up to see the lady in question holding a platter, more oranges sliced up than would probably be eaten in one afternoon, all cosy on the porcelain dish. “Oh, uh, yeah.” Taking one off the charger, she added, “thanks.”

Nodding once, Kathy rested the plate on the patio table, gazing at the other girls running manoeuvres. “You’re not training with them.” It wasn’t a question, but it sure as heck felt like an inquisition. 

Shrugging, the girl finished her fruit before answering. “Took a break.”

“Mmm.” Nodding once, she moved to go back inside, only stopped by a hand raised in front of her. “Yes?”

“Is it true?” Rona waited as the woman blinked a few times, but it seemed like the Potential would have to spell it out for her. “There are… rumours.”

“About…. Me?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Ah. Well,” she shrugged, picking up an orange slice of her own. “If you mean the rumour that I’m converting to Judaism, that one’s a big old nope. This,” she gestured to her head with a single finger. “Wasn’t my idea of a fashion forward look.”

“So, you really were in a demon cult, then?” Kennedy asked, the girls all breaking for some fruit as well. Working out burned a hell of a lot of calories when you were training to take down evil. 

Taking a breath at the audience around her, Kathy reminded herself that she was safe. It sometimes felt like she was still there, in that mental ward, trapped. The cult had felt like freedom after that, not that she even knew it was a cult. A collective, they called it. A collective group of demonic D-bags, more like. “Yes,” she admitted, watching the girls all have varied reactions around them. “I thought it was a normal commune, but I guess,” she sighed. “Our family just attracts the supernatural. In hindsight, the signs were neon and flashing.”

“Did you really travel through time?” Amanda piped up, impulse control of a squirrel on six pounds of sugar. 

Snorting, she chuckled, shaking her head. “No, and thank goodness I didn’t. Hard enough being my age and trying to keep up with current technology,” she grumbled. 

“So you don’t know princess Di.”

“Princess-?! You’re joking, right?” 

“Uh… yes…?”

Rolling her eyes, she knew she should’ve kept her mouth shut when she came to drop off the snacks. But she knew that slump in Rona’s shoulders. She saw it in Kit’s, too. The ‘everything sucks and I don’t know who to trust’ slump that she wished she could ignore. But she never could ignore the same slump she often had in her own youth. Wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right. “Okay, everyone has questions, huh?” The girls let out murmurs of assurance, some genuinely excited. “Alright, how’s this? Ask one each, and I’ll answer honestly. Then I gotta go back inside, and sort out some stuff there. Deal?”

Nodding, they all agreed, Violet raising her hand first awkwardly. “Umm… did you really go twenty years without talking to Mrs. Summers?”

Barking out a laugh, she shook her head. “No! Sure, I spent twelve years in a mental institution on a misunderstanding, but she and Arlene never let me go more than a few weeks between calls,” she snorted. Couldn’t help it. It was just too dang funny. Twenty years without their call? Her sisters? Ha! Those women needed their monthly info dump on her, like fish needed their gills. Gossip was Leany’s bread, butter, jam, and eggs, and if she couldn’t gossip to her oldest sister, she might just explode. “And yeah, turns out, when your family hears you say ‘demon’, they usually assume you’re nuts. Until your niece becomes the Slayer, at least.”

They all fell silent, faces in various stages of sorrow and shock. “So… your daughter…?” one asked haltingly. “She really…?”

“Yes,” she replied, misery rearing its ugly head. Grief refused to leave her, but she still had a few moments of respite. If she let it consume her like she had in the past, she’d have another twelve years of missed opportunities. And she was done with that half-life… life. “By a demon called der Kindestod. It- it hunts children- hunted, past tense. Buffy killed it in ‘98.”

It knocked her off kilter when the girls looked at her just then. Almost like she was full of infinite wisdom, which she so was not. “Woah.”

“So… you weren't a spy? In the umm, cult, I mean?”

A spy. Sheesh! These girls sure had some vivid imaginations. “No. They suckered me in, promised to get me away from the clinic, and were going to suck out my brains,” she stated, so devoid of emotion, Rona wondered if the woman drank away her sorrows. But she’d not seen the lady even let the stuff touch her lips since her arrival. “But I did… uh, well, it wasn’t my plan,” she hedged carefully. She wasn’t sure it was smart to say ‘we committed arson!’ to these impressionable young women. “Well, when they broke me out, I might have contributed to some property damage- not for kicks! Just… distraction-y reasons.”

“Um… why are you here?” Caridad asked, chewing on her bottom lip, gloss getting on her teeth. “I mean, this is a town of demons, right? And things are even more demony lately, apparently. Why come back?”

Taking a deep breath to collect her thoughts, she offered a friendly smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Family makes you do some bizarre things. And, truth be told, Joyce - Mrs. Summers - always made better cookies than our kid sister Arlene ever could. I love the woman, but she adds golden raisins, for Pete sake. To double chocolate chip!”

“Monster,” Rona joked, earning her a genuine warm smile from the lady.

“Mmm. But no staking her,” she warned with a teasing finger. “Just because she adds relish to her apple fritters doesn’t mean she deserves to be slayed.”

“Ewww!”  “Relish?”  “That’s nasty.”

Rona wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Is that where Dawn gets it from?”

“Huh. You might be onto something there….” Yeah, Kathy was weird, but kinda okay. 

 

----------

 

Friday, February 21st, 2003

 

Something was very with the not right. There was the obvious evilness of the Hellmouth; no surprises there. But with the resurgence of The First, tensions were high in both the demon and human communities. Including in Casa de Slayer.  

The Potentials were arguing, yet again. Kennedy and Molly thought they ought to be ranked higher than the newer arrivals, while the Potentials that had arrived within the past two weeks suggested an election. Between them arguing about that in the backyard and the Holden boys causing a racket on the street, the matriarch decided that being inside felt like a better place for her to be for the next hour. But then again, she’d been wrong before about these things. 

“Kathy?” Joyce couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her sister wearing such casual clothing. At the hospital, she had an outfit that was kind of a relaxed version of her usual two-piece, and yeah, the cult had those flax-sacks, but… jeans? No, not since they were graduating high school and college- respectfully. But there Kathy was now, in one of the blonde’s favourite jeans and a white t-shirt, washing dishes. Specifically knives. Just knives. And staring off into space, while muttering, and- oh, boy. This was one of the most eerie sights the blonde had ever seen. “Uh… I think those are clean, now,” she laughed awkwardly, noting the raw state of the other woman’s hands. She’d been scrubbing her own fingers whilst doing the knives, skin raw and red. 

But the dark haired lady didn’t respond, just kept on scrubbing. Okay…? That wasn’t… alarming. At all. Backing away slowly, she headed to get her eldest - or the vampire, whoever was closest at this point - when she finally heard something. “Oh, the grand ole Joyce of Sun,” her sister uttered in a low tone, almost singing it to herself. “She had ten thousand girls.”

Oh. Oh, God. What the hell? “Kathy?” she tried again, putting more distance between the sisters, eyes flicking to the door where she saw a few of the girls heading in. Motioning they stay out, she hoped the ‘go get help!’ look in her eyes was enough to encourage them to do as she asked. “M- maybe you ought to take a break, huh?”

“And when they were up, they were up,” Kath continued, lifting up the largest knife, the ambient light glinting against the steel. Because the sisters didn’t have enough nightmare inducing memories between them, the eldest Richardson girl was singing a creepy, yet relevant version of a nursery rhyme! “And when they were down, they were down.”

Crap, crap, CRAP! she thought, backing away slowly, her pulse ratcheting up. Fear gripped her heart, the sound of it pumping wildly causing a sudden whooshing to echo in her ears. Not good. Way of the bad. So very, VERY bad.

“And when they were all cut up,” the dark haired beauty continued, a glint of hatred in her eyes. Joyce’s hand barely touched the knob before her sister lunged towards her, knife raised above her head. “They were neither alive nor dead!” 

The blonde shrieked as she dodged, the metal embedding itself into the wood. “Everyone out!” she yelled, the whooshing sound in her ears got louder. As did the sound of footsteps. “Buffy!”

“Mom! Aunt Kathy?” Dawn’s eyes widened at the sight, shrieking as she took off like a shot, grasping Lottie’s wrist in a death grip. Her friend screamed in pain, and for the brunette to slow down, but like a bat outta hell, Dawn Summers wasn’t sticking around here. Nuh-uh, no ma’am! “Kathy’s friggin’ possessed!”

Arriving at the scene, Buffy’s eyebrow arched in confusion, immediately jumping into action. “Oh, goodie. Homicidal auntie.”

“Kath! Kath!” Joyce dodged the swinging butcher’s knife with a yelp, barely avoiding the blade. “Stop it, this isn’t you! You’re infected!”

“Oh? Is that where this rage comes from?!” She growled like a rabid dog  as she lunged again, dodging her niece. “Twelve years! You had me locked up for twelve stinking years!” 

Despite having a few years of an advantage in age, she didn’t have the experience. Running to the dining room, Joyce tripped on the rug under the table, keeping her dive from going face-first with her forearm. With shaking fingers, she grabbed the underside of the table, yanking out the machete, stopping her sister from committing sororicide by a hair. The recent divorcee forgot one major rule in the terms of combat: don’t bring a cleaver to a kukris fight. The blades caught metal to metal, the blonde sister holding her weapon handle two-handed, using every ounce of strength to hold her older sister back. “Katherine!” she shrieked, her daughter grabbing at the other woman. “Get a hold of yourself!” Blood welled up to the surface from her fingers, a wound forming on the knuckles, where the blade hadn’t missed her.  

“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?!” the dark haired beauty cried out, elbowing the woman behind her. “I’m not taking your crap anymore! If it weren’t for you, mom and dad wouldn’t have put all that bullshit on me! I could’ve had all this! You took it all from me, you bi-” her words died in her mouth, the Slayer disarming her with a chop to her brachial plexus.

With the force from the sharp jab, the forty-nine-year-old woman collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Shaking in fear, Joyce looked at her hands in horror, dropping the weapon. “My God,” she whispered, hollow inside and out. “What’s become of us?”

Spike’s harried footfalls echoed as he bounded to the scene of the crime, watching in hopeless silence at the women on the floor. “Mom,” Buffy breathed, collecting her mother in her arms, trying to keep her all in one piece. The pair were trembling, holding one another together to keep from falling to pieces. “We have to-”

“I know,” she whispered, feeling the same desperation she had with her daughter. Burying her face in the blonde hair, she momentarily let herself get lost in the swirling vortex of her mind. But moments were moments for a reason. And when they passed, one must either let go, or get going, before the path forwards could disappear forever. “We have to do the plan.”

“I know.”

“They’re gonna hate us.”

“I know.”

Pulling back, she touched her eldest’s face with her fingers, offering a soft, small smile of comfort. “My brave girl.”

 

----------

 

Joyce felt dirty. The whole plan was a whole load of dirty, filthy, awfulness, but she didn’t care at the moment. All she could picture was the girls, laying in twin pools of blood, their unblinking eyes staring up at her, dead. Corpses. Not even animated ones, like- nope! Not going there, she shivered, hoping she wouldn’t give anything away, as she walked her girls to Kathy’s car later that evening. Thinking about death isn’t gonna help. Not now. 

“Weird time for Kathy to move in,” Dawn sighed, her and Charlotte following her lead to meet her sister by the sedan she bought with some of the fire insurance money. Despite signing the divorce papers, Kevin still loved her, and refused to leave her without her cut. It was a nice gesture, but the pair had become strangers to one another, which was why having her aunt coming to live with them raised zero red flags. “But, hey, what’s one more lady in the Slayer sorority?”

Opening the passenger door, Kathy gestured to the box on the floor of the backseat area, adding, “could you lift that, Lottie? My back is shot, and I don’t want a repeat of the Hawaii incident.”

Nodding, she moved ahead to do just that, frowning when she noticed the box was empty. “I don’t under-”

 

     ZZZZTTT!

 

Before either girl could say a thing, both of the Richardson sisters incapacitated the teenager they were meant to, the tasers incredibly effective. Charlotte went out like a light, Kathy catching her before she face-planted into the boot tray, hauling her slight frame into a semi-upright position. Dawn didn’t go down as fast, blinking at her mom in betrayal as she slid to the grass, before her body went slack. 

Sighing, Joyce looked down at her daughter with a pained expression. “Should have opened the door first.” Dirty, disgusting, horrible mother. 

Shutting Lottie’s door, Kathy stood next to her sister. “No kidding. C’mon, help me with her.”

“This is my plan, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah. Drive to Leany’s, don’t stop ‘till I’m low on gas or outta moonlight. I didn’t forget. Trunk’s full of non-perishables, and some other necessities.” Like water, the girls’ clothes, and a few photo albums she’d smuggled out of Revello. Not that Joy-Joy needed to hear that last bit. 

She nodded, the lead stone in her throat heavy. She wasn’t gonna hear the end of this from either teen, but she did what she had to. ‘Don’t doubt your instincts. Even if it makes your girls way with the angry with you.’ Moira B. Fletcher’s words echoed in her head since that night, and she just knew this was what the psychic was hinting at. When Buffy told her of her latest dream, it only confirmed it. This was the only way to keep them alive. “Be safe.” 

Nodding once, she clipped in Dawn’s seatbelt, watching her sister hug and kiss both girls before stepping back with shaking hands. “I’ll call at every stop.” 

And then once the three of them were gone, Joyce left on the curb, hugging herself as tears streaked her face. God, she hoped Ms. Fletcher was right. 

 

----------

 

Dancing around, Dawn felt so alive! When was the last time they went Bronzing? Too dang long, that’s when. And the Giant Bunnies were really hopping tonight. Hit after hit, they really knew how to draw in a crowd at The Hook and Fork club. 

Wait. That wasn’t right. She and Lottie were at the Bronze with their friends. Weren’t they? But why was Anya wearing that outfit? Kiara’s outfit… huh. Anya wearing an old as dirt dress, a bunch of wildflowers in her hair, NOT screaming her head off as six foot tall bunnies played punk rock music, just sixteen feet away? “I gotta be dreaming,” she murmured, shaking her head. 

Turning to tell Lottie this was probably a dream, she caught her BFF playing chess with- “Angel?!” Stomping over to ream him out for being behind this, somehow, she couldn’t seem to get any closer, no matter how hard she tried. “Lottie! Get away from him!” And as they looked at her, she saw the freakiest thing: while Charlotte suddenly started greying before her very eyes, Angel started ageing backwards. “What the actual huh?”

‘Are you alone, now?’ the band sung, the singer sounding awfully close to Kit. Not that she could see. The club started dissolving into mist around her, the brunette’s feet finally working as she chased after her friend. ‘Is there anyone else around?’ Those weren’t the right words! Why was this happening to her?! ‘You’re not alone, now. Follow your heartbeat out of the ground.’

That- why did that sound like HER voice? Did she write this? Was her subconscious telling her to stop Angel from hurting her BFF by writing an punk-rock homage-slash-cover of a freaking Tiffany song?! 

‘Children. Children are never really alone, now.’ The words weren’t echoing around her anymore. They bubbled up from her gut, into her throat. Gentle, like a lullaby. As the mist slowly dissipated, she found herself at home, but the furniture was all outta wack. Like someone went all gangbusters at the local furniture warehouse, and got a mish-mash of every single kinda style out there, then smooshed it all into one place. And what’s more, there was a crib in the middle of the living room, right smack dab where the TV usually was. 

“Who are you?” she asked, the little baby in the bassinet cooing with a glee she couldn’t resist. The face was obscured, like someone had put Vaseline directly on her eyeball, to keep her from seeing clearly. But it was pale, with a shock of dark hair. And wearing a tiny pyjama set with little birdies all over it- pigeons, doves, flamingos, ducks, cardinals, chickens, and a few dozen more she couldn’t place. “Are you okay?”

The baby started babbling at her, a happy kind of sound, before a less than enjoyable honk escaped her mouth. “What-?”

 

          HOOOOOOONK! 

 

Dawn awoke slowly, the familiar feeling of being unconscious in a moving car jolting her from the last remnants of her sleep. “What-? Ow!” Gripping her head, she wondered if she’d end up with a lump on the back of her head from the whatever that happened to her. Dang, it stung!

“Oh, you’re awake. Good.” The dark haired woman lay on the horn a third time, the Kia ahead of them finally moving out of the way, allowing them through the stop sign. The edges of her dream were fading fast, leaving the teenager with more questions than answers. “There's juice for you in the glovebox.” 

“Aunt Kathy?” she croaked, feeling her stomach lurch. One second she was helping her aunt, and then- “What the hell?! You tased us?!”

But her aunt didn’t bother answering, pulling something out from the inner console with one hand. “Your mom and Buffy gave me this to give you.” She handed the girl the plain white envelope, Dawn ripping it open to get to the good stuff inside. 

And as her eyes frantically read the words, her anger only intensified. Not just any old trap, or trick. Oh, no! “You- you kidnapped me?!”

“Well….”

At the sharp turn of her head - oh, too fast! Ow! - Dawn caught Charlotte’s own prone frame in the backseat, her anger doubled. “What-? Are you fucking-? Kathy! What gives?!”

Screeching to a halt in front of the all night pharmacy on their right, she stopped in the first available spot, looking at her niece once they parked. The momentum of the lurch caused massive pinching from the seatbelt, the younger lady gaping at her aunt while rubbing at her sore as heck breastbone. “You can be as mad as you want, Dawn Summers,” she snapped, glare practically vibrating furious rage across every square inch of her body. “But you do not get to use that kind of language with me, you hear me?”

“Kathy! You-”

“You’ve never lost a daughter,” she bit back, face going downright terrifying. She’d never seen her aunt like this before, but then again, few people ever had. “And I’ll be damned if your mother loses you- either of you. You can hate us all you want once this is over, but until then? I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you two girls alive, if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

Slumping, defeated, Dawn nodded. She didn’t know what to say to that, or how to feel about her aunt’s sudden badass streak. Actually, it was kinda frightening. Arlene going full freakazoid on her would have been more expected, what with her ‘wild college days’ that their family joked about. But Kath? Man, surviving that cult had made her hard. Like, surviving prison hard. She decided that - for now - she’d play along. Until she could at least find a way for her and Lottie to call mom and demand an answer. Or eighteen hundred. 

“I’m gonna grab some gas, and then we’re gonna stop for the night.”

Nodding again, she looked out the window, willing herself not to cry. Crying would make her feel totally immature, and she was plenty mature, thank you very much! She’d staked no less than twelve vamps since her sister started training her, and Charlotte looked up to her. Oh, Lottie. Shutting her eyes, she didn’t know how she was going to break the news to her still pretty innocent and trusting BFF. God, she was so gonna hate mom and Spike over this. Buffy, too. 

Once they reached the gas station just outside Santa Clarita, her aunt offered to get them both ice creams, getting out to fill up the car. 

Kathy’s SO getting the silent treatment for this, Dawn thought, watching as the woman filled the gas tank. I don’t care if she’s doing it cuz mom and Buffy and Spike told her to. I don’t care that she’s getting us all strawberry shortcake king cones. I don’t even care that she left her stupid car keys in the igni- Her breath caught in her lungs at the sight of metal sticking out from the side of the steering wheel. Was- was that really there? Looking back subtly, she saw the back of her aunt’s head, the woman heading inside to settle up. If she was gonna do this, she had to go right now. 

Hijacking her aunt’s car was probably naughty, but she wasn’t gonna be shunted to the sidelines while her mom stayed for the fight. Not a chance! Climbing over the console, she slipped into the driver’s seat, buckling herself up, just as Charlotte was coming to. 

“Oh, clotted cream,” the blonde groaned from the backseat, gripping her head as her friend gunned the engine. “I don’t feel all too well… Dawn?” Blinking as she felt the ground underneath her give way, she looked around before letting out a yelp. “Dawn! What on earth-?!” 

Throwing the letter over her shoulder, she said, “our family thinks they know what’s best for us, Lottie.” Laughing hollowly, she felt herself go a little screwy around the edges of her soul. Maybe it was from being zapped. “They planned all the bells and whistles for our kidnapping.”

Letting out a gasp at the accusation, the brunette could practically feel Charlotte’s anger radiating as she read the words. Nearing the end, she flipped the page over, hoping for more. Seeing that was all the explanation they got, she demanded, “pull over.”

“Lottie!”

“I’m riding ‘shotgun’,” she insisted. As soon as the car drew to a stop, Charlotte opened her door, stepped three paces from the car, and brought up the remnants of her dinner. Spitting the bile from her mouth, she took a mint from her pocket, putting it in her mouth as she climbed into the seat next to her BFF. “Drive. And for the love of God, please go easy on the curves.”

 

---------

 

She made sure the tires squealed as they pulled up, making as much noise as she possibly could. Both her and Lottie stomped their way up the stairs, wrenching the front door open. Her mother’s face went white as a sheet when she slammed it behind them both. “Dawn…”

“No!” 

“…No?”

“NO!”

Stepping back in shock, she hardened her expression at her daughter. “You do not get to talk to me like that, young lady!”

“Kiss,” she began, tone dripping with condensation. “My entire ASS!” She stomped to their room, stopping halfway up the stairs to stare back down at her family- and a group of girls who were more than keen to eavesdrop. “I’m not a slayer; or even a Potential, I get that. I’m not trying to be one of them, but I’m still a part of this team. You don’t want me to get hurt? Too damn bad. Life doesn’t care what happens to me, and I’m gonna get hurt no matter what happens. I’m not running away from this fight, and you can’t make me. You want to protect me? Fine. But that?!” She gestured to the door, face red with an ire she didn’t think was possible, bubbling up inside her. “That is not okay! That’s not what a family does. That’s what the Smiths might do,” she threw back, making her point across. Every adult eyeing her looked abashed. GOOD. “Tricking us was a bad move, mom. And I dunno why you think Lottie and I are too immature to just, like, sit down and talk it out, but don’t forget about what happened the last time you snuggled me into a car, burning rubber outta town.”

Joyce’s face was grave when she replied heavily. “You lived.”

“Yeah, after the baddies chased us across three states!” Taking a calming breath, she forced her shoulders to untensify. “Look. The evil of the year is gonna find us no matter where we go. At least here, we’re on familiar turf, right? And since when do Richardson girls ever back down from a challenge?”

Damnit. She really shouldn’t have taught her daughter that. Except, if she hadn’t, then neither of them would be as resilient as they were. Proud, she thought. I am proud of her. Both of the- ALL of my girls. “You’re right.”

“What?”  “Excuse me?”  “Mom?”

“Your sister may be the captain of this little army, but as long as I’m here, I’m in charge of this house,” she pushed, refusing to be interrupted, despite the daughters of perpetual pains in her neck’s attempts to wiggle through her point. “But I ran it like a dictatorship when I chose that. That’s not the kind of mom I want to be. So fine, you stay. But the attitude has to come all the way down, or else.”

“Or else what?”

“You’ll wake up bald.”

Scoffing, Dawn put her hands on her hips, leaning most of her weight on her left side unconsciously. “You can’t keep threatening me with shaving my head.”

“Fine. Then you’ll wake up with grey hair, like granny.”

“You- how? Where would you even-?” Somehow, she knew her mom would find a way. She found a way to get Spike’s chip out without a stinking DOCTOR! Grey hair dye seemed like tiny taters in comparison. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. Gemini, come!” 

Charlotte stopped on the bottom step of the stairs, shoulders tense without looking back at her family. “William?” she asked, Gem zipping by her in his dog form. 

“Yeah, Pidge?”

“You do that to me ever again,” she said in the calmest voice she’d ever spoken. “You shall find yourself waking up with a tomato on your mouth, whilst being charbroiled.” And without waiting for another word, she followed Dawn upstairs, slamming the door behind her hard enough to rattle the windows.

Knowing she wasn’t lying - not with the even cadence of her tone and heartbeat - he felt genuine fear at her words for the first time in his entire existence. She would, too. Pidge knew exactly where he kept his lighter. And where Joyce kept the matches. And the lighter fluid. Had they inadvertently created a tiny monster in his kid sis? 

“Well,” Xander sighed, rubbing his temples at the table, research papers littered around him. “Now what?”

Chapter 45

Summary:

Who better to learn about demonkind from than demons themselves? Welcome to Demonology 101 with professors Hos, Xerxes, Meena, and (looks at smudged writing) uh…. Helen?

Chapter Text

Monday, February 24th, 2003

 

“You sure about this?” Xander asked, trepidation making his voice thick. “I mean, they helped the last two times. But this…?”

Buffy was getting real sick and tired of everyone questioning her decisions. Sure, she wasn’t going to win any prizes on how she handled that last training exercise, but she’d never been in charge of so many girls’ training before. At most, she had five teenagers who were eager to learn to fight, but this was beyond even that. Plus, the whole thing with her and Spike’s sisters was, well, pretty sketchy to say the least. But she was sure. They really needed reinforcements. Not just teaching them to fight, but in the history of demonology. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Trying to stop the freakiness that had plagued their town had only led to more trouble trying to dig it’s dirty fingies in their lives. They’d lost three more Potentials last night, and she wasn’t gonna let dissension split up their team. The ranking the earlier inductees of the Sunnydale Potential Slaying Program had instigated really put a whole kibosh on their morale. It was just her luck that Giles was so exhausted from the constant flying and fighting that he caved on her idea. 

And it was a damn good thing he did, what with the way Spike was doing lately. He’d nearly become concrete additive when Principal Wood cornered him on their training run. The taller man had managed to corral the vamp into a priest supply store - seriously, their town had the wiggiest of priorities - and burnt the dickens out of her boyfriend’s right arm and neck, before she stepped in to call him off. With him having just undergone hell what? A week ago? Two? Giles better keep his Watcher mouth shut about her plan, or else she was gonna assume (again) that the reason Robin knew about Spike’s route was a little bit too obvious to ignore. 

As it stood, even the Head Watcher of the barely existing Council seemed to be intrigued about learning the ins and outs of their guest speakers. 

“Um… what kinda demon even are you?” Shame not everyone had his level of tact, though.

“Amanda!” Vi hissed out, trying to scold her fellow Potential. “You can’t just blurt that out.”

“Calm yerselves,” Hos chuckled in mirth, shaking his green head. “S’a valid question if I e’er heard one. A bit of an enigma, meself.” He swiped his hands over his form, Xerxes and Meera to his left. “The spikes an’ me colouring’s from me ma- she was Brachen, through an’ through. Me eye’s from me da- his ma was Hesenkien- a demon from the middle planes, like the loose skinnies.”

“Clem’s a loose skinned demon,” Kennedy mentioned, eyebrow lifting. “Does that mean he’s from the middle plane too?”

Pointing to her with a grin, he confirmed it. “Aye.” Holding a hand palm side down, he placed the other about eleven inches above it as he explained. “Ye got yer topside plane - the human world - the lower plane being hell, and the plane between’s the middle. Not much to it,” he shrugged, continuing easily. Buffy figured he must be either A. hard up for people to like him, or B. was a teacher in a past century. He was just oddly chill in front of them all for it to be a bluff. “Me grandda was part Hesenkien, part F’Lott Jean demon, though I ain’t sure on exactly how, since the Hesenkien females tend to have trouble reproducin’ with F’Lott Jean demons- incompatible parts, ya ken?” 

“Who’s Ken?” someone whispered, earning a bark of a laugh from the mixed relations demon. “What?”

“Ask yer resident vamp,” he grinned slyly, his third eye spinning around in it’s socket. “But ye call me Hos.”

“Hos? Does that stand for something?”

“Aye.”

“What?”

“I ain’t devulgin’ that secret, lass. Sure, but it requires an hour of explainin’ yer leader wilna appreciate me wastin’. Now,” he clapped his hands, excitement pouring from every ounce of his body. “Mate?” 

Grumbling about how he wasn’t Hos’ lackey, Spike unfolded the ridiculously thick pad of flip chart paper, sticking it on the easel someone had probably pilfered from the high school. 

Flipping to the first page, everyone’s eyebrows climbed up to their hairlines at the breathtakingly detailed crosssection of anatomy on display. Seriously, Picasso could never. “This here be yer average Brachen demon. Amongst other demons, these are considered half-breeds of their own, which makes me even more of an oddity. Though less it interferes with me bowling score, sure, but who gives a toss?” Drawing their attention back to his unnaturally exceptional drawing skills with a claw, he continued. “Here’s the tricky part ‘bout killin’ ‘em- see the neck?”

“It’s double jointed,” Charlotte said, utterly fascinated as their little future doctor took notes in near excess. “Fascinating. Does that mean you also have a double jointed neck?”

“Nah- s’a mite more complex, what with the F’Lott Jean DNA, but we’ll get ta that in a mo’.”

“Umm… no offence,” another girl said hauntingly, “but why are you, like, teaching us how to essentially kill you?”

“That is not why we are here,” Meera buzzed, her eyes wider than Xerxes’ own. Spike and Tara weren’t kidding. Not only was she bigger than her husband of several hundred millennia, she had nearly twice as many beads. “When one is a slayer, such as your Miss Buffy, one can find herself in a life and death situation without any warning. They do not teach self defence to the youth at the local YMCA in hopes to create an army. Nay, they do it in hopes that if a young person is in an untenable situation, they might be able to survive it.” And possibly extremely well educated by the way the demoness spoke. “This is why we three are here, and why Mr. Hos is teaching you how to properly defend yourself in such a situation. Though I have yet to meet a Brachen demon who is not peaceable, one might never know what may happen in the future.”

“Um… is the whole Mister and Miss thing a part of your species, like, culture or something?”

“No, we are simply striving to be polite,” the lady Crotovilic demon responded with a friendly buzz. “Our family has insisted upon it for millennia. I shall leave the floor back to our Mr. Hos.”

Grinning widely, he went back to his charts, showing off in a big way. Whatever life Hos had before coming to Sunnydale, it had to be a loooong one. Not only were his sketches beautifully detailed, but his ability to engage the potential slayers was incredible. Buffy hadn’t expected him to be so- so open about his parentage, let alone how to potentially kill demons like him. Well, not exactly like him. Like Gemini, Hos was a one of a kind being that none of them would probably ever see again in their lifetimes- times ten. But he’d come through in a big way, and she felt better for trusting her gut. 

It was a big ask, to have them come here. She didn’t know what else to do though, what with the near forty girls under their care now, Giles doing more than one Watcher could handle, and the Potentials all starting to wonder if they made the right call, trusting her. Spike told her that if she was sure, then it had to be a good idea, and he was right. 

The looks on the girls’ faces proved that. And Lottie’s wasn’t the only notebook full of notes. Dawn had been kicking butt at making sketches and pulling information up, too. Her family was really pulling through, and she felt a spec of relief. Though her mom still grounded the brunette for abandoning Kathy, which was… well. Not everything could be covered in glitter. 

While Hos had taken his time with his own charts, Meera and Xerxes had some trouble with theirs. Unlike their unique demon friend, their appendages were, *ahem*, not quite built for holding a pencil. Their own diagrams were crudely drawn in crayon, Buffy’s artwork circa 2nd grade looking like a Reggianini original in comparison. But Hos and Anya helped fix up the words so it was legible, at least.

“Oh, bother!” an unfamiliar voice sounded above them, heavy steps following close to the basement door interrupted Meera’s anecdote, stressing the importance of never being the first to sit down at a social gathering with her kind. “Terribly sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you there!” There was some light laughter, followed by Joyce's voice letting the other lady know that there were no hard feelings. 

Except no…. He knew that voice. But it couldn’t be… could it? Spike had asked her, but she’d been firm in telling him she was going to get her wife outta dodge, and never come back. 

Hos turned away from where Xerxes gestured to his flip chart, striding to the stairs. “Ah… it’s herself, then.”

“Hos? Is that you?”

“No, it’s a u-nee-corn.”

Tutting at the Scot, she took his arm as he led her down the stairs, the mole demon woman making the entire room silent save for her sniffing as she made her way into view. “Hello, all. Terribly sorry for my tardiness. I forgot to put the address in braille, and, well,” tapping her glasses with a claw, she smiled minutely at her own joke. “Mole demons aren’t exactly known for their eyesight. Took me ages to figure out my own chicken scratch. Oh! Did I interrupt your go?” she turned to Hos, face knit in apology. “Terribly sorry about that.”

“Nah! Xerx and Meera were just puttin’ up their visual aid fer the kiddies to draw out in their wee little notebooks.”

“They’re not kiddies, Hos,” she admonished him, shaking her head. “They’re adolescents. Teens- young adults. They’re in the awkward in-between stage of childhood and becoming a fully fledged adult. And,” sniffing the air, she frowned. “And from the smell of things, rather petrified by my arrival. Is..?”

“Here, H’Lenna,” Spike said, taking her bag to set up her supplies next to Meera’s side. The Crotivilic demon bowed to the mole woman, before moving towards the back. “Didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Neither did I. But Cella’s wrath is worth it,” she winked, smiling as she patted his shoulder politely. “You’re doing better, I take it?” He nodded curtly, leading her to face the others. “Good. Hello, dears,” she said warmly, greeting her little audience. “My name is H’Lenna. Like Helena, but the first E is an apostrophe, and double the Ns.”

“Who is she?” Buffy hissed at her boyfriend, wigged out at his weirdo silence at Miss Gopher’s sudden appearance.  

“We’ve met before, Miss Summers. At the bowling alley? My wife Cella’s the one with the ice cream shaped shoes you complimented on.”

Oh. Oooohhhhh. This was the mole demon Spike was talking about. The no-show. “Right. Uh, how is she?”

“Angry,” H’Lenna shrugged, patting the papers she’d had Spike pull out, poor eyes straining to find the ones she needed. “Where’s the one with the blue…? Aha! Where was I? Oh, yes. Angry at my coming here, but she’ll come around to the idea eventually. Hopefully before tossing out my own footwear.”

Leaning to Vi, Careena muttered, “probably because you’re in the basement of a slayer.”

“My eyesight may be horrible,” she replied, staring at the general direction of the whispers. “But my hearing is impeccable. For instance,” she pointed at Anya across the room with a single claw, Buffy noting that it shimmered. Like the demon had painted it recently. Huh. Some things really were universal. “That young lady there skipped lunch, and now her tummy’s revolting against her.”

“Dammit,” the ex-demon scowled, crossing her hands over her midriff. “I forgot you could do that.”

“What kinda demon…?”

“Mole demon. Naevus Mulier, to be exact. And I was asked by Mister…?” Looking to the vampire in question, she waited for him to finish, lest she accidentally out him. 

“Spike. Just Spike.”

“Really? Huh. I thought your last name was longer,” she teased, winking before pressing the papers into his hands. “Well Spike, Just Spike, could you hand those out to the girls? I don’t have the ability to levitate papers, and I think the demonic power couple over yonder already demonstrated that to our eager students’ comfort level.”

Handing it to the girl closest to him, he mumbled to take one and pass it around, before slinking off to stand near Buffy again. 

“Now, I know you have a lot of questions, and I would love to stand here and discuss for hours. But I only have fourty or so minutes before my darling comes tearing through here to glare at me, and I rather not subject anyone to that. It’s not dangerous, but rather awkward, and no one wishes to be caught in someone else’s marriage spat. So. I’ve compiled the list of FAQ’s for your reading pleasure, and will get down to brass backs.”

“Tacks,” someone else offered, eyes widening as they started to see exactly how many pages the demon had brought with her. Holy cow, even Buffy and Giles could barely believe their eyes! Was H’Lenna writing a novella on her species?

“Tacks. Tacks? Really? Hmm. Tacks. Human idioms sure are strange,” she shook her head to clear it, getting to the point. “Let’s see… where to begin. Ah, yes. Food. Mole demons don’t eat the way you’d expect. Instead, we absorb nutrients directly from the soil, the way an earthworm might. Which is ironic, because the moles you are all familiar with actually do eat earthworms.”

“But you don’t.”

“No. Insects to my species are like… cheese poofs are to you all. Very low nutritional value, with an awful aftertaste.”

Blinking, Vi came to only one conclusion at the plethora of information being dumped at her feet. “So… you’re a neutral demon?”

“Personally? I consider myself a very good demon, but yes. Peaceful as I can be, staying in touch with my community, keeping, well, peace.”

“Um… what nutrients… woah!” Suddenly, Kennedy’s fascination kicked into overdrive at the information on the page. “You can absorb arsenic?!”

“Yes. And many other terrifying substances. Worry not,” she assured them. “My rombuloski - the part here - acts as a super-liver,” she pointed to her belly. “And it turns it into a harmless silicon byproduct when I’m done.”

“Lava rocks? You poop lava?”

“Only whenever my grandfather made dinner,” she joked, earning her a bark of a laugh from Hos. “No, it leaves my body the way carbon dioxide leaves all our mouths when we exhale. Well, excluding the non-humans, minus myself and- oh! This must be Gemini.” 

Sniffing her big paw, he cocked his head. She smelled like dirt, and safe, and love, and… huh. That was odd. But he kinda liked it, jumping up on her broad shoulder, rubbing his little cat face into her thick neck. 

Giggling, the demoness just nuzzled back. “I love cats. And dogs. I bet his feeding bill is half-off.”

“H’Lenna….”

“Yes. Of course. Apologies. I get distracted by adorable pets far too easily.”

“She likes pets?”

“I own six chinchillas,” she admitted freely, several girls perking up at the truth bomb. “Now. Mole demons are from the middle plane, which exist- Hos?” she asked, Gem curling around her neck like a scarf, hanging himself off her shoulder like he belonged there. “Did you happen to explain that yet?”

“Aye, lass.”

“Good. But the thing about the middle plane is that us mole demons started out just as that- moles. Something happened along the way, much like Darwin suggested with his evolution theory of humans from apes, and some of us ended up as this.” She swept a large paw down on herself, feeling the rest of the room’s eyes on her. “I wrote out as much information on us as I could, and asked Clem to help with the printing. But when he left with Mer, he didn’t tell me how many there were, and I was all frazzled- you know me: hate being late.” Her demon friends nodded, as if she’d never been late before that very day. “But…. Questions? And yes, I can see if you have your hand up, but I’d appreciate it if you say your name when you speak, because it’s like seeing through a frosted window, even with these. Yes, miss rumbly tummy.”

Anya lowered her hand, asking a question she’d never had enough time to ask the demon in their previous brief encounters. “How old are you?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I was born in the middle of a war, and my family was fleeing to a different place. I’d say I’m between… fourty six and fourty seven hundred years old.”

“For- you’re four thousand years old?!?”

“No… I- oh, I did that wrong, didn’t I? I’m just dreadful with numbers. Thank goodness my wife’s got a natural head for arithmetic. I meant four hundred and sixty to four hundred and seventy. My word! Imagine that. Me. In the thousands. Looking like this? Good golly, but that’d be a heck of a thing. Yes, girl swaying a bit from side to side.”

“Uh, yeah - oh, I’m Rona - and you said born,” she replied, looking at the pages in disbelief. “Your kind doesn’t turn humans into mole demons like vamps do, right?”

“No more than humans can turn orangutans into corporate accountants. And thank you, Rona,” she added, nodding her head slightly at the girl for giving her name as asked. “Next, uh… yes, Hos?”

Lowering his hand, he sniffed. “Aye, wee friend of mine wants ta know, how de ye reproduce?”

“I married a woman, Hos,” she sighed, unamused at the cheap ploy to talk about her sex life. “And a Cvettie demon, at that. Incompatible parts for reproduction, as you well know. But much the same as actual moles. Though in mole demons, pregnancy lasts six months instead of the one. And unlike regular moles, my kind raise their young together, instead of the male just wham, bam, no thank you ma’aming off.” A few girls giggled at her little joke, her smile warm. “And no,” she glared at her friend. “I’m not going into my sex life, so shut your trap.”

“Yer no barrel of laughs today.”

“It’s just not what I talk about!” Taking a deep breath to centre herself, she turned back to her students. “Uh… yes, um… there.”

“Hi!” the blonde responded, lowering her hand. “Um, Charlotte, I-”

Her grin was wider, trying hard to hide the fact that she knew who this girl was. Thank goodness Spike couldn’t blush, or he’d be giving up the ghost. “Charlotte. Hello.”

“Hello. Um, you have on page sixteen that mole demons tend to suffer from degenerative eye disease, but does that mean you are also colour blind?”

“Many-”

“And are there mole occultists?” she continued, interrupting their guest speaker unintentionally. “Or are your lenses custom made by yourself?”

“Charlotte?” she asked carefully, waiting for the girl to hum in acknowledgment. “One question at a time, please.”

The girl instantly pinked in embarrassment, another girl snickering in amusement. “Oh. Yes, of course. I- terribly sorry, ma’am.” 

“It’s okay. Those are both good points. No, we’re not born colour blind, but some of us can lose that as we age. No, I’ve never met a Naevus Mulier eye doctor before, but I did see a specialist for these.” Tapping at her lens with a single claw, a tink, tink sound filled the basement. 

Another girl raised her hand, quickly asking something in a language she wasn’t familiar with, as another translated for her. “You wrote up twenty pages just for us? Why?”

Nodding, H’Lenna simply answered, “my kind believes in being neutral in times of conflict. But when an army of evil intends to extinguish the light of the world, the Switzerland act is useless. I cannot fight- I must protect my sweetheart, as she is not as sturdy as I am, but I can educate. Our kind and slayers have had some good relationships in the past, but the Watcher’s Council didn’t see us as favourably.” The Watcher’s Council. Of course they had their sticky hands in- wait. Our kind and slayers? Could- could H’Lenna be talking about Dri? “And after Spike informed me of the loss of your archival files, I thought it best to give you all I could. Apologies for any spelling mistakes, I couldn’t help them if I tried.”

“Um, one last question.”

“Yes, mystery British man.”

“Uh, Rupert Giles. I-”

“Of the London Giles’?” she interrupted, intrigue colouring her features as she took half a step forward. 

Which made the man even more uncomfortable. “Er… yes?”

“You don’t happen to have a distant relative named Eleanor Hazel, do you?”

“… yes, in fact. How-? You knew my great-great-great aunt?”

Giggling, she shook her head. “No. My wife does, however. They used to clean the same stately manor together, before Eleanor married… oh, who was it? John? Jacob? Oliver, perhaps…? Ah! No matter. Small world indeed.” Jarring herself from her jaunt down memory lane, she added, “what’s your question?”

“What kind of demon - if you don’t mind me asking - is your wife?”

“She’s a Cvettie demon, and she doesn’t do well around Watchers. Hence - unfortunately - why I have to skedaddle. She’ll be extremely cross with me, and I already got an earful on my paw-dragging when it came to packing. Not my fault we have more vases than we need.” Sighing, she turned to Meera. “You’ve turned her into a vase collecting fiend, old friend. It’s become a nuisance.”

“Art? A nuisance? Never.”

Getting them back on track, Buffy asked the rest of the room for their attention. “Anyone have any more questions for H’Lenna before she- oh, boy.”

Chuckling at the number of arms raised around them, H’Lenna shook her head at the Slayer. “It’s alright, Miss Summers. I’ve always wanted to be a teacher. Nice to get a little taste. Before I take any more, Cvettie demons are peaceful as well, and resemble, well, perhaps Just Spike could hand out these,” she said, handing him more pages, but this stack was much shorter. “Now. Who had a hand up first?”

Oh, yeah. Buffy made the right call in inviting these demons over. Things were looking up. 

 

----------

 

Except what comes up, must also come back down. Something she found more glaringly obvious later that very night. 

Crying herself awake, she found herself on the basement floor this time, Spike’s concerned face wavering into her vision. “Buffy!” She shook her head to clear the tears, taking his hand for leverage, before haulling herself up. God, this nightmare was the least fun one outta all of them. “Might wanna suggest Glinda stock up on some dreamy herbs for you, at this rate.”

The Slayer was silent as she sat back onto their cot, curling against his side as she shuddered. No matter how many times it happened, being buried alive - even in her dreamland - was way with the traumatising. It was getting worse, cuz like Willow had done earlier in the year, the blonde was now avoiding sleep for the same exact reasons. The nightmares around her were easier to handle than the ones kicking it in her head. 

After she’d calmed her heart rate some, Spike asked the obvious. “Another nightmare, I take it?”

“Mmm. They just keep on comin’, backed by Steve Harwell.” She knew her voice sounded hollow. Knew it wasn’t reassuring him in the… slightest. Wait. There- there was something… something about this dream that wasn’t like the last time she had it. Something… “I have an idea,” she hedged carefully, leaning back from him enough to catch his eye in the dim light. God, he wasn’t getting much sleep either, was he? Is he watching me sleep? she thought, a pang of guilt the size of Oregon settling low in her gut. He is, isn’t he? Waiting for me to whimper in my sleep, and wake me up before I drown in the sand ag- That’s what was different this time. Instead of having to dig herself out of the sandy dunes of the caverns, there’d been a rope this time. She’d used it to climb out, and the other her- Oh, no. Oh, he’s REALLY gonna hate this plan. But he loved her, and he trusted her. Trusted her judgement on all things Slayer. And all things considered, it’d be better received than the plan in shuttling their sisters off in the Kathymobile. “You’re probably gonna hate it. Majorly.”

Silent for a moment, he gently pushed the hair from her face, studying every tiny detail, like he was trying to memorise it. Or emotionally dissect it. “Wasn’t too keen on the last one.”

“Neither was I. Not super keen on this one, either,” she admitted tiredly. “But, math problem for ya: what’s better than two hands?” He nodded, getting the gist, before he cocked his head. Oh, boy. Spelling it out it was. “What’s better than one Slayer?”

Clicking into place, the thought spread in her man’s mind like a virus, turning his face into every stage of grief, seconds at a time. Eventually, he let out a sigh, knowing she was right. “I ain’t driving her into town.”

“Neither am I,” she admitted, already weary as it was. Having the other Slayer around tended to do that to the blonde. But if her team had a problem with it, they could just shove it. Because her number one goal wasn’t their comfort, but their safety. And if the First Ever Evil was gonna come banging on the Slayer’s door, it was gonna leave in a Dirt Devil bag. “I’m calling Wes.”

Chapter 46

Summary:

Faith is brought to Sunnydale after Buffy has another prophetic dream, & gets the skinny on… pretty much everything.

Some dialogue taken from episode 07x18, that I do not own.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, February 26th, 2003

 

When Wes had pulled her from jail back in July of ‘02 on a ridiculously strict parole, Faith had no freaking clue just how wiggy her life was gonna end up being. First she’d had to shove Angel’s soul back in him with some convoluted jar thingie, then… her mind was kinda fuzzy on the details for about a few weeks after the fact, but it couldn’t have been all strippers and pizza. Then, in what felt like a cosmically bad idea, she joined the rest of Angel Investigations when they took over the L.A. branch of Wolfram & Hart. She didn’t think she could sink any lower than being a slayer in jail for murdering two humans (and injuring a bunch of others), but then becoming the slayer on-call for an evil law firm had broken through the bedrock of rock bottom. 

And hey, she was still slaying demons and dusting vamps on occasion, just… it wasn’t like it used to be. That was a Calling, and what she did now was community service with a minuscule paycheck. No, seriously, it was half of California’s minimum wage. But she didn’t have to pay for room and board, living in the spare room of Angel’s CEO suite, some dude she couldn’t remember the name of bringing her meals every other day to nuke on their leader’s dime, and she had access to cable so it wasn’t all bad. At least Wes was sorta cool now, especially since he and that Fred chick started knocking boots around Christmas. Or was it Halloween? There was a lot of booze involved on the dark haired slayer’s part, so she couldn't really recall. Plus, Lorne’s food related nicknames for their leader were amusing. And she couldn't forget the hilarity that was the Angel puppet. That being said, she had found herself a home amongst the weird little misfit team in L.A., and the last place she had expected to be in was Sunnydale, but the PTB were fond of making one Lahane gal keep on coming back to its streets. 

Faith stuffed her hands in her pockets as she walked further away from the hospital, hoping she’d stop wigging out by the time she’d get another block away. They always made her twitchy. Not just cuz of that coma crap, but from before. Before she was Called, when she went to the ER at twelve, after a horse kicked her in the- Vamp. She whipped her head around, following her senses to the cemetery, watching as a girl in an ugly floral patterned dress ran from a man decked out in black leather. There you are. Oh, yeah. She was definitely back in Sunnydale. 

Taking off after it, she tackled the vampire to the ground, flipping him over. Wait, he looks familiar, don’t he? she thought. Where do I know this leech from? “Whatcha wanna do to her, vamp?” the dark haired Slayer taunted, circling him as soon as she stood. “Huh? Take her out on the town? Or maybe something closer to this?” Leaping forwards, she punched him hard in the face, knocking him back down from where he was trying to get up from. 

The blond grunted, rolling away from her. “Nice punch you got there,” his British accent floated up to her ears. “Lemme guess,” he managed to get his feet under him, standing with the help of a nearby tombstone. Facing her, she got a better look at the bleached wonder. “Leather pants, nice right cross, doe eyes, holier-than-thou glower...you must be Faith.”

William the Bloody. Ooh, what a treat! Back in Sunnydale less than six hours, and she got to slay a quarter of the Scourge of London. “Oh, goodie,” she grinned. “Always wanted to be famous.”

“Told you were coming,” Spike explained, dusting himself off. “Bit of a misunderstanding here. I'm-”

“Spike,” she nodded. “Yeah, we've met before.”

“Not like this, we haven’t. See-” Not that he got a chance to finish his thought, as the slayer kicked him hard in the torso, launching him backwards several feet, but still upright. “Bloody hell! What're you doing? I'm on your side!”

“Yeah? Maybe you haven't heard: I've reformed.” She punched him again, the crunch of his face under her fist that same satisfying sensation that she’d been missing for weeks. Vamp activity had been weirdly low in L.A., lately. 

“So have I,” he growled, punching her back. That… she did not expect. Wasn’t he chipped? Shouldn’t he be in searing agony right now? Maybe it malfunctioned. She punched him again, where he matched it a second time, and still, no howling in agony. What the HELL? “I reformed way before you did.” They traded more blows, Spike’s punches clearly nothing like she was expecting. Was he holding back? Ugh! It sucked so much when they held back. “Stop hitting me! We're on the same side.”

She snorted at him, curling her lip in disgust. “Please. You think I'm stupid?”

He smirked, cocky vamp that he was. “Well, yeah.”

Faith punched him again, ducking when he tried to swipe at her ear. “You were attacking that girl. Doesn’t seem reformed to me!” Winding up for another punch, she felt her world tilt to the left, knocked down to the hard earth beneath her. Groaning at the freight train collision of her right temple, she rolled over to see her sister slayer standing above her.

Buffy’s hair was shorter than the last time Faith remembered it, closer to the length she had when they were in high school. But she still wore designer, her clothes way too nice to be off the clearance rack. The polish on her nails was even immaculate. Talk about feeling inadequate. “Sorry, Faith,” she grimaced, at least looking a spec guilty. “I didn't realise that was you.”

“It's all right, B.” Faith took her offered hand, standing quickly. “Luckily, you still punch like you used to.”

Buffy glared at Faith for a moment, unamused with the quip. Turning toward Spike with a softer expression she asked, “you okay?”

“Yeah.” The vamp bit back, dabbing at his bloody nose with a handkerchief. A monogrammed handkerchief. “Terrific.”

Faith stepped back in shock. No way that B was concerned about him. Right? Right? “Are you protecting vampires?” she asked incredulously. “Are you the bad Slayer now? Am I the good Slayer now?”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy answered, “he's with me. He has a soul.”

“Oh,” Faith nodded, still a little unsure. “So, he's like Angel?”

“No.” Both blondes answered in unison, standing a bit too close for Faith’s comfort.

Buffy rolled her eyes before continuing. “He fights on my side,” she shrugged, glaring back at Faith a second later. “Which is more than I can say for some of us.”

Oh, great, the brunette thought dryly. Someone’s dipping into the vampire Kool-Aid again. I swear, this girl does more damage to the slayer name than she knows. And I’m the loose canon? Please! “Yeah, well if he's so good, what's he doing chasing down defenceless-” For a second time that night, she was knocked down to the grassy covered ground at Old Sunnydale Cemetery. The young woman who Faith thought was the victim was vamped out, hissing at her, and lunging towards the dark haired Slayer’s neck.

Pointing to the freshly turned vamp, Buffy retorted, “defenceless isn’t what I’d call one of the bad guys. Not with all those teeth.”

“You should make 'em wear a sign,” Faith grumbled, punching the vampire off her as it came for her. Kicking the reject Blossom aside, she reached around the blonde slayer, grabbing a stake from Buffy’s back pocket. “May I?” Taking one without waiting for an answer, she barrelled on ahead, stake raised. “Thanks.” Fighting the vampiress, the slayer managed to get the villain under her, staking her in one smooth downward thrust. 

“Angel's dull as a table lamp,” Spike muttered to the other blonde, like they were old pals. Geez, I’ve been away too long. “And we have very different colouring.”

“Okay,” Faith interrupted before Buffy could respond to his complaints, striding closer. “In the spirit of catching up, is there anything else I should know?”

Smiling softly, Buffy stepped back. “Good to have you back, Faith. Come on, we better get in before all the lasagna’s gone.”

“Lasagna?” Faith skipped as she linked arms with the blonde. She got a stink face in response, knowing that she was going to have a hell of a lot of fun riling up her sister slayer. “Oooh, with extra garlicky garlic bread? Don’t you just looooove garlic, Buffy? It’s so rad.” 

“No garlic bread,” the blonde sighed. “They were all out of the garlic butter in-”

“It’s crap,” Spike coughed behind them, still there…. For some reason. 

Faith turned around with a raised brow, Buffy retorting, “It’s perfectly fine garlic spread-”

“It’s not even real butter!” he countered, which raised Faith’s other brow. “‘S why it’s called garlic spread, not garlic butter.”

“Not this again.”

Stopping their movement, Faith threw an accusatory look to Buffy, shifting her eyes in question to the vamp behind them. “Something else I should know?”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy pulled her along. “I’ll tell you inside. I swear, if those girls don’t leave us some food, I’m going to start hiding all their shoes. On the roof.”

 

----------

 

Walking through the front door at Casa de Summers felt like walking into a time capsule. A really wiggy time capsule full of people who all really, really hated her. Faith nearly collapsed when Spike walked right in before them, without needing an invitation. Oh… kaaaay… Definitely something more happening here, she reasoned as she followed Buffy into the main foyer. A little undead nookie at the very least hath happened with reject-Shakespere boy and B. Geez, she’s got a type.

“We have a new house guest,” Buffy announced, shutting the door behind them.

Facing the little conference at the dining room table, she stuffed her hands in her pockets, out of her depth. She’d attacked at least one of the members currently in the house, and the other, she’d definitely sexed up. “Hey, got a spare bed for a wanted ex-fugitive?” Xander replied her question by turning away, ears a touch pink. 

Giles stood, giving her a curt nod. “Hello, Faith.” Oof. Wesley had more warmth towards her when she accidentally put a hole in his shower last spring. Not her finest moment. 

“Well, I guess ‘wanted’ wasn't really accurate,” she grumbled, sniffing dismissively. 

“Does she have to stay here?” Dawn snapped, emerging from the kitchen to glare. And not just at the former felon. B was also getting dagger-eyed. Huh. Interesting. Very interesting. “Because there's some nice hotels that welcome tried-to-kill-your-mom-and-sister types. Heard they have a special on premium skank.” 

Grinning in response, she nodded to the girl. “Check it out. Brat's all woman-sized.”

“Look,” Buffy sighed, facing her Watcher, and hoping they could hold down their crap for five minutes so she could do her job. “I need to get to the hospital. Some girl was attacked on her way into town. We think she might be a-”

“We know,” Dawn rolled her eyes. “Willow's been calling.”

“She's still there,” Giles answered tersely. “The patient is still undergoing surgery. Willow will call with any updates.”

Glaring at the Watcher, even Faith could feel the flames licking up the side of her face. “Fine.” And with that, the blonde left the room to promptly head for her precious lasagna, without another word. 

Clearing his throat, he turned to Dawn, only to have her stomp upstairs in response herself. Welp, she thought. Guess I bring out the warm fuzzies outta everyone today. “Well, Faith, we better, um, see if we can find some place to squeeze you in for the night.” Smiling in that same pained ‘I’m British and trying to be polite, but I really want to kick you out onto your sorry bottom right now’ smile she was getting way too used to getting from Wes. Except Giles had perfected his, leaving her with a stinging feeling between the shoulders. “Excuse me,” he added, going to find her a place to pass out in. Maybe if she were lucky, they had some spare sleeping bags. Willow already warned her they were already pretty cramped in the house, so expectations were low. 

“Not all that tension was about you,” Spike reassured her, a blonde girl peeking out from the kitchen behind him. “There was a sit- Bit,” his voice raised, not turning around, but very clearly talking to the mystery girl behind the wooden curtain. “You wouldn’t be eavesdropping on us, now, would you?”

A soft cursing came from behind the door before it swung open. “Not spying,” she mithered in a distinctly British accent. “Just standin’ about.” The overalls looked like an old pair Buffy might have worn, but the shirt underneath looked closer to something from the local Macy’s, rainbows and butterflies in a repeating pattern. Her blonde hair was tightly coiled, but plaited into twin dutch braids, the bottom half of each braid left loose to show off the natural waves. Her blue eyes seemed uncertain as she stood behind the vampire, using him as a shield. A Potential using a vampire as a shield from a slayer? Faith wondered. I think whatever that drug I accidentally took at Lorne’s party is still in my system, cuz what the hell is going on? Reaching her thin hand forwards, she offered it to the brunette to shake. “Hello, F- Faith. Nice to, um, to meet you.”

Faith took the offered hand awkwardly, shaking it twice before the teen yanked it back. She noticed the girl had a manicure like Buffy’s. Exactly like Buffy's. Like they went to the same nail salon, or something. “Hey. I think we’re on an uneven playing field, kiddo. You know my name, I don’t know yours.”

“Charlotte,” she squeaked. Clearing her throat, she stepped a bit to the side, gaining a bit of confidence. “My name is Charlotte.”

“You know he’s a vampire, right?” Faith fake whispered, knowing full well Spike could hear her. It was just too fun not to. 

Charlotte snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yes, I do. Can’t ever be rid of seeing his forehead all bumpy like the hills of Devonshire.”

Oh, not just British. Giles and Wesley British. Cool. “So you’re from the land of Ole Lizzie,” Faith nodded. “Giles pick you up on his way back from a tweed convention?”

The two Brits looked at one another tensely before a set of footfalls had the three of them looking up. Gliding down the stairs, Faith felt her mouth dry up at the sight of the woman she was really dreading on seeing making her way down. “Ah, Faith,” Joyce’s mouth turned into a thin line at the sight of the other slayer back in her home. The last time they’d seen one another, the brunette was threatening her with bodily harm, to name a few things. “Willow told us to expect you. There’s some pasta in the kitchen if you’re hungry. We have some room for you… somewhere.”

“Nah, I- I can just sleep in the back,” she floundered. Rubbing the back of her neck, she felt herself go red. The shame washed over her at the sight of the woman’s appearance as she came down. Willow had warned her that Joyce had suffered from a brain tumour on the ride over, but couldn’t finish the story as they’d stopped to pick up the girl from the side of the road. “I don’t want to be a bother, Jo- Mrs. S.”

Joyce surprised her with a scoff, coming down the rest of the way. Up close, the brunette could see just how much the woman had changed. Her hair was shorter, like Buffy’s, but her eyes looked a decade older, too. Like she’d gone through hell and back again. “No one’s sleeping in the back. Not while I’m still breathing,” she insisted. “But you pull your weight in this house, or I’ll put Nair in your shampoo.” 

Her warning had weight to it, Faith knew. She couldn’t not pick up on it in the older woman’s eyes. “Got it. Um, so, den mother now, huh? Lots of lost little girls needing a mom.”

“Lost like you?” she asked, stepping closer. Woah. That was… heavy. Not only the words, but the weight shifted behind them. “Because if you need a map to being a decent person, step one is not talking badly about the Potentials behind their backs.”

“Charlotte’s back isn’t turned,” she snarked back, unable to stop herself. “So that analogy doesn’t really hold.”

“Charlotte’s not a Potential,” Joyce countered, Faith’s eyebrows going right into her hairline. “But I see no one’s told you that yet. Hmm, just how much did you tell her?” 

Turning around, she saw Spike tilt his head side to side like he was trying to crack it. “Didn’t have much time past, ‘hey, stop hitting me, I have a soul now,’ so, ‘bout that much.”

“Ah.” 

“She punched you?” Charlotte hissed at the man, aghast.

“He’s a vampire!” Faith countered, throwing her hands up in the air. “And no one told me he had a soul until after my fist made contact. Hell, Willow was just about halfway through the ‘so Joyce had this tumour’ story, when we found that girl being tossed out that truck, after someone gutted her like a catfish.”

Charlotte gripped Spike’s arm, turning her face into his sleeve. Faith’s mouth dropped open at the sight, feeling a hand pull her towards the kitchen. “Come on,” Joyce sighed, dragging her down to sit at the stool next to Buffy, shoving a plate of pasta in front of the other slayer. “So. Tumour, yes, I had that removed. It went well, the surgery, but it ended up with some… unforeseen complications...”

 

----------

 

Faith couldn’t sleep. Exhausted as she was, she should have passed out in minutes. She’d slept in worse conditions before, and was off to snoozeville in seconds. But the story that unfolded in front of her had left her head spinning. Joyce was saved from a painful death, from worse complications, because of a vampire. A vampire who didn’t have his soul, mind you, when he saved her. A vampire who was only there at the house to apologise to the human he’d befriended. The friend who’s daughter he had just so happened to be in love with, who wouldn’t give him the time of day. And the vampire who - despite all the opportunities to stroke his own ego as everyone labelled him a hero - denied that what he did was anything more than giving his BFF a ride to the hospital. Add to that mess that Spike went and earned his soul, not cursed, earned. It just didn’t sound like something a vampire could ever do. But she’d been a slayer long enough to know that things weren’t as cut and dry as they appeared in Watcher’s diaries.

Enter: Dawn and Charlotte.

One, a Key turned human, capable of unlocking every dimension ever, the first documented sister of a slayer. The other, a girl shot forwards through time, with no idea how she got there, with William the Bloody for a brother, at that. Wet was dry, grass was neon orange, and the sun was blue. Nothing made sense to her anymore, least of all why the Summers trusted her with all the 4-1-1. But they did. Fuck, this was a mess. 

Sighing, she rolled the sleeping bag off her, and headed to the kitchen for some water. Or some milk. Or a quaalude. Honestly, anything to help her stop her brain from running the carousel of suck in her head on repeat. Once in the kitchen, though, she saw a telltale glow from outside the back door window, and abandoned the glass for the potential hit of that sweet, sweet nicotine she’d been missing desperately. Red wouldn’t let her stop for smokes in the gas station, nor would she let her light up in the car anyways, leaving her in some serious withdrawals. 

Which was how she managed to slip outside to ask the vampire for a smoke. “Got a spare for a slayer who’s not plannin’ on stakin’ you?” she asked, watching him turn slowly towards her. “How do you smoke, anyways? Thought breathing was a non-issue.”

Offering her one, Spike waited until the door was shut firmly before lighting it for her. “Still need to inhale and exhale for words. Some habits are hard to kick.”

She spied the ashtray beside him, noting it had been recently emptied with some amusement. “Joyce make you get that, or was that our great and fearless leader?”

He snorted. “Joyce.”

“Ah.” They sat in companionable silence for a moment, puffing side by side before she broached the subject she couldn’t seem to form the words to in the kitchen earlier. “Charlotte, that’s… heavy.”

Letting out a strangled laugh, he nodded. “You have no idea.” He took a drag before letting his shoulders slump. “Dawn found her,” he added tersely. “She knew it was her in a snap. Never saw her face before that day, mind you, but she could tell. Said if I hadn’t given her such a good description, it would’ve been the face that gave her away.”

“What face?” Spike turned to her, pulling an ‘oh, so you think you’re better than me?’ expression before shrugging. “Ah, that face. Yeah, once you see the family resemblance, can’t unsee it. Etch-a-Sketch it ain’t.”

“If Dawn hadn’t-” he sighed, shaking his head. “And now the pair of ‘em drive us round the bend.”

“Plus all the other girls in the house. Man, the cycle synching in here must drive you nuts.”

Spike nearly choked on his next drag, coughing up unnecessary smoke. “There’s this box-”

“Yeah, I know what a vagina’s called, thanks. Locked up with a bunch of ladies for a few years, remember?”

Levelling her with a heavy expression, Spike continued. “Willow and Tara, the pair of ‘em made these boxes to shove in the bathrooms. Anything bloody goes in, teleports far, far away from the house.”

“Oh. Oh! That’s what that metal thing in the downstairs bathroom is?” she asked, getting a nod in return. “Huh. Buffy thinks of everything, huh?”

He shrugged, letting it hang in the air. “Thought you’d be off counting sheep.”

“Hard to sleep after hearing that tall tale,” she sighed in return. Things were so screwy. “We’ve met before.”

“I know.”

“Not… not in the cemetery.”

He snorted, nodding. “I know. The Bronze, you took Buffy’s skin for a joyride, promised me I’d pop like warm champagne.” He levelled her with a look. “You ever give her an apology for that?”

Wait… was he… judging her? A vampire? The slayer of Slayers was judging her?! “You ever apologise to her for all the crap you’ve done?” she countered defiantly.

“Yes.” His answer was quick, genuine. It seemed Spike wasn’t just better than Angel in the being liked by Buffy’s family department, but in the trying to be a good boyfriend department, too. “Worked hard to earn my place here. Not a complete git to think I wouldn’t have to put at least a little legwork in to earn the right to get the time of day from Goldilocks, let alone date her.”

“You’re right,” she leaned back, taking a longer drag. “You’re nothing like Angel.”

“Bloody right I’m not,” he agreed, leaning back on his own hands to survey the backyard. “Captain Forehead never could remember Nibblet’s birthday, let alone what her favourite ice cream was.”

“Don’t tell me,” Faith puffed. “Cherry Garcia.”

Shaking his head, he offered, “triple fudge blast- with the blue label, not the black. Never the black.”

“Why? She racist against ice cream branding?”

“No, the black label adds milk protein powder for some ass backwards reason,” he explained. “Says it gives it a ‘wiggy texture’. I swear, these women and their dairy. Single handedly keeping California’s heifer industry afloat.”

“Nah, I get it. Ice cream is sacred. Hey,” she turned to him, gesturing her head back to the kitchen. “Think there’s some in the freezer I could raid?”

The tousled and bleached curls were riotous as he shook his head. Someone was out of hair gel. “No, the bitty slayerettes finished it during lunch,” he sighed. “The Bits came stormin’ in on my shut eye to demand my wallet so they could buy more.”

“The Bits? Oh, Dawn and Charlotte?” He nodded. “Hmm. Think it’s weirder that you keep a wallet. Vampires don’t typically need wallets.”

“I’m not a typical vamp.”

“Fair,” she agreed. “So, you and B… long haul?”

Nodding, he grinned widely, proud. “Don’t know how else to be.” At her questioning gaze, he shrugged. “Only ever had a few short haul stints, but I’m a definite eternal love kinda sap.” Spike chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Vampires ought to be, living forever and all.”

She wanted to laugh, it was just too funny. William the Bloody, earning a soul, being a monogamous vampire, who was so head over heels in love with Buffy, the girl who’s first vampire boyfriend turned evil at first fuck, was a hopeless romantic. But she couldn’t. It just wasn’t in her. Maybe prison had changed her perspective more than she would have liked, or maybe working with Wesley since her impromptu release had. But maybe she just finally started to grow up. “I’m not gonna have to stake you if you get too happy, am I?”

“No. It’s mine. I earned it ’till the end of time. Nothing’ll take it from me, not even being with my lady.”

“Good. Cuz I’m really tired of having to poison her vampire boyfriends.”

“And I’m real tired of being poisoned,” he added, back suddenly straightening. “Oh, bugger. Speak of the Slayer.”

“Huh?”

The back door opened, the pair turning to see Buffy’s bleary face sticking out from the kitchen. “How come I wasn’t invited to the party?”

Snubbing his cigarette, he stood to make room for the blonde on the step. Closing the door behind herself, she sat heavily on the seat next to the brunette. “Didn’t think you’d want to be swimmin’ in the nicotine.”

“You could always switch to the gum. I hear they make it in cinnamon now,” she offered, knowing full well that he wouldn’t. Some habits were impossible to break. “Couldn’t sleep?” she nudged Faith’s shoulder with her own. 

“Everytime I closed my eyes, I kept dreaming about being shoved into a corset, spinning round in circles at some 19th century tavern.”

“Hmm. I’d say you get used to it,” Buffy said. “But then Charlotte uses some phrase that hasn’t been used in a century, and you feel like you’re in Pleasantville, the sequel.”

Spike huffed a laugh, mouth closed to keep from it being a loud affair. “Poor Bitty Scoobies looked seconds from calling in the cavalry, thinking she’d gone barmy.” He nodded to the backyard, where the wing chun wooden dummy stood prone on the grass. “Coupla Potentials got to challenging him, like it was a speed event, told ‘em to quit it, bitching ensued, told ‘em to ‘quit their Collie shangles’.”

These cigs definitely had something other than tobacco in them and she was now somehow stoned. She had to be, right? “Uh-huh. And for those of us not steeped in British 24/7?”

“Arguing,” the couple explained in unison.

“Don’t do that. It’s way unsettling.”

Spike’s chagrin was noted, but not acknowledged. “She always did like speakin’ in idioms,” he confirmed, picking up a blanket Faith hadn’t seen nearby and draping it over both ladies’ laps without paying much mind. The dark haired slayer blinked in confusion, but Buffy’s face let her know that this was an everyday kinda thing with him. He really, really cared about her. “Pidge always wanted her little kiddie friends to know she wasn’t some chump, raised for wife fodder.”

“Wife fodder?” Faith screwed up her face in contemplation. “Like… sold off?”

“Yeah.” The blonde next to her tucked herself better to keep the slight chill off her legs. “She’s really smart, but she’s still really green. Her introduction to the Hellmouth? The city decided ‘hey, remember that the high school is completely derelict with a bunch of safety hazards? Let’s build a new one on top.’ And they didn’t even bother to clean out the basement, first.”

“Peachy. Wait, they did what?!”

Chapter 47

Summary:

Research leads them to an oracle, and there’s a showdown with the thing locking onto Willow’s magic.

TW: demon licking a dead goat head covered in honey, and woman being choked by an unseen assailant

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Saturday, March 1st, 2003 - Part A

 

“It kinda looks like Dark Kat,” Xander said. “Getting major Dark Kat vibes off this thing.”

Research at la maison du Slayer had been pretty focused of late. In that unfocus-y way. While no one could figure out where the heck all the proto-vamps had come from, they were still keen on finding out how to kill them. Save for the showdown at the house, they’d had three other encounters, and each one took more than two supernaturally gifted beings to take a single one of those nasties down. Heck, Buffy had even taken Gemini out with her and Spike at one point, just to see if the cat-dog could sniff out the demonic scourge. And there were many weird looks she’d received from her neighbours over the years, but she genuinely never banked on one of them being directed at her whilst she was walking a cat, on a leash, in the middle of the night. Because let’s face it, it was pretty wackadoo, even for her. And she once hallucinated all the Turok-Han on her lawn, the blonde fighting seemingly invisible demons like she’d ingested enough PCP to fell a hippo. 

But like every good slayer would tell you, research was as important as a fresh bottle of holy water. Shame that the majority of eyewitness accounts for demony events were by drawing challenged people. Much like the diagram Xander was currently gesturing to, Giles holding it up for the table to view clearly. Although what was ‘clear’ on that page was… subjective, to say the least, what with the aforementioned lack of artistic ability.

“It’s a pareidolia,” Charlotte said seriously, nodding next to the contractor.

“Pareidolia vibes, then.”

“No, pareidolia is when something isn’t really what you think. Such as seeing a face on the moon, or a pile of double-stuffed brownies in a cloud formation.”

Cora, in her usual bitchy mean-girl fashion, snorted at the blonde’s comment. “Someone’s putting their word of the day calendar to good use.” A pair of Potentials nearby chuckled behind their hands at the quip, effectively making the Victorian’s cheeks pink up in embarrassment. 

Shoulders slumping, the chess queen shrank herself down. “It was a gift,” she muttered, feeling hopeless. 

Rona rolled her eyes, sliding closer to the blonde. She wasn’t a Potential, wasn’t really healthy enough to be in the fight. But she really tried, and was so genuine in her efforts, it was nice. Cora was being straight up rude, and it wasn’t just coming from her. Even Kennedy’s snide remarks were getting into the mean girl category more every day, and it was rubbing her the wrong way. “What’re you seeing? Cuz it looks like a gryphon or sphinx to me.” At the blank expression the blonde gave her, she added, “you’re good at the research and pattern noticing stuff,” as her explanation.

“You… want my opinion?”

“Well, not if you’re gonna make a big deal outta it.”

Smiling softly, she gave her honest thoughts. “It looks a bit like a manticore to me. But my knowledge of Persian mythos is rather limited.”

“And we think it’ll close the Hellmouth because…?”

“Magnifying a soul,” Buffy supplied hollowly. It was obvious their leader had become as sleep deprived as the rest of the team, even if her concealer was doing the heavy lifting. Having Faith in her corner helped, but two slayers in the same house? Woof. Tensions were never not high these days. “It’ll tell us where to find the thing that can do that. It’s how the one in Montana closed in 1850-something.”

Which Giles jumped in to helpfully clarify, “1812.”

Nodding, the head Slayer picked up another notebook full of his chicken scratch, trying to decide if it was worth anything of value. Might as well have been in Greek or Arabic, the way she couldn’t understand his hand. “That’s the one.”

“How do you know that?” Amanda asked, tilting her head in confusion. “Was that in the Council archives or something? Or on the back of a Cracker Jack box?”

“Long story short? From the slayer’s mouth herself.”

Faith raised her brows expectantly. “Map? Point?”

“We did a spell,” she gestured with her hand vaguely, squinting as she tried to make out a ‘w’. Or was that an ‘h’? Ugh, maybe Spike was right and she was doing too much again. Not that she’d admit it, especially when she couldn’t do much else but her job. “Her ghost came for a gab sesh, but disappeared before she could finish her cryptic-girl act.” 

Vi blinked in shock, her mouth catching flies, along with several other Potentials also listening in. “You… you can do that?”

Shrugging, Dawn kept flipping though her book half-heartedly. “Apparently.” 

“So this demon…” Rona continued, patience dwindling. “It’s an oracle?”

The Watcher agreed, taking the notebook back from his slayer to flip to the right page. “Supposedly the one who cannot lie.”

“Supposedly?”

“It has never been proven false, but for the life of me,” Giles sighed, taking his glasses off to polish the lenses. Again. “I have no idea where to start our search for it. The only mention of its location is in this book, where it states, ‘the key of silver, upon the surface, unlock the door, I serve my purpose’.”

Buffy frowned over his shoulder, looking at the diagram distastefully. Totally not cuz she was annoyed at being around him and his tics lately. Nope. Not one bit. “Sense making and Watchers are way with the unmixy on that one,” she grumbled dryly. “And a silver key? Where the heck are we gonna find that? Tiffany’s bi-annual sale?” Spike did promise her a bit of shiny to make up for the Valentine’s Day missage. Not that she needed the shiny- wasn’t a whole need for it in a war against evil. Or not during one. She loved him for him, but wearing the shiny made him happy, and she liked being spoiled someti-

“Did we try looking in a stuffed rat, maybe at the top of the ball in the barrel display in the carnival?” Xander interrupted her train of thought before it rolled off the tracks. “Or did those pesky, meddling teens win it on the last day of summer?”

None of the Potentials had seen the 1985 movie* he was quoting, all preoccupied with being children - or in Dawn and Charlotte’s cases, temporarily non-existent - when the R-rated movie was released. “I found mention of a similar stone-thingy in the Twilight Compendium,” Dawn supplied, taking the stiff, silent response at her friend’s remark away. She could dimly hear her mother’s annoyed huff as she climbed out from the basement steps, but focused on the text in front of her. And her dry hands. Damn. All this page flipping through dusty books was hell on her manicure. “But it went kablooie in the 40’s, on account of all the tanks rolling around Europe, ya know, killing everyone.” Faith chose to ignore the pointed look the teen tossed her way at the ‘killer’ line in favour of looking at the diagram of the so-called oracle upside down. 

“Maybe we open a portal to the past, grab it, punch Hitler, and close it up,” the carpenter replied half-heartedly. “Bing, bang, boom- two demons, one stone.” 

“If you’re done making a mockery of the sanctity of the space-time continuum,” Giles snarked back, as Mrs. Summers pushed her way into the crowded dining room. “I suggest we consider checking out the Sunnydale Museum. Perhaps it was amongst the items left behind in Amara’s crypt.”

“Hey,” Joyce called out, but the others were too engaged in their own intense conversation to notice her. She frowned when no one answered, the air thick with frustration. It was getting a bit too confrontational under her roof for the matriach’s liking. Again.  

Faith blinked rapidly at the Watcher, remembering the intel Wes had given her on the matter. “Amara’s… like the ring of Amara?”

“Yes. It- you’ve heard of it?”

“Hello…?”

“Well, yeah,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. After the events of last year - though those were real hazy for the darker slayer, for some reason - Wesley worked to have her released to his care, and she was working off her debt to society under his scrutinised eye. He wasn’t a bad Watcher, especially considering his forgiving nature over the whole ‘kidnapped and tortured’ thing. “Wes told me about it, and how it could-”

“HEY!” All eyes turned to her, several of the newer Potentials startling at the sharpness of her voice, as Joyce held up a scrap of paper in her left hand. “Not to be a Nagatha Christie, but I distinctly remember telling everyone to empty their pockets before tossing in their laundry.” Opening his mouth to tell his friend that it wasn’t the time, Giles didn’t get a chance to, before she threw the page onto his book. “You’re lucky I took the time to do it for you, mister, cuz next time? It would've disintegrated, and you’d have owed me a brand new washer for gumming up the filter pump.”

Furrowing his brow, he pulled the page open, unfolding it to inspect the contents. Then his jaw dropped. “Where did you get this?”

“Your grey hoodie. You also left your keys in there,” she added, dropping those on his lap unceremoniously. “That’s the only reason I even noticed. You know, I might not be a Slayer, or a Watcher, but I’m not maid eith- Rupert!” 

Standing swiftly, he grasped her face with both hands, audibly kissing her cheek with a huge smack. “Joyce, you brilliant, incredible woman!”

“Get a hold of yourself, you wanker!” Spike admonished him sharply at his gross display at his lady’s mum and friend. “You can’t go around, planting a snog-”

Slapping the page down with a smack, he cut off the rambling vampire, pointing to the missing key to their entire quandary. “There. You see?”

The entire table leaned closer, finding the image of the demon they’d been looking at, practically identical to the one in the book. Practically. “Yeah,” Willow nodded. “That’s him, alright.”

But it was Charlotte who saw the pattern. Charlotte, the girl driven to study the entire field of modern medicine, in hopes to one day make a difference. Charlotte, who was obsessed with the game of pawns and queens. Charlotte, who grasped the page in her hands, lifting it to the light to reveal the hidden watermark. Her mouth dropped open, eyes alight with intrigue. “But that- how can that be?” Charlotte, who’d stared at that very same pattern more times than she’d ever dare to admit aloud. 

“Pidge?”

“It- I know this symbol, right here,” she pointed, eyes weary as she looked at the Watcher. “Did you know-” 

“She had a broach like that, did she not?” he asked, hoping- praying he was right. “I recall her wearing it, the few times I passed by her in-”

“Yes.” Sitting down heavily, she immediately stood back up. “I know where this is,” she told Buffy emphatically. The head slayer unfolded her arms, listening carefully. “And I still have the key.”

Looking between Watcher and sister, the vampire in the room grew impatient. But when was he not impatient with Rupert? “What? Will someone tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?!” And would someone fill in Buffy, too? Cuz she was way with the confused herself. 

Pointing to the watermark in the middle of the page, the ringlette wearing girl explained. “Ashley Smith,” she sneered bitterly. “Wore a brooch with this exact insignia. Said it was her family crest, which is a laugh,” she snorted, “considering the Smith family crest she was referring to has a horseshoe and anvil in it, which this does not bear.”

“So… we gotta find her to- oh, yuck!” Xander grimaced. “She was one of those things in disguise?”

“No!” Lottie snorted, rolling her eyes. “There was a safe in the basement- did you go into the cellar when you were there?” she asked the couple across from her. 

Shrugging, Buffy saw the wheels turning in the other blonde’s head. But then again, they were also whirling away in her own now. “Didn’t even know there was one.”

“Yeah,” Willow piped up. “There wasn’t one on the floorplans the city had.”

“It- of course it wasn’t!” Shaking her head, Charlotte grabbed her cardigan off the back of her chair, slipping it on determinedly. “Wolfram and Hart have the resources to expunge such a thing from any records base, if necessary. But the safe I mentioned? It was embedded into the foundation itself.”

“You think they left it there?”

“Xander,” she turned to the foreman with a query of her own. “If one were to go about removing a steel safe about… this high,” she motioned to her brother’s height with a hand. “To about…” motioning a two and half foot gap between her palms, “this wide, from the concrete in which it had been embedded, say… three inches into the foundation, what equipment would be required?”

Furrowing his brow, he tried to make sense of the question. “I dunno. A diamond tipped saw, for sure,” he answered with a touch less surety as he normally did, trying to see her point. “A crowbar, a jackhammer, and at least six guys.”

“And it would take time? Be rather noisy?”

“Well, yeah. And dusty, too.”

Buffy didn’t like where this was going. Not one bit. “Charlotte?” She can’t want us to Laura Croft it out, she thought. Right? RIGHT?

“I think… I never understood why they had it,” she continued, hoping they’d catch on. “It’s massive! And not one they had in Los Ange-leeze, which was odd. But the barmy part that never made sense, was they already had a safe. They kept it in the hutch in the kitchen.”

“Which was gone when we got there,” Spike finished. “You think something’s in there, Pidge?” 

“No, William. I believe it’s a door.” Pulling the keys from her pocket, she held up the keychain Ashley gave her when they first moved to Sunnydale. “And I have the key.”

 

----------

 

Getting into 1394 Shadow Lane wasn’t hard, considering no one had moved in after the hucksters hoofed it out of town, and the layer of dust over the whole house was consistent with that. Odd, how not even a single vampire had made it into their lair. But pretty freaking convenient for them, their mini-team filing in one after another. 

Buffy and Spike flanked the Victorian girl, Tara following closely behind, with Giles and Willow taking up the rear. 

“This way,” Charlotte murmured, leading them into the kitchen. Opening up the cabinet her brother had searched through previously, they watched in surprise as she leaned a bit to the left, hand groping into the cupboard. After a few false starts, she caught the latch, pulling it with a click. “Buffy? Could you-?”

Striding closer, the Slayer pulled with her, the hidden door swinging forward, showcasing the basement stairs on the other side. “Open sesame,” Buffy said dryly. 

Flicking on the light proved useless, not a lick of power in the house. Figured. Grabbing a flashlight, the blonde took a step forward before a hand stopped her. “Wha-?”

“Maybe I ought to go first,” Spike offered, slipping in once she relented. Big brothers, what could ya do? Once he’d gotten to the bottom of the stairs, he gave the all clear, and the rest filed down to find a decidedly normal looking basement. Save for the coffin sized safe embedded into the wall on the opposite end of the room. 

“Well, you were right,” Buffy sighed, looking at the safe with an air of mixed emotions. “Still here. And giving me major Dahmer meets Shelley vibes.” And then some. If I never have to be in another basement again, it’ll be too soon. Aside from my own. Later. When I pass out at four A.M. next to my vampire boyfriend. God, how is this my life? she thought with a sigh. I miss our bed. 

“You don’t think there are… corpses in there, do you?” 

But before she could answer, Tara got their attention. “Charlotte?” she asked, watching the way the girl fiddled with her keys. It was the telltale sign of a person who did not wanna be there. “You don’t have to- you can stay upstairs if you don’t want to be here. I can go with you.”

But Charlotte Anne Pratt was just as stubborn as her brother, even if she was sixteen times as frightened of what could be behind the heavy cast iron door. “No. I- I’ll open it. It should be me, any road.” Stepping numbly forwards, she let her fingers run over the surface of the safe, looking for the keyhole. But none were to be found. Brows furrowing, she tried again, but nothing. “I don’t understand.”

“Here, lemme see if I can-” grunting, but no matter her strength - and Spike’s once she shot him a look - even the head Slayer couldn’t open the door. “Well, we could try one of those welding thingies.”

Her boyfriend sniffed at the thought, looking at the thing with disdain. “Bugger. Think Harris could grab one from work?”

Willow frowned, studying the door absently. “I don’t know if that’s safe. I mean- who knows what’s behind it. What if there’s a gas line?”

“Charlotte?” Tara wrapped a comforting arm around the girl’s back, watching her face closely. “It’s okay. It was a good plan, really. An- and who even knew this place was down here- other than you, I mean.”

“Other than… oh. Tara,” she grinned, facing the young woman with a light shining from within again. “You are incredibly astute.” Lifting her hand up, she turned her palm towards the safe. “Open!” And… nothing happened. Huh. She was sure that might- “Aperta!” And that didn’t work either. “That should have- oh!” 

“Lottie?” 

Circling the safe, she ended up on the left side, before going to the right. There was no way to see the back of it, what with it being stuck in cement, but there was something else odd about it. “There isn’t any way for this to- oh! How did I not see this sooner?!”

“What?”

“This wasn’t added to the house,” she insisted, pointing to the slight difference in colours on the wall. “The house was constructed around the safe.” 

“Good Lord,” Giles breathed, readjusting the duffle strap on his shoulder. “You’re right. That’s a limestone wash, meant to look- this is exactly the right place. But… there’s no keyhole.”

“No,” she said, placing her hand on the front of the safe, shutting her eyes. “There is. But it’s been… painted over… somehow. I’m sure of it. What did the inscription say? ‘The key of silver, upon the surface, unlock the door, I serve my purpose’?” Slowly, glacially, her fingertips traced the face of the safe, reading the minute changes in the surface. “If I can just…”

Moving closer, Buffy did the same, Tara on the right side of the steel cabinet, Willow on the left. The four of them fondled the beast, only for Buffy’s eyes to crack open, her fingernail chipping. “Here.” Digging into her pocket, she pulled out her own set of keys, using the edge of the metal ‘Diet Coke’ keychain Xander gifted her a few years back to scrape at the paint. Chipping off in black flecks, the mechanism slowly revealed itself, but not in the shape she was hoping for. At all. “Oh… kay… I’m not a keyologist, but that’s not what I was picturing.”

Lifting her own keys, Lottie showed the crest to the Slayer, with a quirk of her lip. “Perhaps,” she said, pressing the keychain into the depressed shape. “They took a page out of the Renaldi family diary.”

“The pardon?”

“Genovia’s royal family,” Buffy answered, grinning at her Watcher over the girl’s reference, a little spark of pride in her chest. Their Lottie was becoming quite the pop culture fan. “C’mon, Giles, don’t you know? Princess Mia Thermopolis is an icon.” Beaming with pride, she watched the girl unlock the door with her keychain, the weird symbol-

Clicking emanated from within, the door clanking with the sounds of pistons moving from their locked mechanism as soon as the key had been turned. Tara quickly pulled Charlotte back as Buffy moved instinctively between them and the door. Spike did the same next to his lady, the pair in their fighting stances as they often managed to do. A loud clunk echoed from inside, the door letting out a hiss as it was pulled open. The weird symbol really was the key. Huh. “Cool,” the Slayer breathed. “More stairs. And… maybe you should stay upstairs, Charlotte. It’s dustapalooza down there.”

“No arguments here,” the girl agreed, handing the blonde her keys. Having an extended hospital  once this year was plenty for her. That, and this house only housed painful memories for the Victorian. “I’ll wait in the auto.”

Sharing a tense look with his lady, Spike followed his sister at the Slayer’s nod, determined to keep the girl from harm. Willow watched the pair’s silent conversation with envy. She’d been so close to Tara, but it felt like they were on opposite continents now. She missed her girl, but they were in the middle of a war. Romance had to take a back burner until after this nightmare was over, even if all she wanted to do was drag the other woman into her arms at the end of every night. 

And this nightmare was far from over. Arming themselves, they took the carved out limestone steps one at a time, the torch on the wall yanked off, and lit with Giles’ lighter. Buffy went down first, lighting the way, climbing each of the thirty-five steps curved around like a watchtower battlement, until the space opened up again. 

“Well, that’s definitely one way to double your square footage.”

The base of the winding staircase opened up to the twenty by thirty foot sub basement, the ceiling only a few feet above their heads. The space had indeed been carved directly out of the limestone the way the doorway had been, the ancient chisel marks still visible from the flickering flame of their only light source. Swirling patterns adorned the walls from the cutting tools, as if whoever carved out the space did so in a purposeful manner. How or why, they’d never know. What they did know was that there were torches in the wall, a thick layer of dust on every conceivable surface, and just one piece of decor. 

Situated in the middle of the room, settled upon the platform also made of stone, was a life sized statue of the Alithís demon that they’d been looking for. “Okay,” Willow breathed as she stared at the stone ahead of them. It almost looked… real. “I think that ookie just got ookier.”

“You got that right,” Buffy muttered back, lighting another torch in Giles’ free hand, doubling their light. “How do we wake it? Don’t tell me: we have to do the Funky Chicken.”

But no sooner had they asked, that the demon itself awoke. Cracking, the stone it had been disguised as had started to fleck away, and the real demon’s visage stretched itself out to showcase the beast within.

With claws made of some kind of metal, it had six on every paw, long and each as thick as a tube of Lip Glow, they were the least of their worries. It’s multiple rows of teeth were bared as it yawned, the hundreds of yellow-stained bones jagged, the tongues - seriously? Having three was just showing off - forked, twitching as they sensed the air. Shaking those feather covered limbs out, the beast sighed, rearranging itself on its dias, before blinking at the newcomers. 

“Well, well, well,” the Alithís cooed, its three inch claws sharpened to points, ready for slicing. “The witches of Bitchwick,” it addressed the former lovers with a purr. “How I’s advise to thee?”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy folded her arms, raising her chin at the odd demon. “Wow, they don’t teach you manners in demon school?” As if it was even scary. Ha! Maybe for a lesser Slayer and her gang of magically enhanced backers. 

“Mayhaps, though I’s never paid attentions to mistress,” it claimed, the mouth moving in decidedly far too human ways. “She has too many opinionings.”

“What’s going on?” she demanded, getting right to the point. Giles told her that this thing was only up once every fifty years, and time? She was a-ticking away. Plus, the juju of this place was just nyehhha! “Why’s the hellmouth going on a bingeing session? Why’re Bringers killing Potentials? Where’s the soul magnifier? Why’re Willow and Tara getting Slayer-like dreams?”

“Questions, questions. So many questions. Which one shall I’s dissect first?”

“No,” the blonde insisted. “No dissecting anyone.”

“Not a demon for dissecting humans, silly Slayer girl. I’s only dissect truths, you see.”

“Okay… will you help- advise us. Please?” she ground out the pleasantry, sick and tired of this demon’s influence. It was making her skin crawl just being in the same room- er, cave with it. 

“Must give offerings to the truth giver. Not fair to gives without receive,” it crooned, the claws clanking on the flattened boulder ahead of it, as if it were also metal. 

Wrinkling her nose, Buffy nodded, watching as Giles pulled out the bag from his duffle, and dropped the honey covered goat head onto the makeshift counter, before the demon descended on it. The slurps were obscenely disgusting, and she really wanted to heave. But she’d never let it show. The others were also trying to keep their dinners down, and it was not easy. “So. You’ve got your brunch. Now, give us some answers.”

The oracle grinned back, sharpened teeth dripping in bodily fluids. “Ah, yes. Demanding things,” it tittered, tongues lapping away a glob of pink-tinged gold. Bleugh! “Someone’s opened the seal. From the past, but visits from the future. A dark future. One of rivers- of the underworld. The Clarion call has been ringing, but I see no face.”

“Uh, okay, and the Cliffsnotes version?”

“Now you speak in riddles, girl.”

Rolling his eyes, Giles stepped closer, only to find the beast sneering at him. “She meant, could you be more specific?”

“I’s telling you,” it tossed back sharply, unhappy to be challenged by a puny mortal. “This human be dark souled, trying to end the world, to control the wee witches, and burn it to the ground, it does.”

“But you can’t tell who, exactly?’

The Oracle nodded, the eyes blinking independent of one another, nictitating membranes almost sparkling in the dancing flames. “Correct. Dark Soul hides away, behind the shadows, it does. Even from I. Now’s time for fruit-”

But something still didn’t add up for the blonde Slayer. “You said of the past… who’s past?”

Instead of answering, it zeroed in on Willow, head tilting to the side in confusion. Wait, no. Was that…  concern? “This witch has been tampered with. Hampered.”

Blinking in shock, the redhead blurted out, “What?”

“And the other, without her mother. She is the mother! Mother, not. Not no more- not here- hearing me now. I’s never had a mother. Sad, sad senator, in search of a wife,” the demon groaned, holding its head in agony. “Cannot move; only see. Only hear. Stuck. So very stuck. Someone else’s puppet.”

“Great,” she sighed, before hissing to her Watcher in irritation. This was really getting out of hand. “Our first real lead and it’s totally nuts.”

“Not crazy!” the Alithís demanded, cold eyes narrowing in on them. “Great evil comes, gobbles us up. Not the fault of the grey haired lady, you see. Only protecting the girl.” Claws up to the ceiling, the demon looked elated, as if worshipping a goddess above them all. “Always to protect the precious, precious girl. So misunderstood. So loved. So miraculous. She saves us all.”

“This woman opened the seal?”

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” it laughed hollowly, a guttural rolling in its gut, like a gurgle of smoke in its veins. “Óchi! Sweet child, your ears are full of jacks and wax and thumb tacks! She is not to blame, but the Man in the boots is. Had the girl’s neck under his grubby fat foot, almost made the fabric of time go poof! He’s opened the hellmouth, opened the Seal of Danzalthar, pushed the Powers to send you messages, in your little meat brain.” Head swivelling to Willow and Tara, it lifted its claws up, nearly touching their faces with its metal prongs. “Little red haired fishy was caught in a tuna net. Your thoughts should be your own. The Powers did not send them to you; HE did.”

Oh, God. “He- you- you mean he was MESSING with me?” Willow hadn’t been lying. Someone had been controlling her magics? Oh, God. What did this mean? 

“With the pair of Queens, yes,” it confirmed. “You feel a pull to the darkness, and you fight hard. Fight harder. He wishes you to be the bomb to tear the glue apart.”

“Wh-? He- this mystery guy put the whammy on me to- to- to break us all apart?”

“Mmmmmm…. She is smarter than her hair says.”

Which was a hell of an insult to the woman. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Willow demanded, feeling her body tremble in more than just fear. Anger. He insulted her and she was full of rage. 

“You cannot hear your hair? It shouts of pain, and reckless abandon.”

Giles rolled his eyes, sick and tired of the orator’s riddles. They knew this was going to be an unpleasant exchange, but it was wasting their valuable and extremely limited time. “Red hair used to mean something different back in this paragon of puzzles’ day,” he explained casually, and turned sternly to the Oracle. “Could we get a bloody move on? How do we stop this… ferryman with his hold on her? And how do we find out who-? WOOD? It’s Robin Wood, isn’t it? From Spike’s past, come to-”

“He has not the boots,” the demon said, yawning thoroughly, showing off the gaping maw. And all those teeth. Bleugh! “The Bad Booted Man shall not show his face here, on the Hellmouth- coward. His hate tastes of cowardice. He shall come when all is calm, to rip the girl in two. Her brilliance, snuffed out. Cannot let it happen. Electrone would tear him to grit, then melt him to solidify his veins, before shattering him again. NO ONE must hurt the girl.” Leaning uncomfortably close to Buffy, it broke a fingernail off, handing it to her. It clearly must have hurt, what with the wincing furrow of it’s- well, it didn’t have eyebrows, exactly. But the general foreheady region wrinkled in discomfort before easing. “You must survive, or she will be lost. They all will be. We all will be. Not just the Slayers will perish, if he wins. The girl dies, we all die, and the River Styx will flow onto the earth, and destroy the threads of reality.” Chuckling at her hesitance, the demon pressed it carefully into her palm. “Use it, for you will need it to get to the Guardians, and you shall receive a weapon of great importance. Past, present, and future. Use this, and go with love. Slayers reek of death, but what is death without life? Nothingness. I do not care for nothingness. It bores.”

She looked down at the silver claw in confusion. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen before, and it was kinda cool. And cold. Like ice, she thought it would melt in her palm, but the metal remained. And seal? What seal? All of the other times they’d dealt with the Hellmouth, there hadn’t been any seal, let alone one called Dan-Tarzan or whatever. And who the hell was this girl the demon kept talking about? This- this saviour of demons? And what guy? Why were his boots so freaking important to the Oracle’s winding nonsense tale? “But the Potentials-”

“If you do not guide them, if they are dead, you are easier to slice, dice, and dematerialize. Slayers cannot live on bread and cheese alone, but love, and tulips, and poetry, and fire, and steel. Use your… you will know, when it counts most. The Key is to never give up on The Girl.”

“And the girl is…?”

Curling in on itself, slowly turning back into stone, it yawned widely. No, no, no! She had way more questions! They needed more time! “Family. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. The ouroboros of Summers days, and foggy nights. Open to close. The dissection is complete. Wash thy hands, write the report, for the next generation is ready to rise.”

And without another word, it was stone once more, immovable. 

 

----------

 

“So, it’s true,” Xander said, wrapping his fingers around his friend’s wrist carefully, like she was a skittish animal, seconds from bolting. “Wills, this… guy has his hand over your magic. Can’t we just… get it off? Hoodo fly swatter?”

“I- I- I think…” bringing the book closer to them, Tara sniffed as she pointed at the diagram on the pages. “This is… is this familiar?”

Reading the text carefully, Willow nodded. The other witch had taken the research upon herself, giving the redhead the space to process what this all meant. She hadn’t been acting out of malice or control, the only control she’d been grappling with was of her own free will. Blowback happened, nothing changed that, but it had been about survival. “Yeah. That- that’s how it feels. You- do you think you could…?”

Help. She needed help, and was admitting it now freely, instead of hiding or lying. Tara knew the other witch had been taking lots of little steps towards her health, and this was a major one. “Mmm,” she agreed with a bittersweet smile. “I- I’ll ask Giles.” And the woman swiftly left to do just that, the two friends left alone again. 

It was then that Buffy poked her head into the room, feeling on edge again. Which was nuts, cuz this was her room! And these were her two bestest buds in the whole stinking world, and she was the freaking Slayer, dammit! The one who wasn’t supposed to be anxious to hug her friends. Especially when one was being cuffed by a mystery spell caster, possibly from across time. “Hey,” she croaked, internally chastising herself at the weaksauce start. “Got room for one more in this post-revelation huddle?”

Sniffing with a watery smile, the redhead reached out a hand, a silent beckon that the blonde responded to. Striding towards them, she sat gingerly on the bed for a total of 3.58 seconds, before pulling them both into a group hug. Or was that Willow? Probably Xander. It didn’t matter who initiated it, tbh. It only mattered that in that moment, the three of them could have a chance for a tiny breather. This wasn’t just another big bad or apocalypse they had to stop, that was obviously felt down to their bones. This was a war. A big one.

And they needed to be at the tip-top of their fighting shape- game- shape. Whatever. What mattered was that they were gonna shake this guy off, and get Willow back to her old self. Starting with a circle of Potentials in the Summers’ living room, all holding candles. 

Willow stood in the middle of them, Joyce lingering off to the side, uneasy with the whole enchilada. Anointing their BFF with the funky smelling mixture of herbs and oil, Buffy and Xander shared a pained look as they copied the symbols Tara directed, and Giles cleansed the space with his burning sage. Silently, the main team shared the same quiet, concerned expressions, Spike standing between the woman in question and the two girls he worried about most. There was no telling how this would go, but it had to be done. Hail Marys usually did.

And then, their redheaded witch began to chant.**

 

“Manus foeda remota, 

Redde me sicut fui, 

Incorrupta, 

Intacta.” 

 

Like a force of oxygen had been siphoned into the room by an unseen force, the flames on each candle danced higher, the orange glow casting the shadows in an array of unrecognizable shapes. Wait, no. That wasn’t right. Buffy knew those shapes, somehow. But from where? And how? Casting her eyes quickly across the room, she locked eyes with Faith, and the same acknowledgement shone in her sister-slayer’s eyes. Whatever this spell was had been written a long, long, long time ago. Possibly as far back as the first Slayer had been called. How? She’d probably never know. But it was old, and powerful, and as the spell continued, it felt like all the air in the world was thick with ash, consuming both existing slayers in an ultimate- 

Wait. This- there was something more. The call of something greater than good grades, or the next kill, but destiny ringing in their ears. They barely noticed when the other girls gasped as the flames burned in shades of purple and green, the ebb and flow of the colours hitting them like a wave of colour-shifting led string lights, the heat both dangerous and calling out to comfort them in equal measure. Whatever this thing was that had its hand on Wills’ magic was no match for the power inside them. The power they’d yet to truly understand enough to unlock. 

 

“Dimitte me et magicam meam. 

Sub manu tua non ero!”

 

As soon as she said the final line, the candles all snuffled themselves out, the smoke rising off them in plumes of pale pink, and Willow was thrown up against the ceiling by an unseen force, choking her out. 

“Willow!”

They scrambled trying to grasp her, failing miserably. Useless, trying to get her down. It was like the thing put up a shield around her, magnetising her back to the ceiling, so no one could touch without being flung backwards. 

She felt her vision bleed out, black spots dancing on her retinas. But more than that, she finally felt HIM . Whoever was pulling on her strings for months, manipulating her dreams, trying to drive a wedge between her and her friends. Between her and Buffy. Between her and Tara! Not only could she feel him now, she could smell him. The cologne assaulted her nostrils, trying to scrape the mucus membrane straight out with the  synthetic, musty, old man, Aqua Velva and Tiger Balm combination that was way with the familiar. But there was more underneath the acrid stench she couldn’t name. Fresh cut grass, spilt stale ale, fermented cheese, crushed tomatoes, and even molasses hung in faint notes around her mucus membranes. Not that she would remember the subtleties until much, much later. All she could do was fight. And fight she did, grappling with the fat hands squeezing at her neck, at her powers. This wasn’t a fight she was gonna lose. But she was losing consciousness fast, and didn’t have time to make notes as to why she could smell it, or who the detestable aroma belonged to. She could barely tell if the fingers gripping her throat were his or her own, for pete’s sake! But she’d had enough, and with her last reserve of power, she muttered, “eximete.”

The spell broke in a shower of green, purple, and gold sparks, her throat released, gulping hungry breaths. Gravity in control once more, she cascaded to the ground, her fall only broken by Xander, Tara, and Spike, who had the unfortunate ‘wrong time, wrong place’ way about them. The room grew silent as they watched on in preparation for battle. 

“Is it gone..?” Dawn asked hopefully, wanting this nightmare to be over. 

The four piled together detangled themselves, Buffy crouching to survey the damage, with Anya and Giles on their heels. “Y- yeah,” the redhead answered tremulously. A collective sigh emitted around her, cut off to a few gasps as she started gagging. A practised hand when it came to the women in the house when they were heaving, Spike snagged the waste paper bin with one hand, holding it to the redhead. Which was pointless as her hands cupped over it, gagging until she brought up an egg - fully intact in its bespeckled shell - the witch staring at it in wonderous trepidation. “What the…?”

“Well that solves that age old query: Willow came before the egg.”

“Xander? Do shut up.”

“Is there anything inside?”

Laying it on the coffee table with shaking fingers, she really hoped there wasn’t. One demon egg hatching face sucker incident was MORE than enough for one lifetime, thanks. But before they could do a thing about it, the egg started to crack. One piece at a time, the little surprise broke free. 

Inside, a little orange beaked fluff of black and white cautiously entered the world. A bird. Willow’s expulsion spell of the thing that had its meaty claws around her magic, had brought them an adorable baby bird. 

Despite the aggression around its birth, the little hatchling cooed as it looked at the redheaded witch. Waddling closer, it trilled at her, eyes shut in happiness, before waddling to Tara’s hand. As soon as it’s beak touched her fingers, it happily jumped up onto her shoulder, nuzzling the crook of her neck, before sliding down to do the same to Dawn. It didn’t seem malicious, but rather loving. More affectionate than even Gemini was on his best day. Hopping on her shoulder, it cooed as Charlotte and Joyce cautiously touched the soft plumage, before taking flight. Mid-air, it transformed into a bat, squeaking cheerfully as it landed on Spike’s shoulder, chattering away like long lost pals, before swooping in front of their leader, pressing its little face into her forehead, like a familial kiss, before finally dissolving in a puff of white, glittering smoke.

The silence that followed was broken by Faith’s outstretched hand. “Anyone else get the major wiggins from that?”

“No,” Willow breathed, touching the delicate remnants of the shell. “No, I think…”

“It’s an omen of badness?” Rona finished for her. 

“No. The demon - Alithís - it said… it said we have to protect the girl, that the man with the boots wanted to- I smelt him.” Looking at Giles, she saw his own pair of weary eyes staring back at her. It was over. The hand on the neck of their confidant was gone. “I felt his hand on my neck and- and I think- don’t ask how, okay? Cuz I’m still in major freakout mode with the knowledge that some guy really was rooting in my brain for months- and yes, I know how that sounds, but… I think… I think she-”

“You think the puffin and the bat represents her?”

“Puffin?”

Shrugging, Spike didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest. “S’what the bird’s called. Baby puffin, a puffling.” The entire audience of the  room - save for his sister and Joyce - looked at him like he’d gone down the rabbit hole. “What? I may smoke more cigs than the rest of the west coast combined, but my eyes still function enough to sodding read.”

Dawn blinked, wondering how she ever thought he was a badass. God, he probably bird watched in his teen y- note to self, ask Lottie about Spike and birdwatching. Later. “A puffin and a bat, neat. But… what does it mean?”

Willow didn’t want to say what she thought it meant. How she thought the puffin meant rebirth, how it could house the souls of people gone by. How she thought the bat meant at least one of them would die in this battle. But the glaringly obvious thing stared her right in the face, uncaring of her precious feelings.

And to Buffy, one thing was certain. “I think… I think it means we win.” Waiting until all eyes were on her, their leader added, “I think the girl it was talking about… I think she was,” gesturing to the shell vaguely, she finished with the bombshell she knew no one would like. “And… I think she’s not born yet, because… she’s a Slayer of the future.”

Notes:

* the movie Xander quoted was Breaking the Rules (1985). It's kinda low-brow, and it definitely didn’t age well, but one character has big Xander energy.

** the spell Willow casts is one I made up, and here’s the English translation:
The foul hand removed,
Return me as I was,
Untampered,
Untouched.
Release me and my magic.
Under your hand I shall never be.

Chapter 48

Summary:

The Scoobies try to make sense of the strange creature from the egg, and a fiend is uncovered. Buffy surprises Charlotte with a gift to cheer her up, but the calm doesn’t last when it comes to Sunnydale!

Oh yeah, and it’s time for a different kind of prison break.

TW: prison fight, and a brief mention of cannibalism

Chapter Text

 

Saturday, March 1st, 2003 - Part B

 

“A slayer of the future. Alright,” Xander clapped his hands, collapsing onto the floor in a heap. “Who had that on their apocalypse BINGO, cuz I sure didn’t.”

“I think she’s right,” Willow pressed, turning to Tara sharply. “The- the aura. Did you see it?” she all but begged the other witch. “Didn’t it feel-?”

Tara’s face was pale, drawn in and exhausted, but not angry. In awe. She was in utter awe. Never in her life had she experienced anything close to what they’d all just bore witness to. And by the way the love of her life was looking at her, Willow hadn’t either. “It- it felt like yours,” the bottle blonde told the head Slayer, her eyes roaming over her and Spike, hoping the vampire didn’t make the connection she was making. “It felt l- like Buffy’s. And… it- it kinda shined… like yours.”

“Mine?!” Joyce stepped back in alarm, shaking her head at the mere mention the other woman had given her. Her?! Hell to the no! “Oh, no! Absolutely not. I refuse.”

“Mom?”

“Nuh-uh! I’m the mom, not the mystical warrior of the Powers, thanks! I don’t-”

“N- no! It- I didn’t mean- It- its not you, Mrs. S- Summers,” Tara choked out, trying to repair the woman’s shaking self esteem. “It just… it shined l- like yours. Familiar, not.... Not a copy.”
“So… a slayer from the future who’s related to us, has Buffy and mom’s auras, and likes snuggling Tara,” Dawn sighed, wiping imaginary dust off her shoulder, a headache blooming behind one eye. This whole week stunk. Frick- the whole dang month. “We sure it’s not Gemini?” she asked dryly. All eyes turned to regard the pet asleep in his cat form on the back of the couch, face first in one of the witch’s socks, unperturbed by the goings on of the house around him. Again. 

Shaking her head, Willow struggled to stand. Goodness, she was exhausted! “No, Gem’s not a girl, not a slayer. We don’t know what he is, but we know at least that much. No one would willingly let you keep a humanoid shape-shifter, Dawnie.”

“No duh! But then… who is it?”

That was a damn good point. Their Slayer General hadn’t a stinking clue, and she doubted it was an answer they’d get anytime soon. But she also couldn’t help but fixate on Kiara. A slayer who was also a witch, who managed to magnify her soul- not once, but at least twice! And the two names she’d mentioned: Dri and Electrone. They had to mean something in their current fight against The First. Otherwise, that slayer spirit was losing her marbles, speaking in prophetic gobbledygook for the sake of hearing her own voice. Plus, the oracle did mention Electrone. There has to be something there, she thought futilely. The man with the boots it was gabbing on about, the one who- that must have been the one to put his whammy on Wills. Maybe Electrone is the girl..? No, it has to be a slayer. Maybe she was one, or will be- God, why couldn’t it just give us a freaking pamphlet?! 

“I doubt we’ll have them magically appear in the nick of time,” Giles grumbled in confirmation to her inner musings. He’d been chewing on the ends of his glasses again, the arms that went round his ears nearly bit down to the metal. “We’ll need to consult-”

“Electrone!”

“What?”
Charlotte huffed, wondering how in a room of intelligent individuals with a minimum of five more years of life experience a piece, she was the only one to latch onto the common thread that both guides had left them. “Electrone. When we went to see Kiara, she mentioned Electrone briefly. Then again, with the demon in the caves. We must find more about her, do you not agree?”

Finally , Buffy thought with a minute relief. Someone else’s pickin’ up what Mrs. Casper was puttin’ down. “We need to find this thing that’ll magnify a soul,” she added decisively. “Maybe Electrone’s got it in her crypt, conveniently here in town…?”

“No,” the teenager griped, feeling so sick and tired of being shunted to the side. “Electrone wasn’t a slayer.”

“How do you know that?”

“Goddesses cannot be slayers.” Rolling her eyes at her brother’s gob opening, she added, “yes, yes. Buffy is your goddess. And that’s normally romantic, but my patience wears thin.” Turning back to their leader, she pressed on. “Dri was a slayer, what if Electrone was her… was her Willow? Or- or what if…?”

“Cool, playing ‘what if’ with the runt,” Cora snarked.

And normally, Charlotte would just brush it off. But after the month she’d had? Oh, no. Her tolerance for bullying was in the crapper. And this Potential in particular had been nothing but rude to her since her arrival, and Lottie was capital ‘D’ Done. “Do you have anything of value to add?” she snapped, hands on her hips. “Or was there an election in the ‘Charlotte Pratt Detesting Society’ in which you became madam chairperson of, when I had my back turned?”

“Lottie,” Dawn hedged under her breath. While she was secretly cheering for her friend laying down the law with the brat of the house, she was not in the mood to patch up her friend’s inevitable injuries on top of everything else that went down tonight. “Chill out.” Not that she was being paid any attention to. 

Snorting, Cora folded her arms over her chest, nose upturned at the blonde. “Why are you even here? You don’t add anything to this cause, you just hold us back.”

Which was more than enough for some of the others. “Hey!” Rona snapped, Violet on her heels. “Charlotte found the thing that-”

“Oh, please!” It was growing increasingly obvious that this girl didn’t like Lottie one bit. And by the way Gemini yowled low in his throat, suddenly awake, and way on edge, he didn’t like Cora either. “She got lucky! Face it, blondie. You’re dead weight. Actually, scratch that: un dead weight.”

The room erupted with Spike’s snarl at the girl, Buffy holding him back- barely. Violet started in on the girl, insisting she had things backwards, but no one bothered to notice their Mount Victorian erupting. 

Full of devastated fury, Charlotte finally snapped. All the inexorable travesties she’d faced had shaken her like a soda-pop bottle, ready to explode. Enough was enough, and as she picked up the rubber ball she would throw to Gemini in the park, she stood up for herself. “Shut your mouth, you big bully!” Hurling it at the other girl, she knew her arm wasn’t strong enough to send it into a bruising territory, but it would be enough to get her point across as it make contact-

With the floor behind the girl. Ice washed over the group as the ball sailed through the eidolon girl’s form, landing on the hardwood with a THUNK. Chuckling dryly, the fear only notched up higher in their throats when the connection of why it didn’t hit the girl all clicked in their heads. “Well, darn,” The First Evil mocked, wearing Cora’s face like it owned it. “Who ever expected Miss Muffet to grow a backbone? Oh, well. No stinking bird’s gonna save you, ya know. No one’s coming for any of you.” Cackling, it added, “no one you want, at least.”

Letting go of her boyfriend, the blonde stalked forwards. “Get the hell out,” Buffy ground out, hand yanking out her stake, chest heaving in anger. She wouldn’t be able to kill it with her weapon, but it hadn’t failed to drive her point home to any big bads yet. 

“And why would I go and do a stupid thing like that? You can’t kill me,” it cooed. “That stake’s as useful as a toothpick to a gun fight.”

“W- why are you here?” her blonde shadow demanded. 

“Oh, come now, Charlotte! You invited me!”

If her face could get any paler, she’d have blended into the wallpaper. “N- no!” she denied. “I swear I didn’t?!”

“Well, why else do you think you were brought forwards through time? For a party? Ha!”

But their leader knew that it lied, that it was playing with them, trying to drive a wedge between them all. And she had more than enough. “Get. The hell. Out!”

Saccharine grin dripped in hatred, it giggled at them with a curl of it’s hands. “Think about what you’re gonna lose, girls. Because this party bus is going on a one-way ticket to chaos world, and you all have first class seats.” Grinning madly, it morphed into the single worst image it could possibly have chosen, making their time-travelling friend stubble back, her brother catching her as they both looked on in abject horror. Anne Pratt’s warped face grinned at the pair, words dripping in malice. “We’re going to have a rip-roaring good time!” And without another word, it disappeared, leaving them all feeling hollow.

 

“T- that was- was that-?”

“Who was-?”

“Oh, God.”

“Cora wasn’t…?”

“B- Buffy?”

 

They all barely breathed the words aloud, the majority of the Potentials still in a state of shock. But Joyce knew exactly who that was, though she half expected the woman shorter. Turning to the family she’d inadvertently adopted the day she let Spike move in, she had just enough time to watch Charlotte lose consciousness with an, ‘oh, God,’ as her brother caught her on her way to the carpet. 

“Well,” Faith grumbled, sitting on the edge of the couch in hollow resignation. “Should we all to the high-five of ‘oh, thank God you’re real’ now, or….?”

 

----------

 

Sunday, March 2nd, 2003

 

Everyone had managed to give her a wide berth since. Which was just as well, considering her state of mind. So she simply kept herself busy, working on embroidering a new patch for Dawn’s birthday in the shape of an otter. Shame it was looking like a mouse instead. 

“Charlotte?” The girl looked up to see their leader’s head poked into the doorway of their room. “Can I see you for a second? 

Sighing, she nodded, abandoning her stitching. She’d never sobbed the way she had when she’d been roused after the events in the living room. Hearing the First claim that her return was the reasoning for all the dreadful death around her was terrifying. Seeing it wearing her long-dead mother’s face was downright traumatic. Mrs. Summers had to genuinely swaddle her after a spell, gripping her tightly, murmuring that it wasn’t really their mother, but an awful trick. Her brother had considered drinking his emotions away, before he slid onto her bed, pulling her into his lap, shushing her while he stroked her hair for hours. She didn’t know the human body could produce that many tears in one sitting, her nose stuffed with the swelling of her sinuses, gripping her brother’s shirt like the lifeline it was. 

After crying herself dry, Dawn had brought her water and a bowl of strawberries, sitting with them until she slipped into a restless sleep. Her BFF had curled herself next to her, insisting they’d be safe. And when she’d awoken with a start, Dawn calmed her down with Gemini snuggled between them, the brunette chatting with her about inane things in hopes to keep Charlotte consoled. 

It was mid-morning now, and her headache upon waking had dulled to a bare pressure. She wished Thomas could tear himself away from packing for the eventual evacuation the mayor was on the precipice of calling to come over, the two going for their twice weekly promenade in the park. But they hadn’t been since the incident with the Richardson sister sponsored kidnapping, and she missed him. 

Following their leader to the front porch, she lingered by the railing. “Is something the matter?”

“No, for once I have good news.” Patting the bench seat next to her, Buffy smiled tentatively but openly. “I have something for you.”

“Oh?” Colour her intrigued, she sat down next to her, their outer thighs pressed together. “Is it… chocolate?”

“No…” pulling the box from her pocket, she placed it into Lottie’s palm. “Open it.”

Inspecting the two by three inch paper box carefully, she pulled at the thin pink bow curiously. It looked rather nondescript in its cardstock form. Handing the unravelled ribbon to the older blonde, she opened the lid to find- “A… a crucifix?” A necklace. Buffy had gifted her jewellery- and a rather large and posh piece, at that. Silver, large but still in a feminine cut, with a single pink stone set in the crux, it glittered in the indirect sunlight. If they were back in her and William’s time, she might expect a book from her brother’s sweetheart. This was… it felt monumentous. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed in partial disbelief. “Buffy…. Thank you.”

“A- and it’s hollow, see?” Unscrewing the top off the crucifix, she showed the girl the hollow inside, Lottie’s brows furrowing in contemplation. “I thought, ya know, you could put a pill or two in here, for emergencies? That way, it’s near you no matter what. I can’t make it so your lungs never get rejected; that’s just magic you don’t wanna go messing with,” she sighed heavily. “Trust me, it’s not worth it. But, I figured, this way? We reduce the- oh!” Her breath was knocked out of her lungs at the embrace, blinking rapidly at the curly hair invading her eye line, her arms slowly wrapping around the slight girl’s frame. She’d gained another five pounds with Tara's cooking - thank God - and wasn’t as scrawny as she once was. Noy exactly fit for battle, but the strength in her hug and her spirit nearly bowed the Slayer off her seat. Charlotte had survived so much. She needed the girl to survive this too, no matter what. It wasn’t just because this was her boyfriend’s sister or Dawn’s BFF. It was more than she could put into words. Somehow along the way, Lottie became family that Buffy could not picture being around. 

Squeezing the other blonde, Lottie whispered, “thank you. It- it’s perfect.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding against the woman’s blouse, muttering a soft, “absolutely,” Charlotte lifted her head with a small smile. “How did you find the time to get this?”

Snorting, she shook her head in response. “It was supposed to be your birthday present, but I special ordered it. They took their sa- weet time sending it over, let me tell ya,” she rolled her eyes, adding, “last time I order anything from one of those catalogues.”

Had Buffy… designed this for her? “Why- is- did you order this so… it wasn’t always hollow?”

“No, no, it was. It’s supposed to be for little prayer papers or whatever, but not that. This,” she tapped the side carefully, “is the custom bit.”

The sight of the added touch the other woman did for her, gosh. Well it clenched her heart in a vice of love. Charlotte A. Pratt was engraved in delicate script, letting the world know who’s necklace it truly was. “Oh, Buffy…”

“I wanted your whole name on there, but they have a fifteen letter maximum, so it was either that, or Charlotte Anne P,” she babbled on, feeling as if she had to fill the silence. Silence was of the utmost badness with them. “And I figured the other way made more sense. Unless you like C.A. Pratt, but that sounds like a snooty, uptown law firm, where they wear houndstooth heels, and drink straight black espresso all day.”

Giggling, Lottie shook her head in mirth. “I rather think C.A. Pratt sounds like an accounting firm. Capratt; we specialise in bookkeeping, glow in the dark spreadsheets, and carbon copying tax returns’.”

Giggling together, Buffy felt like it was the perfect decision. When she’d gotten it in the mail the same day Chao-Ann arrived, she’d wanted to give it to their Curly Sue immediately. But then there was bonding, and a bunch of other stuff to deal with…. Well, life tends to get in the way by just happening, even on the Hellmouth. But after the crap show the night before, she knew it was all coming up aces for the kid. 

Teenager. Charlotte was a teenager, and almost taller than her, now. Dawn was already towering over her sister, and with the pair of them? In two year’s time, they’d been hiding all the best snacks on the top shelf with Spike, keeping them from the Slayer’s hands- the jerks. But she didn’t think she could stomach life any other way. 

Biting the bullet, she brushed a stray lock from the teen’s face. “Um, listen, Lottie- can I call you Lottie?” The girl shrugged, nodding casually. “Okay, I… I know I’m not what you pictured for your brother, but I want you to know that I love him, a whole heck of a lot,” she pressed. “I… if you asked me three years ago, if I pictured myself like this, I’d have said the wiggiest parts would be the dating a soulless vampire who earned his soul for me, his sister, and mine. But... Lottie, I love him.” She smiled warmly at the other girl, making Charlotte feel safe and happy with the woman. She liked Buffy; looked up to her. “He’s become my family, an- and you are too, you know. I- I’m sometimes way with the bad with that, the forgetting to remind people that they’re important to me, but- Charlotte, you are very important to me. You’re family, and,” she cupped her jaw carefully, making the moment last. She shied away from her feelings enough, and this little girl had so much awful in her life - like Dawn had, but different  in ways that they might never want to or get to uncover - that she knew she had to say the words. It wasn’t a goodbye, not in the least. But it felt final in another way. “I love you like a sister. I hope we can be family for a very, very, very long time, if you’d like that.”

Sniffing, she grinned through misty eyes placing her hand on her pseudo sister’s cheek. “I would like that very much.” Leaning into another hug, she ducked her head into the crook of the Slayer’s shoulder, whispering back, “I love you too, Miss Buffy.”

Last night was hell, but today? Today was good. 

 

----------

 

Monday, March 3rd, 2003

 

“We got a new problem, B.”

“Gee, must be Thursday already.” It wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t, but with the way things were going, the days just all bled together. “Don’t tell me we’re outta tampons already. We just bought the extra large ‘Mormon sister wives’ mega pack, and-” 

“The cops are doing a Fincher rendition with the prisoners down at ye olde jailhouse- hold the rock.”

Lowering her forehead onto the dining room table, Buffy willed the wood to swallow her whole, but the thought of splinters in her eyes stopped her from making a wish on it. Never a dull moment on the Hellmouth! Taking a breath, she lifted her head, and looked at the other slayer with an expression of- honestly? Part exhaustion, part bitchy cheerleader pettiness, and two parts intrigued. “Let’s break up this Fight Club, then.” 

Grabbing her backup stakes and her hatchet, she slipped on her leather jacket, and collected her wits. Everyone under the roof of 1630 Revello Drive had been jumpy since the whole ‘Willow barfing an egg, puffin/bat of portents, Cora’s corpse is somewhere between here and Wichita, Charlotte was maybe brought back from the dead by The First’ fiasco, and she needed something to kill. Hopefully, the boxing match going down at the SDPD was demonic in nature, cuz a slay was just what the doctor ordered. Taking eight of the seventeen girls with them (the rest left as reserve, plus, ya know- homework), she and Faith rolled out, expecting the worst. What they didn’t expect was to see the front almost entirely devoid of any police presence at all. 

Hairs standing on the back of her neck, the Slayer General stopped their team, eyes flitting around the road and accompanying parking lot in concern. A few cars with dust on them was par for the course in any parking lot. But for all to be caked in it, from windshield to window to bumper, so thick that no one could feasibly see well enough to drive? No, there was something very wrong with this picture. “Cars,” she nodded to the parking lot as she looked at Faith, the brunette agreeing with a nod of her own. 

“Hear that?”

Straining, the girls tried to listen out for whatever it was they were supposed to hear, but they figured that only slayers could hear it. “No,” Molly answered for the group. 

“Exactly. Where’s the chatter in this dump?” Turning to her blonde counterpart, Faith added, “where are the beat cops all taking a smoke break, bitching about their ‘nagging’ old ladies?”

“Stick close,” she warned the others, knowing that things were about to get rough. The SDPD always had people going in and out of the front doors at all hours. Postal workers delivering mail, beat cops bringing in perps, Girl Guides selling cookies (because they know their target demographic better than any ad agency in America), lay people who were reporting a crime- they might as well have installed revolving doors instead of the standard swing ones. Heck, in the start of fall, those doors were wide open 24/7, hauling in all the drunk drivers caught near the college campus! But from their vantage point there wasn’t anyone on the other side of the glass, and there wasn’t a solitary soul looking to go in. Bad feeling, Buffy thought. Tummy gurgling, heart in throat, ultimate badness of CRAP. 

Aaaaand the door was locked. Not just locked- barred. Someone had taken matters into their own hands and put a chain around the inside hinge on top, over to the one on the opposite side. As if the slow close feature would keep everyone out if the lock itself broke. Thankfully for them, the police presence in their town was full of boneheads. Unfortunately for them, the cops in town were all boneheads with guns. 

Breaking the locks took both slayers, the noise of the irons hitting the ground not insubstantial. After a few seconds waiting in bated breath for a rush of officers, the girls exhaled in tepid relief. Not their leader or co-leader, however. Oh, no. The young women leading them into the den of wolves knew better than to take silence for peace. They knew better than most that a silent precinct was just as dangerous as a shouting one. Edging their way in, they noted the empty entrance, and the matching bullpen, loose leaf paper littering the surrounding ground and furniture as if a hurricane blew through the building. Or a single very enthusiastic confetti distributor high on nitrous. There were empty chip wrappers and half drunk bottles of pop laying around the further they went in, but it wasn’t until they got past the conference room that they found any real signs of life. And oooooh, mama! It was worse than they ever expected. 

As predicted, Sunnydale’s less than finest in blue were pitting inmates against one another. Not only were they treating their charges like feral poochies in a dog fighting ring, they were also taking bets. And it wasn’t just a guess, oh, no, no! As soon as they got into the main hallway into the back courtyard, they could see the freaking chalkboard with odds, margins, trifectas, add-ons, and current payouts written in white on black. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Never a dull moment in Sunnyhell,” Faith muttered, looking ready to throw some heavy punches herself. 

And no, it really wasn’t. And while she hated being bored, Buffy also emphatically hated chaos coming direct to video à la human population. Cautiously moving ahead, they followed the sounds of cheering and chanting, and it wasn’t long until they heard fists on flesh to go along with it. Stopping, the Slayer General turned her head around the corner to see the prison yard in plain view now, and the chalkboard that went along with it. In a gut punch, one of the inmates in the scuffle tripped on his way out of the fight, only to be shoved back in the ring by two detectives and a uniformed officer. The whole world’s gone bonkers! But she had a job to do, so do it she would. 

The parliament of Potentials descended silently into the corridor, the more senior members of their team sticking to the front. They had to be on red alert, or risk getting a lead souvenir from Scruff McGruff and Alonzo Harris. It wasn’t long before they were noticed, but thankfully not by the officers. Oh, no. The officers were way too busy cheering on the big biker tossing his skinhead opponent around to do their actual jobs! Instead, it was a pair of inmates begging for her help. 

“Buffy!” Andrew cried as he gripped the edge of her sleeve. “Please, I’m begging you; you’re our only hope!”

God, seriously?! she silently asked any deity who bothered to tune in. You just HAD to send the remaining two-thirds of Dino Inc . to this specific precinct, didn’t you? Shaking him off her shirt, she caught sight of another familiar face, having just as bad a time. Benny Garrison - former President of the Alpha Delts - was hunched over on his side, another inmate holding pressure on his abdomen to staunch the bleeding. But by the looks of the t-shirt on the wound, Benny wasn’t gonna see the rest of the Jetts anytime soon. 

“Have mercy!” Andrew cried as he held his hands in mock prayer, the blonde’s attention ripped from the lost cause to the… hopefully slightly less than lost causes.  

Johnathan forced himself to his knees on his (only remaining) friend’s right side, grasping her pant leg as he whimpered up at her. God, he’d really taken one heck of a beating. “We’ll boo anything,” he slurred against his fat lip. “Just- for the wuv o’ Gondor, get us du freak out of here! Bees beepole are nuts! We saw Deputy Hertz eat anabber guy’s ear!”

“Raw!” his buddy hissed, face gravely pale. “He literally got a plate, an- and he- Buffy, please! Oh great Slayer,” he started to pray, as if she were a goddess of mercy. Ha! Yeah, okay. “Please grant us refuge away from this- this-”

“Vince McMann fevew dweam ob hell!”

“Yeah, that.”

God, I’m gonna love to regress this, she thought, then froze at the sight of the Polaroids plastered on the wall. Oh, God. He really DID eat that- oh, I’m gonna be sick. “Okay, let’s get these two with us-”

“B!”

“Let’s just- we’ll figure it out later,” she waved off, gesturing to the evidence emblazoned on the brick. Even though she didn’t want to give Mears and Levingston refuge from the po-po, she figured even if they started making hand puppets named Cyril, it was better than leaving them there. Buffy wasn’t keen on them coming, but she couldn’t in good conscience leave them there in the state things were in. “Anabalism-cay is orse-way than… screw it, we’re leaving.”

Eyes widening on the images above, Faith pulled one off, gaping at it in horror. Pulling the other Slayer aside, she showed the pic to the blonde, hoping her eyes weren’t going all wonky. “You see what I see, right?”

And there it was. Clear as day. The girl that had been slashed and dumped out of a car, on the highway into town. The very same one that Willow and Faith had found, on their way in from L.A. Except this was before she’d been dumped out. The picture wasn’t taken with a Polaroid like the rest. This was digital, printed from a photo studio type printer, then tacked onto the board. Taunting them, was the victim’s horror filled eyes as her hands were slicked with blood, the driver’s malicious grin pairing perfectly with his gelid eyes, dull in their apathy, catching them both in the shot with one arm tilting the camera just so. It had to have been snapped before he booted her out to the side of the freeway, and it didn’t bode well for being hung up in the middle of this den of fisticuffs, now of all times. 

Pulling a passing - severely tipsy - officer by the shirt, she shoved him up against the wall one handed, holding the photo up to his face with the other. “Where did you get this?” 

“Get off me, bitch!”

Taking the low road, Faith socked him in the gut, before growling out, “she asked you a question, Frank Drebin.”

“What’s it matter, huh?” he snarled back, glassy eyed. “Can’t find the right shoe from the left anymore, now can ya?”

“Huh?” Turning to the dorks under their care, the blonde raised her brows for an explanation. “Sense making, now.”

Johnathan offered an explanation. “He- he bid a bunch of bugs.”

Which only served to be more confusing. “Drugs,” Andrew corrected, fidgeting uncomfortably. “I didn’t even know you could mix LSD with ecstasy and ketamine and not have your heart immediately explode. Heck, I didn’t think people even did ketamine anymore.”

Clenching and unclenching her jaw, she turned to interrogate the officer further, only to find him out cold, lightly drooling. Great. A single lead, and before they could follow the breadcrumb trail, the guy decided on a little siesta. “Hello?” Buffy shook him with moderate force, but got nothing back. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Beat cop Arnoldson was out cold. Letting him slide down to the ground carefully, and faced the rest of the officers with a keen eye. She and Faith could disarm them, but they all still had guns, so…. 

She gathered her crew - and two refugees-slash-prisoners - and headed out of the building. No one even bothered to stop them. She couldn’t stop every bit of evil breaking out across the world, or even save Benny, but she was gonna snuff it out in her own backyard, toot-sweet. Once home, she laid out the report to the rest of the team, Faith filling in blanks in a slightly less bitchy than usual way, while her mom called the mayor’s office to let her know of the PD’s extracurriculars. It was… she wasn’t sure if it was nice or not, seeing the way the dark haired slayer had turned her life around. But it was of the vital that she wait to see what the new guys in the fold had to say, evidence wise. 

“And Johnathan said he wouldn’t fight,” Andrew lamented, trying to weave a tale that was honestly already way longer than any stinking book Buffy had to read for her twelfth grade English essays- combined! Geez, what was with that teacher and essays?! “But like the great pacifist Robert Baker Aitken-”

And Giles was just as irritated. “Oh, for the- do hurry up,” he snapped. “We haven’t got all bloody day.”

“Uh, right. One of the bikers body slammed him into the wall, and then the cops started taking turns kicking him.”

“And the photo?”

“I dunno. I haven’t seen the girl, but I think that guy’s on their radar. I heard one of the other- ooh! Patches! Remember?” he asked his friend, who was being patched up. Levinson winced at the sting of the disinfectant on his cheek, choosing not to answer, not that it stopped the other guy from going on. And on. And on. “He mentioned some bad-touch preacher they were looking for, from back down in Tennessee. And Mr. Creep-u-la looks like a bible thumper to me.”

Their leader had to agree. But what was he? Seeing him in her nightmares, and her day-mares that had her thinking she was going through a mental breakdown- was he a human that died? That was the only conceivable way she could think of to make The First able to project his image. Unless he was a demon, and that was part of his lineage, or powers, or whatever. “This is him,” she told the gang, Spike joining them with a groggy face. Her poor vamp’s sleep schedule was more disorganised than a seven year old’s toy box. “This is the guy from my slayer dreams- visions- whatever. Have we found anything on him yet?”

“Sadly, no.” Giles sighed as he took the picture, adding it to their collection of evidence. Evidence that was seriously lacking in helpfulness. “We’re still looking. Is she due to be released soon?”

“T- tomorrow,” Tara nodded, bringing Lottie more first aid supplies. Their curly haired Victorian was a natural in patching up scrapes and busted lips, Spike secretly brimming in pride whenever he caught her focused brow, touch careful but sure. And she’d grown close to the witch, nearly sticking to her side as closely as she did with Dawn and Joyce. And Buffy, of course. Always trailing after the Slayer like a shadow of late. “Anya and I are going to get her. You- you think he’ll try to-?”

‘Kill her’. She didn’t need to say it to have them thinking it. “There’s no way to be certain,” he simply replied, sitting back down heavily. “You ought to take more people with you- just in case.”

“I’ll go!” Every eye turned on Andrew’s cheerful face churlishly, the man shrinking a little under the weight of their gazes. “I- I just mean- I wanna help. Ya know, be part of the team!”

“You’re not ‘part of the team’,” Buffy replied coldly. “You nearly destroyed the town last year- and almost got most of our ‘team’ killed.” He cowed under the harsh tone, the verbal slap leaving his ego stinging. “But if you’re really up to pulling your own weight, we’ll find you something to do. Just- no more magical or techno-crap pranks, or I swear to God, I’ll drop you right back into Project Mayday and let Captain McCluskey have his fun. Got it?”

“Uh-huh. Crystal. Hook, line, and sinker.” 

Needing a break, she took to the basement, sitting next to Spike on their cot, holding one another’s hands as they contemplated what lay ahead. She wouldn’t be able to do this without him. Without her mom, and Dawn, and Charlotte, and Willow, and Giles, and Xander, and Tara, and Anya, and- and she was drowning. Buffy felt herself drowning in this war. But slayers didn’t get breaks and breathers and happily ever afters, and so she would have to swallow her tears and her fears, get her big girl sword, and stop evil. Problem was, how the hell did one fight something that seemingly had no weaknesses? 

“Remember when we got Dawn that mini slingshot?” he whispered, his thumb stroking the back of her hand almost languidly. “We unleashed a menace with a bit of wood and rubber, flinging unpopped kernels, all Annie Oakley-like.”

It was just like her William, trying to find a way to make her smile when everything was turning into a giant pile of flaming dookie. “Can’t slingshot the First.” And she had the uncanny ability to destroy the mood with half as many words. Lovely. “I’m sorry, I just- I don’t- I hate this.”

“Wasn’t exactly waiting on a parade,” he answered simply. 

“Maybe if we get-”

“When we get out of this,” he corrected. “When. Because we will. That’s what we white hats do, innit?”

“You being the optimistic one is messing a hell of a lot up in this basement’s dynamic,” she sighed back. God, she was so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of hurting, tired of losing people. But she wasn’t tried of him; of them. “Whatever happens, promise me you won’t let me drink my bodyweight in booze, or get Dawn any more lockpicking kits.”

“That, I can do.” 

They sat in silence for another six minutes, just soaking up the relative quiet, until her stomach gurgled and she left him to snooze in search of something to shut her tummy up. Entering the kitchen, she half-expected to see Tara puttering around the room with her mom, the pair holding down the fort as far as food was concerned, but she only found Kennedy making another pot of coffee. Sighing, she waited for the percolator to do it’s thing, leaning on the hutch by the dining room door. If she wasn’t gonna get some sleep horizontally, she could at least shut her eyes whilst vertical for a few minutes. 

“How bab boes it wook?” So long as she couldn’t hear Johnathan’s hisses of pain. 

“You’ll live,” Lottie informed him, tidying up the supplies on the table. “Don’t touch your face or you’ll be inviting infection in your wound.” Snapping the kit closed, she retreated to the kitchen, only to be stopped just inside the swinging door. “Oh! Kennedy,” she gasped. “You fri- startled me.”

“Yeah,” the Potential replied meekly. “Look, I’m bad at apologies- about as bad as you are with running. I- I shouldn’t have said that.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, she let out a hot huff of air, attempting to settle some maelstrom of emotions. “I’m not usually this bitchy, and I don’t usually have to share my space - it’s just me, my mom, and my aunt at home - but, look. We got off on the wrong foot and… and I’m sorry. I was mean and I shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

Buffy didn’t mean to eavesdrop on the pair. Really! She just was, ya know, right there, pouring herself another cup of coffee. Just three feet away. Ya know, totally natural. 

“Oh. That-”

“Even though you can’t fight,” she continued, as if she were hoping to shoot herself in the foot. “And shouldn’t be allowed to, it doesn’t mean I have to, like, destroy you.”

“Thank you…? That shouldn’t have sounded like a question, honest. I just… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you won’t toss yourself into danger the first chance you get,” the Potential offered, walking backwards to train in the garden. “I don’t want to deal with your big bro being all ragey about it.” And then she was back outside, running drills with the other girls.

Sighing dejectedly, Charlotte let her shoulder droop just a smidgen. “Well,” she told the empty room. “That went about as well as one could expect.”

Frowning, Rona lingered on the other side of the dining room, hanging up a fallen coat. Having inadvertently eavesdropped on the entire conversation, she worried that things were gonna get worse before they ever could get better. And she wasn’t the only one. 

Chapter 49

Summary:

Hey, y’all remember Caleb? Well, Buffy sure as sugar does, thanks to the hallucinations of him she’s had since the Glarghk Guhl Kashmas'nik demon. Also, Xander still loses an eye. Sorry, bud.

TW: Mentions of a Potential being ripped in half, slight canibalism on Caleb's part

Chapter Text

Tuesday, March 4th, 2003

 

Hardtack was a recipe burned into her brain since she turned ten, her grandmother insisting on making it every first Sunday of the month. She’d said it was ‘just in case’, as if she could tell that something was going to happen. Something that would need mega rations of hardtack for. It never made sense to her as a child, but it did now. Like a woman possessed, every spare second she wasn’t cooking the regularly scheduled meals for the crew of Potentials, or working on magic related stuff, Tara Maclay was making hardtack. And it was becoming a bit of a problem. 

“Umm, what if we made muffins?” Andrew offered, looking at the collection of trays splayed out around the kitchen again, crackers cooling before they threw them into plastic baggies. “O- or banana bread? We have a bunch here that are ready for that. And I think we have some of those toffee bits. Oooh! We could make toffee and chocolate ch-”

“No,” she insisted, something inside her flaring as she was questioned. This jerk tried to end the world with his buddies and that Dino, who was he to call the shots? Buffy put her in charge of food, anyway. HER, not them. Were they really so in their own freaking heads that they couldn’t see that? Couldn’t see how she was doing everything she could so they all wouldn’t starve? She practically lived in this kitchen now, her dorm evacuated when the entirety of the UC Sunnydale campus went on lockdown. Stupid burst pipes! “We’ll need these. Johnathan, finish drying those plates and put them away. Andrew, you get started on the nuts.” The men snickered, acting like thirteen year old boys. Again. “Stop that. We need them portioned out e- equally, or else the girls go on a free for all, and not everyone gets some.”

“We only got trail mix. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure, fine. Just… get it done. We have to start dinner prep soon.” Make the hardtack, just in case, her mother’s voice echoed in her head. Grow the bean sprouts, get more out of it than regular beans. Stretch that dollar like it’s Silly Putty! “I’m gonna check the sprouts.” Heading to the porch, she checked over her makeshift greenhouse. Mrs. Summers had helped her set it up after Kathy had to hitch her own way home to Arlene’s, using a new clear shower curtain lining over the trays, growing sprouts and microgreens for their use. She couldn’t fight as well as the others, but she could do her part. And Mrs. Summers shouldn’t have to go broke feeding the Potentials because of a war. 

And those girls always had an opinion on what she made. It was getting harder and harder to make it work, what with people starting to flee their town. Because a lot of people were leaving, including those working at the supermarkets, leaving them with fewer options for food. But like her mother and Mrs. S, Tara knew how to make every penny stretch in this regard. And today was no different. After spritzing her seedlings, she took a breath, and went back inside to start the spaghetti. 

And just like every day that month - and the one before - the second the girls came in from their midday training to come help, the criticism started raining down on the witch. 

 

“Ugh. I hate spaghetti.”

“Can’t you make it… better?”

“I think I’d rather have Easy Mac.”

“Why do I have to? Naomi gets to train, and I’m stuck with the boring witch, cutting mushrooms.”

 

She thought her own family was bad, their vitriol giving her a thick skin. But this was harder. She couldn’t concentrate, and her head echoed with terrible thoughts. Cuss them out, it said, nothing like the internal voice of her mind usually sounded like. They deserve it. What does Johnathan know anyways? Why does he get a free pass? He manipulated all of reality into thinking he was the best man in the world, twisting everyone’s thoughts, it told her. He needs a taste of his own medicine. Just slip a little something in their juice when they’re not looking, make them easier to control; easier to work with, it promised. But she didn’t want that. Being able to work with someone was nothing like actually controlling them. She never wanted that. Sure, she wanted people to see her as worthy of their time, for their respect, but she had learned how badly that felt in practice whenever she used magic that way. And the girls all ganging up on her now meant the voices of evil VS her conscience were getting louder. Deafening. It felt like a stab of badness, her insides twisted up. There was something almost suffocating in the air, dark tendrils twisting concentric circles around them, choking her out, breath barely entering her lungs-

“ENOUGH!” The girls startled at the booming voice, some flinching in fear away from the vampire. The badness untwisted itself from her ribcage as they settled down, the sounds no longer ready to eat her soul alive. “That’s enough,” he repeated calmly. Well, calmer. Calm-ish for him, anyhow. “Tara is in charge of this kitchen, so you best fall in line.” Spike’s commanding voice and body language left little up to the imagination of his intentions. “Mucking about happens elsewhere, else you’ll be stuck doing the shite jobs no one wants.”

“You can’t threaten us,” Amanda scoffed, folding her arms over her chest defiantly. “You’re not in charge.”

“Right you are,” he agreed, stepping closer. “But in this kitchen, that woman there is. In this kitchen, and that pantry, she’s the bloody president, CEO, mayor, and whatever else you humans love electing into office so bloody much. She sets the rules, you deal. Got a problem? Talk to her like a person. For Thatcher's sake, I’m a sodding vampire, and even I know you don’t brass off the hand that feeds you.”

From the doorway, Faith hummed in agreement. “Hate to agree with the vamp, but he’s right. Prison rules and war rules: don’t piss off the cook, or you get piss in your soup.”

“What a visual,” Vi muttered under her breath.

Looking at the downtrodden witch behind the vampire, the girls felt the tugs of guilt in their guts. “Sorry, Tara,” Rona started, catching the woman’s eye. Her mother would be so disappointed in her if she knew how she dismissed the kind woman so easily. Especially after the witch surprised them with homemade red pepper jelly. The kind her parents used to make for Labour Day every single year. “Didn’t realise- sorry. We’ll, uh, try harder. Do you… need help with the salad?”

Slowly, the other girls added in their own apologies, the witch nodding numbly as she accepted them all. Barely believing the drastic change in their demeanor, she refused to pinch herself, just in case it all disappeared in a flash of smoke. She turned to thank Spike, who just nodded his head and slipped out of the room, refusing to take any credit for the reprieve. Probably because he was sick of all the girls interrupting his time with his lady. Either way, she was grateful as Amanda and Vi did the dishes, Rona helping her chop veggies for dinner. 

Leaving Rona in charge of the prep for a moment, the witch headed where she thought she might find him. And just as expected, she saw him rooting around upstairs. 

“H- hey,” Tara said, lingering in the doorway to his and Buffy’s room. It looked way different now, the bed shoved up against the one wall without a window, sleeping bags strewn everywhere. The Potentials didn’t feel comfortable sleeping upstairs with the vampire there, leaving him to sleep fitfully in the basement, Buffy slipping down to catch some zzz’s in the dead of night. Still, all their stuff was here, so it wasn’t shocking to find him rifling through the books on the shelf. “Umm, about earlier. In the kitchen? Th- thanks for that, I… I don’t know how I would have-”

“Don’t mention it, Ducks,” he answered, waving her off. Stilling, he tilted his head seriously. “Actually… could use your help with something.” 

“O- oh?” she asked, shifting from foot to foot as Willow got closer. Damn. Did she need something? Things were awkward with the pair of them recently, but it was too late to hide now. “Wh- what would th- that be?”

Willow slipped in from the hallway, head poking in curiously at the display before her, regarding the vampire with a peculiar expression. “Hey! You wanted to see me? For… something?” 

Shushing them both, he gestured for them to follow, shutting the door quickly. Grabbing a book off the top shelf, he cracked open a page at random, pulling out a folded piece of quality paper. Primo stuff, probably from the college’s art supply store. “I need your help, but not one word of it to Buffy, got it?” Nodding, the pair hesitantly agreed, if only from intense curiosity. Unfolding the paper took some effort, but then the sketches were revealed, only giving them more questions than answers. “I need you to find these, preferably before Sunnyhell gets swallowed into dust.”

“You-” Willow squinted at the sketches with confusion. What the hell was he asking? Now, of all times? He wanted them to- what? Drop everything and find some gaudy jewellery? Uh, yeah right! “Spike, we’re in the middle of another apocalypse, and you want us to find you jewellery?! Have you completely lost your mind?”

“No,” he bit back, frustration mounting. “I need you to help me find my family’s jewellery for them. For- for Buffy.”

“What? Is this magic? Will it loosen the hold of the Hellmouth? Are-?” Suddenly, the redhead’s eyes widened. “Are these the soul amplifiers?”

“Of course they’re not-” 

Tara’s gasp wasn’t loud, or show stopping, but it was shaky enough to get them to stop, and take notice. And notice her they did. Because instead of shock or disgust, Tara’s face was open, hopeful, and nearly excited. “You- you’re thinking of doing the thing. With- with the ring? An- and the question asking…? Right? I- I’m r- right, aren't I?”

Willow had about 3.1 seconds of processing power, before her own mouth dropped open in shock. “You… your timing is kinda lame, you know that, right?” She didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but sleep deprivation was making her crankier than normal- and then some. 

“Fully aware and noted,” he grumbled, frustrated at the comments from the peanut gallery. “So, will you do it?”

Looking at her girlfriend, the pair shared a look. They’d been having problems lately, but maybe this could bring them together again. Could… could give them a welcome distraction from ‘hey guys, do we think we’re gonna die today? Nope? Okay, let’s see if tomorrow we will!’ Deciding that the happiness on Tara’s face was worth whatever hell she was about to embark online, Willow turned to look at the paper again resolutely. “Spike… the- there’s a lot here. Which one is most important for you?”

“They all are,” he muttered, but his eyes fell on one piece he knew his lady would love. Maybe as much as the first owner had, nearly two hundred years ago. “This one.” He pointed with a soft smile on his face. It would look perfect on her finger. “X marks the spot.”

 

----------

 

Saturday, March 8th, 2003

 

Looking for information on their ‘Bad touch preacher’ had proved difficult. But not impossible. Andrew’s tale - while long winded and verging on duller than a phone book - had been chock full of details that they needed to get the assailant.

  • He was a man of the cloth- check.
  • He hailed from a small backwater town in Tennessee- cha-check. 
  • He had been cut from the church because of accusations of sexual misconduct with the girls in his Parrish- unfortunate check. 
  • He also had several outstanding warrants for - get this - two counts of murder, multiple aggravated assault charges, and a long list of other potential crimes that the PDs of Winfield, Shreveport, Plainview, Bluewater, Pinedale, Flagstaff, and Bakersfield all had listed as their top suspect- ding, ding, ding! They had their ID. 

Slight problem: they didn’t know his name. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, because they had names. Oh, they had oodles of names he’d used in each new town he’d set his tent up in, preaching like he was God’s great gift. Gene, John, Samuel, Arthur, Glenn, Josiah, Nathan- he went by them all. But the one constant he did have was picking old places that radiated malevolent energy to hole up in between crime sprees. And the Hellmouth had no shortage of those. They’d scoured the town, Clem and the others on the bowling team sending word out that the slayers had no beef with anyone outside the (hopefully) human ex/minister. Before they had to flee town. Bupkis. Even the bluffs and the Hellmouth were oddly silent. And they needed to find him. When Shannon awoke after her surgery - aka the girl he’d gutted - she’d told them of his taunting of Buffy, and their leader was itching to find him and cover him in welts. So researchers were researching a-plenty, and their Patrols were filled with more tension than a can of fermented chickpeas sitting in the sun, ready to explode.   

But ultimately, their exhaustive research found them at a winery that was once a big time monastery (according to Gilles’ giant tome of The Chronicles), in the Santa Ynez Valley that very evening, twelve Potentials in tow. Buffy and Spike had made progress with the girls trusting the souled up vampire, though many still lingered closer to Faith. It stung a little, but she was a big girl. She could handle it. Loading up in the vehicles, they headed out, leaving enough of a backup team at the house, just in case it was all a bait-and-switch sitch. After connecting the dots on Gemini's latest secret power, it meant he was keeping an eye on their sisters, amongst the others.  

The sign for Shadow Valley Vineyards had seen better days, as did the rest of the grounds. A thick layer of dust covered the farming equipment, showing no sign of work had occurred for at least a few months, if not years. But the beat up old pickup truck parked just outside the back office indicated someone was indeed there, just waiting for a beating. And Buffy was feeling pretty punchy.  

“Xander, Willow,” she nodded. “You two get the getaway mobiles ready.”

“You’re benching us?” Xander scoffed, both shocked and hurt by her dismissal. Wasn’t he her Captain in this? And Wills? Her heaviest hitter down? No, there had to some kind of mis- 

“No,” she insisted. “I need you two-”

“Buffy,” the witch implored her more quietly, taking her aside to not embarrass anyone in front of the others. “I’m better now. Please. We don’t know what this guy’s capable of, or who’s on his side. You might need more backup than just Spike and Faith.” 

Goddammit. It sucked when her friends proved her wrong. It didn’t make her feel any better with her BFF’s jump into the magical deep end. Without that bracelet on her wrist, the redhead was more liability than asset. But without trust, their team had nothing. And Wills was right. With the hold on her magic gone, there wasn’t the added strain of outside influence. “Fine. But you pick some people to prep our getaway,” she instructed her friends. “Just in case things go sideways.” 

Agreeing reluctantly, they got to work, and within sixty seconds, they had their plan. Which fell apart pretty quickly when they found themselves trapped in the underground wine cellar. Stupid electronic doors, locking automatically behind the last one stepping through! And there he was. 

The fiend had a venomous smirk splattered on his face, the same way she’d seen it the last time he’d accosted her. No, not him directly. But a version of him had. “Well, well. Now ain’t this a mighty good surprise?” he asked, standing around with a glass of red in his hand, swirling it around. She didn’t know his name, but she’d been accosted by him over and over again, The First Evil using his gigglemug when it came to taunt her. And he looked smuger in person, somehow.  

“You.”

“Little ole me,” he tittered. She’d never heard a man titter at her the way this creep had, but then again, she usually slayed them by now. And while she had slain - woof - more than she’d care to admit in her tenure, going up against a man in a cassock wasn’t high on her hit list. She didn’t think. It really icked her out how much crap she’d been through that she couldn’t recollect that. “Say, ain’t you that vampire slayer they’re all gabbing endlessly about? Hmm. Pictured you taller.”

“Listen, you freakazoid,” she snapped back. “You’ve got one last chance to get out of my town in one piece, and that’s happening… right now. Either vamoose, or we ship you back to your demon mama in pieces,” she threatened, raising her axe higher in her hands. 

“Oh, I’m not a demon,” he drawled, stepping closer. “I’m 100% bonafide grade A hunka-hunka human.”

Goddammit! Scowling at him in disgust, she looked ready to sick her recently chip-freed boyfriend on this creep’s behind. If the First had his face, she reasoned. He’s either not truthing real hard, or he died, once. Either way, real downer on this shindig. “The USDA must be scraping the bottom of the warehouse where the barrels are stored, if you got graded higher than canned dog food, that’s been sitting in the hot Tennessee sun,” she added an affected accent on the last three words, ready for a quick battle. “Last chance, you grody, obtuse peon. Pack up the wagons, and roll on outta my town.”

Covertly, not so covertly, Xander leaned over, whispering a correction. “Our-”

“Our town.” 

He chuckled darkly in response, smirk growing. “See, I would,” he kissed his teeth in an arrogance that stuck to the ribs. His body language screamed of misogynistic pride. ”But my friends here aren’t exactly what you call co-operative.” 

The snarl of the Turok-Han had her heart hammering in her chest harder. Oh, God. Oh, God! They weren’t gonna win here, were they? She’d sent her team right into a freaking trap. 

“What the hell is this?” she demanded, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“Me? I’m just a simple country boy,” he drawled, utter wretchedness in his dead, cold, barely perceptible soul. “I see an opportunity, I take it. Like with your little friend Shannon.” At the mention of their fellow Potential’s name, the girls readied their stances, itching to knock him down a few pegs. “Would’ve kept her longer, drawed it out real nice and slow-like.”

“Cuz that’s what you used to do, right?” Faith asked- nay, demanded of the wannabe preacher. “Before you became The First’s lackey?”

“I ain’t NO one’s lackey!” His shout echoed off the stone walls, the snarling getting louder as the hoard came closer. The tension thickened in the room, Willow’s hands raised ahead of her, muttering as she tried to magic the locks open yet again. “I am the new order.”

“New year, new big bad,” Buffy sighed. “Same boring old speech.”

“How’s this for a speech? Welcome to a new age,” he smirked, the smarmy bastard pulling out his knife in what he probably thought was a sensual play. It wasn’t. “Let’s call it the Caleb Era, and hey! You can all have front row seats to your downfall.” And like a swarm of locusts, it wasn’t just the Turok-Han viciously attacking them, but a swath of Bringers, too. 

The skirmish broke out between them, the Slayer General using her weapon as if it were a part of her very being. This HAS to end, she promised herself, catching a Bringer’s knee with her blade. Tonight. The fight around her was fueled by hatred, the other side revelling in the destruction. But their side had more than hate. They had a hope so strong in their veins, it thundered in their very ears.  

Giving up on the lock, the redheaded witch jerked her head to get two of the others to break it down, her hands needed elsewhere. Muttering in Latin, Willow pushed out from her chest, sending a powerful blast of energy towards the baddies, knocking them barely back enough to make it could. Dammit! It felt like she was still tethered. Or maybe she was just recovering from the guy holding onto her magic. If Spike weren’t around, she could have unleashed a mini solar power attack on the undeadlings, give them the dusty ending they deserved. But even if she couldn’t do all that, she could still fight. 

And fight she did. Casting a confusion spell over a pair of Bringers, she sent them to fight the Turok-Han, wincing on the inside when they’d become lunchmeat. Ethically, it was a beanbag-as-a-bed sitch; not ideal, but the ends justified the means. She hoped. Dear Goddess, did she ever hope and pray for that. At the moment, she just had to stall for time until the numbers were manageable, and they could get out. It really was a wonder she hadn’t noticed the other witch in the cellar, nor would she. 

After all, the other witch wasn’t there to fight her, but with her. And was hiding herself in plain sight. 

 

----------

 

          HSSSSS!

 

Faith grunted, eyes wide at the sheer strength of the thing wailing against her. He- it was stronger than- God, she thought Kakistos was a strong fighter? Man, one of these things was like fighting against five of those guys- easy! One of the other girls jumped in to help out, the lanky girl immediately being thrown up against the wall, a claw stuck in her side in response. Oh, God, she thought as she swung at the thing’s neck, missing as it ducked. What the hell are these things? She said proto-vamps, but these- they’re- oh, fuck! Lunging to the side, she avoided the brunt of the attack from the thing, using the pause to grab at it’s ratty, tattered… well, they couldn’t really be called clothes, could they? Even rags had more… more to them. She swung it against the brick facade nearby, giving her the chance to slice again. And was immediately thwarted by the Turok-Han grasping the handle of her blade. Crap!

“Faith!” Without turning around, she knew that this thing was gonna go after her neck, adrenaline pumping at the arm around her chest. Fighting against the urge to elbow the girl behind her, she used the leverage to kick out at the thing, dislodging its grasp on the weapon, and swung the axe a second time. And failed? How-? “Oomph!”

Huffing at the change of scenery, Faith blinked back stars as she rolled over, standing as she sliced into the Bringer now trying to get after her. “Little help here!” she shouted, the fiends matching her thrust for thrust. Dammit! This shouldn’t have been harder than taking down that gang of chirango demons in November! 

Kennedy descended onto the fiends with her, suddenly appearing next to her with that ginger haired girl who always wore mismatched socks, the three of them hacking away. The things were strong, though, giving as good as they got. Two more joined them - the girl on the ground, and the one Charlotte seemed to like - and then, finally, they saw their opening. Moving like one fluid person, the other four held it down, and the brown eyes slayer of four years landed the swing, taking the head clean off. Exploding in a puff of dust, it’s equally dead buddy headed straight for them.   

“We don’t die so easy,” Faith huffed, trying to catch her breath. One down, a dozen more to go. 

Across the expanse of oak barrels, her sister Slayer was trying to knock out the instigator in all this, and having way too hard a time doing it. Not only did this supposedly human jerk know how to fight, but everything she was close to knocking him on his keister, Buffy would be interrupted by one of his little pets. “Not bad,” the blonde huffed, dodging a kick to the head. Tossing the empty barrel towards him, she scowled as he roundhoused it away. At least it made a satisfying crunchy sound as it barreled into an uber-vamp. “They teach you to fight at seminary school, Gene? Or is it Nathan?” 

“Caleb,” he laughed, dodging another kick. How…? “Before I became a man of the cloth,” the villain chittered, thoroughly amused. “I was a natural in the martial arts. Made it real easy to go after folks once I donned the stole.” 

Grunting as she kicked his knees out, her own joints ached with the reverb. Taking down one uber-vamp had been exhausting, but this many? Damn, she huffed, thinking hard as she fought harder. Shoulda brought the dog-cat wonder. “So,” she said, aiming for his trapezoidal nerve to karate chop. If she could just knock him out- aaaaand he’d anticipated her move, immediately dodging. Gah! “You got bored of being a casual murderer and decided to move up the ladder to straight up serial killing maniac?”

“Oh, no, little girl,” Caleb all but cackled. Why did the evil ones always cackle? Maybe she wanted to be the one to cackle one day, and- focus, Buffy! “I’ve been moving up this ladder for years. Could say this here HellMouth is my magnum opus.”

Magnum… Oh, God. Shannon left gutted on the side of the road. The unexplained deaths of Travers and Debbie. The bomb at the Watcher’s Council… no. Oh, this absolute- “So what?” she snarked back, trying to hide the horror on her face. If he were human, that meant he had a soul. Supposedly. And she wasn’t naive enough to think that a soul unequivocally meant the one owning it was a good person, but God! He did all that with a soul? And now…? “Is this your audition for America’s Next Big Bad? Cuz I heard the ratings tanked!” Socking him in the nose, she felt elation and pain bloom in her fist as the knuckles collided with his face. Head whipped back momentarily, he looked like a marionette, but only momentarily. Still a human, she reminded herself. Don’t kill him- just incapacitation only.

But he wasn’t laughing anymore, furious and ready to kill. “Bitch!” he sneered, lunging at her with his weapon raised. “I knew this fight was gonna bring the beast out in you,” he continued, catching her in the side with an errant elbow jab. “But I didn’t know you’d decimate the schnoze!”

“Haven’t you heard? That’s my specialty.” Kicking him in the shins, she used the momentum of his sway to catch his jaw with her fist. The others around her were fighting for their lives, so when she saw a Bringer heading for Astrid’s back, she used his weight against him. Grasping the eyeless creature’s robes, she pulled and redirected him to collid into the preachy jerk. “So what? Hmm? You raise all this hell, and you’re suddenly all demon-y? Why not just get bit and turn into one that way? Why go through the hard and winding path?”

Without pause, he slit the Bringer’s throat, before tossing him to the side like he was nothing. “I don’t wanna be a puny vampire!” Caleb spat back at her, grunting at a bolt from someone’s crossbow embedded in his shoulder. And still, he wasn’t down for the count just yet. “I wanna be a GOD!”

Geez, this guy’s unhinged. “Ha! Nice try, Ben,” she scoffed, swinging her sword to cut at his feet. It was getting harder to avoid a killing blow, but she had a code. One she wasn’t keen on ever breaking. “You missed the show about twelve or thirteen months back. All pomp, no circumstance.”

“Those pleebs? They wouldn’t know what a god looked like if it dropkicked them in the groyne!” He pitched forward in agony as a boot ended in his crotch. 

But it wasn’t her boot. 

Eyes flying wildly to the side, she saw Xander’s resolved face land on the pastor, and she knew what it meant. God, she hated that she saw that look in her friend’s eye, but she also didn’t want to see it reflected in the mirror. “Xand?”

“A little help!”

“Go,” he nodded, giving her the opening to dive in where needed. Xander could handle himself. And her energy really did need to be elsewhere in this hell of a cellar. 

Nodding once, she knew Father Evil wasn’t gonna have one over on him, joining Willow’s rank. The witch was trying to slow the uber-vamps with an immobilizing spell, but it just wasn’t enough with the sheer amount of them all. Taking the closest one to her, she barely felt like she was in her own body as she swung her weapon at the thing’s neck with her entire might, the head becoming dust motes before it could hit the ground. Spike was on the opposite end of the cellar, wearing full vampire mein as he ripped another one of a Potential, her hand flying up to press against her bitten shoulder to staunch the bleeding. Everyone was fighting their hardest, working together to stay alive. 

And it might not be enough. They were drowning in assailants, the dead zone of the winery turned out to be the kind of dead zone with their corpses, not just crap cell service. They had to pull back, had to knock Caleb unconscious, drag him in for questioning, but getting out was their first priority. Slicing through another proto-vamp, her breath caught at sight across from her as the dust barely settled. 

For a brief moment, she worried The First was playing tricks on her eyes again, cuz there was no other explanation for the sight before her. Just as a Bringer lunged with his knife extended for Rona’s throat, another robed wearing figure grasped him at the head, and turned it with a sickening crack. Crumbling to the ground, he hadn’t felt a thing, which hardly seemed fair considering the damage they’d done as a collective. But as she pushed forwards to grab this mystery figure,  the cloaked wearing Bringer that had sacrificed him was nowhere to be found. There one minute, and the next poof! Gone. I’m SO taking a long siesta when I can, she thought, pulling harder on the wire she was trying to decapitate her latest Turok-Han with. Seeing mysterious cloaked figures amongst the actual cloaked figures that are killing- oh, that’s it! Grasping the axe that had fallen once she’d made hourglass filling from the archaic demon, she pushed the mystery person to the back of her mind and jumped back into the fray. Gotta keep fighting, can’t stop. Can’t let them win. Can’t- we can’t stay here.   

“NO!!!!” 

A sickening crack greeted their ears, Rona’s anguished cry of agony sending their hearts into double-time. Because she wasn’t just crying for herself. Directly across from her, a pair of Turok-Han demons were fighting over Astrid, who had been ripped in half before their very eyes. And the Bringers were not afraid to take part, stabbing at anyone who got close enough to the now feasting group of archaic monsters.

“AAAAHHH!” 

Buffy whipped her head around just in time to watch the horror show playing out, Caleb’s thumb digging into her friend’s eye socket. “Retreat!” she cried out as he let go of the builder, the living nightmare popping the eyeball into his very mouth, and began to chew.  

Faith agreed, repeating the blonde’s war cry, hauling Rona up off the dirty ground with Vi, barking at them to get back to the cars, limping a little. As the dark haired slayer worked on clearing out the cellar, Spike hauled the wannabe Father Ted away from the carpenter, giving his lady a chance to intervene. 

Watching with satisfaction as she punched the pillock of the cloth, he felt his stomach sink a little at the way their ally swayed. Harris has had worse, he reassured himself as the Slayer knocked the priest out. He’ll be in fine fettle come morning. Except Xander wasn’t just on his own anymore. He had Anya, and she was gonna be pissed as all HELL when she heard about this. Bloody hell, she’s gonna come after the family jewels, blamin’ me for her husband losing a sodding eye. Bollocks to that! Lifting the carpenter into a fireman’s carry, he followed the rest of the pack, praying the man didn’t bleed out on the way to help. It was the first time in longer than he could ever count where he felt sick at the sweet smell of the other man’s blood filling the air. 

 

----------

 

Charlotte couldn’t stop pacing. She knew she ought to sit down, conserve her energy the way Dawn and Mrs. Summers were, but she just couldn’t. Whilst Tara worked in the kitchen to get her mind off of the reality of their household, the blonde Brit paced. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the carpet.” While Anya berated her, apparently. Everyone had their own method of handling stress, she supposed. 

“They’ll call,” Mrs. Summers insisted, finally getting off the chair by the window to grab her shoulders. She’d grown another inch in the past four months - or was it two? Could have been a year, for all she knew - and the teen was nearly at the same height as the older woman. “If they need backup, or they run into trouble, they’d call.”

“The phone lines are all dead,” Anya offered unhelpfully, a responding clatter of dishes being put away a little too hard echoed the response in Lottie’s heart. Not helpful, Mrs. Harris! 

Charlotte didn’t even address the ex-demon, or the other Potentials milling about, focusing instead on the woman she counted as her second mother. “I just need to- I have to do something!”

“Sit. Count the bandages,” she offered, redirecting the girl to the living room again. “Pray in your head. Just… save your energy, okay? Little pro tip from a lady who’s got a lot of practice in doing a bunch of sitting and waiting for her Slayer daughter to come home.”

Knowing it was a losing battle, she did as requested, but only ended up jiggling her leg as she sat. Which was driving her BFF absolutely bonkers. “Stop it!” Dawn exclaimed, slapping a hand to the blonde’s knee, to keep the tremors to a minimum. “You’re crawling up the wall, right?” Lottie nodded desperately, wanting the shred of comfort she was bound to get from- “Tough.” Not Dawn, apparently. Ouch! “This is what being a Scooby is sometimes. Left on the sidelines to keep you alive, and waiting till you think you’re gonna go grey, before Buffy stumbles in like, a total baby deer post-birth, covered in blood and dust, complaining about how her shoes are trashed. Again.” 

“That wasn’t as comforting as you think it was.”

“Wasn’t about- I’m just saying,” she continued, rolling her eyes. “This is the club. You’re a part of it now, and sometimes? It really sucks.”

“No kidding,”

“But we have movie nights,” Anya added cheerfully. “And some of us are with people who give very good org- foot rubs!”

Frowning at the obvious deflection of a sexual act, the girls didn’t get a chance to admonish the newlywed, interrupted, instead, by a meow-ark. Yep, because for whatever reason, Gemini - the pet wonder of the Hellmouth - couldn’t decide whether to bark or meow at the arrivals stumbling to the house, and landed on a peculiar sound somewhere in the middle. 

“They’re here,” Giles breathed, flinging the door open as he addressed the others. “Alright, ladies-”

“And Johnathan.”

Wrinkling his lip in distaste at the reminder, he added, “and Johnathan. Brace yourself. Here come the wounded.”

And of which, sadly, there were many. It wasn’t a shock to the ones who’d lived on the earth longer than three decades to see the group had fewer members when they left, but it didn’t make them feel better about it. Some just limped, others were being carried. Buffy led the front of the pack, Faith leaning against her where her knee was bleeding, Spike taking up the rear with Andrew, Xander between them. 

Holding their breaths for the inevitable, the girls let out a gust of air in relief at seeing both their siblings coming up the walkway. Both Buffy and Willam had made it. They could focus on the real issue, now. And as if they’d trained for it their whole lives, Dawn and Charlotte immediately started taking stock of the injured parties. 

They’d been expecting this, ever since the town all started turning to crap. Everyone seemed ready to move out of Sunnydale, even the most mundane human felt a massive sense of foreboding. Hospitals were overcrowded as it were, and unless dire beyond repair, they were the EMS team for the evening. Already setting up triage stations in the house, they started filtering their patients to the places they needed to be in, the furthest part of the living room from the front door for the minor injuries, Johnathan and Andrew getting their girls there quickly. 

Johnathan wasn’t a great person when it came to personal space, or finding a good leader in a demon, but he could dress a wound like a plastic surgeon on a burn unit ward. Sticking them with the minor injuries, Joyce and Giles got the more major trauma handled in the dining room. Dawn and Lottie, despite their young age, held down the fort near the couch, already setting a dislocated shoulder with the ease of pros. It was running smoothly, their patch-up jobs. The BFFs thought maybe they were spared tragedy tonight after all. 

Until one patient walked in needing a special touch. 

Anya’s blood curdling scream echoed in the house, everyone turning to see why she had- oh, God. “NO!” Flinging herself towards her husband, she cradled his face in her hands, trembling at the blood caked on his face and neck, the space where his eye once was now stuffed with a thick wad of gauze. “Who did this to you?!”

“Ahn-”

“Where is he?” she demanded, the fury befitting the vengeance demon she once was rising with the tide. “I’ll kill him. Who did this?!”

“Ahn!” Grasping her hand in his, he pulled it down to his neck, pressing her warm fingers to his pulse. “I’m still here, I’m not dying from this.”

To say her responding scream was shrill was an understatement. “They took your eye!”

“I know.”

“No- no inappropriate pun? No ill timed quip about how you can be Polyphemus in our role playing?”

Looking at Violet, Rona hissed, “why couldn’t you just knock me out?!” between her teeth as they hobbled past the couple over to the couch. 

“Ahn,” he reassured her, suddenly way more serious than any of them ever heard him be before. The tone sounded odd even to his own ears. “We’re both here, we’ve got each other; we’ll get through this.” 

The ringlet wearing girl turned away from the horror show of her friend’s face, focusing on the pair closest to her: Rona and Violet. Grasping the box she’d been waiting with, she knelt down in front of them, flipping it open. “Could I take a look at that?” she asked, motioning with her head. 

Holding the limb tight to her body, Rona was clearly in pain. But after a few deep breaths, she reluctantly let the girl hold her arm. Lottie wanted to be a doctor one day, right? She knew about this stuff, and could help. And while the blonde did have to poke a little, she did it with care. “Ow! Easy,” she hissed, the limb smarting. 

“Sorry. Alright, it looks like a clean break,” she nodded confidently, unlocking the box and flipping it open. “Violet? Could you help once you’ve been cleared?”

“I’m fine. Really, I am!” she insisted at the pair who levelled her with twin heavy looks. “Okay, okay.” As she left to get a once-over from Dawn, the pair watched to make sure she was taking the request seriously. 

“You sure you know how to do this?” Rona asked, eyeing the medical tape and- “is that a ruler? For your homework?”

“I’d tell you to simply trust me,” the blonde replied, nonplused, but not arrogant. “But I know you have trouble in that regard, so let me assure you- my touch is far gentler than my brother’s is.”

Grimacing at the sight of the vampire and their leader trading angry hushed whispers in the hallway, Anya and Andrew taking their eyeless Captain to the hospital, the other girl nodded once. “Guess it’s guinea pig time.”

Shaking her head, she began to wrap the injured limb, wondering if they had enough plaster for all the others, too. Physical or otherwise.  

 

----------

 

Buffy didn’t know if she had it in her. They’d lost no less than five girls. Rona’s arm broke, Faith had been stabbed through the kneecap, another girl had been ripped in half- right in front of her. Xander lost an eye, for crying out loud! 

“You are,” Spike insisted again. “You’re the Slayer. It’s in your blood to lead.”

“You think that’s what a good leader does?” she hissed back, taking their fight to the basement before someone could drop major eaves. “Nearly wipes out half of her team in one fail swoop-”

“Fell.”

“Huh? Oh, you know what I mean!” She couldn’t believe this! Correcting her in the middle of her big, impassioned speech. “Xander lost an eye! An- and they ripped Astrid in half, an- and-”

Dragging her the rest of the way down the stairs, he grasped her in a fierce hug, giving her the permission she didn’t know she needed to finally let it all out. And as she buried her face into his cotton clad chest, he didn’t let go of her, one hand starting to rub the tension from between her shoulder blades. He didn’t even say a thing to her. No ‘don’t cry, sweetheart’ s. No ‘hush now, you’re safe as houses’, either. Just standing there, being her dry port in the torrential downpour of suckyness. 

After crying herself dry in five minutes flat, she wiped her face, her boyfriend helping to clean off any racoonifying she was no doubt dealing with. They kissed chastely, a quick peck on the lips, and went back to work. People needed patching up, and she had two hands that could do that.  

This isn’t forever, she kept telling herself as she patched people up. Their deaths won’t be in vain, she kept repeating as she pulled a sheet over another Potential’s still form. This was the battle, not the war. The battle, not the war.  

Her confidence was waning by the time the sun had risen, but her night was far from over. Arming herself with a shovel as she got outside, she sank it into the dirt at the far end of her backyard, three feet from where she's buried Annabella, just a few weeks ago. It was tedious and exhausting, but someone had to do it. And she was more than equipped to handle it. As she felt the stinging of tears on the back of her eyeballs, she froze as another spade hit the earth three feet on the other side of the pre-existing grave. Turning, she was reminded that she wasn’t alone in this. Despite being bone tired herself, Dawn was digging a hole of her own, Giles next to her. Neither said a thing, just gave her a knowing look, and kept on digging. Another spade hit the dirt on her other side, Tara and Willow digging another grave next to hers. It took hours, but they’d buried the others as best as they could, Faith helping back fill from her seat on one of the patio chairs, sitting vigil as she said her peace, or somethin’. The Slayer General didn’t know, too tired to sit around and listen to her Lieutenant quietly murmuring platitudes, entering the house in search of her boyfriend and their cot instead.    

Spike and her mom looked like they were having a pretty tense discussion by the corner of the dining room, but by the time Buffy got there, the matriarch of the home was moving to the kitchen, probably grabbing more cleaning supplies. Or coffee. Probably both. Grasping her hand, he gave it a squeeze, his face tortured. The tentative smile was too weak, telling her that her man was trying hard to keep it together in a house full of blood. “I best get Pidge and Niblet to bed,” he grumbled, hand squeezing hers three times. 

‘I love you’, it said. Their little silent, muscle memory Morse code. 

Squeezing back three times, she tried to move her face muscles in a mask of a smile back, but the mask didn’t fit. Didn’t want to stay there on her features, almost like it hurt to exist there. “Okay. I gotta…”

“Yeah.” She didn’t need to finish her thought. The Slayer needed to hug her mom, check on the troops, and call the hospital to check on her mate. The General with her army. “Rum’s in the hutch if you run outta the pharmaceutical grade tosh.”

She laughed dryly, under her breath it barely made a sound. Except he could hear it well enough over the subdued chaos of the house. Knew he would. “I’d yell at you for having it so reachable to the underaged population of the house if it weren’t so appreciated right now.” And truth was, crawling into a bottle sounded like a solid plan at the moment. It would numb her from- nothing. It didn’t numb enough to make tossing back shots worth it; to make the hurly-guts thing after worth it. 

“Not daft enough to have it out in the open. S’hidden in the faux bottom of the planter.”

“William?” Charlotte hissed from the staircase she was sitting on. “Have you seen my pill bottle?”

Parting, they gave one another’s hands a squeeze, trying to be strong enough for one another. Falling apart was for later. Now, they had to put on brave faces.

Chapter 50

Summary:

The last Guardian of the old guard is found, but instead of dying within 5 minutes of meeting, she takes Buffy through a tour of memory lane.

Edited cuz I accidentally uploaded the old draft

Chapter Text

Sunday, March 9th, 2003 - Part A

 

“I got it!’

Entering the dining room with determination, Buffy leaned her palms on the table in front of the witch. They’d had a hell of a morning, what with the failed extermination of the evils in that cellar. They’d gotten home at two A.M., and after Xander was rushed to the ER, and the last wound was dressed, and digging those graves in the backyard…. It had been harrowing to say the least, so any news had to be helpful. It just HAD to be. “What?” she asked her friend, exhausted as all hell. The sun was setting again, and it was just an matter of time before she had to go back into battle. “What is it?”

“Is it Electrone?” someone else asked, not that she paid attention, eyes fixed on the redhead.

“No, the man with the boots?”

“Neither,” Willow rolled her head in a circle, trying to break up the knots in her neck. It didn’t work. Much. Research central had made its home in the Summers’ dining room, full of old musty lore books, translating dictionaries, notebooks with - surprise - notes, a few maps, an almost lethal amount of caffeine laced drinks, and the redhead’s laptop. “Alithís, the demon in the caves? It mentioned Guardians.”

“Guardians of what?”

“Slayers.” 

Well, then. “Alright,” Buffy answered casually, as if it weren’t the single biggest news all day. Of the century. “C’mon, Wills. Miyagi me.”

Pulling the text closer, she pointed to the translation on her notebook, the script messier than normal, but still more legible than the chicken scratch in Giles’ ancient text. “Here. 

 

The first daughter was taken, against her will, in the dead of night. 

Her mother cries for her, begs the Shadows to bring her home. 

The Shadows refuse, and the mother screams.

Her screams break the hold, the daughter is home.

Darkness engulfs her soul, only the- 

 

“I’m not sure what this word means, because the translation is kinda… subjective. I think maybe it means…” shaking her head, she continued with the rest of the translation she, Dawn, Giles, and Charlotte had been working on. 

 

“The Guardian stands guard for her with a lamp,

The candle lit for the daughter,

Always lit. 

Sanctuary.”

 

Faith screwed up her face, taking a breath to chug some juice, the drills taking their toll on her. “What… does that mean?”

“The Guardians,” Buffy breathed, hope filling her at the thought. No, it couldn't be, could it? But it has to be, she reasoned. It couldn’t be about anyone else. “It's about the first slayer, isn’t it? Sineya? And- Willow, what does this mean?”

“Sineya? Wait, wait, wait. Hold all the way up- you know the name of the first slayer? Like… ever?” 

Buffy sighed, wishing she could just download her thoughts into other people’s brains lately. Saying everything out loud took too much time, something they were kinda short on. “Long story short,” she explained. “When you bind your soul to other people and one of you is a slayer, the slayer part of you manifests itself as the first slayer, and tries to kill all of you for messing around with powerful forces.” 

Faith’s eyes got wider as the story went on, turning to the witch in hopes for more info. At the resigned nod she got in response, she flatly said, “neat-o. Uh… so these Guardian guys. Not the same as our tweed loving Watchers then?” 

Willow shook her head, hair moving like a blur of ginger. “Charlotte noticed this symbol, here.” The blonde girl showed them all the symbol in the text. “I didn’t recognize it, but she did. She said it’s on a crypt in Shady Hill. I… I think there’s a Guardian there, Buffy,” she said emphatically. “I think… I think the Shadows are-”

“The Shadow Men,” their Slayer General finished, standing decisively. “The Watchers made the Slayers, and the Guardians keep us safe,” without a second to doubt herself, she grabbed the battleaxe off its hook, heading for the door. “Where’d you see it?”

Blinking in trepidation, Charlotte gulped. She knew she had to tell her, but Buffy looked so scary then. What if she were wrong, and she was leading the woman into a trap? The abrupt reminder that they were at war melted her resolve, nodding in quiet surrender. “At- at the edge of the cemetery, across the park. It- it was where I first saw William’s… ‘game face.’ It was the crypt with the overgrown…” 

But the woman was already out the door, wood slamming against the frame with a slam.

“Dandelions.”

 

----------

 

Finding the crypt was a cinch, and yeah, she should’ve given them more notice than she had when she’d left. She should have gotten back up, at the very least. But she’d been run ragged, and with the constant threats to her family and team, she didn’t want The First eavesdropping on this little nugget of information. 

Descending the steps into the lower level of the crypt, she came to a dead end. “Huh. Well, that was a big bucket of nothing.” But Buffy Anne Summers wasn’t a quitter by nature, and the weight in her pocket drew her hand for a stake, thinking she might use the wood to- 

That wasn’t a stake in her inner jacket pocket. Pulling it out carefully to avoid knicking herself, she blinked at the Alithís demon claw. Right. It had mentioned the claw could be used to find the Guardians, but she didn’t think it meant literally.  

Lifting it up, she used the glint of the metal to cast shadows over the walls, taking the scripture as literally as literal got. Which was exactly what she was meant to do, apparently, as the glint caught on a minuscule protrusion in the sandstone. “Hey, presto. A keyhole,” she murmured, hesitating just a spec. It could be a trap. The kind of trap a desperate slayer might fall for. But then again….

Lifting the claw up, she slid it into the crack in the wall, the shhhhttt! of metal on stone echoing in the antechamber. Once in as far as it would go, she twisted right, feeling the lock give way. “Well, what’d ya know?” The stones scraped as they slid apart, creating a doorway ahead where it’d been solid stone, not moments before. “Atlantis didn’t lie… about… woah!”

One by one, twenty four torches lit up, as if by magic, illuminating the pathway for her. Stepping forwards, she was cautious as she looked around, praying there’d be no bugs on her little spelunking expedition. That would be just what she’d need; an army of bugs on her be hind. 

“Welcome!”

Startling back, she held up the axe to defend herself, only to find a woman in white, standing serenely just inside the main underground chamber. “Oh. You… who are you?”

The woman smiled, and Buffy instantly felt a wash of calm flood her. A witch, maybe? “I think you know who I am, Buffy Anne Summers,” she answered back. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Yeah… my invite got lost in the mail, so…”

“Ah, yes. Apologies, dear. I am rather stuck in this location, I’m afraid.” Gently poking the woman’s face, the blonde felt herself flush when the other woman just chuckled knowingly. “Yes, I am real. And very relieved to see you, though I had hoped you’d have heard me the last time you were near.”

“Gruffstein demon got me, kinda went on a Looney Tunes bender- it made me hallucinate.”

“Ah, yes. The Guhl demon. I was afraid of that.” Offering her a crook of her arm, the woman led her deeper into the underground sanctuary. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

“Why do you feel… so familiar?” she asked, taking the arm, despite the logic part of her brain screaming ‘stranger danger’. The Slayer parts of her were so sure, however, that this lady wasn’t gonna do anything terrible to her. Ever. So she walked with the white haired woman, taking in the view of the secret hideout. Stone abutments were the sole platforms, artifacts laid out on each as if in a museum. “Are we related?”

“...In a way.”

“You're a Guardian.”

“Correct.”

“And you’re human.”

“Once upon a time, yes.”

“But… you’re not, anymore.”

“I am, but… more.”

“Can you make with the explain-y quickly? I got kinda lot to do before the whole world goes kablooie.”

“In short: I am human, but one who was spelled to be here until your arrival, frozen in amber.” Gesturing to the psychedelic vase nearby, she added, “I have to admit, I’ve had more cramped accommodations before that one.”

“Okay, I Dream of Jeanie, what am I supposed to do?”

Stepping back a skosh, the Guardian tilted her head in amusement. “Since when does a slayer take orders?” she asked simply, white eyebrow raised curiously. “She is in charge of her own destiny, despite what the Shadow Men have done to her.”

Frowning, Buffy looked down at the other woman’s attire in confusion. “Kiara wore a dress like yours,” she muttered, trying to make the connection between the two women. They looked nothing alike, but the outfit… “Were you a slayer?”

That seemed to make the fifty-something year old laugh in genuine mirth. “Good gracious, could you imagine?!” she asked with a head shake, thoroughly amused. “No, my dear. But someone I loved very dearly once was.”

What? But then- oh. The breath was knocked out of her lungs at the insinuations. 

 

The Guardian stands guard for her with a lamp,

The candle lit for the daughter,

Always lit. 

Sanctuary.

 

Her mom always had a light in the kitchen on when Buffy went patrolling, so she’d always have light when she got home. Her mom stood guard of her when she was a child, then when she picked up an axe to bash into the raging vampire’s head at the school open house. Not to mention the holy water sprinklers, the custom made pepper spray thingies she had specially made for Dawn and Lottie, and taking out Glory-Ben so Buffy wouldn’t have to, and holding the Slayer in her arms when the nightmares were bad, and- and- 

 

Her mother cries for her… 

the mother screams….

the daughter is home.

 

“Your daughter was a slayer.”

Sorrow filled the woman’s entire being, her white hair billowing up around her face. “No,” she said simply, cupping Buffy’s jaw gently, pressing a careful kiss to her forehead before pulling back. That kiss… it wasn’t expected, but it didn’t wig the Slayer out. Nay, it washed a fog of safety over her. “My niece was. Though I did help raise her, alongside my sister - her mother - after her father passed. Taken too soon, but you carry her legacy now. As she carried Sineya’s. As you do now. As Faith carries Kendra’s.”

“You- your niece… and then you got sucked into that bottle?”

“Yes.”

“Geez. And I thought sharing a cot with Spike was cramped quarters,” she snorted dryly, before her face turned pink in shame. Why did she say that?! “Uh… I mean…”

“I know who he is,” she said simply, refusing to delve deeper into the whole ‘slayer dating not one, but two master vampires before hitting thirty’ bit of the blonde’s story. 

“You said ‘what they did to her’. What did that mean?”

Blinking in response, she frowned. “You don’t know, do you?”

“About….? Seriously, I’m not good with the cryptic girl act.”

Nodding, the Guardian stopped in front of an iron sculpture. It was kinda ugly, rusted in some areas, and looked like it weighed a ton. Reaching for Buffy’s hand, she said, “let me show you,” before her other hand hovered over the twisted iron. 

God, this is a bad idea, logic told her. Yeah, said curiosity. But what if it’s what we need to win? So with a moment of hesitation, she thought ‘screw it’, and took the woman’s hand. Within one blink and the next, she found herself in her mother’s gallery. “What-? How’d we get here?”

“We haven’t left,” her guide reassured her softly. “This is a memory, preserved in the Vivanta Memorĉambro Skulptaĵo, accessible only by Slayers and their Guardians. How one perceives the room of the memory is entirely up to the Slayer. This is lovely, I must admit.”

“It’s mom’s gallery- before she sold it. But… I’ve never seen these before,” she admitted. Gesturing to the works of unfamiliar paintings and sculptures, she regarded the older woman with a cocked brow, hoping for more with the rational happening soon. “What…?”

“You can stand in front of each one, and allow the memory to wash over you. It’s alright,” she reassured the blonde calmly. “It’s not possible for any of these to hurt you. They’re only memories.”

Fine, Buffy sighed. Might as well spin the wheel, and hope it doesn’t land on bankruptcy. So she shook her shoulders out, stood in front of the first piece, and let it flow. Ebbing and rolling over her, the painted memory of darks and reds swirled its magic off the primitive ceramic, sucking her in deeper under its spell. And with a flash, she saw the horrors unfolding ahead of her, powerless to stop it. Three men were casting a spell, their victim - a crying girl chained in irons - begging to be let go. “No! Stop!” But the men refused, chanting over and over again, the shadows converging in the middle of their cast circle in the cavern. “You’re killing her!” Still, they chanted, and her feet were cemented, stuck. Forced to watch the girl thrash in agony amongst- “Shadow Men,” she breathed, stomach gone cold as realisation set in. They offered her power, but it was a trap left to violate her body, her mind, her very soul. The chanting abruptly stopped, the shadows of demons gone and now contained in their victim. The first of their kind: the very First Slayer. 

Sineya snarled at the first Watchers, yanking against the shackles they forced her in, howling in agony. They'd shoved the essence of a vampire into her without consent, dooming her forever. The Wizards seemed pleased, watching her struggle from the shadows. Sick. Sick, and twisted, and-

Shadow Men…

“The first daughter was taken,” Buffy repeated, standing in awe as she watched the first ever Slayer regain her footing. “Against her will, in the dead of night.”

Gasping a deep breath, she found herself back in the not-gallery, the memory done showing her what it needed to. “What? That- that’s how the first Slayer was made.”

The Guardian’s face lay within it the graves of more than just Sunnydale’s population of the undead. “Yes. Heartbreaking, isn’t it? The first time my niece saw, she sobbed herself dry. As did I.”

But Buffy was only half listening, suddenly needing to see all the others. “The rest of these- they’re all memories, right? I can just do the same thing with them?”

“Of course. They belong to every Slayer, so you have full access to them all.”

Striding to the next one, she did the same thing, transported to a different spot, in the same climate. The open air market was full of people buying and selling their wares, but they were all focused on the commotion in front of a candle booth. A woman, older, shouted at one of the mages from the cave, hitting him with her fists. She begged him to bring her baby back to her, that he had no right. But he shoved her aside, and she toppled to the sand. He scolded her openly, telling her how she had no right to question an elder, humiliating her in front of the entire village. “Her mother cries for her, begs the Shadows to bring her home,” Buffy recited, watching another woman offer her a hand up and a handkerchief for her tears. The men of the village had humiliated her, had taken her child, but the other women refused to let her go through it alone, all gathering to offer her comfort. “The Shadows refuse, and the mother screams.”

Going to the next one, she watched the woman - Sineya’s mother - sitting in the middle of a new casting circle in the open night air of the desert this time, surrounded by a group of chanting witches. She went from just sitting still to rocking and screaming in agony in seconds, the anguish felt thousands of years later through their onlookers. The flames on the candles around them jumped higher, before they extinguished, slowly relighting on their own, one by one. “Her screams break the hold, the daughter is home.” When the glow of the flames came back, Sineya stood next to her mother, who held her closely. While the slayer seemed agitated by what she’d been through, her mother only offered her love and comfort. 

On and on, Buffy went to the other memories, captured in sculptures and paintings in endless styles across time, seeing more than one slayer’s stories, feeling her heart swell as each one was revealed. 

The Guardian stands guard for her with a lamp- A woman in the middle of Siberia was cleaning the glass of an oil lamp, another lantern lit on the table next to her, periodically looking out the window for her charge to come out of the snow. 

 

The candle lit for the daughter- A Slayer in the heart of the Peruvian jungle, walking into her hut, her mother nearly dozing off next to the candle, flickering shadows dancing on her face. 

 

Always lit- a lone woman around her own mom’s age was in a temple somewhere in India, lighting as many candles as she could reach, her daughter’s corpse wrapped in fine linens on an altar. 

 

Sanctuary.

 

The last memory was different from the others. She couldn’t wrap her head around it at first, but then it hit her. The Guardians in this one were facing away from her, so was the taller, coil haired Slayer between them. The three of them stood frozen before a temple, built from wood and glass, humbly elegant. From the topmost window, Buffy could see the dancing colours cast by the flame, stepping forwards. Unlike the other memories, this one allowed her to walk in, explore. Turning around, she tried to discern the identity of the mystery trio, but their faces were blank slates, like three freaking mannequins, ready for display. All she could tell was that the Slayer in this memory had dark skin, and a regal neck. And of the two slightly greying women flanking her, their stances were telling a whole story of their own. The one on the mystery slayer’s left had ornate jewellery in green and gold, the right in purple and silver. On the left, she held the slayer’s hand, like she was guiding her into the grand hall ahead of them, and her twin had a case like Tara’s in her hands. All three of them wore clothes older than Kiara had on, but not as old as to indicate Sineya’s time. What struck her the most though had nothing to do with looks. Because the thing she most noticed was the blindingly warm currents of magic radiating off of them. “Dri?” But there was no reply. Turning back to the temple, she stepped towards it, hoping an answer was inside. What she found, instead, were a buttload of more questions. 

Much like the crypt had opened up to her, the temple had twenty four torches, all lit in strategic and equal points around the grand room. Inside weren’t pews like churches now had, but tables and benches. The entire decor - furniture wise - reminded her of Viking halls, people frozen mid bite of their lamb shank, or clinking their wooden steins. But unlike the Vikings, these people all hailed from different lands. Different cultural clothes were worn by a multitude of different ethnicities, nearly 80% of them women. It also felt like home. Safe. Warm. “Sanctuary.”

Like a snap of her fingers, she was booted out of the memory room, back next to the Guardian, in the crypt. “Woah!” She reached out to stabilise herself against the swirling in her noggin, the older woman grasping her arm to keep her from toppling over. “That…”

“It does take some getting used to.”

“So… so that’s how the Slayer line started. They- why? Why did they-?”

“Because they were frightened,” she uttered, part observationally, mostly disgusted at their actions. “Afraid of the demons, and feeling justified, they made themselves a warrior. Since the dawn of the first day, men have found all manner of excuses to justify their actions against everyone and everything, I’m afraid. And nothing motivates like fear!” she added dryly, her sarcasm level on par with Xander and Anya.

“That last one, who’s the Slayer?”

She sighed, looking forlorn. “I wish I knew, dear,” she admitted genuinely. “I don’t even know where they are. I’ve never seen their faces, and there doesn’t seem to be any names signed on the work. All I know is that the building in that memory? It was the very first temple of the Guardians.”

The first temple… “Does it still exist?”

“I’m… you know, I’m not entirely sure,” she admitted curiously, trying to find information in the crypt around them. As if the stones held the secrets lost long ago. In a way they did, but not this one. “I know there were records on it somewhere, but I don’t understand the language it was written in.”

“Is there anything you can tell me to do to win this war?”

The Guardian’s responding look reminded her of her own mom, before the art historian would go all ‘I told you so’ on her. “I believe I said that-”

Brushing her off, Buffy replied, “Yeah, well. The whole earth being sucked into the Hellmouth thing kinda has me thinking outside the box on this one.”

“Then perhaps it’s time to destroy the box,” the woman answered. 

“What?”

Smiling softly, she took Buffy’s hands and guided her to a stone cabinet. Like the safe of Shadow Lane, the locking mechanism was shaped peculiarly, like a… was that a primitive fingerprint sensor? “You can touch it here,” the Guardian confirmed, and Buffy obliged. Whatever was in there, it called to her. Logic and curiosity were on the same page here, for once. And her intuition was about to pay off beautifully. The stone groaned, a mechanical clicking echoed in the chamber, before the door creaked open an inch, the Slayer wrenching the double doors open the rest of the way. Inside, resting on a stand with a generous layer of dust, was a weapon unlike anything she’d ever seen before. “The past shapes us,” the woman in white explained, “but it is not all we are.”

She threw a wry look at the other woman. “You really like being all crypto-girl, huh?”

Chuckling, the Guardian shrugged. “I was far worse as a child, I assure you,” she sighed. “But that does not matter any longer. What matters now is this,” she lifted the weapon off the stand, placing it gingerly into Buffy’s hands, the power echoing throughout the dank crypt. Through time itself. “We forged this in secret, kept it hidden from the Shadow Men. Sineya used this to kill the last of the Old Ones, and now, you may use it to win this war.”

The second it touched her hands, the blonde felt the thrum of the power, radiating into her palms, up her arms, and into her very soul. It felt like it belonged to her, like it was calling directly to the essence of slayertude buried deep within her. “What…? But… how?” She didn’t know what to make of this, this whole crypt of secrets, but one thing was for sure: she wasn’t going to roll over, and let the rest of the world fall apart around her. 

“Again, I’m not a Shadow Man,” the Guardian replied, eyes twinkling against the dancing flames of the torches. There was a mirth there, like her mom had. Like Aunt Kathy did. But more. Decades upon decades of secrets were hidden in those brown depths, waiting to unfold into fields of thousands of iris flowers to bloom. “I cannot tell you what to do, only to guide you. If I wasn’t so afflicted by gout, I would fight alongside you, as well. All I can say is this weapon was the very one Sineya held when she fought the Turok-Han. And it’s been recently sharpened,” she added with a wink. 

“Are there more Guardians?”

“Not in this time. I am the last one, for now.”

“For now? What? Are more gonna pop outta the ground like daisies? Why did I say that? That’s just like jinxing things before-”

“Buffy!” Laying her worn hands on the younger woman’s shoulders, the Slayer felt the waves of calm wash over her again. Just like her mother could give her, when things felt so hopeless. “I am the last of the old Guardians, but there is always a new dawn breaking over the horizon, and new Guardians yet to fill the void. And they will. But you must know, dear, that the discovery of this weapon can only mean that an end is truly near. You must wield it, and fight, so the end does not come with your death.”

“So… I use this, all evil dusts?”

Smiling painfully, she opened her mouth to add in another nugget of wisdom, only to gurgle out in agony. Looking down in horror, Buffy watched as a sword stuck out seven inches from the other woman’s chest, blood spreading on the flax dress faster than she could fathom, the Guardian’s mouth filling with it. Toppling to the ground, the blonde tried to staunch the bleeding uselessly, when her heart raced in her chest. Demon. There was a demon near-

“Mmm. Shame, that.” 

Casting her eyes up, she felt her mouth grow dry at the sight of Caleb, his eyes pure black as every remnant scrap of human was gone. “You,” she breathed, grabbing the handle of her weapon with slick hands, furious at the party crasher. “Went right on through to the dark side, huh? Got tired of those pesky human traits of not being a total raging psychopath?”

“You fucking bitches,” he sneered, using the advantage of surprise to backhand her cheek. Hard. Ow! She was definitely going to have a bruise there, which majorly sucked, cuz not even TED left a bruise on her. And he was a cyborg! “You’re all the same, ain’t ya?” She dove for his shins with the scythe, aiming her blade for his groyne, but got a kick to the forehead for her trouble. “Wanna rule the world like it’s all a game, huh?” He kicked her again, this time in the nose, causing blood to drip down in her chin. God dammit! Getting demonfied made him a powerhouse, the jerk. “Well guess what, baby? I’m king of this here castle now, and-” Yelping, he hit the pillar opposite her, crumpling in a heap on the floor. 

Whipping her head around, she gaped at the sight of an old ally, offering her a hand up. “Angel?”

Shrugging as he hauled her upright, he tried not to let the disappointment of how fast she let go of his hand show, offering her a cocky smile in return. “Was in the neighbourhood. Heard some horrible preachy humming, figured I’d check it out.” Gesturing towards the demon preacher with his chin, he added, “want me to fold him into a crane? Or-?”

“Oh, he’s mine,” she growled out, stalking her prey. Caleb was staggering upright, suddenly floundering like a terrified eel in a seal enclosure. And it was fishing time. “Hey, pastor defrockington?” As he lifted his head towards the woman, his last sight on that earth was the blade of her axe cutting into his neck. Every ounce of rage and frustration of the last few months had finally come to the surface, and she didn’t stop until he became sushimi, ignoring Angel’s comments, and her sore muscles, and the worries that they’d loose more people to this war, and made sure there was no way this laicized demon had any hope of ever coming back after this. 

Once he was nothing but a pile of yuck, she stood with a breath of relief. One baddie down, she thought, feeling triumphant. Six or so thousand to go. Looking at her newest weapon, she smirked. The Hellmouth wants to swallow me? It’s gonna choke on this first. 

Chapter 51

Summary:

Angel kisses her, Spike sees, Buffy reams Angel a new asshole

Remember when I said if you like Angel then you won't like him in this fic? Here ya are

Chapter Text

Sunday, March 9th, 2003 - Part B

 

Despite the heavy loss of the ally she’d just gained in the Guardian, Buffy’s relief hit her like a freight train at Caleb’s demise. He was gone. Gone! Huffing in a breath, she strode forwards with her sticky hand extended towards an equally relieved Angel in a high five. He was happy, and wasn't holding a grudge against her for keeping Spike and Charlotte a secret anymore. They could be friends again. Real friends this time, and- 

Angel gripped her close to him, lips insistent on her mouth. Kissing her. Why was he kissing her?!

Wrenching herself out of his grip, she shoved him back, wiping her mouth roughly on her sleeve. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Angel stumbled back, shock colouring his features. It should have worked, he thought. Why didn’t it work? Cordelia had said- but her vision? “It should’ve worked,” he mumbled pathetically. 

“What?!” Buffy stared at the shape of her first love, not recognizing the vampire before her. Had she ever even known him? She was very clear the last time he’d blown through her town. Whatever they once had was long over. Moreover, she had a boyfriend now. A boyfriend, mind you, that wasn’t Angel. Why had he-? Wait… he’d said something…. “What should have worked? What’s going on with you, Angel? You’re acting like a crazy person!”

His scowl was at least one thing about him she recognized. “The spell! It should have been broken when I kissed you!”

“What spell?!”

“The one Spike cast on you, obviously!”

“What?!” A vampire slayer, a vampire with a cursed soul, and a drunk frog walk into a bar…. Except there was no frog, because this wasn’t the set up to some stupid joke. This was her real and actual life. The life where her ex thought she had to be under a spell to be in love. In love with someone who wasn’t Angel. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This again?!”

“Yes, this again! What do you think I-? Buffy, he’s Spike! Slayer of slayers. He kidnapped your friends,” he continued, agitation tenfold. “Threatened to kill you a hundred times over, got close a couple of those times, at that. And then you’re suddenly with him?! In a committed relationship?!”

“I’m done with this,” she turned, leaving to go home with her new weapon. Wasn’t he paying any attention? She had a war to win, not baby egos to soothe. “If you can’t stand to see your ex move on,” she threw over her shoulder, the vampire now in front of her, blocking her way. “You get a therapist. You don’t go assaulting people with your mouth over it!” 

“I didn’t assault-”

“What do you call grabbing me and shoving your mouth onto mine without permission?”

Blocking her exit, he held his hands up in defence. Which was probably of the good, considering her eagerness to use her scythe against him. Badly. “I wasn’t- it wasn’t like that.”

God, was he always this much of a stubborn ass? “Move,” she said instead. 

He didn’t budge. Shocker. “Buffy, just listen to me.”

“Why?” she countered. He wasn’t the only one agitated. How could he do that? Unless…. Did he lose his soul again? No… she’d know, wouldn’t she? But she didn’t know right away last time, so the jury was still out on that. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t cut you down right here, right now.”

Looking at the new weapon in her hand, he shuffled back a half step, gaze flirting between it and her eyes. “I- Cordy, she had a vision.”

“A vision,” she repeated dryly. 

“Yeah,” he continued, hoping it would help. “She had a vision that you were stuck, that you were in this ‘cycle of suck’, and you needed to get out. That the only thing that would help was… the only thing that would work was true love’s kiss.”

The silence stretched on, almost painfully long as the words set in. Buffy must have blinked at least thirty times. He didn’t know if telling her would break her out of the delay or what, but he didn’t move. Didn’t so much as blink or breathe himself- not that he needed to. Then, she made a sound. But not what he expected. Instead of relief of a thank you, she started to laugh. Hysterically. “Uh…. Buffy?” 

She couldn’t stop. The idea was just so absurd! True love’s kiss? This wasn’t a freaking fairy tale! What was she? A frog? Eventually she simmered down and said, “and that’s you?” She snorted, shaking her head. “You’re supposed to be my one true love? You? The guy who blew up my life?! Threatened to kill my mother? Murdered my teacher? Kidnapped and tortured my Watcher?!”

“I didn’t have my soul then!”

“Yeah, you didn’t,” she agreed sharply. If words had barbs, his face would be dripping blood by now. “But Spike also didn’t have a soul when he saved mom’s life, sacrificed himself to save Dawn’s life, put his entire existence on hold to help take care of my family when I was drowning. Hell, he took us and drove for weeks to get us away from a hell god who was gunnin’ for Dawn, and you think your actions should be taken with a grain of salt when you didn’t have your soul for a few months? But anything bad Spike’s ever done should just be… what? Held at face value?”

“He’s a vampire!”

“So are you!”

“I have a soul!” There, that should be a good enough reason for her. 

“So does he!” Or not…

Wait. Spike? With a soul?! “What?! No, that’s- so he gets cursed now, too? I can’t have a single thing be mine, can I?”

Again, her hysterical laughter reared its annoyed head. “Cursed? No, he earned his soul, Angel,” she turned serious again, so serious it made his teeth rattle in their gums. Fury. She was fury incarnate. “After you left the Magic Box, he went to Africa to meet a shaman, went through the trials of some demon mystic… guy, and earned his soul.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?” She couldn’t help but wonder how she’d never noticed how patronising his tone was before. It was so freakin’ patronising! She wasn’t a kid! Bonafide adult here, vampire! One who actually voted in the last mayoral election, thank you. For a human, non-evil mayor, at that. Who won, and was now fleeing with the rest of the town. Well, we can’t win ‘em all. “That he did that? Wake up, Buffy, he’s lying to you.”

“Does my mom lie?”

“What?” 

“Cuz she went with him, you know. And she doesn’t lie to me about things like that.”

His mouth turned up into a sneer, and hissed out the words before he could stop himself. “Like how she told you she saw me before graduation, and told me to break things off with you?”

Staggering back, she felt a punch to the gut. Her mom had told her, but only recently. Not in so many words, but that she’d felt bad for meddling in that specific situation, all those years ago. How she asked Angel what his intentions with Buffy were. Not that she’d told him outright, ‘hey, fang face; dump my daughter’. But encouraged him to seriously think about it. About what life he could provide for her. He left cuz he wanted to, remember? Oh, there was a voice she hadn’t heard in a while. The traitor who wriggled around in her brain was back, and it was making a hell of a lot of sense, yet again. Spike went to get his soul for you, when your ex said he couldn’t love you without a soul. He did it to prove he loves you, and Charlotte, and Dawn, and mom- like a family should. He’s done so much to prove he loves you, and Angel couldn’t even give you a stinking DRAWER. Couldn’t even stay. And the tiny traitor was right. No, not a traitor to her. Her Jiminy Cricket. Ugh, she had to stop thinking about bugs. 

Unaware of the battle inside her head, Angel stepped forward with a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “Buffy?”

Flinching back, her eyes fell to the necklace in his opposite hand. “What’s that?”

“The amulet of Champions. It’s… it can help close the Hellmouth. I think. A Champion should be wearing it,” he held it up to his own chest. “I figured a vampire with a soul would qualify, and….” He stared at her outstretched hand quizzically. “And now you have your pick of them. So, I’m guessing you want to pick him then, don’t you?”

“Yes.” 

It stung. The plaything that Dru sired without permission, who never learned his place, even when Angel had done all he could to grind it into his thick skull, turned Champion. One who had the heart of the woman Angel was supposed to end up with. True love’s kiss should have worked! “Please, Buffy. Be reasonable about this.”

She stalked closer, grasping it from him, and none to gently. “Reasonable Buffy will take it from you without you fighting her,” she gritted out in frustration. “Unreasonable Buffy will cut your hand off at the wrist, if you don’t give it to her in the next ten seconds.”

Muscles slacking in defeat, he let go of the chain. “I hope you know what you’re doing, for all our sakes.”

“For the first time in a long time, Angel,” she sighed, her ex finally moving out of her way. “I know exactly what to do.”

 

----------

 

Spike didn’t know what the hell Buffy was thinking. Kissing that berk? Had nothing he’d done in the past two years meant anything to her? He got a job, for Christ sake! His demon buddies were ready for battle, for the human side! He gave her his heart and went to earn his soul for her, and Angel swooped in and kissed her. And she didn’t immediately stake him. Wanker! 

Punching the bag harder, he ignored when Pidge came to check on him, and then Joyce when she came to drop off a mug of his ‘snack’ ten minutes later. He was trying to ignore his so-called ‘lady’ when she waltzed down a half hour after that, but she was making it harder than the other two blondes. 

“One mega demonic serial preacher handled,” she said, taking the steps down two at a time, tone full of faux cheer. “No coming back from the scythe burger special. I mean, I don’t know what this thing is called, but scythe seems apropos.” He just kept hitting the bag, like he didn’t hear a thing she said. Furrowing her brow, she got closer, leaning her weapon against the wall before stopping next to it. “Hello? Earth to boyfriend mine? Caleb’s dead. Where’s the ‘knew you could do it, luv’, and celebration smoochies?”

You already got your sodding snog of victory, he thought bitterly, hitting the bag harder. What the bloody hell d’ya need me for?

Grabbing his shoulder, she shouted, “Spike, stop!” He let go of the punching bag and looked at her. Poor thing looked beat down. “Listen to me.” 

“Not when you’ve got Angel breath.”

She staggered backwards, face deathly pale, eyes filling with tears. “You saw?”

“You kissing him? Yeah, I did.” 

“Spike,” she collapsed into the camping chair behind her. The same one she sat in to feed him after Glory rearranged his insides. “I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me .” A single tear fell on the left side, her arms coming up to hug herself, like she’d gone cold from the inside out, despite the fight. “I- I went in for a high five, and he- he just- he assaulted me,” the word was whispered out, her body trembling. “And I- I shoved him off, and-”

Lightning couldn’t move faster than Spike did at that moment. As soon as she said ‘high five’, he was abandoning the bag, but then she said ‘assaulted’ , and he was kneeling at her feet. “Buffy, sweetheart,” he was such a git. His lady was being shoved around by that hulking demon yet again , and here he was, bitching about his own useless feelings. “Luv, I didn’t- honest, Buffy, I didn’t know. Please believe me, baby, I wouldn’t- I’m so sorry, luv. I’m so, so sorry.” 

She wept, maybe tears of joy mixed in with the sadness that was shaking through her. All she knew was that Brave Face Buffy was taking a break, and Fall Apart Buffy was taking the strong hug her boyfriend was giving her, and sobbing into his shoulder. “I didn’t want him to- you know I’m not-”

“I know, luv,” he reassured her, cupping her jaw in his hand as soon as she lifted it up to look at him. “You’re not a cheater. I know you wouldn’t- I think part of me thought it was a trick. The First trying to make a pass or- I don’t know.”

“Your Insecurity Police gotta be laid off, bunbury,” she sniffed, letting him wipe away her tears with the hanky Charlotte made him for Christmas. “They’re doing a crap job.”

“I know.”

“Like, don’t they get the memo that you’re it for me?” she hiccuped. “That I don’t thi- I know, know that I could- I couldn’t love a- another man the way I love you.” Tears blurred her vision, hot and heavy and salty. “I love you, Spike. You, William James ‘Spike’ Pratt. Not Riley, definitely not Angel, YOU .”

His cool tears started their own journey down his face at her admission. “Buffy Anne Summers,” he sniffed. “I’d follow you to hell and back, barefoot and bleeding. Your goodness, your strength, your selfless courage- makes you the best Slayer to have ever taken breath on this miserable excuse for a planet.” His soul spilled out onto the concrete as he spoke, reassuring his girl- himself, too. Didn’t matter if he were a ponce in that basement, not then. “You’re a hell of a woman. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I love you.” He wrapped her up in his arms again, feeling the rough scrape of something against his hip where it was pressed with her thigh. “Not to make a heartfelt moment dirty, but is that Mr. Pointy I feel in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Her wet, slightly disjointed laughter filled the basement with a little ray of non-deadly sunshine. “Yeah, it’s not Mr. Pointy,” she sniffed, shifting her leg to give her appropriate leverage, and slipped it out of the denim and cotton pocket. “It’s kinda our secret weapon. It’s supposed to be worn by a Champion.”

“So…?”

She slipped it into his palm, closing it while looking into his stunned eyes. Sure as the winters in England featured a lotta snow, she was sure in this. Sure that she picked the right one to wear it. To trust. “I can’t think of anyone more worthy to wear it than you.”

“Buffy, I…”

“I love you, too.”

Overcome with emotion, he pulled her closer to him, hiccuping twice, and kissed the side of her face. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He said it in threes, just in case she wasn’t sure the first two times, peppering her face in little kisses. “You’re the love of my unlife.”

“Just your unlife?” she teased, after her initial giggles settled. “What about the love of your human life?”

“I dunno,” he teased, kissing the shell of her ear where he could reach it. “I think knocking ‘single malt scotch’ off the top wou- Oi!” 

She scoffed at him where she’d pinched his bicep. “Pig.”

“Oink, oink, Slayer.” 

For a while, they just huddled there together, her in the chair, him kneeling on the floor, gently holding one another’s insecurities, to remind the other, remind them of how loved they were, because they needed it, now more than ever. They might not make it outta this fight, and even if the last two beings in the basement did, there were bound to be casualties amongst the others. Their friends. God, their family. Eventually, like all eggshells, the silence had to be broken. “Are we sleeping here tonight?” she whispered. 

Shaking his head, he scooped her up, carrying her bridal style up the basement steps of Revello Drive for the last time. “No. Tonight, we sleep in our room.” She allowed him, not because she was a damsel in need of a man to save her, but because she knew it meant the world to him. Carrying her through the house made anyone looking on left with little doubt about who they were to one another. Let the world know that they loved and trusted one another so much, that a Slayer would allow the vampire to carry her up the stairs, and lay her down in their bed. Once the door was shut, they slipped together under the covers, still in their jeans, snuggled like two little foxes, curled against one another to stave off the cold stare of the world.

Chapter 52

Summary:

The day before the final battle, and things are falling into place. Dawn sends Gemini to safety, and The First rages at Caleb's failure

ft. Dawn finally losing the last shreds of her patience

Chapter Text

Monday, March 10th, 2003

 

“I think it’s time to get the ‘anti-hell-sucking’ book out now. Unless… it got blown up with the old Sunnydale High.”

Vi’s eyes widened, taking a break from training to grab some water, overheating the study session in the dining room. “The… man, this town’s cursed,” she muttered to herself, eavesdropping through the cracked door as she sipped. It wasn’t spying, really, just… she didn’t want to interrupt.

Buffy looked at her mother in utter perplexitude. “What are you talking about, mom? What book?”

“You don’t remember? When I was head of… of MOO- yeah, yeah. It was a bad acronym,” Joyce defended herself breezily. “But you try being under the mystical influence of a Hansel and Gretel demon and come up with a better one. That rat-man Snyder had a bunch of the occult books taken from the library, and you said-”

“I was trying to make a point, mom. There’s no actual book on that,” she insisted, before turning to her Watcher expectantly. “Is there?”

To which Giles leaned back thoughtfully before answering. “Not to my knowledge. Although, we did lose some books to the fire.”

“It’s like the library of Alexandria all over again,” Charlotte whined, turning pink as she realised the rest of the group could hear her. Oops? “Except without the, er, giant snake, I presume.”

Xander leaned in closer, snidely adding, “I hear King Hiss used to summer there.”

“What if we cork it,” Dawn offered off-handedly, the adults all scowling at her like a bunch of StarWars fans being called Trekkies. “I mean, like, actually shoving a mystical cork thingie inside, so it doesn’t pop.”

Giles looked ready to chew her out, but stopped. He’d already insulted the girl more than enough for one lifetime. And snapping at her wasn’t gonna do a damn thing positive for them, especially with both his Slayer and ‘Slasher’ in the room. He’d seen Joyce at that cult compound. She’d not only earned his respect over the years for jumping into the fray when needed, but seeing her ruthlessly hack a demon that had his foot in it’s grasp? He’d be a fool to not see her abilities for what they were. “It sadly doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid,” he ground out. “Once it’s been opened-”

“But… Kiara closed hers,” the former Key snarked back, utterly unaware of his inner turmoil. “I’m just saying, there’s gotta be something to cork it up. I mean, there’s a sinkhole somewhere in- in- in, like, I dunno, Texas, or something, and they gotta fill it in, or else, like, a bunch of people fall in, and then they’re all… stuck!”

“Not enough concrete in the world,” Xander sighed, rubbing his face in exhaustion. Losing an eye was no fun on the old sleep schedule. Add to that the uber vamps all having their field day at all hours, and he was incredibly cranky. He and Anya had practically moved in half the Potentials, with the need of safety in numbers, but that wasn’t a long term solution. Hell, barely a short term one. “Have we tried turning it off and starting it up again? Works for Willow’s laptop.”

“How on earth do you suggest we go about going a thing like that?”

“I don’t know! I’m running on three hours sleep, G-man-”

“For the last time- do not call me that-”

“Will you two shut it!” Everyone’s eyes swivelled to meet Joyce’s, the woman leaning on her palms as she leaned forwards. Sitting down, Vi always thought Mrs. S looked just like any other mom. Sweet, kinda quirky, and made a great hot cocoa. But in that moment, she understood why Spike the vampire respected her so much. When she needed to be, she could stoke sheer terror in the hearts of anyone. “Good. Now, I take it Xander’s suggestion won’t work?” Giles nodded, grumbling under his breath. “What was that?” He fell silent, Vi’s eyebrows climbing the stratosphere. Woah. Now she kinda got where Kennedy’s crush was coming from. “See? No shouting necessary. Now, what was that about this… Taylor-Burton knockoff?”

Distinctly, she heard Faith calling her name from the backyard, scrambling to get a move on before she was discovered, missing out on the rest of the conversation. 

“So, we don’t know what it does,” Buffy sighed, folding her arms over one another. It had been a tense night, what with meeting the last ever Guardian, barely getting any answers before the woman was murdered, then having to slaughter Caleb, and then Angel- God! She really needed a vacation after this. If they made it out alive of this, she was taking Spike up on his offer to take her to New York. If being the key word. “But he seemed really sure that it would help tip the scales into the win category.”

“If only we had some iocane powder handy,” Dawn sighed, leaning her head in her palm. “Toss it in their stupid faces.”

“What we need now is a miracle.”

The silence that followed was tense, broken up only by the ambient noise from the backyard, the Potentials being trained by Faith and Robin in dirty handed fighting, no doubt. 

It was then that something odd happened. Odd, but nearly perfect, when both Dawn and Charlotte said the exact same thing, at the exact same time, a symphony of wordage:

“You rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles.”

Andrew lifted his head in glee, looking at the pair in genuine joy. “Oh, man! I love the Princess Bride!”

“Can you go one day without quoting that stupid film?” Giles snapped, as on edge as he could possibly get. 

Not that he was alone in that feeling. Buffy opened her mouth to argue, when Dawn snapped back, “can Buffy go one day without being the Slayer? No! Not unless she dies again, and I think once is more than enough, thank you.”

“Face it, Dawn,” Anya replied gravely. “At least one of us is gonna die. That’s how wars go.”

  Standing, her chair scraped against the floor with a loud sound, despite the carpet underneath. “You know what?” the brunette exclaimed, her entire body taught like a live wire, ready to send a million volts to The First’s theoretical face. “I’m freaking sick and tired of thinking about my family’s death!”

“Dawn-”

“No, mom. You know how awful it feels?" she asked the rest of the room- nay, demanded. "To know your sister could die at any moment? That she had her, like, entire life mapped out ahead of her, without her consent?”

Giles winced, trying to diffuse the situation. Seeing as how Kathy had… well. “Dawn, I just meant-”

Which was a lost cause, really. “That I have spent pretty much every single day of my short lifespan worried- no, terrified that this Patrol would be her last?” she barreled on, chest heaving. “How I barely slept that year mom almost died? Where would I be without either of them, if they had died, huh? In some- some boarding school dad would ship me off to, alone, isolated from the world? Because there’s no way in hell he’d move me into his love shack with his latest main squeeze.”

“Dawn, that’s enough!” her mother snapped. 

“No! I’m sick and tired of everyone pretending like that’s a normal way of living! It’s not!” she laughed, practically descending to a higher plane of consciousness from the sheer rage in her heart. “It’s just what I’m supposed to accept! That it’s ’fate’, but it’s crap! It’s stupid that I’m expected to accept that the only way a new slayer comes along is that my sister - the one who’s stopped the world from going belly-up a gajillion times over, without so much as a thank you from those Shadow Wankers - my sister dies. And I am not going to let that happen without a fight,” she added, slapping her hands to the table top. Across from her, she missed the way her sister’s jaw dropped, a plan knitting into place in a way she couldn’t- how had Buffy not seen it sooner?! It was staring at her right in the face, this entire time. “I don’t care what happens to me, but if you don’t think for a second that I’m gonna be right there with her, staking caveman vamps, you’re crazy. Cuz I would-”

“Dawn.” Stopping at the calm tone from her sister, the brunette turned to watch the bright face in confusion. Cuz that tone? Eerily calm. “You’re a genius.”

“She is?!”  “What?”  “I am?”

Nodding, Buffy felt her equilibrium shift back into the right balance. Finally; FINALLY, she had a plan. “This scythe,” she said, laying it on the table in front of her witches. “It’s old, and way powerful, right?” Nodded numbly, neither woman understood where their leader was going with this. Hell, stitching the plan in real time left the blonde unsure if she even had enough thread. “Power you can tap, right?”

“I- I guess?” Willow looked up at the Slayer and saw something in her friend’s eyes. It looked like hope. And belief. “But… why?”

Walking into the dining room to see what the hubbub was about, Faith didn’t have time to open her mouth before Buffy asked, “how do you feel about us not being the only two slayers left- without either of us dying?”

Cocking her head to the side, she saw the confusion on everyone else’s faces, until she felt something brush at her inner consciousness. Seeing Willow’s sudden smile of hope, as well as Giles’ and Xander’s, she let it in. Hearing the plan from Buffy’s own head was way wiggsome, but oh, what a plan it was! Carefully, her own grin plastered upon her face, shoulders relaxing in acceptance. “Got four words for ya: five by freaking five.” 

 

----------

 

Twenty minutes after the plan was finalized, Dawn stood outside the house, with her and Lottie’s friends, saying their goodbyes. 

But Carlos was firm in his resolve. “We’re staying,” he repeated for the upteenth time. “We’re doing this fight, right alongside you.”

Dawn was firmer. “No, you’re not.”

“But-”

“No!” she argued, dragging her own little band of Scoobies over to the corner of the yard, away from the majority of people who were watching them- probably dropping eaves. “Listen, I get it, I do. I get the wanting to stay behind and fight part. I can’t say I don’t. But I need you to go.”

“W- we can fight!” Thomas cried, stomping his foot. “I’m so much better than when we started!” 

She nodded, knowing he was. He barely even hesitated now. The shy, studious, gentle boy had dusted no less than four vampires now. But this wasn’t their regular slayage training. This was a war unlike any they’d ever faced. “I know! You guys are great fighters, okay, it’s not that. It’s that… when the dust settles, I’m not so sure there will be any Sunnydale left standing.”

One by one, the trio in front of her went slack jawed, blinking at her in confusion. “What do you mean?” Kit asked, breaking the silence. “You think… you think it’ll disappear? Like in a puff of smoke?”

Dawn shook her head. “No. Buffy, she’s been having Slayer dreams. ‘From beneath you, it devours’ is kinda becoming a common theme.”

“The Hellmouth,” Carlos breathed. “Dios mio … it’ll swallow the town whole. Chica, all the more reason for us to-”

“Go,” she finished. “So you can set up a relief team for the survivors. So that… so I have someone I can call on that I trust,” her voice dipped, shoulders slumping. “I need you guys to take Gemini; no one else can calm him like you three can. I don’t trust anyone else but you. Please, please do this for me?” Her voice caught, emotion thick in her throat, but how could it not be? Gem was meant to be by her side, but she couldn’t lose him. She’d lost enough already. “If anything ever happened to him here- please?!”

They shared a look, Thomas deflating nearly instantly. Carlos second, but Kit’s back was rigid. “You’ll keep your phone charged, right?” the girl pressed, petrified of being abandoned again. “Call us the second it’s all over?”

“I’ll sharpie your cell numbers on my arms in case it explodes,” she nodded decisively. “Or I run outta juice. That way, I’ll always know how to reach you three.”

“Be safe,” Kit breathed, gathering her friend up in a tight hug, whispering in her ear so quietly, Dawn wasn’t sure if she imagined the words or not. “Thank you for being my friend when no one else was. You’re my hero.” She pulled back quickly, rubbing her eyes with her hand, mascara and eyeliner firmly entering racoon territory when she spotted Charlotte and Buffy leaving the house to bid them goodbye. “Lottie,” she gasped, running to give the blonde a crushing hug. “Be careful, okay?”

“Dawn told you then?” Charlotte quietly asked, hugging her friend just as tightly. Bruises be damned. “To take Gemini to safety?”

“Yeah,” Kit croaked, rocking them side to side from foot to foot. “And we will. Uh, here,” she pulled back, lifting Charlotte’s hand and rolling up her sleeve. With the hand not holding Lottie’s, she grabbed something from her back pocket, uncapping it with her mouth before writing on her friend’s forearm. “This is my cell. The marker’s kinda bad, so spray some hairspray on that to keep it waterproof. Just, you know, in case you lose your phone charger or whatever. For, like, after the battle. I uh… I gotta hear more about those stamps.”

Charlotte nodded solemnly, knowing it was as close to an ‘I love you’ as the orphan would ever give. She didn’t have the heart to say anything to the girl, had prepared herself for a heartfelt goodbye, but couldn’t muster it. “Kit, thank you for your friendship. I-”

“Stop that, Char. No goodbye’s,” Kit warned, Thomas wiping his eyes to the side of them, as Carlos and Dawn had their own tearful goodbye. “Too permanent. Just… till next time, okay?”

She nodded, wiping her own eyes as Thomas launched himself at her. “Till next time, Thomas. My dearest boy, we’ll meet again soon.” 

He couldn’t stop the tears, hot and angry down his face. “You were my- my first friend here. Pl- please don’t die, Lottie. Please.”  

“I’ll do my very best, Tom.”

He sniffed, his lanky frame draped over her smaller one. “I love you, dear Charlotte.”

“I love you, dear Thomas.”

Carlos sighed where Dawn gripped him tightly. “Si la amistad es un tesoro, gracias por ser parte de mi fortuna.”

“Eso que ni que,” she responded, sighing despite him squeezing her harder. “Okay, enough. Carlos, I gotta breathe!”

“Oh!” He gasped as he let go, grinning widely. “Guess the staking is paying off, huh?” he asked, flexing his arms to hide the mistiness of his eyes. “Gonna have to find a- a new gym. Maybe start one. Call it Los’ Stake and… Stake.”

“Los,” Kit sniffed. “You don’t have to be uber-macho guy. No less manly if you’re over in Crisis-vania with the rest of us.”

He nodded seriously, hugging Charlotte to hide his tears, her hair the perfect height to let the saltwater collect. “Be safe, aim for the heart.” 

“Or decapitate them with an axe if possible,” she finished for him. Thomas grasped them both, shaking as he did. “I’ll miss you three.” Kit joined in, grabbing Dawn for the group hug they all desperately needed. “Dawn and I have one another’s backs. Don’t worry about us. My brother says ‘Buffy always comes out on top’, and now we’ve got two Slayers backing us.”

Buffy’s heart broke for them. She didn’t know what to do or say to make their pain any less. Turning back to the house, she saw her mother come out with Tara, both holding Gemini's things, the pet trotting on his leash behind them. He jumped up when he got to Buffy, his cat form still twenty pounds, but she didn’t mind him as much now. Welcoming the weight, she scratched under his chin as he purred loudly. If only you knew, she mused sorrowfully. If only you knew how heavy this goodbye really feels, buddy. 

They hugged the teens, Carlos rubbing at his eyes one last time, before taking Gemini’s crate to avoid anyone else seeing him cry. Thomas and Tara had a quick, whispery conversation, Kit and Joyce having one themselves. Soon, they bid each other ‘till next time’, waving on the edge of the property, the sun starting to set over their town, one last time. 

“Okay,” their mom said finally, cheer phoney, but necessary. “Let’s finish up inside. We still have cheese that needs eating before it goes bad.” 

Slowly, they inched up, Buffy catching movement in the upper floor window on her left. Once inside, she found Spike sitting on their bed, shoving photographs into their copy of The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart . “Hey,” she softly said, bypassing a Potential leaving their room with some dirty water glasses. “Figured you’d be up here. Didn’t want to say bye? They could have come in.”

He shook his head, keeping his eyes off her. She noted the tightness in his shoulders and hated it. Hugging him from behind, she lay her head there, silent as she could be so he could process. “Didn’t,” his voice cracked, thick with emotion. “Didn’t think…”

“They told me to tell you ‘till next time’, and to be safe,” she offered. 

Spike put the photos in his hands down, turning in her grasp to face her. “Not that.” His hands were gentle on her face, tracing the lines her tears had made on her cheeks. “Didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t come up with anything other than ‘keep that mutt alive’ or somethin’.” He snorted, sighing heavily. “Tomorrow, when it’s all over-”

“We’ll find somewhere quiet away from everyone else,” she finished softly. “And sleep for eighteen hours straight. I know. I remember.”

They grinned at each other. Bittersweet memories playing in their minds. “Before, though,” he whispered, stepping back and extending a hand to her. “May I have this dance?” 

She let out a wet laugh, nodding as she took his offered hand. There was no music playing, so he hummed. She wasn’t sure at first what it was, but by the time he got to the chorus, she sang softly with him. 

 

          “I think we’re alone now,

          There doesn't seem to be anyone around.

          I think we're alone now,

          The beating of our hearts is the only sound.”

 

----------

 

No. No, no, NO! This wasn’t possible! How could this be possible?! That puny witch and her lover weren’t strong enough for magic like this! Who could have possibly set up a magical barrier strong enough to shield the entire house from the likes of IT?! 

“This bitch is crafty,” The First sneered, pacing outside 1630 Revello Drive in the guise of the late Lady Anne Pratt, knowing the plan to turn both remaining Pratt siblings was utterly foiled now. “I’ll give her that. But I’m not messing around.”

Stepping forwards to breach the barrier proved useless however, and It found Itself bounced back into the basement of that putrid smelling school yet again. UGH! 

That Guardian was too strong. Way too strong to pull this off alone. “Killing her must have been the trigger,” It reasoned, pacing in the corridor of the school, attempting to formulate another plan. Being the manifestation of evil itself, that wasn’t typically necessary. It just went where a doubting mind called to It. But the only minds worth any effort were under that roof, and there was no way in. “Fucking Guardians. At least the Watchers were easy.” Scoffing, It tried kicking a locker, only serving to make the diaphanous foot go through the metal untouched. If only It had chosen better lackies than Krollix and Caleb. If only that Guardian hadn’t been protected. If only that house didn’t have a green-to-purple shifting dome of magic surrounding it, shimmering like an upturned bowl of Alexandrite. Then they’d see. Then they’d all see. 

But it did, so the heroes got one last chance at a good night’s sleep, while The First Evil waited for its pounds of flesh.

Chapter 53

Summary:

The Final Battle for Sunnydale - Part 1

Chapter Text

Tuesday, March 11th, 2003 - Part A

 

On the morning of the battle, Joyce awoke before the rest of their little army did, slipping from where she had been wedged between Dawn and Charlotte, and walked the halls through her house one last time. She traced the wallpaper ivies on the walls of her room, the vivid memory of her friend Pat dying and taking the form of the mask seconds later, replaced by the one of Spike joking about the number of leaves on the walls. The hallway where she’d found stab marks in the plaster when they first moved in, replaced with the memory of Buffy running down it with Dawn on her shoulders, the two pretending to be a ridiculously tall man under a trench coat just a year ago. The bathroom where Dawn had spilled nail polish all down the floor was replaced with the bubble party of ‘98 that she now knew never really happened, same with the polish. But who the hell had good bathroom memories anyways? Each room held memories, each wall, both good and bad, and now she said goodbye to them all. She knew deep in her gut that this was goodbye, one way or another, and it was best done without an audience. Sitting on the front porch, she heard the crickets outside for the first time ever, sighing as she smelled the fresh dew on the grass. The sun wouldn’t be up yet. She knew Spike probably couldn’t sleep either, but she didn’t check in on him or Buffy. She needed this time alone, to make sense of it all. 

Six years, and nine months. That was when they’d moved to Sunnydale. Just her and Buffy, though in her head, Dawn was with them. The Summers girls were just trying to rebuild, and a part of her knew that she’d be rebuilding with her girls again soon, somewhere else. Joyce wished she had more time, but she already felt like she was on stolen time since her aneurysm. At least now, she was leaving Sunnydale with more daughters than she arrived with, and she didn’t even need an epidural. 

 

----------

 

Waking, Buffy felt someone touching her face softly. Blinking her eyes open, she expected Spike to be smiling softly at her, but saw Charlotte instead. “Lottie?”

The girl nodded, face terse. “It’s time.”

Sighing, she agreed, sitting up and leaning over her boyfriend, kissing him gently awake. It took a few moments but he responded enthusiastically. “C’mon, bunbury,” she murmured against his mouth. “Shake a leg. We have an apocalypse to stop.”

He sighed, eyes cracked open, already grumpy. “Yeah, fine. I’m- Pidge? You’re dressed.”

Charlotte was indeed dressed, having slept in her battle clothes, terrified she’d oversleep and have no time to dress in them if she hadn’t. “Yes, however, I could use your help with something, brother.”

“That right?” Stretching as best as he could, a yawn escaped his mouth. Looking around the room, the couple noticed everyone else had cleared out themselves, already downstairs and prepping for their next move. “Wazzat?”

Charlotte held out a wide tooth comb to the vampire in one hand, her beret in the other, and a small, tense smile on her lips. “The other girls all have their hair braided. Could you perhaps…?”

Grinning like a loon, he adjusted himself on the bed, making room in front of him to let her sit. As she did, he turned her head to the side, the girl startling as she saw her reflection in their mirror, but not her brother’s. She would likely never get over the queer sensation. “Welcome to the-a ghost barber shoppe,” he drawled in his terrible Italian/Dracula accent, Buffy snorted before leaving them to their sibling moment. “Allow me to intro-boo myself: I’m-a the great ghost barber! I’m-a give you the prettiest little-a braid, and make all the monsters big jealous.”

Charlotte snorted, watching her hair float up on its own, as amused as Dawn had said she’d be. “Does the ghost barber take special - hee hee hee - special requests?”

“I can make-a da exception for the one of a kind Charlotte, if-a she gets some coffee for a-da barber.”

Chuckling, she pointed to the steaming mug next to the bed. “Une café a la Mercy Hospital.” He looked at her over her shoulder curiously at the obviously blood laced beverage. Shrugging, she explained, “Andrew raided the abandoned places with his friend. Now, hurry up with my braids! I need to finish helping with breakfast.”

Sighing contentedly, he started to comb her hair carefully. “You’re too bloody good for this arse-backwards world, Pidge.”

“I’ll have to remind you of that the next time you threaten to ground me, brother.”

Snorting, he started dividing her hair. “You do that,” he played with her locks, looking in the mirror to see her fond expression. “Now, princesa,” he continued in his ridiculous accent. “We do-a the hair to scare-a the boys away, yes?” Snorting, she giggled as he continued with the game, braiding her hair with the love and attention she had missed all those months stuck with the Smiths. The same feeling he had secretly missed for twelve decades. They existed on borrowed time, but this moment, stuck in amber, was all theirs. 

 

------------

 

Prepping took a lot less time than she’d hoped or expected. Bags were packed, sent off ahead out of town the night before with Carlos’ family. Now, they tried to scarf down whatever they could stomach, stocked up on first aid supplies, and readied their weapons. In an hour, Buffy’s entire skin was vibrating with anticipation, and by the look of her sister slayer, so was Faith’s. Stepping up on the seat of her chair, she hoisted herself up under the other’s gaze next to her. 

“You need me to get you a whistle, boss?” she joked, loading yet another knife into her pocket. 

Buffy sighed, pulling the long thin box off the top of the hutch, heavy weight cardboard kept shut with thick butcher’s twine. “Here,” passing it to the dark haired slayer, and got a confused quirk of her mouth back. “For the battle, and after, I guess. Just… no stabbing each other?”

“Oh-Kay…? Lighten up, B,” Faith joked, eyes rolling as she wrenched open the mystery gift. “Not like we’re about to go to… this is…” she trailed off. She never thought she’d see it again. Definitely not from Buffy the Tightass of all people at that. “How…?”

“Dawn, Charlotte, and their friend Thomas found it,” she explained simply as the other slayer held the one of a kind knife she’d once taken to the gut. “I… we’ve never had an easy relationship,” she started, ignoring the snort from the other woman. “And I don’t think we’re ever going to get to slumber party and girls night level of friendship, but consider this an olive branch. The olive-iest. And um,” she didn’t know what else she was going to say, the thought knocked over as Faith was staring at Dawn and Lottie gathering up whatever they needed to get last minute around the house. “You good in there?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine. Don’t strain yourself, Barbie. You’ll crinkle.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Thanks. For- geez, B. I dunno,” she shrugged, wishing she knew what else to say. “A bunch of things. Mainly…”

“Don’t mention it.” The smile she gave was hollow, hopeless. One she wasn’t expecting from the blonde slayer, followed with, “it’s bad for our reputation as badass, hot women who have no feelings.”

Snorting, she shook her head, arming herself with the weapon of yesteryear. “Maybe I’ll get this melted after. Turn it into a medal that says ‘badass hot woman with no feelings’, get a shadow box for it.” The door opened, Faith’s back to the new entrees, oblivious.

“Ugh!“ she exclaimed, relieved that the moment of feelings passed. It was way wiggy being vulnerable with the dark haired lady. “It’s like everyone in this house is stinking obsessed with them.”

“Medals?” she asked, turning as her sister slayer’s answer of ‘shadowboxes’ was lost, eyes widening at the three demons sauntering in. “Demons!”

“Faith!” Joyce slid between the other slayer and the three demon guests at their door. It was a bold move, what with the dark haired woman armed with a dangerous blade, but the time for a wimpy Joyce was over. “They’re with us. On our side.”

“What?! Why?”

“Hello, Miss Faith,” the smaller of the big eyed, red and blue camouflaged demons said, bowing to her. His voice sounded like Ghost Rider’s, Legion-y, almost, and overly formal. “We wish to aid you and Miss Buffy, as well as the rest of Clan Summers in this war. We enjoy living on this plane of existence, and my wife Meera and I,” he gestured with his broad hand to the bigger demon with more beads around her ne- where the hell did their necks go?!? “Have raised both children and grandchildren along the Americas. Though Sunnydale is our favourite of the places.”

“And munch on dead humans? I don’t think so.”

“Ack! Calm yerself, lass,” the spikey faced demon exclaimed. “Dinnae ye mind ‘bout yer kind. Xerx and Meera only feast on the littlest o’ beasties yer kind kens as insects. An mine only goes after fermented lot. Speakin’ ah which,” he held out hand, reaching closer to her, jolting her back a step, only to find Charlotte handing him a quart sized jar of sauerkraut. “Ah thank ye kindly, lassie. Yer a treasure.” Her eyes only grew wider as he cracked it open, and started chugging it in seconds. Letting out a hearty burp, his bloated stomach shrinked down by about half. “Ah, there’s the stuff.”

What the hell? Where did these demons come from? A pair of neckless demons with giant necklaces and a fermentation loving green Sonic? Was she on a new hidden game show called Real Or Fake: Demon Edition?! “Where the hell did you find these guys?” she hissed at Buffy. 

“They’re Spike’s bowling buddies.”

“Spike bowls?!”

Meera hummed as she got unnaturally close to the slayer. How- how was she not making sound when she moved? “They have won several championship games,” she buzzed, a thousand bees whispering out. “You smell of anxiety at our appearance. Would you prefer I change to a more soothing pink tone?”

“Oh yes, my leafcutter,” her husband buzzed back. “Pink is most certainly a favourite among the girls of their species.”

“N- Woah!” Within exactly three seconds, the pink shifted over the being, seeping into every pore soundlessly. “An- and you um, eat other little demons, too?”

Dawn snorted, coming closer. “Xerxes and Meera are Crottilivic demons,” she explained like she was helping the older gal study for the single wiggiest test ever. “They eat bugs, have camouflage, and are typically peaceful demons. Hos is old as dirt and is… shoot. I can’t remember. Damn. But he’s one of those like… vegetarian demons.”

“Half Brachen,” he explained. “Part Hesenkien an’ part F’Lott Jean demon. Me family dinnae survive past them Spaniards colonisin’ the South o’ the equator. An’ aye reckon the hip crowd o’ mortal folk call us ‘vegans’ now.” 

“A… vegan demon. Right. Uh… am I- why are you helping?” 

Shrugging, he simply replied, “ain’t got no kin left. Me Moira dead now some centuries, me wains, too. Only got the team, an’ aye cannae play just wif Clem, now, can aye?”

It- it’s like he’s speaking English, Faith told herself, trying to make sense of it. But after being brained with a steel barrel. “Huh?”

“He likes punching baddies,” Buffy shrugged. “Thanks for coming, guys. Meera, you sure you want in? What about the kids?”

Meera closed her eyes, a trilling laugh buzzing from her chest. “Oh, Miss Buffy. Our youngest is already six-and-ten decades older than your Mr. Spike. They shall persevere without us. My husband may have left me in the lurch for the last two armageddons, as you Americans call them,” she tilted her head as her tiny mouth lifted in a sly grin. “But it is time to remind him of the rally cry of girl-power.”

“Glad to have you,” the blonde genuinely nodded, before regarding the crowd gathered nearby. “Okay, things are gonna go hot and heavy fast. Remember, Hos is our heavy hitter in the first wave. Do you have enough gas for the tank?” 

He patted the inner lapel of his coat pocket. “Xerx got me backups.”

“Okay. Xerxes and Meera can go ghost, so don’t worry if they disappear on you.” She reassured Faith with a hand wave, Meera disappearing before materializing in front of them. “If you see an ubervamp flying backwards, it’s them. Everyone else, you know the drill. And - I cannot believe this is my life now - but can someone please get Hos more whiskey.”

“Here,” Joyce handed the largest bottle of schnapps the entire room had ever seen. “You like peaches?”

“Joyce,” Hos said seriously. “If aye were mortal, aye could bloody well kiss ya,” he winked, uncorking the bottle and taking a deep chug. “Oh, sweet singin’ shephards, this be top shelf! Lucky me.”

“If my doctor didn’t put me on a strict alcohol free diet, I’d take a shot with you.”

“But Christe, yer a real catch.”

Scowling, Spike yelled at his teamate as he readjusted the weapons currently strapped to his person. “Hos, quit flirting with my lady’s mum! Bloody hell, you Scottish bastard; we have a war to win!”

“Flirt- was talkin’ to the schnapps, ya mook! Though Joyce be a good woman too, no doubt. Christe, you Brits . Let’s get to work, eh?” 

Turning to her blonde haired counterpart, Faith pressed a second time. “Bowling? Really?!”

“I always said bowling’s a vicious game,” Xander sighed, rolling up his sleeves. The pair of demons kept arguing in the background, the others gearing up to head to the school. “We’re gonna see that in action today, I guess.”

“You’ve never played chess against Lottie,” Dawn muttered, picking up the daggers she’d been training with. “Now there’s a bloodbath waiting to happen.”

The beret wearing girl scowled back, having zero comments leave her mouth, if only to save the peace. 

Ignoring the side comments, Buffy righted her shoulders, and turned to the door. Now or never, she thought. “Let’s go stop some evil.”

Chapter 54

Summary:

The Final Battle for Sunnydale - Part 2

Chapter Text

Tuesday, March 11th, 2003 - Part B

 

Opening up the seal again had gone smoothly, but now came the hard part. Fighting one of those things had taken five girls and her to take down, and as she wasn’t too keen on fighting… Oh, God, Faith thought as she counted. That has to be at least a few thousand! But she swallowed her fear, sliding back to the General, her shoe scraping just a little too loud. “Crap.” 

Hissing filled the pit of hell, the caverns from the slayer nightmares and hallucinations Buffy had over the months were manifesting into stark reality. And they were gonna need to fight fast, and fight hard, their battle stance strong as the first wave ascended towards them. “Ready?” Buffy called, getting a nod from her fire powered surprise weapon. “Give it all you got!” 

As Hos descended, Faith twitched behind him, Robin on her heels. “Ye get yer wee lighter ready lass,” he told the Lieutenant. “Show’s bout a moment tah start.”

The dark haired slayer still didn’t trust the spiky, green faced, three eyed demon, but if B and her little fan club said he was a good fighter, then he was a good fighter. They got as close to the edge of the steep cliff as she felt without fear of toppling in, before getting into place. Flicking it on, she lit up the crude torch, holding it in front of the Scot, turning her face to the Turok-Han army ambling towards them. “Now or never, Allerdyce!”

Ten in front of them now- no, a baker’s dozen, within ten feet, gaining on them, and- with a big inhale, Hos expelled hot, fermented air, catching fire from her torch, igniting every being in a twenty foot span ahead of them. The Turok-Han’s spasming bodies collided back into more of their buddies, more and more catching fire as they fell back. 

“Hos… how many more times can you do that?” Robin asked carefully. 

Shrugging, he already started downing more booze, and shoving some pickled onions into his gob, too. “Twice more, I reckon. S’long as aye got the fuel.” He reached behind him, Xerxes tossing a flask to his hand, the Scot downing containers one by one. “Need more nosh!” A jar of some kind of paste flew by seconds later that the demon, too, demolished. 

“Don’t wanna rush you, Hos,” Robin hedged, tightening his grip on his weapon, more demons breaking free and heading for them. “But we’ve got incoming!”

Hos grinned, his middle eye spinning wildly. “Aye got a question fer ye, Wood.” He turned back to stare at the former slayer’s son almost mischievously. “Ya ken what we Scots wear under oor kilts?”

“Uh… nothing?”

“Which is what these beasties shall be!” Turning back around, he didn’t let out a big exhale this time, but precise, sharp blasts, where needed most. One, two, five, EIGHT blasts, the primordial vampires bumping into one another as Meera levitated the ignited downwards, catching fire to the bottom depths to hit the enemy from both ends. 

“Hos? Thank God you’re on our side!”

Laughing, he reloaded. “Not tha first slayers aye fought wif. But damn near tha most craicker time!”

“Wait- what?”

“Meera!” 

Turning to the shout, the former Slayer’s son watched as the pink Crotovilic demon began to be overtaken by the force of energy she’d had to expel, her body shifting in an array of colours. “What’s happening?”

Hos swallowed the remaining pickled eggs, feeling his gut roll. “She’s dyin’,” he choked out, overcome with emotion. He’d heard of this, from Meera herself, in fact. But he never thought he’d ever see the day his own friend would die. Not with his own three eyes. They’d known one another for longer than humans had their first presidents. Longer than wine had been around! But the end came for everyone, even old friends. “She’s- Meera!” 

Without a second thought, the demoness grabbed the torch from Faith, and smirked. “Goodbye, old friend,” she buzzed, blowing a kiss towards where Xerxes had disappeared off to. “Keep my love safe. Time to party.” And she lept down into the depths, her body catching fire as she went. 

With a cry of anguish, Hos moved to catch her ankle, but missed, the other demon hurtling down like a lead cannon. “Shut yer eyes!” he yelled behind him, a second before the party started. 

With a hiss and a crack, Meera’s body exploded. Thousands of flaming body parts landed on the uber vamps below, showering hundreds in fire, turning them to ash. A blinding pulse of pink light followed, purple sparks causing a lump of pure energy to shoot upwards, spraying out in a waterfall of red and blue lights that Buffy and Faith caught as their eyes cracked open. Meera died for their cause, and became a deadly fireworks display as her final act. 

As the slayers opened their eyes at the final spray, the lights a beautiful sendoff to a bug-eating demon, they felt hope. Hope that evil wasn’t winning today. Because if even a thousand year old demon who stuck to the shadows would go against her kind, in the spirit of ‘girl power’, then they could do anything. 

But the Turok-Han didn't stop to watch, advancing on them still, and Faith was the one to finally call out, making the rest of them stand to attention. “Incoming!”

 

------------

 

Dawn fought back against the hooded mouthless jerks, pushing her way through the throng of Bringers to get to her sister. They’d been pushed back, and she couldn’t find her mom anymore. God, she hoped the woman was safe. Lottie followed closely on her heels, lungs straining for that sweet, sweet oxygen. This was no place for the blonde, but as stubborn as her brother was, she- “Lottie, look out!”

But it was too late. They had called in Giles’ coven, and the witch closest to them had aimed a magic beam, right for the demon on the Bringer’s leash to the left. But it ducked at the last minute, and the magic bounced off the lockers, heading straight for her. It hit and- 

“Oh, God. Anya!” Charlotte scrambled to the ground, toward the newly married blonde. The ex-demon had stepped in at the very last second, taking the blow for the teenager. She was unconscious before she hit the dirty linoleum, battle worn, and face filthy. Mrs. Anya Jenkins-Harris had sacrificed herself for Charlotte’s life. “We- we have to get her out of here!” she cried, checking her saviour over for vital signs. The former demon needed a head CT- STAT! 

Which was easier said than done in a war zone. “How?! Just… hold on!” Looking around desperately, she found the fire extinguisher on the wall, ripping it out of the case with her hands. Aiming, she sprayed the incoming demon with it, the fire retardant causing some weirdo chemical reaction with the ugly thing, crying out in agony. “Get the monk!” she cried, her friend taking action with her crossbow. As soon as he was down, Dawn screamed for a medic, the demon melting into a pile of pink goop onto the linoleum floor. “Eww! Don’t step in… whatever that is.” 

Hearing more coming towards them, the blonde let out a bark of a mad laugh. “Oh, dear,” she sighed, another Bringer tasting pine as she embedded a bolt into his dominant shoulder. Dawn was right, her aim was listing left. Good thing she was aiming for his heart. “And here I was, planning on bathing in it!” 

Like a ghost possessed, Giles fought forwards, clearing a path for the medi-vac in the form of Tara and Joyce. Xander stayed back on the other end of the hallway leading to the seal, fighting back to back with Andrew, praying this wave of Bringers would be their last. He didn’t see Anya go down, and the Watcher refused to say a thing until they got out of this alive. If they ever got out of this alive. “Dawn!”

“Here!” she motioned, the Watcher taking their place as the pair of girls left to head off the incoming from the principal’s office. “She got hit with a spell, but I- I don’t know what,” she explained, the Brit just nodding her off. “We’re gonna-”

“Go! We’ve got this.” And without ceremony, the girls left, a puddle of pink goop in their place, just as help arrived. “Be wary of this… sludge.”

Doing just that, Joyce laid down the emergency stretcher quickly, setting the straps on the floor to roll Anya into. Detached emotionally from the situation at hand, it was the only thing she could do to keep the terrors in her head at bay. Strapping the former demon into the harness, the women took a strap in each hand, steadily standing. “One, two,” before the third number, they hefted her up, face and body obscured from view with the thick material, the pair hustling back out into the light of the school yard. Muscles and joints aching, neither stopped until they got to the school bus, Johnathan flipping open the side door to let them in. 

“Hurry!” 

Seconds before the door closed behind her, Tara was grabbed by the collar of her shirt, pulled backwards off the bus. Tumbling onto the pavement, she missed the sliding of Anya’s body, and how Johnathan caught it before she hit her head. She also missed the gun her pseudo mother had, as the only thing she heard was a loud 

 

     CRACK! 

 

Ears ringing, she touched her cheek with shaking fingers, hand coming back wet. Red. Blood. But not her blood. Turning her head to the side, her line of sight was stopped by a yank forwards, Joyce’s face up close to her own. “No,” she heard through the cotton of her ears, like she was underwater, as her eardrums rang. “Don’t look. It’s your eardrum. You need to get inside.”

Nodding numbly, she let the blonde rearrange her upright, following her into the bus, the door shutting behind them. Helping the fallen allies on the steps, they manoeuvred Anya on the ground behind the driver’s seat. Several bench seats had been ripped out, no one knowing why, but the three of them were suddenly thankful as they laid her out to check her over. 

“There's no obvious bleeding!” Johnathan shouted, his own ears ringing from the crack of the gunshot. 

Joyce shook her own head, wishing she’d had the foresight to pack extra earplugs. Guns were a waste of time, but it just saved Tara’s life, so she would berate herself for it later. Slipping it to her back via the thick woven strap, she busied her hand with the unconscious form ahead. “I think it was magic,” she said, pulling the nylon mesh fabric out from under the girl. “Dawn said she saw a flash of light nearly hit Charlotte.” Looking at the witch, both wide eyed as she said, “Anya stepped in front. She- she took the hit. She-”

Nodding quickly, Tara leaned over to grab her kit, flinging it open for supplies. She didn’t need more information than that to know what that meant. The newlywed did what the witch herself would have done- sacrifice herself to protect a child. After pulling on gloves, she worked on figuring out what had happened to the woman when a knocking sounded on the door. “Ro- Robin.” 

Scurrying forwards, Johnathan swung the door open, Robin and Giles climbing in, the former grunting with each step as the latter explained the blood. “He took a knife to the kidney, and-”

A high pitched scream echoed through the campus, Joyce’s blood running cold at the familiar sound, the other humans all looking at the front of the school in heartbreak. 

“That sounded liked Charlotte,” she said, her heart in her throat. She couldn’t let the girl go down alone. And what if something happened to Dawn, and that was why she screamed? Oh, God. No. Please, God, NO. Grasping the handle of her axe, she looked towards the school, thoughts swirling. 

Tara didn’t hesitate, grasping her friend in her hands as she worked. “We- we got this.” The witch nodded to the woman who’d always treated her like a member of the family, scared they’d lose her. But she saw the resolve in the blonde’s shoulders - a reflection of Buffy’s own determined posture, or vice-versa - and knew if she kept Joyce from the girls, she’d never be forgiven. “Go! Be- be careful!” 

But Giles moved to stop the other woman, who only huffed, and ran towards the back door of the bus, unlocking it with a hard yank. “Joyce, no! It’s suicide!”

Without turning her head the whole way, she shouted back, “that’s what being a parent’s about, Ripper!” before jumping down, and taking a breath. Running to the school, she barely registered the broken toes in her shoes until she got to the entrance to hell itself. But by then, it was way too late to splint them.

 

----------

 

“Okay,” Willow said, feeling her nerves rise up to the surface again. “It’s just like riding a bike. A very shaky bike. Made of rust, and eyelashes, an- and riding it backwards, in a swamp. No biggie. Just the fate of the whole world on my shoulders.”

“You’ve got this,” Kennedy reassured her, sitting across from the redheaded witch, acting as her bodyguard in case the Bringers breached the room. “I believe in you,” she breathed. 

“Oh, boy. No pressure, huh?”

“Oh, there’s pressure. Definite pressure making here, but that’s how diamonds are formed, right? So, c’mon, Red: shine.”

Yeah. Yeah, she could sparkle. She didn’t need to correct the Potential and say that diamonds didn’t shine, they reflected light, which was pointless. Because their time crunch was too dang crunchy already, and she was more than enough with the sleep deprivation, and it was time to buckle down. Focusing all she could on the scythe before her, she added, “as soon as it’s done-”

“Straight to Buffy,” her partner said, all business. “Do not stop at go. Don’t help you, I know.”

“Okay. Here goes nothing. Or, everything.”

Holding onto the weapon ahead of her, she reached deep within herself, and began to chant. 

 

Verba deae. 

Orationes deae. 

Protector mulierum ... mulierum. Potentia deae. 

Regina -Luna Terrae, 

Aeris, Ignis, Aquarum, 

Angelorum Custodum et Interfectores…pro Interfectis…pro Interfectoribus…, 

Interfectorum… 

Dea Regina Lunae, Terrae, Aeris, Ignis, 

Aquae Angelorum 

Custodum et occisorum…pro interfectoribus sororum

 

The second she latched onto the magic, she saw it. Willow saw ALL of it. The first ever Slayer, the Shadow Men - the first Watchers - tying her down, cementing her to the spirit of the vampire. But there was more. So much more than anyone ever could imagine.

A woman in white, weeping openly as she cradled Sineya’s limp body, the men leaving as she howled after them in a language Willow didn’t understand. And another slayer after her, with a shaved head, making her own weapons- the weapon. A weapon more powerful than the Scythe- than a hundred of them combined, her brow slicked with more than sweat. And a woman next to her, in pale shades of cream and ivory, doing more than just watching her charge in her work. Caring. Loving. Guiding. And another, and another. Slayers and Guardians, over and over again, across generations and centuries, the power of their dedication intermingling in an intricate dance of the ages. The memories came faster, and they all brought power of their own. So many Guardians- Twins! A pair of twins whose faces were obscured from her view, very clearly Guardians, keeping an eye on their charge. Charges. Two women holding hands; a pair of witches, one a Slayer… lovers. Two women in white mourning them, twins, their protectors, faces obscured. The twins howled fiercely, into the rising sun until they were hoarse, and the sun tried to blind the witch currently holding the Scythe, when something blocked it with a smile. Another woman in white, much older, hair as white as her dress, familiar but not, holding a handful of pomegranate seeds, smiling at Willow- at Willow’s soul, nodding her head in understanding. Reaching for the mystery woman, she accepted three seeds, feeling peace. Safety. Whoever this Guardian was, she was safe. And then, she felt it. The innermost part of the Scythe’s power, flowing through her- through time itself, in a voice like Buffy’s, like Joyce’s, like Dawn’s. It sounded like a million voices, all saying the same thing in a language she couldn’t speak. 

With a bright light, she felt the ripples of the power reverberate across the world, power thrumming in her soul, as if it was being shared between soul and scythe, scythe and soul, and then-

With a blood curdling scream, she felt her body fly backwards out of the room, the building, into the sky itself. And just like Icarus, she then fell back down to earth. 

Pain. 

All she felt was searing pain. 

Blinking against the harsh light of the sun’s rays, she tried to catch her breath, but every inhale was torture. Agony. Why had that happened? Did she do it? Did her spell work? Where was-?

“Willow!”

Oh. Xander, she thought, trying to turn her head. Oh, no. Why can’t I turn my head? Maybe… maybe I’ll be fine. I’m just in shock. Yeah, that’s it. Shock. I’ll be okay after a nap. Nappage sounds good right about now. 

“Medic! We need a medic over here!” 

Andrew? Ugh, of course he’d be shouting over a silly little dislocated pinky finger or some- oh, no. Why can’t I move my fingers? Oh, Goddess. What’s WRONG with me?

Grabbing the collapsible stretcher from Johnathan, the carpenter lowered it next to his trembling friend, neither of the men knowing what to do. “Oh, God,” the shortest one said, gazing at the broken jigsaw that was the witch’s extremities. “Tara, no-”

“M- move aside, and… Willow.” Dropping to her knees, she could barely breathe as she looked on at her love’s many injuries, feeling the rug janked out from under her feet. Both arms were shattered, bent in unnatural positions, her legs completing the matching set. A marionette doll with her strings snipped off, the redheaded witch had tapped into something so powerful, it had left its mark. And a massive one. “Shhh… it- you did your part,” she said cautiously, reaching into her pocket for a slim case, unzipping it to grab the pre-prepared syringe inside. Her heart vibrated in her chest at the sight of the redhead’s body in perverted arrangement, something out of a Steven King novel. “You- you fought s- fought so hard, baby. It- it’s time for us to- to d- do ours.”

“Did I do it?” Willow asked raggedly, blinking as she gazed up at her lover. Her ex-lover. Her one and lady-only. Oh, man, her head was spinning. And she really needed to barf. Like, yesterday. “W- we won?”

“Almost,” Tara said with a tight smile. “N- not a true win ‘till th- ‘till there’s sundaes.” Which was exactly the right thing to say, the redhead laughing before groaning in agony, body working too hard. “Willow, I- I need to give you the-”

“Do it,” she replied, already knowing what her sweetie had ready just in case. The needle slid into her neck like butter, but the sting of the sedative was less than pleasant. It was necessary as it put her into sleepytime land long enough to get her onto the bus, and that’s all she cared about. That, and, “just don’t let… Joyce go… into the hell…” 

And like a snap, she was out cold. 

 

----------

 

Punch, kick, stab, slash, slice, dice, mice, nice.

The cacophony of fighting sounds reverberated throughout the school, echoing into the pit where the basement opened into the very mouth of hell itself. But it was the only place she could be in, now. It was where she was meant to be. The power surged through them all, and Rona could feel a strength coursing through her veins in a way she wasn’t used to, her arm no longer hurting the same way it had hours ago. The ripple effect was palpable, echoing through her as she sliced an ubervamp in half. Through them all. Punching a wall was more fun than punching a Turok-Han, but walls were in short supply in this place. 

She was now a slayer. As were the rest of the Potentials. And they were making history. 

“Buffy!” 

Decapitating another one, she watched through the dust as their leader grabbed the scythe as it sailed through the air towards her, the blonde catching it just in time to stab backwards, dusting another foe in one smooth move. So transfixed by the sight, Rona missed the charging pair before it was too late. 

“No!” 

Gaping, she watched as the demon in front of her gurgled, the vamps thrown back over the edge of the cliff down below. But not before a certain mixed species demon took a fatal blow to his abdomen and chest. “Hos, just hold on, okay?” She didn’t know what to do, where to put pressure on the wounds, but the demon had saved her life. She couldn’t just let him die. “Medic!”

“No, lass,” he sputtered with a grin, shaking fingers pulling something from his pocket to slip into her hands. “This is the end fer me. Time ta meet me lady, now. Do us a favour, slayer? Hold onto tha fer me?” Pushing it into her hands, she didn’t feel the cold of it, but the heat of his words. 

She’d let go of whatever it was only after her own death. “O- okay.”

“That’s a lass. Alright, now. Kick me into the pit.” She began to argue against him, but he wasn’t having it. “Before me insides paint the outsides of yer face, Rona. Please. Let a demon die the way the Valkyries did, even if he dunnie have the right parts, aye?”

Nodding numbly, she stood, slipping the thing in her pocket, before dragging him towards the edge. And then she said the words she’d never thought she’d say to any demon. “Thanks, Hos. You fought well. Tell… tell Moira I say thanks, too.”

“Aye. Tell yer General me last words were poetic, aye?”

“Aye,” she nodded, and with a final act of courtesy, she rolled him off the edge of the cliff, where he barreled into several foes as he went. Unlike Meera’s fireworks display, Hos’ body exploded like a propane tank thrown into a bonfire. Parts of flesh acted like shrapnel, taking the undead along with him. Saluting quickly, she rejoined the battle, hoping no more of their team would die today. 

 

----------

 

Joyce abhorred violence, she really did. But hating something and accepting that it existed were not as unmixy as one would think. She hated Jell-o , but pretending that they didn’t sell 420 million boxes a year was foolish. So was barrelling into the school to enter the fight against the primordial ooze of evil, but she was on a mission. Taking down a Bringer heading right for her with her axe, she swung the weapon around and clipped another one in the shoulder. They were humans, once. It was a thought she couldn’t let go of, no matter how much she wanted to. They were human once, even though they no longer were now. Spike was human once, and if he was cut down the way she just did with Mr. No Eyes just now, she’d mourn him like she mourned Pat. But this was war, and war was brutal. So she swallowed her thoughts, pushing against the tidal wave of her mind as she fought her way to the basement. 

“Mrs. Summers! No!”

She didn’t know who shouted it, and she didn’t care. Her feet didn’t stop, trainers hitting the steps as she descended into the basement, eyes widening at the scene. The seal had indeed been opened, and amongst the fighting, she could see another set of stairs descending the pit into hell. Another flash of something filtered into her memory. A night in this very basement, a crazed vampire talking to people who weren’t there, and the power it had over him. She felt it again, now. The dark power. It was terrifying, but she knew her daughter was strong. Knew that even if Joyce ‘God Killer’ Summers died today, their side would still win. Because-

“We gotta bail!” she heard Kennedy yell close by, but her heart said to push forwards. “Retreat!”

No. Hell, no. She wasn’t going to leave until her family was out there with her! Pushing forwards, she swung out to catch a demon out, a teenager delivering the final blow before she kept going. Climbing the stairs down on her way to her kids, she kept against the wall, avoiding baby slayers running up the opposite way. Ignoring the pain in her body, the girls who were ushering her out, her own panic rising with stomach acid burning in her throat, and pressed forwards. She wasn’t leaving without her kids. And she hadn’t found one ye-

“Charlotte.” Kicking out, she felt her broken toes smarting as she collided with the Bringer heading for her, crying out. But she refused to stop, and Vi helped by grasping his robes and throwing him over the cliff. Grappling with an Ubervamp heading for her neck, her axe was knocked out of her grasp, the woman rolling away from him, arming herself with the gun before painting the cavern with the demon’s insides. Standing, she rushed closer, trying to get to the girl as dust fell around her. Too far, she huffed, aiming the weapon ahead. Please don’t shoot the girl, please don’t miss and shoot the-

 

     SKRRAAH! 

 

Bullseye. The vampire that had headed to tear the former Victorian girl to shreds exploded in a massive flammable ball, dusting in seconds. Father Nicholas probably thought she was nuts for asking the priest to bless her bullets and gun before he fled town, but for a priest who came to bless the sprinklers every week, he’d just resigned himself to the odd parishioner. Plus, she always made the effort to bake him extra brownies for the bake sale- just for him. It was a dang good thing she was following her instincts, Charlotte free to run-

“Argh!” The breath was knocked from her lungs, a beast in front of her, aiming for her neck, smacked her into the wall of the cavern. Hard. Stars broke out behind her eyes, fear creeping up her spine. It was too close, too strong. Fighting was harder, his claws in her tummy. But God Killer Summers wasn’t giving up. She and her girls were going to go for a picnic next week, once the weather permitted it. She fought for control of the gun, tilting it upwards at its chest, just as the fangs grazed her neck, icy wet breath burning her. Freezer burn was shadowed by the heat coming off it as it caught fire, Joyce shoving it away before she went up like a Roman candle herself. The last thought she had on the Hellmouth was how much it smelled like rotting beef. 

 

----------

 

The scythe went through her enemies butter smooth, heat melting through the tough shell to get to the gooey centre, turning the whole demon to dust within seconds. It had been a great thing indeed, gaining this slice of history. And boy, oh boy, did it ever make her feel in charge wielding it!

Riposting an oncoming assault, Buffy mowed down the uber-vamp with an ease that should’ve been expected, but her body was starting to smart from the battle. She’d already sustained more than one injury, and her fellow team were no better. A few were already dead, humans as well as their demon backup. Watching Meera die had made her feel even angrier at The First for putting them through this crap. Meera was a great-great times who knew how many grandmother, and sure, she was ‘just a demon’ who lived longer than dirt, but that didn’t stop the Slayer from feeling the weight of the sacrifice. Meera had taken out a good chunk of the Turok-Han when she’d jumped, but she’d also destabilised a portion of rock they used to get up to the slayer buffet. It was a calculated move no one saw coming, least of all her. But they couldn’t stop. They had to fight, keep the world from ending. Yet again. 

And as Faith fought alongside her, they switched weapons, moving in synchronous, before tossing them back. It felt good to fight next to her sister slayer again. And now, thanks to Willow, they weren’t alone. They had an army of slayers behind them, and the General and her Lieutenant were kicking ass like it was going outta style. They were gonna win, she just knew it in her-

“Buffy.”

Turning her head, she saw him, her debauched Cupid, glowing. Light seemed to come from within him, emitting out from his chest. “Spike?” Rushing towards her boyfriend, she ignored the pain in her body, staking an ubervamp as it headed for a girl. 

“I feel it,” he breathed in awe, his weapon slipping from his hands. His eyes were wide on hers, the Slayer General resting her hand on his bicep to keep him upright. 

“Feel what, baby?” He didn’t look good, but he wasn’t dust yet, which was a good sign. She hoped. “The amulet?”

“My soul,” he breathed, his mouth quirking a little in one corner, like he was about to crack a joke. “It's really there.” The line between his brow furrowed, the way it had when he’d last been set ablaze, and it made her stomach clench in a big doomy kinda way. “Stings, a bit.”

Light was starting to break out of him more, backlighting the area in a wash of sunlight that wasn’t burning him. How was he not being burned? God, she didn’t think she could feel so gutted to watch him helplessly, the love of her life glowing, as the earth shook beneath their feet. 

“Go on, then.” 

Scratch that, now she was feeling the most gutted she ever had been before. “What?”

“Get the girls, I’ll finish up.”

“No! Come on,” she insisted, pulling on his arm, ignoring the fighting around them. “We’re almost done. We have plans! Remember? You said you’d take us to that- that place! With the deep fried cheesecake on a stick! An- and New York!” She yanked again, hissing as it pulled the injury in her leg, where a demon had thrown her against a boulder. “C’mon!” 

But he wasn’t hearing it. “No, you've beat them back,” he insisted. Dust kicked out as the cavern walls quaked around them. The earth couldn’t handle the power of evil smacking into good anymore, betraying the White Hat Brigade. “It's for me to do the dishes now.”

What?! she thought incredulously. What the HELL is he saying? He can’t be serious. I’m not leaving him to get dusted here! Not after everything we just went through. “No. Spike, you've done enough. You could still-”

“Go!”

“Baby, no!”

“Luv, I don’t think I can stop it.”

She couldn’t believe this. Couldn’t believe him. “You- you promised!” she yelled, heart hammering as it broke apart inside her chest. “P- promised you’d never leave me!”

“Buffy-”

But she couldn’t bear to hear it. She grasped his hand, barely registering the pain it caused. The pain in her chest was far worse. “You’re not leaving me! Bunburry, d- don’t leave me- not like this. Please, Spike. My William. Don’t leave me!”

He looked down, eyes widening at the fire engulfing their hands. “Buffy! Your hand!”

“It’s okay,” she hiccuped, a lopsided smile on her face. “Just a flesh wound. I’ll be right as rain by nightfall.”

The words felt like a sign from the universe. She was a hell of a woman, and she wanted to have him in her life, and he would happily dust with her now if that was what she asked for. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, my bunbury,” she leaned closer, kissing him soundly, uncaring of how filthy they both were. They’d been filthy in battle before, it seemed fitting they be like this now. “Not getting rid of me that easily. I’m like glitter.”

“We gotta go!” a voice called out distantly. “It’s gonna cave in!”

“We should run,” she whispered, leaning up to look him in the eyes. “Be safer out there.”

“Have’ta give them a chance, don’t we? The gem does its thing, we give ‘em a chance to escape. That’s what us hero types do, yeah?”

God, was this really how their story ended? Not riding on horseback off under the moonlight, but with a soul powered bomb in the middle of the Hellmouth? Poetic, really. “Yeah.”

Shame not everyone agreed with it. “Let’s go!” Dawn was screaming now, right in front of them, trying to drag them out by Spike’s wrist. “We gotta… your hands!”

“Go!” Buffy warned. “We’ll be okay. Go! Get Lottie to safety and-”

“Like hell!” she yelled back, grabbing her sister’s other wrist, face set in stubborn stationary fashion. Summers women; stubborn to the very end. “You go down, I go down with you.”

“No!” she shouted back, missing the look of horror on Charlotte’s face some dozen feet back or so. The chronically coughing girl jogged towards them, dodging the fighting as she headed for her family. 

“Then you leave with us!”

Buffy’s eyes widened in horror as she saw her and Dawn’s hands engulfed in flames, too. “Dawn, no!”

Dawn, YES, the brunette thought, anger flaring. “Then ground me ‘for ‘till college’! I’m not leaving you!” 

“Neither am I!” Charlotte said resolutely, grabbing her brother’s other hand where Dawn had dropped it. Weaving her fingers into his, she winced as flames licked her palms, but didn’t let go. It hurt, but the thought of fighting as hard as she had, only to give up now hurt more. Cracked her soul in half, the yolk of her very being running out of her pores. “If we go down, we go down together.” 

Buffy could barely hear what happened outside of the four of them. But Dawn’s response came in loud and clear. “Like a family should.” With that, she dropped her weapon, gripping the hand Lottie offered to her, before letting go of the wrist, and offering her sister her palm. “Come on, sis. What’re you afraid of, besides a little fire on your hands?”

Buffy laughed wetly, dropping her scythe between them, before taking her sister’s hand. She meant to make a joke, but the second their fingers touched, she felt her whole world go dark. 

Chapter 55

Summary:

What would happen if four separate souls powered the Champion’s Amulet on the Hellmouth? Could they bind their souls into one and inadvertently share in one another’s memories?

TW: shows death, drugs, blood, gore, and some flashbacks as well that may be triggering to others

Chapter Text

Tuesday, March 11th, 2003 - Part C

 

A flash of light, setting the scene for the audience, and the picture slowly came into focus. Twisting the dials usually worked, but on occasion, the IT department head at the Powers That Be had to give the monitor a whack. Like when four beings join souls, and accidentally find themselves intertwined. 

 

     WHACK!

 

Hot sun, hanging high in the cloudless sky, as she rode her bicycle down their street, hair flowing behind her in the helmet her mom forced her to wear. 

“Buffy! Be careful!” her mother called after her, the pram she pushed bringing the baby Dawn along with her. “The ground’s uneven, and-”

She yelped, her bike tipping to the side, and falling off. The ground was harsh on her skin, but her knee and elbow pads kept her broken joints to zero. “Ouch!”

“Oh, baby!” Joyce rushed towards her, the memory awash in bright, saturated tones she didn’t remember. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it just hurts a little,” young Buffy admitted. “Is the baby okay?”

“Yes, honey. She’s fine. Are you okay?”

She nodded, letting her mother help her up. “Ouch! Oh, my leg!” Looking down, they saw the stocking ripped, her calf bleeding a little where some rocks made contact with her flesh. “I’m bleeding on my new shoes!”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” her mom said, giving her the pram to push. “How about you push Dawn for a bit, and I push your bike. How’s that sound?” 

Buffy nodded, unaware of the other three people she was sharing the memory with, looking down at where she knew she should see her baby sister. But instead of the little wriggling pink baby Dawn, she saw a glowing green orb, sparkling like glitter was in her veins. “She’s so beautiful, mama. We really get to keep her?”

“Yes, but be careful! She’s fragile.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep her safe.” She leaned closer to the orb, pursing her lips. “Always.” The second she pressed her lips to the glow, where she remembered Dawn’s baby forehead was, the memory shifted. 

 

*

 

This time, it wasn’t hers. 

 

“Fee, fie, foe, fum,” a deep British baritone voice broke out, giggling heard behind a thick velvet curtain. “I smell the girl hiding from her,” the curtain was pulled back, a handsome, middle aged man’s face in place of it. “Mum!” 

Charlotte squealed, ducking under her father’s legs, and running as far as her own chubby little legs could take her. The parlour was an obvious choice for hide and seek, but it was her favourite spot. She knew William hid his penny candy in the little alcove, and she was only six! She could hardly be blamed for picking it. Running down the hall, she was thwarted by father’s longer legs, being picked up and spun around in a circle. “Put me down!”

“Oh, but I’ve won my prize!” her papa exclaimed, holding her on his hip. “And the birthday boy gets his presents now, if I recall correctly. Don’t you think I deserve my cake and presents?”

“Not yet! Not yet!” the younger Charlotte cried. “Not until you find the others!”

“Ah, yes. No game of birthday hide and seek is complete until all the hiders are found, now, is it?” They shook their heads together, Charlotte beaming at her father’s teasing tone. “Say, why don’t you help me?”

“Okay,” she whispered. “But only if I get candy.”

“Ooh, you drive a hard bargain, missy.” He pulled a tin of ginger mints from his inside coat pocket, offering it to her, but pulling it back just out of reach a second later. “Ah-ah! First, we must find them, then you receive payment.” She pouted, hoping her big doe eyes would sway him. “Now, if your mother cannot sway me with that look, how are you so sure you can?”

“Because I’m the baby!” she exclaimed, arms crossed. “Which means you love me most.”

A small sound alerted them to the coat closet to the east of them, her father opening the door one handed to find an eleven year old William, hiding amongst the coats. “Tsk, no fair! That’s cheating!”

“No, it isn’t!”

“Yes, it is!”

Their father laughed, a small chuckle overhead sounded very quietly. He held a finger in front of his lips to let the children know to keep quiet. “Now. We have Charlotte and we have William, so, I do believe the game is quite over, don’t you children?”

Will played along, nodding as he tried to school his features. “Yes! I do believe you’re correct, father o’ mine!”

“Of,” his father corrected quietly. “Of mine. Blimey, your mother would think you a stevedore with that tongue of yours, son.”

“What about mother?!” Charlotte whined, earning a scowl from her brother. 

But their father had a plan. “We can just send Miss Whiskers to go find her, can’t we, Lottie?”

A crashing was heard upstairs, their mother extricating herself from the armoire in the master bedroom noisily. The three of them ran for her, wrenching the door open and tackling her to the bed. “Argh! No fair!” she pouted, looking up at Alexander with a twinkle in her eye. “Threatening to send your mistress - of whom I cannot stop sneezing around - to find me is cheating, and very unsportsmanlike, Alex!”

He grinned, caressing her face with the back of his fingers as their errant children jumped up and down on the bed. “Oh, come now, Annie,” he reassured her. “You know neither of us are the type.” She rolled her eyes, earning her a bigger grin. “I do believe that lower lip is rather lonesome without mine against it.”

She chuckled, his wonderful wife, pulling him down. “Happy Birthday, my love.” 

“Eeewwww!” Charlotte stuck her tongue out. “Mother and father are snogging again!”

William snorted, rolling his eyes. “When are they not snogging? Come on, Pidge,” he grabbed her by the arms, yanking her off the bed with a little girl squeal of hers reverberating off the walls. “Let’s go eat the cake when they’re not looking,” he whispered. 

But parents who had two rambunctious children knew how to handle snogging and keep an ear out to said children’s whispers. The couple sprang up off the bed, scrambling after the two miscreants, before they could go and make crumbs of the iced lemon loaf.

 

*

 

The chanting was getting louder, as was the banging on the door. The light filled the air of the temple, Charlotte looking around in confusion. “What-? Where am I? Am I-? I’m inside someone’s- Whose memory is this?” 

She expected Buffy or William to burst through the door, to stop the chanting any moment now, but instead, she was sucked down, then to the right, into a new memory. 

“Where am… I? WOAH!”

The room she was in was massive, entirely slate grey and endless in every direction. If she had to guess, she’d consider this place limbo. But then the most important question she’d had since learning everything about Sunnydale, demons, and magic, was being answered before her very eyes, and suddenly, she wasn’t so sure limbo was ALL this place beheld. 

A single glowing green fleck floated towards her, hovering by her face. “Oh! Uh, hello. Are you…? Are you lost, little Wisp?” She knew of the Wisps from the books their parents read to them at bedtime, the Wisps of Scotland that would find weary heroes just when they needed help the most. “Do you need assistance? I could- oh!” A second Wisp floated about a foot away, getting closer. “You brought a friend. Good. I think that’s wise. Don’t want to be caught here alone, now, do you? Could… Could you please tell me where I am? Who’s memory this.. is…?”

The two Wisps dropped down to the floor - or where she guessed the floor was - and joined together. Then, like a lek of fireflies, more Wisps followed, the feeling of warmth spreading through her as they joined, glowing steadily from the ground up, up, up as the mass took form. Human form. 

“Dawn…”

Slowly, the light grew steadier, stronger, brighter, until the whole space lit up in a warm, comforting green light. All too soon, her eyes began to hurt from the intensity, but she refused to look away, instead, she stepped closer. Between one blink and another, the glow lessened, her friend, just a few years younger, stood with the glow around her. 

“Holy mother of mercy… that- that memory,” she breathed. “It was… it’s how you were- and now- human. How they made you… human.” She reached out, grasped her friend’s hand. “We need to wake up, must-”

She felt a heavy hand shove her back, eyes shut in pain as she hit a heavy object. “Ouch!” Blinking against the stars in her eyes, she panted. “You didn’t need to do all that… Dawn?” 

Dawn couldn’t hear her, sighing as she looked outside as the inky night sky went by her. But it wasn’t quite Dawn, was it? The girl looked a little like her best friend, but she held herself differently, and her profile was a little more angular where it should be rounder. Charlotte whipped her head around, finding herself behind Buffy in the DeSoto, the four of them driving down an endless highway in the middle of the countryside. “Do you think there’s like, a big book or something?” Not!Dawn asked the passengers ahead of her, accent… indecipherable. “That has all the number of times you’ve sneezed written in it? Like, when you die, your soul goes to heaven and-”

 

Before the rest of her question could be asked, Charlotte found herself in yet another memory. “What on earth? I don’t- oh, God!” 

Buffy dodged, screaming as she went, avoiding a shower of bullets. Charlotte screamed, trying to hide herself but she wasn’t harmed. Her ears rang, but she was unharmed. 

“Adam,” the breath punched itself from her lungs. Christ, he was uglier and scarier than William had described, and her brother enjoyed calling the beast ugly many many times, in many different ways. She watched in rapt fascination as the Buffy-Willow-Giles-Xander Slayer fought the beast, then ripped its heart - er, uranium core out. “Ugh,” she shuddered. “That is disgusting.”

A hair of a second later, she was back in her own memory. 

 

*

 

“Mother!” Charlotte’s cries could be heard down the block, she was certain of it. “Come quickly!”

Spike ran down the hallway, not sure what bloody memory he was reliving this time when he heard Pidge’s screams. He hoped it wasn’t the time she first coughed up blood. Skittering to a halt, he saw his sister holding Anastasia Dooley by the ear, dragging her out of the water closet and into the hallway. “Charlotte? Anastasia? What’s going on?”

“Ouch!” The Dooley girl tried to get herself free, but her efforts were wasted. 

Anne Pratt finally made her way to her errant children, hands on her hips in outrage. “Charlotte Anne Pratt, you let go of your friend, this instance! What is the meaning of all this shouting?!”

Charlotte pointed back to the chamber pot in the room with her free hand, yelling with her face tomato red, “she weed on my brand new fascinator!” 

 

*

Exhaustion, that’s what Buffy felt. She’d been on her feet for hours, and her day wasn’t over yet. After running for the demon snake that was trying to tell Glory that her sister was the key, she needed to go back to the hospital to see the results of the biopsy on her mom. At least Snakey was dead. 

Run. Run. Right foot, left foot, right, left, right, left, over and over and over and over and o-

 

*

 

Spike huffed, downing another shot. He really ought to have learned by now how little Druscilla cared about his rules. He was her fledge, not the other way around. Still, if he wasn’t allowed to snog or shag or shimmy with another other gal without her express permission, why would she? Weren’t they partners? Wasn’t she his girl? Pah! He’d show her! He- he’d go to the green tent past the weird twisty tree, and join the orgy. They had that sweet acid on those flower printed paper. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. That would show her. He wasn’t going to waste his Woodstock mourning his love life. ‘Sides, she was already three sheets to the wind herself. About time he played catch up. 

 

*

 

Dawn stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, aiming the knife ahead of herself. After a hesitation, she flicked her wrist, letting go of the blade as it twirled in the air and… smacked to the ground. “Damnit!”

Spike chuckled next to her. “Try holding it like... that. Okay, now, you want your arm further back.” He guided her through it again, watching her square her shoulders. “Right, the important point the Slayer forgets: don’t drop your shoulder before you go with the follow through. Gives you away.”

Dawn nodded tersely, shooing him away before doing what he told her. Deep breath in, steady breath out, hand back, flick, thump! “It worked,” she breathed before a laugh fell from her lips. “It worked! I did it! Did you see that?!”

He grinned, schooling his features to show he wasn’t as proud of her as he was when she turned back around. “Meh. Needs work.”

She scoffed, grabbing the knife out of the makeshift dartboard he’d made in the backyard. It was just a piece of plywood Xander had left behind from a job, a few X’s marked with the permanent marker the Summers family kept in the junk drawer. Their vampire house guest made Dawn swear not to tell anyone about it if he helped her hone her knife skills. And for those twenty five minutes once a week - when Joyce was on the phone with her friend in another state, and Buffy was still at the gallery - after sunset, they had their practice. After a few weeks, she was getting pretty good, in her own opinion. “When can we try a moving target?”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “When I fancy waking up on fire. Now, again.”

Dawn sighed, shaking out her shoulders as she got her stance ready again. At least someone wasn’t treating her like a little helpless stupid baby. Even if that someone was an annoying vampire with stinky cigarette smoke on his breath. 

 

*

 

She was choking. God, why was she being choked out?! Was this truly the end? She was sure she had expired in her bedroom moments ago, but there was no infernal beeping in her bedroom. It had not been invented yet. A nightmare? How was she in a-? Oh, what sweet relief! The choking was abated, new sounds coming into focus as she felt hands on her. Mother? Father? No, too many. Maybe Doctor Gill and the cook were helping? Maybe Will-?

“Okay, I think it’s time to try this again,” she heard his voice call out to her, clearing his throat a moment before continuing. “Jane? Jane, dear. It’s time to wake up now.”

Charlotte blinked, recognizing the beeping and her room at the UCLA Hospital’s Pediatric ICU instantly. She smacked her lips a few times, asking for a ginger mint once her eyes were fully open. But it was the other blonde in the room - who had never been there in the first place - that caught her eye. “Buffy?”

Her brother’s lady love blinked a few times, frowning across from her. “You can see me?”

As Charlotte opened her mouth to tell her that she in fact could, the memory dissolved into a new one, both ladies swept up in the strong current of the past. 

 

*

 

“Ugh!” Buffy gagged, holding her hand to her mouth to keep from losing her lunch. “That’s disgusting!”

Pouting on the other side of the counter, the girl entered the living room to defend the accusation. “It’s not that bad.”

“Dawn,” she argued. “You added jellybeans to the gravy!” 

Spike groaned, rolling his eyes where he was tied to the Watcher’s dining chair. “Great. First no blood, now not even the sodding gravy. Worst Thanksgiving ev- OW!”

All eyes went upwards, noticing the arrow in his shoulder first, then flicking up to where he stared. Their mysterious Chumash warrior stood in the open window with his bow raised, clearly having just launched an arrow. Two and two were making four, and they were in for a hell of a fight. “Get down!” Buffy shouted, grabbing her sister and hitting the deck. Looking around for a weapon, she whimpered at the state her pie was in. “It’s smushed!”

“Buffy!” Giles snapped back. “We’re rather preoccupied at the moment!”

Steeling herself, she crawled forwards, hissing at Dawn to stay put, knowing her sister wouldn’t listen. But the faster she got this thing dealt with, the faster they made with the dinner, and the munching, and then Dawn could be back in bed at home, and Buffy could finish her psychology paper. Picking up the stake her Watcher slid to her, she aimed at the warrior, slicing at his arm. “Not so tough when… you’re… oh.” 

Because the once strong Chumash warrior before her had transmogrified into- into- “A bear!” the tied up vampire yelled. “You made a bear!”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Undo it! Undo it!”

Dawn scrambled underneath Spike’s chair, grabbing his legs to have something to hold. “Buffy!”

“Christ!” he screamed, trying to make a hasty exit despite being tied up, and failing. “Your bloody gremlin sister’s got her sodding claws in me, Slayer!”

Dodging a paw, she picked up the knife Yogi had dropped, stabbing outward. “Little busy with the bear, Sp- your knife can hurt you,” she said in awe, looking at the once bear, now human looking eyes. “Your knife can hurt you!”

Spike finally managed to get a rhythm going, falling on his side and toppling Dawn along with him. “Ow.”

“Ow, yourself!” she cried back, Giles grabbing her by the middle, and yanking her to safety. She let out a yelp as he shoved her under the counter in the kitchen, huffing as she caught her breath. “Thanks.” 

Buffy made quick work of her attacker, the battle over faster than the ancient warrior would have liked. 

“Is it over?” Spike asked from his place on the floor. “Did we win?”

 

*

 

“And… you win. Again,” Giles rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop his smile at Charlotte’s perfect game. “Perhaps you need another opponent.”

Charlotte looked over to the woman whom she admired above nearly all others, and asked, “what about you?”

Buffy snorted, looking up from where she was balancing herself on the pommel horse, one handed. She’d been waiting (semi-patiently) for them to finish their game, so she could pick up Charlotte’s training again. It had been days since the young girl last sparred. She needed the practice, but the Slayer was loath to tear the teen away from the checkered board she loved so much. “What about me?”

“Would you like a go?”

Giles’ laughter was not as stifled as he’d hoped for, earning him twin glares from the girls. “Excuse me. I, uh,” he gestured to the room with his glasses as he’d attempted to clean the lenses. “I do believe we should upgrade the ventilation system, don’t you?”

“Ha, ha,” the older blonde said dryly. “Sooo funny. No one can teach Buffy to play chess. Let’s mock her in front of the chess prodigy, why don’t cha?”

“You… don’t know how to play?”

“Nope! Everyone tries to teach me, and I still don’t get it.” Charlotte turned towards her and looked with a curiosity in her expression, that had Buffy lowering herself to the ground. “What?”

Lottie bit her lip, motioning to the board. “How about, hear me out, you play by different rules?”

“Huh?”

“Play as if your pieces are the vampires, and mine are the Slayers,” she continued. “None of the original rules for you, just me. That way, you keep me on my toes. And if you do an illegal move, Giles moves your piece to the back of the board.”

Buffy frowned as she looked at the board, waking cautiously closer. “So… Giles is like the sunrise?”

“Precisely.”

Shrugging, she sat across the teenager, wondering if she could use chess metaphors when teaching Charlotte how to fight. “Sure. Giles, do ya mind?” 

Shaking his head, he reset the board, sitting to the side as he waited to watch the spectacle unfold. “And let the fun… begin.” 

 

*

 

“And that’s the beginning of the end,” her teacher said in an overly dramatic tone, grinning widely as the bell rang. “Alright everyone, let’s all behave and not- hey! No running in the school!”

Sighing in lethargy, Charlotte picked up her bookbag, and slowly made her way out of the room. Trapped behind a plexiglass wall for her own safety, she had to wait until the other children filed out of the classroom, before she could leave. 

At least she was being allowed to attend school with the rest of the children her age, instead of being sequestered at home, teaching herself from videotapes her captors had purchased for her. Shame her one and only friend hadn’t been able to walk home with her, being pulled from class just after luncheon, for a family emergency. So she walked home alone. Often she found herself alone, and if she were lucky, she would be alone as soon as she closed her front door behind her. 

“Charlotte.” 

Shutting her eyes momentarily against the voice of her captor, she steeled herself to keep as neutral as possible. Not lucky today. “Yes, mother?” she asked, knowing damn well that this imposter was NOT her family. Adopted or otherwise.

“Do you know what I found in your room?”

Turning away from the door she just locked, she schooled her features as she faced the woman. Which was a little easier with the mask over her mouth that her respiratory doctor insisted was necessary for her recovery. “My… pillow?”

Holding up the tote bag, Ashley Smith frowned. Oh, God. She forgot about the tote! “What is this?” 

“It looks like a grocery bag, ma’am.”

“What are these magazines and- oh, God. Charlie! Twinkies?! You know how awful these are! They’ll go right to your hips and clog your arteries, and then where will we be? Huh?!” Shaking her head, she headed to the trash. “After all the money we spent on you- on those doctors to save you-”

Connecting the dots, the girl rushed to cover the top of the can with her hands. “No!” she all but begged. “Please don’t throw them out!”

“Where did you even get these? Did you buy them?” Ashley gasped, trying to look scandalised. Too bad it didn’t work with her pris- charge. “Did you steal them?!”

“They were a gift!”

“A gift? I don’t remember me or your father giving you a gift of… Sophisticated Curly Celebrity Hairstyles Magazine and snack cakes loaded with triglycerides. Did your father get you this?!”

“No! My friend Aisha did!”

Not that the woman believed her. “Charlotte…”

“No!” the blonde insisted. “Aisha doesn’t think me odd! She’s my only friend, an- and she saw my hair, an- and she- please! No, no, no! Don’t throw it out. I beg of you!” 

“This Asha sounds like bad news.”

“AISHA! Aye-sha. She’s not! She- please! No one will do my hair right!”

“This is why I told you, sweetie,” Ashley said through grit teeth. “We’re going to get it relaxed in the morning, and-”

“No! Aisha’s sister Latoya had that an- and she ended up with burns! Chemical burns, an- and she lost her hair! No!!! I- I’ll never forgive you!”

Pausing with her hand poised over the trash can, Lottie didn’t know what was making the doctor stop from dumping the gift, but she hoped it didn’t wear off within seconds. “Fine,” she relented, taking the cake out of the bag, before handing the tote back to her charge. “Keep the magazine. But from now on, you show me everything that that Asha and Latisha-”

“Aisha and Latoya,” she corrected the woman, wondering what bee flew into her bonnet today. 

“Give you as soon as you walk into this house. Having friends is a privilege, not a right.” And with that, the doctor walked away, stuffing a Twinkie into her mouth. 

Wiping away her tears, the teen vowed to work so hard in school, that she could graduate early, and move as far away from these charlatans as she possibly could. If only for peace of mind. Turning to flee to the safety of her room, her toes caught the edge of the wall, hissing out in pain. “Oh, biscuits!”

 

*

 

“Oh, bloody buggering-” he hissed, shaking out his hand where he’d burned it on the iron. “Do your sodding job, ya waste of wires and steel!”

“You need a hand?”

Startling from his place near the ironing board, he whirled to find his audience of one by the stairs, a tiny smirk on her face. “Joyce, wha-? Ain’t you meant to be resting?”

Shrugging, she took the last few steps down to join him. “Yeah, I tend to do that better when someone’s not cursing up a storm in my basement.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly a whisper, was it?” 

“Mmm. Want help?”

Letting out a frustrated sigh loud enough to shake the windows, he scowled at the machinery. “I- why don’t they have a chart on this godforsaken piece of equipment?”

“How’d you iron before?”

“Always had someone to do it for me,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Even human, had it sent out.”

Reaching for the device, she said, “here. Unless it’s soaking wet terrycloth, you don’t need it on the highest heat. The- are those mine?” she asked, blinking down at the slacks on the board. 

“Yeah, well, you’ve got the shindig tonight, and Slayer’s busy, and I think we both know Dawnie’s lack of coordination on this gizmo.”

“Thank you. But maybe we do it on the lower setting, or it might-”

“Melt.”  “Melt.”

 

*

 

“Gah! It’s melting!” 

“That’s why you gotta eat it!”

Buffy scowled at the young brunette, wondering who she pissed off in a past life to end up here. She had to Patrol later, not that her mom or sister knew anything about that. Which was why she was here, walking the streets of downtown with Dawn, the pair of them with ice cream cones in their hands. And her sister was making a total mess of hers all over the place! 

“Hey!” the brunette gasped, dragging her by the wrist with sticky fingers. “Britney’s new album’s out! Can I have it? Please, please, please, please?”

“No!”

“If you don’t get it for me, I’ll tell mom about how you snuck out again last night,” Dawn threatened with a smug smirk. “You came back all dusty, AGAIN.”

Blackmail. AGAIN, her sister was blackmailing her. “No, I didn’t.”

“Did so!”

“Did not!”

“Did so!” she argued again, chocolate cream stuck to the tip of her nose like she was a toddler, incapable of cleaning up after herself. “You were wearing the red halter top dad got you when we went with him to San Diego last year, and your jeans got a big rip in them. Where do you even go?” Gasping, her big, blue eyes went rounder than dinner plates. “Do you have a secret boyfriend?”

Goddammit! She was so totally sunk. That was indeed her outfit last night, but she was SURE her bratty kid sis was way asleep when she climbed back into her bedroom from the window, coast clearly not as clear and she previously cleared- thought. She previously- oh, whatever. “FINE! But this is the last-”

Not that Dawn gave two figs. “YAY!” Dragging the Slayer by the wrist into the record shop, she chattered the whole way about how awesome the blonde pop star was, and how she was, like, totally her idol. 

“Ugh,” Buffy grunted, rolling her eyes. “Sisters.” 

 

*

 

“Charlotte. You’ve never had a brother-”

“Yes, I did!” she nodded desperately, trying to get Dr. Hurndall to see reason. “I do! I know I do! He- he’s just- he will find me! He pro- he promised. He- he said he would always find me. And my parents!”

But the man simply doubled down on the phoney script the Smiths had given him. “No, Charlotte. You were adopted after they died-”

“No! Listen to me, you second rate charlatan. Those are not my parents, adoptive or otherwise. They’ve abducted me from my home, and-”

“Do you see how she treats us?” Henry asked the doctor, face a perfect mask of faux concern. Bastard. “After all we’ve done for her, all we’ve sacrificed. Charlotte, c’mon. Don’t you wanna get better?”

“There is nothing the matter with me!”

“You’re breaking your mother’s heart!”

Which only incensed the poor girl. “That is not my mother! She will never BE my MOTHER!” Struggling against her bonds, she snarled, spittle flying as she tried to make another break for freedom. 

But the orderlies were faster and stronger, pinning her back, the doctor administering more poison in the form of diazepam. “We’ll try this again when you’re calmer.”

She whimpered as they injected her with another cocktail of medications, her captors murmuring off to the side. Tomorrow, she’d have to play along to their sick game. Perhaps if she did, they’d allow her to leave this Colonial Bedlam. And she could find her family. They’d have to drop their guard sometime. Tomorrow…

 

*

 

Spike grunted, catching himself from where Angelus had shoved him in the chest. He hadn’t been on guard, hadn’t anticipated the giant sod to push him so hard the wheelchair could topple over. But it did. It toppled over onto the cold, harsh floor of the mansion the great poofter was now calling his home base in Sunnyhell, captain forehead cackling at the skittle he’d made of the vamp. “Sorry, Willy boy,” he chortled, Druscilla cooing cheerfully in the corner with a new dolly from her ‘daddy’, as if her lover wasn’t sprawled out on the ground, in sharp agony. “Guess you’re still as pathetic as ever.”

He grimaced, a faint feeling he didn’t expect blooming in his legs again. Wait a tick. They were healing . He could very well kick out at Angelus’ kneecaps and have his grandsire sprawled out equally on the cement, and then he’d have his girl back. Except, no. He couldn’t. As long as Angelus was around, Dru would always choose Peaches over him. “It’s Spike,” he spat out, crawling on his elbows back to the chair. “And don’t you have a teenie bopper to stalk?”

“Ah, yes. Buffy,” Angelus snarled, disgust in his mouth at the name. “Funny. You’d think being an art historian, her mother could come up with a name better fit for a Slayer. But then again,” he cackled, leaving Spike to his own devices as he unbuckled his belt to go for another round with Dru. “With a name like Spike, you’d think you’d have gotten this Slayer done in on your first try. Guess I’ll always be twice the man you are, Billy boy.”

Spike felt the fury take over his body, closing his eyes as he heard his love of the past century moan into her sire’s mouth. I’m going to get the Slayer, all right, he thought as he made a big show in front of the minions to prove he was still paralysed from the waist down. And I’m going to hold you down while she stakes ya, granddaddy forehead, and put your ashes in a glass vase on her mother’s fireplace mantel; then we’ll see who’s laughin’.

 

*

 

Charlotte laughed, skating in circles around the lovebirds with Dawn. The two girls had a blast, though William looked green around the girls. She hadn’t been ice skating in ages. Her guardians that had been assigned to her in Los Angeles hadn’t allowed her to do so much as swing on a swing set at the local park, let alone unleash her with blades on her feet. And while she was out of practise, having Buffy and Dawn train with her at Mr. Giles’ shop’s training room had benefited her greatly. She was building muscle mass again! Soon, she’d be able to out skate William as she had back in Norfolk, his vampire speed be damned. 

Maybe this town really would be a fresh, happy start for her, after all. 

 

*

 

“God, this is so sad!”

“Well, what did you expect with a title like that?”

Charlotte huffed. “You mustn’t be so dismissive, brother. This is exceptionally depressive, even for a period piece film.”

Joyce hissed in sympathy pain when the character on screen crashed their cart into a fruit stand, wood splinters flying with the plums. “Yeesh! I hope they have insurance for that.”

Giggling next to her, Charlotte snuggled deeper into the blanket. “I do wonder what that claim form would look like.”

“Doing rugged hero stuff, driver not at fault,” Buffy snarked, smacking Dawn’s hand out of the popcorn bowl. “Hey! Not with those nasty fingers, you’re not!”

“Says the girl who has her fingers in graveyard dirt every night!” the brunette snapped back, sticking out her tongue. 

“Girls!” Joyce huffed, trying to get a semblance of peace in her home. “Disengage or I’m gonna make you watch that documentary on how glue is made.”

“Fine!”  “Okay!”

“Great. Now,” she breathed out as the scene kept rolling, the main character falling dramatically. “Where do I know this guy from again? He was in that thing with the- you know! And the hair?”

The girls groaned, utterly lost in whatever their mother was referencing, knowing it was futile to ask for more details on the subject. Maybe Spike would figure it out and tell her later. Sometimes the Summers sisters swore their mom did that on purpose, just to mess with the pair of them. 

 

*

 

She didn’t hear it at first, the song. It filtered in from someone’s car radio, filling the side of the road with the dulcet tones of an 80’s classic. 

 

         Children, behave 

         That's what they say when we're together

 

Joyce blew out a ragged breath, waiting as patiently as she could muster, despite how grouchy and agitated about the freaking line that was barely moving. Twenty five minutes. For a burger. Waiting twenty five minutes to ORDER their burgers, and Hank was nowhere to be found. Again!  

 

         And watch how you play 

         They don't understand

 

“Mommy,” Dawn whined, pulling at her sleeve. “I’m bored. Where’s dad?”

She offered her youngest a reassuring smile, despite it not reaching her eyes. “I don’t know, sweetie,” she said. “I think we’re only a few minutes from lunch, though. And-”

 

         Running just as fast as we can 

 

Stopping, she listened to the sounds, the toes in her sneakers tapping to the rhythm from muscle memory, she couldn’t help feeling like the weekend wasn’t a total waste. Sure, they’d been rained out. And yeah, Buffy screamed after seeing a possum snacking on a snake corpse. But they were together, and safe, and that was all that mattered. 

Buffy cocked her head at her mother, ignoring her magazine for a second. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

 

         And then you put your arms around me

 

Picking up Dawn’s left hand, and Buffy’s right, she smiled. “Dance with me.”

 

         I think we're alone now

 

“What? Here? NOW?”

 

         There doesn't seem to be anyone around

 

“Why not?”

 

         I think we're alone now

         The beating of our hearts is the only sound

 

“Ugh, mom,” Dawn wrinkled her nose in distaste. “This song’s so old.”

Moving around, she started a little jig, making her eldest flush pink. “Maybe,” their mother giggled. “C’mon; live a little.”

 

         Look at the way we gotta hide what we're doin'

 

Buffy hissed, turning scarlet. “Mom, you’re making a scene.”

 

“'Cause what would they say,” she sang along instead, undeterred. If she lived every moment like that, she’d never have lived the big, wonderful moments she had. And that was no way to live a life. “If they ever knew? And so we're-”

 

         Running just as fast as we can

         Holding on to one another's hand

 

Something shifted in the girls, wanting nothing more than to make a good memory of what was admittedly a complete crapshoot of a weekend. Without looking where it landed, Buffy dropped the magazine, the sisters joining hands. Because who cared? These people wouldn’t remember them, but they’d carry a good moment forever. And so the three of them danced like fools, uncaring of the stares they were getting, not when they knew it was just for them. And the group of kids who cheered them on, their camp counsellors smiling from the bus as they reloaded their charges.

 

         Can't you hear my heart beat?

         Can't you hear my heart beat?

         Dancing to my heart beat

         Let me hear your heartbeat



*

 

“Thank you very much!” Dawn sang loudly as she jumped around in glee, having a great time with her friends. “I need somebody with that human touch!” 

Charlotte rolled her eyes, picking up the tipped over glass before the soda stained the carpet below. “If you’re not careful,” she shouted over the pumping music from the stereo. “You’re no doubt going to blow out everyone’s hearing on the block!”

“Don’t be a party pooper!” Dawn shouted back, scoffing when Kit flicked the volume down. “Hey!”

Shaking her head, Kit admonished her friend. “We’re supposed to be finishing our-”

 

But Kit never finished her sentence, as Charlotte stood, like the first time. But this was a memory of a memory. So, instead, the scene changed drastically, Lottie thrown forcefully up against a bookcase, blinking at the room around her. A library? Why was this memory so- 

“Look into my eyes.” 

Charlotte’s head snapped to the right, finding her body capable of moving towards the familiar voice, the terrifying familiar voice. Thanks to her brother’s memories, she knew exactly who age was looking at. “Druscilla? But why…?”

She watched in horror as the dark haired beauty took her sharpened nail, and sliced through the young black woman’s neck, ending her life with a single flick of the wrist. 

Her heart caught in her throat. All the memories before had been pleasant, or at least, had some sort of air of victory around them. This one was just… How old was that girl? Fifteen, sixteen? She couldn’t have been more than eighteen years of age, and here she was, already dying. 

Collapsing to the floor, the young woman was dead, and Charlotte felt her insides threaten to paint the library floor in shades of purple fruit punch.

Her brother’s ex-lover left, her manicure barely chipped. Leaving the library, humming a disjointed, spirited tune, unaware of Lottie as the blonde slid down to the floor, lost. After a few breaths, she crawled over, reaching a hand to offer the fallen teen comfort. “I- I’m so- oh, I’m so terribly sorry, dear,” she cried, her hand wafting through the other’s hand like mist. “Dyi- dying alone is never a goo- never good way to go. I’m so sorry.”

Buffy ran through the library doors, dropping to her knees. “No… Kendra…”

“Kendra? The… the Slayer before Faith? But why-”

The ground abruptly shifted beneath her feet, ending up underground now. She grunted as her back slapped onto the rock beneath her, an expansive cavern above her. 

“Bloody hell!” she uttered, staggering to her feet. She’d apologise for her cursing if she weren’t stuck in an endless memory loop she had no control of. “Why on earth is this… happening? Buffy?”

And she watched in horror as her favourite slayer - looking Lottie’s own age - was accosted by the ugliest vampire she’d ever seen. Who then proceeded to bite her. Once he had a few pulls of her blood, he let go, uttering, “Oh, God! The power!”

Buffy fell to her knees, face first into a pool of water. Drowning. 

“And by the way,” the bat-faced arsehole uttered. “I like your dress.” 

Charlotte screamed, running forwards to punch the scum, but he vanished into fog. A fog that landed her into the heart of another memory. “Buffy?” she called out, unfamiliar with her surroundings. “William? Dawn?!” 

 

A different memory all together. As in, a different person’s memory entirely. 

 

“India!” Her head whipped around, seeing a fit, rather large moustachioed wearing man screaming, her eyes following to see a dog attached to him, then to where his eyes were. “Let her go! India, run! Save yourself!”

Charlotte looked on in horror as gauze wrapped mummies held her back, her eyes twinkled with unshed tears. “Don’t worry, Kit,” she said in a southern Louisiana twang. “I’ll always love you.” 

With a quick movement, India was dead, Kit and the dog freed, and her body dropped heavily on the hard packed earth. 

Charlotte followed the dog, who looked suddenly rather strikingly like Gemini. “Should- should I follow you?” The dog didn’t answer, turning the corner in the weird, wall-less space they were in. It was almost as if the fog she’d gone through had created the walls and ceiling of the memory. “Okay, anti-Genimous, lead me on my spirit quest, I suppose.” 

Turning the corner, she saw herself in a hot climate area, the agave plant indicating, “Mexico? Why am I in…? Oh. Oh, dear. No. No, no, no, no, n-”

Oh yes, for Charlotte was no longer in Buffy’s memories, nor William’s or Dawn’s. Not even her own. But the Slayers before Buffy; all of them, all of their deaths. As the Mexican Slayer before the southern belle India fought against a green, foot tall, ugly demon, she did so with determination. She fought bravely, the sixteen year old girl with her improvised axe and hurling insults in Spanish - which Charlotte was sure she didn’t speak before that very moment. “You little rat! I should-”

But the poor girl - who Lottie didn’t even know the name of, and wasn’t that painful? To have your death witnessed by a stranger who didn’t even know your name? - didn’t finish her sentence, struck down by the green fleshed… thing, and her head snapped to the left. Charlotte sobbed as she watched the girl’s Watcher rush the thing, only to be killed as well. 

“Why?!” she screamed around her, hoping for God to show his cowardly face. “Why are you doing this?! What does this mean?! Why show me all this?!”

 

But there was no answer. Instead, one by one, she watched other Slayers die. Murdered. By all sorts of things. She saw large cityscapes, and tiny townships, and other places in between, time and time again, over and over, a cacophony of death. Until she ended up in a moving car of some sort. 

 

“Is… is that music?” She looked around, startled to see her brother, except, not how she left him. Nor in any of the previous memories she’d seen him in. “Brother? What on earth are you wearing?! You look like a-”

A woman ran through her, punching her brother in the face. Her black afro hairstyle and her billowing coat - the one her brother wore when she’d seen him last - let her know exactly who this was, where it was, and when it was taking place. 

“Christ almighty!” she cried to the unseen force, clearly having a hand in this farce. “You are truly going to make me witness Principal Wood’s mother get killed by my own brother?! This is twisted of the worst nature!” 

But it was worse, because while one eye watched her brother fight Ms. Wood, the other, as Buffy and William fought the same way outside The Bronze . On the right, the 1970’s, on the left, the year 2000. Her head spun. 

“The first was all business but the second, she had a touch of your style,” she heard new millennia William say. 1977 Spike growled when Ms. Wood kicked him in the face. “She was cunning, resourceful... oh, did I mention? Hot. I could have danced all night with that one.”

And she had to admit, in a cruel, sadistic way, his fighting in both memories did somewhat resemble a dance. “Alright! I get it!” Charlotte screamed. “My brother has done some truly disgusting and horrible things! Now, let me out of here!”

“You think we're dancing?” Buffy from 2000 said. 

“That's all we've ever done,” year 2000 William said. The scene changed, just for a flicker, the two on the left dancing together at The Bronze . Actually dancing, Xander and Anya a few feet from them. The song was slow, and Buffy looked so relaxed and happy in her brother’s arms. The scene flickered back to the fight, 1977 William breaking the closest handrail in the subway car, brandishing it as a weapon. 

“This has to be a new level of hell,” she muttered, sitting down heavily on the closest seat she could find, trying to close her eyes to the sights, but unable. “Stupid Hellscape. Where’s Charon when you need him?”

“Bloody hell,” her head whipped to the right, her view solely stuck in the over-saturated memory of the 70’s, eyes widening when the brother of five minutes ago stood to her side, watching his 1977 counterpart continue to fight the other Slayer. “Is that really what I looked like? Hmm, maybe Buffy’d dig the eyeliner.”

“Brother?” She ran the short distance, gripping the lapels of his coat, before being disgusted with herself and settling on his T-shirt instead. “William, you… wait. I can touch you. This you, any road. How… Can you hear me?”

The noise of metal cracking into a skull sounded behind her, but Charlotte didn’t turn around. Focusing on the flinch of her brother as he sucked in a breath, grimacing. “Sorry, Nicki,” her version of William hissed out. “Deserved better than that, ducks.”

Slapping him, Charlotte screamed as it didn’t even register for him. “Get a hold of yourself, man!” she cried desperately. “Wake up! Get us out of here!!!”

But he was too focused on the fight, and the memory on both sides played simultaneously. “And the thing about the dance is,” the William of 2000 said, voice far too seductive for it to be anything other than a come on. Bleh! “You never get to stop.”

She punched and kicked and screamed at her brother, useless. In an act of desperation, she used her own brother’s tactics, hoping for it to sink in that he wasn’t alone in his own head. “For fuck’s sake, Spike!” Charlotte finally yelled, shoving him back, flying into the next subway car. 

A split second later, the fog of memories past started to eat up the scenery, his eyes clicking in recognition, breathing out her name. “Charlotte?” And then he was gone. 

She heard a neck snapping behind her, to her left, a telltale sign she would never forget. On the right, she heard his 2000 counterpart say, “You know I'll be there. I'll slip in... have myself a real… good… day.”

The scene bubbled away, and she found herself in an area full of people. The crowd of villagers screaming in some Slavic tongue, screaming about food prices, and- Poland. She was in a city, not a village, the memory fog only creating a few buildings around her. Rioters threw things at the military, demanding better living conditions, that food was too expensive to live. The red and white flag had become synonymous with the country after her history unit covering both world wars. Oh God, was she going to have to see all that death too?! How far back would this nightmare end?!

She saw the Slayer about twelve and a half seconds into the memory, kicking a secret police guard in the chest after he started beating an older lady with his baton. “Leave babcia alone!” she screamed with the might of the slayer, but her body showed the hardships of living paycheck to paycheck, not fighting. Charlotte’s eyes were red rimmed with tears as she watched the poor girl, after a lifetime of poverty, pain, and slaying, die a very human death. She tried to reach out, hold her hand as she bled out, but it was useless. The officers kept kicking, her bones breaking one by one. The girl who really didn’t get a chance to live, died without anyone around her knowing her name. 

She felt her heart stab at each death. And even though she anticipated each death as she came upon every scene, it still broke her all the same. She lost count after the twentieth murder, her tears turned to rage. How dare the Powers That Be make her witness all those deaths? The nerve of those soulless, disembodied, powerful… jerks to do such a thing! She had seen so much death already! Christ Almighty, she lived through Typhoid Mary! She had seen MORE than enough death to last a lifetime and a half. 

Until she had enough. She was through with this. “Listen here,” she strode forwards, trying to grasp William by the hair and the Slayer Xin Rong by the arm, but failed. 

“Christsake,” to the left this time, her William stood, scoffing. “Gonna make me relive through all the buggering shite I’ve done all these decades? Huh?!” he shouted to the PTB above him, much as she had. “This hell is a real prize. This is what I get? After getting my soul? For what? Oh, ho! I see. For letting the girls sacrifice themselves with me! Oh, clever, that. Ya great gas master.”

Charlotte marched towards her brother, shoving him backwards into a wall. “For the love of God, man!” she shouted. “Wake your pasty arse up, and get,” she slapped her hands to his chest multiple times, “us.” And again, “out,” was that recognition in his eyes? “Of here!” 

“Pidge?” 

It was! “Oh thank the heavens!” She could cry. Oh, perhaps she already was. “Listen! This isn’t hell, it’s our memories. You must wake up!” 

“Memories? But… Pidge, you didn’t-”

“Sorry luv,” the demon behind her said. “I don’t speak Chinese.”

The ground shifted, landing Charlotte into a small room, alone, her face smacking into the linoleum floor. “Ow!” Propping herself up, she crawled to a sitting position, taking in her surroundings. She wasn’t anywhere she recognized. The small five by four foot room had only three things: a desk, a chair, and a window both items were leaning up against. The window was all white, as if frosted, just above the desk’s table top. Everything was white in the room, despite the low lighting coming from the window. The lack of door or anything she could use as a weapon made her wary. How could this place be a part of any of their memories? It had to be a trick. Standing, she caught on quickly that she couldn’t do anything else, and sat at the chair. Immediately, the window changed. 

It was as if her back half was the key into the lock of the chair, sending the window into a series of tiny file folders on the desktop. Desktop! As in a computer! Wait a mo’. “A computer? What in the…? What is this? Hello?!”

No one answered. Not a thing did, either. Figured. She sighed, looking at the names of each folder, wondering what kind of monster would stick her here. “Huh. Dawn Memories ,” she read the file names, one by one. “ Dawn and Buffy Memories , Dawn and Charlotte Memories . What is- oh, lovely. Dawn and Spike Memories ,” she sighed, continuing dryly to no one. “Probably encouraging her to be reckless, no doubt. Huh… why can’t I…?” She searched for a computer mouse and didn’t see one. “Maybe it’s a…” she cleared her throat, leaning closer to enunciate clearly. “Open… Folder labelled…. Buffy and Spike and Dawn and Charlotte Memories , please!” Nothing. She grunted, the noise turning to seething anger. “How hard is it to open a bloody file?!” she screamed into her warm hands. Sighing once calm, she lifted her head, trying the stupid way, hoping it actually was right. “Come on…” Her finger reached forward, touching the file that read Buffy and Spike Memories ’, pressing gently. 

A click filled the air, the computer understanding her successfully. And was immediately thrust into a rollercoaster of emotional memories she did not have a ticket for. Nor the vomit bag.

Chapter 56

Summary:

Still soul bound, Charlotte figures out how to use it to her advantage, ending up in the control room the PTB didn’t realise they forgot to make inaccessible to the champions. In doing so, she must accept the memories she witnesses so she can carry on and wake our heroes up. Will she be able to stomach them all?

Warning, this are a lot of flashbacks with Charlotte’s commentary, so it’s up to you if you want to stick around or skip to the last paragraph of this chapter

Some lines were taken directly from BTVS episodes and I do not claim them as my own.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, March 11th, 2003 - Part D

 

Charlotte blinked against the flashing light, and found herself in The Bronze , music pumping loudly. Turning her head around, she spotted a red haired girl easily, her eyes bugging out of her head when she realised who the boy with her was. “Alexander? And… Willow! Oh! Where’s…Buffy.”

Her eyes fell on the three of them, dancing to the beat. 

 

           I'm doing all right 

          No, don't feel sorry for me 

          Really I'm all right 

          I'm one step away from crashing to my knees

 

“Where's the phone?” She turned sharply to see her brother standing around, looking concerned. “I need to call the police. There's some big guy out there trying to bite somebody.”

“Oh, brother,” she sighed, following them outside to their ‘meet cute’, as Dawn liked to call it. “You know,” she told him cheekily, sitting down on a crate as they watched Buffy decimate the vampire. “This is exactly why everyone assumes you’re a horrid beast.” Poking him experimentally, she sighed as her hand went through him like mist. Yet again! “If you can hear me, oh great and powerful… Powers,” she stumbled over her words, cursing herself for not going into her own memories without a thesaurus. “Could you perhaps give me the speedy version of this lesson down ‘memory lane’? I would very much like to leave this place soon!” 

But nothing greeted her, the girl grumbling under her breath as the vampire dusted, and her brother strode out from the shadows, clapping like the villain in a cartoon film might. 

“Nice work, luv,” he crooned to his future sweetheart. 

Buffy only looked him up and down like a confused, yet stylish marmot. “Who are you? 

“You'll find out on Saturday.” 

“What happens on Saturday?”

“I kill you.”

Charlotte huffed in utter disbelief. “Oh, for the love of- this is the start of your great love story?! This? THIS?! I cannot believe-”

 

But she didn’t get a chance to finish, as memory after memory bled through, one after the other. She felt dizzy, watching so many of them from Buffy’s vantage point. 

 

Buffy gripped the axe that Charlotte had just seen strapped to Joyce’s hip, before the power of the amulet bound them in Memory Land. Ah, Charlotte thought. That is when and how Mrs. Summers acquired it, it seems. “Do we really need weapons for this?”

“I just like them,” she heard William say over his fangs. “They make me feel all manly.” Lottie snorted as she rolled her eyes. Her brother could be so crude sometimes. Both Slayer and vampire threw their weapons aside, relying on the use of fists and fangs, instead.  

She watched them fight for a moment, looking around at the old high school, noting the adults at the late hour. Which could only indicate that this memory took place at the infamous parent’s night she was told about. “Is this where Mrs. Summers uses that-” 

A half second into her sentence, the great GodKiller, Mrs. Joyce Summers herself swung the broadside of the axe down, and smacked the back of William’s head with it. “You get the hell away from my daughter!”

Charlotte couldn’t help the snort leave her mouth, especially not when William’s demon face looked so perplexed. 

 

The scene melted away, Lottie shaking her head as the streets of Sunnydale came into sharp relief. She’d be dizzy if it were her body in here, not just her- whatever. 

 

“Hold it right there!” She swivelled on her heel, an officer leaving his car as he slammed the door. Looking around, she saw Buffy, wearing a black beanie on her head, spinning to face him. “Put your hands on your head!” She froze, worry trickling into her chest. “Do it!

Buffy stared at his gun, fear gripping her heart as she began to raise her hands. Charlotte’s eyebrows knit together. Was… Was the Slayer about to get arrested? 

Without a single word from Charlotte, the gun was kicked from the constable’s grip, then his face and shin received the same treatment. Unconscious, his body was thrown onto the hood of the police car, face up. His attacker turned towards the surprised Slayer, near white halo of slicked back curls gleaming against the streetlights. “Hello, cutie,” he smirked. 

“Cutie?” Charlotte scoffed, folding her arms. “You were enemies!” She missed some of the conversation between them before hearing Buffy say, ‘-sucked into Hell, and you want my help 'cause your girlfriend's a big ho?’ “Oooh, I owe you another massive apology, Buffy,” she winced. “Didn’t realise Druscilla’s been a cheat for a while. Goodness, was there a time Druscilla had been faithful to my brother? Ever? But no one answered, because that wasn’t how this Soul Binding thing worked. 

 

Memory after memory flooded in, William in the Summers’ kitchen, having hot chocolate with the matriarch, fighting demons side by side amongst the years, then his pathetic display in the sun with that God-awful ring, amongst other things. 

 

But it was at a location she didn’t recognize that made Charlotte feel most confused. Buffy, standing across from Angel, in some underground location, the pair pleading with one another. It took her a couple of seconds to realise her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her, the scene before her was playing in black and white, while she remained in technicolor. Strange, but stranger still was the next thing out of the older blonde’s mouth. 

“What?” the Slayer asked, pained. “You just took a whole 24 hours to weigh the ups and downs of being a regular Joe, and decided it was more fun being a superhero?" 

“He- no,” Charlotte shook her head, blood running cold. “No, he was-”

“You know that's not it,” Angel argued with her, but it felt a little forced. As if he was trying to convince himself as much as her.  “How can we be together if the cost is your life, or the lives of others?” They shared a tense look, Buffy staring at him, nearly trembling with emotion. He took her into his arms, hoping to console them both. “I know,” he said pathetically. “I couldn't tell you. I wasn't sure- if I could do it, if I woke up with you one more morning…" 

 

She watched in horrific silence as the scene played out, Buffy’s choice in the matter never considered. He made the choice for them both, and as she begged him for more time, he shushed her with his begging, and a flash of light brought them to the first office of Angel Investigations, colour awash as Buffy watched the brooding wonder kill a demon the second it burst through his office.

 

“It’s a Mohra demon,” Angel said, face stony. “I- I had a lot of time to catch up on my reading.”

Charlotte frowned, her mouth popping open. “Why can I see this?” She looked around as the world around her turned back to that same slate grey room as before. “She- she doesn’t remember, but I can see it? Why can I see what she could not?” The Power that showed her how Dawn was made didn't answer, but she could feel it, just on the edges of her consciousness. Trying to turn towards the oddly familiar feeling, she found herself in Mr. Giles’ flat, in yet another memory. 

 

Buffy sat on a wooden chair, hair flowing down in waterfall curls, staring down at Willam on one knee, with her face stitched in awe. Lottie’s nose wrinkled in confusion at the scene. “What in th-”

“It's just so sudden,” the Slayer said. “I don't know what to say.”

“Just say yes, and make me the happiest man on earth.” Charlotte’s eyes bugged out of her head at her brother’s words. 

Was- was William proposing to Buffy? How did they never tell her-?

“Oh, Spike!” the college student exclaimed gleefully. “Of course it's yes!” Allowing him to slip on the ring upon her finger, the pair stood, embracing warmly. Grinning like two fools, they missed Giles’ confused expression when he walked in at first, kissing strongly before being wrapped up in joy again. 

The pair looked… whenever they shared looks of true happiness between them, it didn’t look like this. This was… they looked deranged

A sentiment Mr. Giles seemed to share, ripping off his glasses, quite baffled by the whole display. 

“Giles!” Buffy had finally noticed the onlooker, grinning broadly at him. “You'll never believe what's happened!” she exclaimed, holding up her now ringed ring-finger. 

Charlotte choked on her own spit as she looked at the ring. “Oh, dear God,” she breathed. “That has to be the single ugliest ring I have ever witnessed, in my entire life!”

 

Grunting sounded behind her, and as she spun around, she watched her brother fight a particularly grotesque, partially demon- “oh, God,” she breathed, recognition in her heart at the human/demon hybrid he shoved his lit cigarette butt into. The Initiative. This was one of Adam’s gruesome projects. “I think I might heave.”

 

Not that she had the chance to, being whisked away to more fighting, seeing not only her brother and his once biggest rival duking it out against ornery demons, but also with the Scoobies. “Willow! Oh, I love your jumper! And Xander’s hair is- look out!” She yelped as something exploded, ducking her head in reflex, despite the obvious fact that she’d not be injured, even if she stood directly in the fire. 

“Buffy,” her brother’s voice crooned out to her left, all other sounds of battle diminished. Looking up, she straightened to find herself in another memory. Some sort of classroom…? But with- oh! Oh, wow. A surgical theatre mockup, to teach medical students. Why were they here? Did the pair attend a lecture together? And- oh, no. She didn’t know who the other man was, standing next to Buffy, but that? The vampiress next to her brother was Harmony. This was not a fun memory. “I swear I was just thinking of you. I wanted to tell you the great news. My head's all clear now. No more bug-zapper in my noggin.” 

“That means I get to kill you,” Buffy quipped back. 

“You get to try.”

Their little standoff continued, staring one another down. Without warning, the crossbow went off, the arrow flying with a twang , embedding itself into the tall stranger’s leg. Buffy looked over at him in concern, but he barely seemed to react at all. As if he couldn’t feel a thing. “Are you fighting with a man on ephedrine?” Lottie asked aloud, feeling herself come down with a touch of madness. “Why am I even bothering to ask? No one can HEAR ME!” 

Unaware of the onlooker, Harmony winced a little, barely showing an ounce of regret. “Oops.”

He stormed towards the vampiress, who moved forward herself, only to have the crossbow knocked clean out of her hands. 

Charlotte watched in silence as the blondes all fought one another, fists clenched by her side. She wasn’t used to this kind of display of hatred between her brother and his paramour. When William stumbled back against the operating table, she flinched, only to gasp when he jumped onto the gurney and grinned down at the Slayer. 

“At long last,” he uttered around his fangs before leaping onto her. Lottie shouted in shock as he pinned the woman down, bending to bite her- 

A blood curdling scream of agony left his lips, head jerking backward. Seeing her opening, Buffy punched him in the face, then shoved him off her. William landed next to the doctor, glaring furiously at the fearful looking surgeon. 

Harmony got a punch to the face from the man she was exchanging blows with before kicking him aside. Scrambling up, he headed for her again, only to have his chest ache in pain, grabbing at it in anguish. 

“Riley!” Buffy cried out, abandoning fighting the vampire to go help the injured man, as the table he stumbled into fell atop him on his way to the ground. Crawling over to him, the college student placed her hands on his chest, face awash in concern. “Riley.”

Charlotte’s face screwed up, ignoring her brother for a moment to take a closer look at the man her mentor was perched over. “ This is the infamous Riley? He looks… tall. Rather plain, though. Why would-”

 

The memory didn’t linger, as it wasn’t only Buffy’s, but also William’s shared memories that counted. “This is insane.” She turned around to see an older man around Mr. Giles’ age - or perhaps a little older - snap at the group in front of him. “You people have no right to interfere with Tara's affairs. We... are her blood kin! Who the hell are you?” 

“We're family.” Charlotte turned back to see Buffy, her arms crossed. Dawn, a few inches shorter than Lottie was used to seeing her, stood next to her, mirroring her sister’s pose. Tara smiled through tears, despite the stern looking gentleman glaring at them all. 

“You- you gonna let 'em just…” a man a few years older than Buffy stomped forward, stopping in front of Tara. “Tara, if you don't get in that car,” he said maliciously in his southern drawl. “I swear by GOD, I will beat you down.”

Charlotte stepped forward, opening her mouth to shout something obscene. Thankfully, Xander jumped in at the right moment. “And I swear by your full and manly beard, you're gonna break something trying.”

“Well,” a pretty young woman who bore a bit of a familial resemblance to Tara scoffed. “I hope you'll all be happy hanging out with a disgusting demon.”

The Magic Box, with the entirety of the Scooby gang (save for Mrs. Summers) in attendance, looked at the woman in disdain. Charlotte was no exception, scowling at the young lady, utterly flabbergasted by such an outburst. Someone clearly hated her brother. 

Anya, from behind the safety of the front counter, raised her hand tentatively. “E-excuse me. What kind?”

“What?” the mystery woman asked. 

“What kind of demon is she?” she continued. Wait. SHE?! They couldn’t possibly mean Tara, did they? The kind, loving witch, the one who stood between the girls and demons- more than a handful of times? The one who her brother named after a famously GOOD witch? Could they? “There's a lot of different kinds. Some are very, very evil. And some have been considered to be useful members of society.” She smiled proudly, Xander turning to his then girlfriend, smiling proudly right back. 

“Well, I- I ... what does it matter?”

“Evil is evil.” Charlotte narrowed her eyes at the man. She didn’t much care for either of them. Scratch that. At all. 

“Well,” Anya continued, not easily thwarted. “Let's just narrow it down.” Xander nodded next to her, squaring his own shoulders, ready to defend his woman. 

But it was Lottie’s own flesh and blood who made the first move. “Ohhh,” he said knowingly, looking around at the others, only then making his memory crashing little sister notice that ‘Riley’ was the one Scooby not present. Was he out of the picture already? “Why don't I make this simple?” Walking forwards past Willow, he tapped Tara on the shoulder simply. When she turned, William punched her once in the face. 

“William!” she admonished her brother, horrified to see him strike the woman who called him her ‘bonus brother’ in the nose.

But then, both Tara and Spike reeled back away from one another in pain. Tara grabbed at her nose, while her brother grabbed his temples. 

“Oww!”

Willow’s anger was the first to surface, unsurprisingly. “Hey!” And as a wash of realisation fell over them all, her voice turned softer, turning towards her girlfriend. “Hey…”

Tara held both hands over her face in protection, trying to see if she was bleeding “He hit my nose!”

“And it hurt!” Willow added. “Uh, him, I mean.” Tara looked at her in surprise, then back at William who was hissing as he rubbed his own sinuses. 

Charlotte was confused, hearing the voice of reason from Buffy before jumping to her own conclusions. “And that only works on humans.”

“There's no demon in there,” William confirmed. “That's just a family legend, am I right?” The older man next to the rude lady glared at Will in anger. “Just a bit of spin to keep the ladies in line.” William smirked, the pain ebbing. “Oh, you're a piece of work. I like you.”

“I'm not a demon,” Tara whispered softly to Willow. 

Willow smiled back, warm hands rubbing at her girlfriend’s nose. “You're not a demon.” 

“He hurt my nose.”

“Aw.”

Wait,” Charlotte said to no one in particular, stalking towards the older man of the trio facing off the Scoobies. ‘Luv, would Tara lie to us? Hide secrets, maybe,’ William had said. But with a family like that, who wouldn’t?’ ‘I hid something from them once,’ Tara had said. ‘They lied to me, and I kept it hidden.’ It finally made sense. “You- oh, you absolute…”

William turned to Tara while his sister tried to find the right word. “Yeah, you're welcome.”

“You… you arsehole!” she screamed. It didn’t matter then the man couldn’t hear her, she needed catharsis. “You… you completely destroy this angel of a woman, an- and make her believe her to- her to be a demon?! I should throttle you!” 

“Mr. Maclay, I would say your business here is finished,” Giles replied firmly.

“And you call yourself a father!” Charlotte scoffed, folding her arms in a complimentary manner as her pseudo sisters behind her. “What a pathetic excuse of a joke you are.”

Mr. Maclay, in all his absolute buffoonery, did not take the hint to leave with a single tiny shred of dignity left. “Tara. For eighteen years your family has taken care of you and supported you. If you wanna turn your back-”

“Dad,” the strongest witch Charlotte had ever met, walked forward, and put her painful past behind her, once and for all. “Just go.”

Mr. Maclay scowled, turning for the door while the other two followed. The man paused before leaving, sneering, “magic.” 

Charlotte, in all her maturity, simply stuck her tongue out at the man and blew a raspberry at him. 

 

“Oh great,” she sighed, the scene changing yet again. “Oh, Christ, not this mess again!” 

As she watched the 2000 Buffy and William fight, the scene didn’t end where she expected. “Here endeth the lesson.”

“You are a wanker of the second highest degree, brother,” she sighed, missing some of what the couple was saying to one another. “And you claim you were already in love with her at this moment? What an ab- No!” She watched as her socially inept brother leaned forward like he was about to kiss the Slayer, and Buffy - naturally - rebuffed him. “Scratch that,” she snorted, crossing her arms. “The first highest degree. Perhaps even higher, actually, because- hey!”

Buffy shoved him to the ground, and looked at him with disgust. “It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you.” She tossed a wad of bills at him, contempt in her whole body as the cash fluttered down on him. “You're beneath me.”

Watching her brother cry as the strong Miss Summers stalked away was definitely not something Charlotte expected to see in their memories. But when had either of these adults ever done things the girl had expected? 

The memory abruptly shifted, now at the Summers house, Buffy sitting on the back porch with her head bowed over her knees. William watched her from the bushes, moving forward. No, strike that. He strode purposefully toward her, a shotgun at his side. Raising the loaded weapon, he cocked it, before taking aim. 

Charlotte felt her mouth pop open. “A GUN?! William! Have you no decorum?! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, but you two are the most dysfunctional couple I’ve ever met.”

Buffy looked up at the sound, her face wet with tears. “What do you want now?” It sounded so wounded, so achingly familiar in its pain. The blonde woman was so lost. 

At the sight of her tears, William’s rage evaporated. “What’s wrong?” He lowered the weapon, eyes firm, but voice calm. 

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Is there something I can do?”

Buffy said nothing, Charlotte watching her role model allow herself to show her hopelessness over her face in front of her greatest rival of the time, terrified. 

William didn’t poke fun, as expected. He instead sat next to her on the porch steps, awkwardly patting her on the back, trying to comfort her. 

The silence stretched on, Lottie sitting on the grass in front of them, watching the queerest scene unfold. After a long while, Buffy sniffed. “Mom, she’s…” she croaked. “Her headaches, they’re not… normal ones.”

Staying silent for a moment, he slid closer, just an inch or two at the most. “She’s sickly?”

Buffy shrugged, looking lost. “She… tomorrow. They’re gonna do tests. A- a CAT scan, or MRI, and some blood work, or something. I don’t,” she used her sleeve to wipe at the tears in her eyes. “I kinda blacked out after she said CAT scan. I…” she fell silent, staring out at the backyard as she trailed off. 

“Oh, Buffy,” Charlotte tried holding her mentor’s hands in her own, but she couldn’t quite grasp them fully. Her eyes went to William, who was looking at his soon to be girlfriend with a mixture of emotions Lottie wasn’t sure she could name. “How much awfulness can surround one family, yet still survive?”

“Bloodwork,” he said, clearing his throat before continuing. “Bloodwork is par for the course, I wager.” His voice softened, tone almost caring. “Strong woman, your mum. Take more than a little headache to knock her down for the count.”

“A shadow,” she clarified. “They found a shadow.”

That shut him up real fast. A shadow was bad. A tumour, Charlotte knew. They would find a tumour, and the horrors wouldn’t stop there. Eventually, he whispered, “want me to take Patrol for a couple days? Give you and the Bit time with your mum?”

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. She wasn’t cold, just… “Could you maybe… sit here with me? Just for-”

“Course.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

 

Charlotte felt her shoulder being tapped, but she wasn’t ready to leave this memory yet. Her brother, without a soul, ready to kill the woman who thought him beneath her, stopped. Beloved as she was to him, he stopped because she was crying. “Christ,” she muttered, turning to see a bat on her shoulder. “William?” The bat shook its head, flying off her shoulder and towards the side of the house. “Ah, yes. Lead me to another memory, oh strange animal guide.”

The little bat flew her into an abandoned warehouse, the smell of burnt popcorn filled the air as Buffy spoke. “What ... is this?” she asked. “The late-night stakeout, the bogus suspects, the flask? Is this a date?”

William scoffed, raising his voice as he rolled his head with his eyes. “A d- Please! A date?” The bat landed in the rafters, watching over the scene with a tilt of its head. Curious. Anti-Genimous never-  the dog just disappeared. “You are completely off your bird! I mean-” and then his demeanour changed, completely 180°, suddenly soft and quietly asking, “why? Do you want it to be?”

Charlotte barked a laugh, feeling herself come on with a touch of madness. Perhaps a great deal more than simply a touch, dissolving into giggles as she followed them outside. “What an absolute - ee hee hee hee! - git you were here, brother. Ha ha ha ha ha! Truly a spectacular failure - aha ha - of the highest degree!” She followed them out, catching Buffy throwing a destroyed wooden crate, the bat now back on Lottie’s shoulder. “Woah. Surprised you didn’t stake him right there and then.” 

“Are you okay?”

She shook her head, wiping furiously at her eyes. “No, I’m not. This is… God, Spike. Your timing seriously sucks.”

“My… timing,” he replied numbly. That came outta left field. Lottie snorted, agreeing with him. 

She nodded. “You just had to pick the freaking worst year of my life to do this!”

And Charlotte stood as she heard Buffy go through each and every point about why this was the worst year of her life, and Lottie wanted to cry. And then punch something, and cry some more. Riley, the wonder bread cub scout of American ideology extraordinaire, had hurt the caring Miss Buffy Anne Summers FAR worse than her sister let on. The more Lottie heard, the more she wanted to punch Mr. Riley Finn squarely in the nose. 

“I’ll never be enough for anyone , will I?”

“If you have no hope….” Charlotte mumbled. 

“Don’t say that!” He grasped her hands in his, forcing her to look up at him. “You were unlucky, but you’ll be enough for the right bloke.”

 

And it felt an awful lot like a final puzzle piece clicked into place, and the memories went rushing by after that. The party with the robot girl. William’s burnt hands in the hospital, he and Buffy holding cups of jello awkwardly. The pair of them in the hospital, Joyce in a bed, the three eating ice cream and chatting. Buffy coming home to William making cottage pie. And the pair hunting fledges in-

“Yet another cemetery,” Charlotte grimaced. “Great.”

“Dawn - I’ll do anything to protect her. You know that, right? Bit’s special.”

Buffy nodded, eyes sweeping right while he was on her left. “I know. She is.”

“I don’t just mean bec-”

“I know,” she sighed. “She’s… she’s kind of everything.”

“I, uh.. Had one.”

“Huh?”

“A sister.”

Buffy stopped, stake nearly slipping from her fingers. “You… you had a sister.” She stared as he slowly turned to face her, hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, head bowed a bit, as if he were embarrassed. 

“Me?” she asked, looking at the man her brother had turned out to be. “You’re... you’re telling her about me?”

“What…how old… um, can I ask-”

“Nine,” William answered, avoiding the Slayer’s gaze. “She uh… she got pretty sickly, pretty fast, too. Was… tore us apart, seeing Pidge like that. Ill and doctors not helpin’ past giving her experimental drugs, and askin’ us to pray for her.”

“Expe- they weren’t proven?!” Charlotte screamed at him. “I thought- oooh! If I could get my hands on that quack, I’d wring his scrawny little neck! Oh, goodness. I think your anger is rubbing off on me, brother.”

“Pidge? Her name was Pidge?”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Pidge is short for Pidgeon, luv. ‘S a pet name, is all. Like Niblet.” He fiddled with a button on his coat. “Charlotte,” he breathed, like he hadn’t said her name in decades and wasn’t sure he remembered how. “Her name was Charlotte.”

Buffy smiled softly, his gaze flicking to her face. “Charlotte… It's a beautiful name, William.”

“Uh-oh,” Charlotte laughed dryly. “Careful now, Buffy. Or he’ll forget that stupid moniker of his.” Beautiful. Buffy thought her name was beautiful

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He hummed, looking down at his boots, the love struck fool he was. “She was. Looked like all the good parts of my mum and dad. She, uh…” he chuckled breathlessly, his face beaming at the memory. He’d never said anything close to that to his sister before. Then again, what brother would?! “Charlotte loved chess. She was a prodigy, you know.” His eyes practically sparkled at her, thinking of his sister. “Father taught her when she was old enough to sit still for two blasted minutes at a time. Wanted to compete with the kids her age, but they didn’t allow girls, the wankers. Jealous lot, they were. Knew they’d be wetting their trousers if they got beaten by a girl half their age.” Charlotte hadn’t noticed herself crying again, hearing the pride in his voice at the sheer memory of her childhood self. “So mum, smart as she was, organised a secret tourney at the house with a bunch of other mums.” Buffy chuckled softly, no doubt picturing a group of Victorian ladies whispering about illicit dealings with a ‘man’s sport’ for their daughters. “Mum’s mates started a betting ring, and Charlotte won the pot. Didn’t need to cheat like pops used to.”

“So was it your dad who taught you to cheat at cards?”

He shook his head, the moonlight highlighting his white hair. “Nope. Mum.”

Buffy barked out a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand when she noticed how loud she was, and how she should be quieter when hunting for fledgling vampires about to rise for the very first time. Charlotte couldn’t help but chuckle too. Mother always was a sore loser when it came to a game of Whist. “Why am I not surprised?”

William’s responding grin was soft, almost fond. It was a look that Charlotte knew well. A look she had missed every single day she was away from him and their parents, after awakening in that hospital in California over a year ago. Had it truly only been so long? Gosh, it felt like a lifetime had passed her by. “Yeah, mum put it aside for Charlotte’s governess. But then…” his face fell, gazing at his hands in heartbreak. “It took her fast. Was slow, but also all at once. Like a slap to the face from a falling fish amidst the sky or something. And I couldn’t-” hands balled up into fists, his anger and resentment simmered. “Couldn’t fight it, couldn’t protect her against it. Could never-” he turned abruptly, punching the tree behind him hard enough that the branches shook. There was the sound of bark cracking, and when he lifted his fist, both she and Buffy saw his knuckles were bleeding. 

“William…” Charlotte stalked forwards, knowing she probably wouldn’t be able to help him. But instinct took over, logic in the grave.

“But Dawn? We can fight for Dawn. Glory may be a hell bitch,” he continued fiercely, his eyes back on the Slayer’s own again. “But she’ll have to trip over my ashes before I let her take Dawn, before she even so much as touches her. I promise you, Slayer. I’ll go to the end of the world for her.”

 

The scene shifted abruptly, faster than all the other transitions, and William looked terrible

“Didn’t tell,” he croaked, coughing from a broken rib stabbing his lung, no doubt. “Couldn’t- couldn’t do that to you. To her. To your mum.”

Buffy stared at him, mouth gone dry. “I know.”

“Couldn’t live- couldn’t ever live with myself if anything ha- anything happened to the Bit.” He struggled to remain upright, remain conscious and talking. She pushed her hand to the back of the plush, curved chair back, using her forearm to prop him up. “With you being in- being in that much pain. Niblet hurt- it’d destroy you. Destroy us. I’d let Glory kill me first. Nearly-” he wavered, eye barely staying open. “Nearly bloody did. Couldn’t save her, but the Bit… can- can keep the Bit… safe…. Keep her safe.”

 

As the memory faded into another, her eyes filled with tears. “William,” she sobbed, feeling overcome at his guilt at not being able to save her. 

It wasn’t his fault. And it was over a hundred years later, but he still was remorseful. Wiping her eyes roughly, she felt a soft little nudge on her cheek, turning to see the little bat on her shoulder again. “He- he didn’t need to- I can trust you, can’t I?” 

The bat nodded, making a happy squeak, a cross between a hiccup and one of Gemini’s little huff sounds, and she couldn’t help but laugh. There was something about him that made her feel safe, and while she normally thought bats were - as Dawn would say - of the icky, this one wasn’t. He was actually pretty cute, for a bat. 

“You know, I’m normally wary of strange animals,” she murmured, scratching under his chin as he squeaked at her happily. “But you’re… you know me, don’t you?” He nodded, head jerking to the left. “You wish me to go there?” He nodded again. “You won’t tell me how you know me, will you?” 

Shaking his little head, he took off, flying to her left, the blonde following, falling through the looking glass as memories sprung up, one after another. 

 

Buffy snorting while they ate wings, the two arguing over a bowl of popcorn, William’s careful fingers as he braided Dawn’s hair, or cleaned boke out of Joyce’s curls. Each one filled her with more hope than she had before. Hope that the love story between the greatest Slayer she’d ever heard of, and a former vampire who delighted in exterminating them, could end happily. WOULD end happily. It was absolute madness, but in the best way, she thought. Romeo and Juliet without them going through their murder/suicide and being teens. A new kind of love story to last for ages. Buttercup and Westley, 2.0. 

Utter madness, she knew. But she didn’t care at this point. They treated her better than Ashley and Henry ever did, they loved her, cared for her, and had changed for the better. The pair had made a life together, made amends. Reminded her that penance was worth making, even if one didn’t believe they were worthy of forgiveness. Even if no one offered them forgiveness for making it. She’d felt so alienated by the Smiths, by the doctors in L.A. But here, in Sunnydale, she had a family. She had safety in the four walls of Revello Drive, in Mrs. Summers care, by William and Buffy’s side. The nights she’d been too scared to sleep, she felt safest in the room she shared with Dawn, the girls sometimes holding one another in bed, like twins fresh out of the womb, protecting one another from the cold, harsh world. She had friends, and family, and love. So bugger it all if she was barmy for wanting the pair to last forever. 

 

Blinking as she didn’t recognize where she was, the expanse of beach front somewhere she’d yet to visit. “What is- oh!” Two figures sat on a blanket a few feet away, a basket holding some goodies, including a bottle of something bubbly. “A picnic? At night?! Gee, wonder who it could possibly be.”

But her mouth fell open, watching her brother cuddled up with Buffy’s back to his chest on the blanket, the pair facing the ocean as they looked at the stars above. 

 

“Whisper me a riddle three 

Of mice and men. Of you and me,

I need your hand in mine,” he murmured to his love, gently pressing a kiss to her temple. 

“The crashing waves of my passion, Inclined.

I weave back to you, my love,

Ogenus couldn’t keep me away.

Through the valleys of doubt, nay, death,

Mine eyes be filled with your

Effulgent beauty. 

But hark, the shrill Claxon of the morn. 

It keeps us awake, drifting apart. 

The moonlight is where we both can dance,

And lo, I shall have the music always playing.”

 

It was nothing like Charlotte had heard before, but by the lovelorn look in Buffy’s eyes, the Slayer knew the author personally. “Think that’s the best one yet,” she croaked, lashes wet with unshed tears. “It was beautiful.”

Kissing her soundly, William beamed, and it struck her why she hadn’t known the providence of the poem. “You- you wrote it,” she breathed, edging closer to see him fuss with the blanket around his lady, the wind picking up enough to make the woman shiver. “You wrote- you write Buffy poetry. And- Gosh. Raising the bar to impossible levels, aren’t you? The pair of you.”

Sitting on a stray log, she watched as he pulled a picnic basket closer, the couple arguing about something trivial, but without any malice of any kind. Just… being a normal couple. On a date. By the sea. With one of their sisters lurking like a perverted peeping Patrick. Bugger. 

Buffy shuffled in the nest of blankets, watching her boyfriend rifle through the basket contents with interest. “Did you remember-?”

“Yeah, yeah. Two parts orange, one part grapefruit juice,” he rolled his eyes, handing her the disposable flute glass, kissing her cheeks before planting one on her lips sweetly. “One part fizzy water. Happy Anniversary, pet.”

“Happy Anniversary, Bunbury,” she responded dreamily, kissing him back before giggling. “Your hair’s all windswept. Very Milton Warden.”

Grinning down at her, he set aside their drinks to wrap his arms around her. “Little From Here To Eternity strike your fancy?”

“Mmm, in a bit.” Settling down on his chest, they looked up at the stars together, her hand tracing invisible patterns on his chest. “Thanks for all this. Especially with, ya know, all the Hellmouth shenanigans we’ve been dealing with, and-”

“Even in hell, I’d rather be right by your side,” he insisted, rubbing his palm against her arm, reassuring her she was loved. “Still a decent night, at least?”

Buffy sighed happily, if a bit weary about something. “It’s perfect.”

Charlotte’s eyes watered. The beauty of his prose was one of the things she knew Buffy loved about him. The light found in the darkness. And the fact that he’d written something so clear of his love for her- without the soul? Astonishing. But it was the quiet togetherness that really struck her as romantic. 

So much of their lives were filled with ghastly kerfuffles, one calamity right after another, disturbing their calm. But on that beach, just gazing at the stars, the pair trading stories, Buffy fretting over his riotous curls, William bundling her up against the cold as the wind whipped their plastic glasses away, their yelps of confusion turning into giggles of joy… this. THIS was what love was all about.

 

The memories zipped by, fights over petty things, the dates at the Bronze, William shouting in cheer over some trivia game, Buffy singing in the car at top volume, the pair dancing at Dawn’s Sweet Sixteen as the birthday girl and Kit made mocking kissy noises behind their backs. And then, the memories started including her. 

Buffy insisting to him that Charlotte would be fine in the fold of their lives, of the pair of them trying to find out how to tell her about the truth of Sunnydale, of the flowers he sent his lady love and her family in apology, of the Slayer planning the day at the fair, of their joy, their fear, their uncertainty. The memory of her own self judging her heroine made Lottie go cold, especially when she saw how badly it affected the stronger blonde. But the fact that it didn’t stop Buffy from protecting her, from trying to bond with her- it made her soul sing. 

The efforts the pair made to make her life a little easier were more than she ever imagined before. She felt so, so, SO loved. Both her and Dawn missed all the little things the pair did for them, and never even bothered to mention. Buffy insisting they switch rooms with the girls was a shock, but the way her brother cut up fruit for them didn’t. Nor did his cursing at the knife, when it slipped on a particularly slick pineapple rind. The way Buffy and William captured Gemini, getting him all patched up, and seen to by a vet - a demon vet - despite Buffy’s own reluctance at letting the animal into their lives, just to make Dawn smile? Oh, she knew that all the pain of her past was worth it, if it meant that this was her family. This- this hodgepodge of people, all after one thing: to live lives as full as they could, with one another, spitting in the austere face of evil. And as the memories of the last few months played out in front of her, landing right back to the pit of hell itself, she felt peace. 

“I don’t know what you’re aiming for here,” Charlotte said aloud, looking at the suddenly glacial pace of all those around her. She was sure that even if she didn’t wake up, she had fought her hardest in this battle. If this was her final moments before oblivion, she would be welcomed in Valhalla with fresh bread and mead. “But I think I understand. My life is yet to be over,” she proudly declared, edging closer to the other three. She felt like she knew them better now. Far better than she ever hoped or wanted to know before. 

“For them as well. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Panic, grief, joy, pain, sadness, anger, passion… life is not linear the way time is. But it can match up perfectly at times, and that can be wonderful or destructive. But it’s the intent and the work that makes it worth it, all of it. That’s it, isn’t it?” She felt something in her straighten out, clicking together like the teeth on a zipper. Pull her up and let the zipper come together again. “Love is the work you put in, expecting nothing in return. But the best love stories involve the other person working hard to prove you are both worth it.”

Finally, exhausted behind measure, her hands gripping the others, their own the same. She didn’t see the woman in white sharing her memories with her- their memories, together. It would take her decades, in fact, before she knew who even sent her into that room in the first place. She didn’t need to, truth be told, because the Guardian would never let anything happen to Charlotte Anne Pratt. 

“Loving them is always worth it,” she gasped as she felt the power of the others’ love melding. The power of their family’s love flowing through them, no… The power of their unintentionally melded souls pushing light where it was needed, closing the Sunnydale Hellmouth forever. Their joined hands as light poured out of them caught fire. She could cry at the memory of the past, allowing the pain to drop through to the endless void of indifference. Love would keep them safe.

Chapter 57

Summary:

Awakening after the soul bound hurt like hell. Carrying their comatose siblings out of said sinkhole hurt worse. Walking on broken toes for over three hours hurt even WORSE, but then, when a pair of bolt cutters slip and sever several of said broken toes, cauterising the wounds makes Dawn wish she HAD died in the Hellmouth.

TW: blood, gore, severed body parts, severe injuries, mentions of rape, and general trauma

Chapter Text

Tuesday, March 11th, 2003 - Part E

 

It took her a hot minute to regain consciousness, but when she finally made one with the ‘oh, hey. I guess I’m not dead yet,’ the first thing Dawn did was groan. Every inch of her body hurt. Her head, her skin, her nails- why did her eyebrows hurt? That made little sense. Her eyebrows, her ankles, her fingernails. Ugh, the ones that aren’t ripped off! Wait, ripped off? How’d that happen? Why was she in so much pain? And where was the burning smell coming from?

Her eyes popped open, blinking away the dry corneas. A flash of green light clouded her vision for a split second, before the rubble hanging precariously close to her face came into view.

“Buffy?” She groaned at the pain flaring in her mouth as the word left her lips, her head splitting, the gash on her face smarting. The fading light above made her think of sunset. Which meant she would be lost soon. She... had been here a while. Sunrise was too far away. She was alone. “Buffy!”

“Dawn?”

Her head whipped to the right, the voice calling her name was too young, but so familiar, and hopefully super nearby. Oh, God. Please, please, PLEASE be her! “Charlotte?!”

“Dawn!” Charlotte screamed back, the sound of smaller rubble and gavel being moved echoed across the canyon, or cavern, or… where even were they?! “Dawn! I’m here! Follow the sounds of my voice!”

Oh, she would cry sweet tears of relief if her entire body wasn’t totally devoid of hydration. “Lottie!” Lottie was here! Lottie was alive! “Oh, thank God!” Dawn stumbled along, trying to find the girl amongst the wreckage. “Are we still in the Hellmouth? Do you remember what happened? Did we win?!”

This time, Charlotte’s voice came closer, as more rubble was moved aside in her effort to reunite herself with her friend. “I- I think so. I haven’t found any- William!”  

Oh, that shriek didn’t sound good. Dawn pushed through a broken chunk of a Honda Buick, seeing Charlotte’s face, hat missing, her hair attempting to flee her head, bent over a pair of combat boots sticking out of the rubble. “Lottie!”

“Help me with him!”

The brunette scrambled over, looking around to make sure there wasn’t any direct sun, before helping her BFF move her brother’s prone form out from under the wreckage of their town. They hauled the piece over him, the bent metal garage door heavier than it looked, shoving it backwards with a surge of adrenaline. The sound of it scraping against concrete and broken glass was excruciating on the ears. 

But Spike…. He looked beaten and broken and bloody and bruised. Way worse than he did after Glory put him through the wringer. “William!” Charlotte’s cries echoed in the grande expanse. “Oh, God. Oh, God! Is he-?” Touching his chest absently, the Victorian girl felt lost on what to do. “He’s not breathing, but is he still…?”

Dawn nodded. “Unless he’s bones or dust, he’s still alive,” she reassured her friend, not sure herself. “Sort of. As alive as a vampire can get, at least.”

Seemingly appeased with her statement, Charlotte nodded, before looking around to try to find something to use as a stretcher. “Yes, I suppose that- Dawnie, you’re bleeding!” Reaching for the hanky from her jean pocket, she stood to dab it to her friend’s face, only to come up empty. Great. That was gone too! 

“So are you!” she pointed to her friend’s hand, just as harried. “Your pinkie! It’s… gone….” 

She looked down, blinking at her missing little finger on her left hand. The nub was just at the metacarpal- or what was left of it, the joint straight up missing with her proximal phalanx. “Huh,” she said numbly, utterly detached from the reality in front of her. “So it is.” 

“Jesus, you two are so related,” Dawn murmured, eyes wide. 

“Hmm?” 

“Nothing. We should move him and- Buffy!” She turned around, trying to find her sister in the mess around them. “I- I- I can’t find her. We have to- we can’t-” As her eyes darted around the space that had once been their home, she struggled with her ‘keep calm and carry on’ attitude. Where was Buffy? They needed Buffy. “I can’t live w- without-”

“We’ll find her, Dawnie,” she promised her friend, right hand on Dawn’s right shoulder. She was staring at her friend’s hair, the dust settling on her braids in a way that made it look like she’d gotten a sprinkling of greys. It wasn’t altogether bad, actually. “Let’s prop him up, so we can still see him in the setting sun. That is the sun, right? Because- Christ! My hands hurt…” Trailing off, they looked down at their palms, seeing the burns there, etching their final battle in the town forever. “Oh, God. It- it really happened… We… Are we dead? Is this hell?”

Dawn shrugged. “Until we find something other than rubble and him,” she reasoned. “I’m guessing no. Cuz if this was hell, then I’d see… nope. Not even gonna say it,” she shuddered at the memory of those giant spiders in the abandoned town Glory-Ben died in. The stench alone…. She already couldn’t stomach killing the teeny tiny bugs at home without remembering that shit show, she didn’t need any more reminders, thanks. “Cuz that’s how nightmares become reality.”

“Fair point. Do you suppose his… his hands…?” She helped her brother upright, Dawn grabbing his other side. Which was its own challenger, really. “My God, William, you really must lay off the fried food. You’re all dead weight!”

“Uh, Lottie?”

“Yes, yes, I know!” she huffed, pushing herself up, shoving her hair backwards. Her ringlets were a mess, as they’d managed to escape the careful braids her loving brother had spent precious time twisting them into. She probably would need to cut a lot of it off after this. Maybe she’d look fetching with a short bob. “I was hoping a joke would make him rise to the occasion of getting us out of here!” Lottie looked like a loon, yelling to her brother’s beaten and unconscious face. But she cared not. After what they had just gone through… “I would slap him around if he weren’t so… spam sandwich right now.”

“Spam…? Oh, Lottie,” Dawn snorted. “You really are one of us, huh?”

“Suppose I am. Can’t get rid of me now.”

“Yeah, like we’d ever want to… do that… hey,” she said, pointing a couple hundred metres away, the blonde blip fluttering in the wind. She’d know it anywhere. “Buffy.” Dawn broke out into a run, or at least tried to, noticing her muscles were knocked around more than they’d ever been, but determined as all heck to get her sister out safely. Adrenaline was flowing through her, and she was too ding-dong stubborn to listen to her brain telling her to take it down a notch. Not when she had her sister to grab. “Buffy!” She struggled up the steep incline, moving carefully yet swiftly around broken chunks of concrete to get to her sister, heart hammering a staccato in her chest. 

The younger blonde was on her heels, coughing as she followed. “Oh, Buffy,” Charlotte cried, pushing rubble off their leader carefully with her friend. “Please be alive. Please, please, be still alive. We made plans! Don’t cancel them on us now.” Oh, thank goodness! she sighed when she saw their leader’s chest rise and fall. “Oh, thank the heavens above for small miracles! She’s breathing!!” 

Giggling as she pulled Lottie into a hug, Dawn felt her head swim. She probably should sit down, take it easy. Lottie, too. But something in her was telling her they weren’t safe here. It could have been the massive amounts of rubble around them. “We can’t stay here.” 

Pulling away a second later, her Victorian era BFF agreed, but then her face turned down in an exaggerated pout. “How do we get them out of this place?”

“Maybe if we drag them up to about… there, we can try to find survivors to help.”

“Dawn,” Charlotte hedged carefully. “I haven’t heard any other survivors here since I woke up. I’d been calling your names for nigh on twenty five minutes before you answered.”

“What?! Oh, God. Okay, no, it’s fine! W- we still have weapons, see?” She showed her friend the battle axe scythe thing, laying next to their Slayer General. Though it was little dinged up, it still could cut through whatever they needed it to. “And the- oh! Is that…? What’s that yellow thing over there?”

“A banner perhaps?” The blonde squinted where her friend pointed, her own eyes sore from the sun blinding her in the tiny hole above them. At least she still possessed both of her eyes. “I believe from the car wash, over on State street.”

“State Street and Crawford?” Lottie nodded. “Okay, that’s… geez. We flew far, huh?”

“Understatement of the century.”

“Okay. We’ll have to haul them up one by one, then.” 

“Her first? William must be glow in the dark with that hair. Huh, finally found a use for it,” she snorted, amused with her own quip.

Pulling Buffy up first was a great idea… in theory. Problem was, there was just so much ground to cover, that they were walking everywhere twice. Grab her, walk twenty steps, set her down, walk back down those twenty steps, grab him, walk up the twenty steps to where she was resting. Wash, rinse, repeat. After the fourth round of ‘bring the siblings up outta the Hellmouth caves’, Dawn called it quits. 

“We need something… I dunno!” She threw her hands up, utterly defeated. “Maybe if I were a vampire, I co-”

 

          SLAP!

 

“Oh, Dawn!” Charlotte sobbed as the realisation that she’d hurt her best friend sunk in. The other girl had a wide look on her face, touching her cheek in confusion, as the blonde felt shame course through her veins. And Dawn’s blood on her palm. Damn that gash! “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean- I just- do not even joke like that! If- if you turned now, you’d be dead! And then I’d be alone in this hell hole again, an- and I - and I just can’t- cant- breathe. Can’t breathe-”

Dawn settled her friend, feeling so lost without her sister, her friends, her mom…. It was hell. Hell Hole where the HellMouth used to be. HellAnus, she thought, grabbing her friend’s shoulders, rocking her side to side the way Buffy taught her, calming the girl. We’re in the butt of hell. And it stinks.  

Lottie whined, tilting her head up to the top of cavernous wasteland. “This is just like that dreadful tunnel excursion you took me on, where the apparition nearly took our very lives!” 

“It was a fake haunted house, Lottie.” 

“That dunderheaded ride operator was the human equivalent of a gopher with candle wax for brains.” 

Well, he kinda was- she couldn’t believe the nerve of that guy, just walking off to go make out with the girl working the cotton candy booth, leaving them stranded in the dark ride. Spike had gone nuclear when they didn’t reappear on the other end, and nearly broke the whole thing apart just to get them out. But Buffy had been there to calm the girls - and him - down. She was unconscious now, her awareness leaving the building that used to be their school after it all came crumbling down around them. They never felt so sunk, in every way that it could feel. Plus, where the hell was her friend’s puffer?! Puffer. Inhaler. The car! “Okay, new plan.”

“Which is…?”

Dawn looked around in the dwindling light, pointing to the banner they saw earlier with determination. “We tie them together and drag them out.”

“And how are we to do that?! William alone weighs a good twelve stone, eas-”

“We’ll do what we did in science class with the model treb- did you say ‘stone’?”

“The trebuchet! Of course!” The blonde looked around frantically, spying the thing that caught her eye earlier, ignoring the befuddled expression of her BFF. “I could have sworn I saw… a-ha!” She pulled on the collapsed storefront awning, breaking off the chain from the already damaged hook, and showing it to her friend. “We could wrap this around them,” she gestured to the fabric of the awning, “secure it with this,” she held up the surprisingly sturdy chain in her hand, “and then attach the banner to them!”

“Okay! One problem: what do we use to hold the banner as we put a weight underneath them?” 

Right. That was also pretty important for their plan to have any kind of success. The two teenagers looked high and low for some magical hook or protrusion above them to act as an anchor for the ballast. See, a trebuchet was about catapulting something up and forwards, such as a boulder at an enemy. What they really hoped to achieve, however, was a simplified elevator pulley design. Attach siblings to rope, rope goes up and through the anchor, down to where a heavy object would be tied to said rope, teen girls kick heavy thing, heavy thing fall, siblings go up to the surface. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. 

In their dreams. Reality was a broken awning, a vinyl car wash banner, and more rubble than any young lady could dream of. Also, they won the highest grade in the district for their model trebuchet. They were proud of it! Now that it was sitting at the bottom of the bottom of the Hellmouth they were in, they felt like bringing it up, because they had to think of something to get them out. Hello? Only the four of them were left! It was depressing as… well, there. 

Charlotte looked down at William’s still face, the horror stricken memory of seeing herself through his eyes much in the same fashion rising in her throat. Yet she had been dying. He was undead. For now. “Belts,” she muttered as her eyes caught the buckle of his glinting on a Wisp of light, looking at Buffy’s attire next. “The belts. If we can find a solid piece of rubble, we can make a chain of belts around it. Thus: anchor.”

Dawn winced. It wasn’t the worst plan in the world, but she knew her own belt of hemp wasn’t gonna fit into the thinner leather one Buffy had on. “How about we use her belt to attach them to each other, through the belt loops. You know? Like a zip tie?” Lottie nodded. “An- and then we can use the chain to… no. Hang on. Maybe we… no, cuz we don’t have rope here. We could… nope. No car. I think if we-” 

“Car!” At the mere mention of the DeSoto, Charlotte’s demeanour immediately changed; gone was the morbid wash over her, laughter filling its place. “We just have to get them close enough for the car!”

“You lost me.”

“The anchor! It would be his car and you just drive them up out of here!”

“Huh? Wait…. Oh!” Dawn bounced up and down on her tiptoes, excitement bringing adrenaline with it, numbing the pain she would feel when she’d get out. “Okay, let’s get them closer, just in case.”

“In case of what?!”

“My legs giving out. I still have to walk to the- just help me get them to that spot there.”

They struggled, but managed to drag them up another fourteen yards, with a little bickering, before Dawn called it quits. Leaning closer to the opening for some fresh air, they took a well deserved break. Well, fresh-ish. “This would go a lot smoother,” Lottie huffed. “If you weren’t bloody comatose!” 

“Charlotte,” Dawn gasped, checking her watch. It had broken a while ago, but she counted the potential number of hours they were down there, and the math wasn’t mathing. “When do you take your next pill?”

“Tomorrow morning, I assume,” she groaned, seeing her own watch had also broken earlier. “Oh, lovely. I think now is about the time we start making up cuss words. I vote for Dooley being one of them,” she chattered on casually. “The meaning of which would be ‘we’re rather well and truly fucked by a sheep’s hoof to the undercarriage’. You?”

Dawn blinked at her friend, stunned by the crass words leaving the lady’s mouth like it was the steps in a recipe. Weird. But not completely of the bizarro world considering the crap show they’d just gone through. She was probably in shock. “Sure…. Noted. Um, maybe we should table that for when we’re not at the bottom of hell’s butthole. I don’t think we’re at the, uh, using other people’s names as swear words part just yet. But if we were, I’m calling dibs on ‘pulling a Bradley’  for being a smug jerk- grab the other side, like- yeah. What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Being a smug jerk while thinking you win, only to get, like, your butt handed to you on a silver chess board.” She just hoped they hadn’t been dead to the world for more than a few hours. If they had been here days, and her BFF didn’t take her anti-rejection meds…. No. She would NOT let herself go there. Lottie was right. They couldn’t do this without one another. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she insisted, squeezing her friend’s hand reassuringly. “Keep the scythe, ya know, just in case.”

Nodding, Lottie squeezed back - sans pinky - answering, “be safe. Remember-”

“We have plans.”

 And with a final look at the two still siblings on the ground, she started her climb out of the sinkhole that used to be Sunnydale. 

 

----------

 

The fun thing about walking post apocalypse beating was how quiet it was. The unfun part had to be, oh, everything else. The walking, for one, and on sore muscles on top of that? Yluch! No thanks. Once night settled in, however, she enjoyed the relative silence stretched around her. It wasn’t like what she had in Sunnydale. There, you were never alone, some demon just around the corner. But here? Now? Post battle Nowheresville was peaceful. Like a big ole blanket had been spread over the world, keeping her safe. 

Dawn overhead as she walker, grateful that at least the stars were shining for her tonight. “Big Dipper…” she murmured, tracing it with her finger the way Buffy taught her. And then Spike did too, unaware his girlfriend already had, two days prior. “Little Dipper… Polaris. Okay. That’s North, and I’ve been heading… mmm, East. And there’s still… another two hours to the storage facility.” Shoulders dropping in defeat, she let out a sigh before continuing her journey. “Great.”

His directions to the storage facility he stashed the Firelight in were sound, but so freaking far away. Which was probably smart, what with their town pulling an Atlantis on land. She limped after the first ten minutes, adrenaline leaching out her body, and that’s when the pain set in. Her toes were probably broken, but she couldn’t think about that. She had to get the car, then get them the heck out of there. Lottie wouldn’t survive without her inhaler, or her medications. Neither would Spike without blood, and Buffy would need to eat at some point. Plus, hello? They were in a freaking pit! It could collapse at any moment, and then what? Huh? So she kept walking, daydreaming about lording over her escape from the ruins of their town, stopping the biggest bad ever over Christy’s perky little head, instead of running away like the snooty bully had. She even considered doing a multimedia presentation, with music, even if it was just in her head.  

Dawn Summers, the announcer in her head called out, in a surprisingly Xandery tone of voice. The one, the only, magnificently magical woman here for one night only: The Key of Sunnnydaaaaaaale! Fireworks would go off, the crowd would go wild, and she’d come out in a billowy, violet gown - designer, obvi - wearing a small but tasteful tiara, more rings on her fingers than Spike usually wore, waving to her adoring fans. And Christy? Well, she’d likely be pouting in the first row of the audience, wearing a burlap sack, looking miserable. Okay, so she wasn’t a total monster, and switched the imaginary outfit to a basic jeans and t-shirt number, super plain and boring. Oh, the mean girl would just hate that. ‘Thank you, thank you’, Dawn would say, roses and lilies being tossed at her feet. ‘Saving my sister and her boyfriend? Oh, it was nothing! They’re the REAL heroes here’, she’d humblebrag. And Christy would beg her forgiveness, but she wouldn’t give it right away, oh, no. That kinda thing had to be earned. And the former Key had a lot of time walking to her destination to fantasize about all the ways she wished the other teenager could do in order to earn it. 

She finally reached the facility, only to have it locked. Great. Kicking the gate, she hopped on one leg in pain, completely forgetting it was her bad foot. “Fuuuuu- oh. There you are!” she squealed, recognizing the hidden present Spike left her. “Hiding it in the most obvious place, BloodBoy, seriously?” She snorted, lifting the faux rock next to the gate, the little pigeon sticker on the side, looking absolutely ridiculous with its baseball cap and little shorts. Underneath the plastic decorative boulder, she found the duffle, just as he’d described. 

“Please have a lock picking kit, please have a… bolt cutters? Seriously? My hands are burnt up, and you packed bolt cutters, chips, your stupid gummy candy, and, oh, hey, cash.” Pulling out the envelope labelled ‘for the Bits’, she counted the bills, carefully avoiding doing more damage to her fingies. Wasn’t anything obscene, but there was enough for a few nights at a roadside motel, if need be. “Thank you for that, very nice. Now where’s the freaking- okay. Thank you!” She smiled, pulling out the kit he’d given to her as a gift. Buffy hated it when she’d seen her sister open it, and so did their mom. But it was absolutely crucial now. It wasn’t the kitchen door at the back of their house, but this lock was about to be picked apart by the Dawnmeister. “Had to put it on the bottom, didn’t you?” Even if she complained the whole way.

It was rough, using the thin metal tools in burnt hands. Fingers stiff from carrying the supernatural adults, three fingernails missing between both hands, it took longer than normally. She was seconds from taking the bolt cutters out when she finally got the damned thing open. The sigh of relief was short lived as she wrenched the gate open. The stinking thing was electric, but none of the electricity was on, for some reason. Which meant the traumatized teenager had to shove it open the old fashioned way, pushing it on the track with sore muscles. “Cuz… I don’t… have a… freaking,” she huffed, leaning on the metal support to rest when she got it nearly three-quarters of the way open. “Normal… life! Damn.” Looking down she felt her adrenaline ebb out. “My blisters have blisters on them,” she muttered to no one in particular. Could’ve been to the pigeon sticker for all she knew. “Gonna… yeah, gotta keep going forwards.” She shoved it the rest of the way while grunting in frustration. 

The tears didn’t fall until she started to walk into the facility, turning to the left down the first aisle. The unit was seven doors to the left. Seven double doors away. Like, a whole block away. After walking hours to the facility. And climbing out of the Hellmouth crater. And dragging their siblings out. And- 

The brunette collapsed on the pavement without ceremony, sobbing with her head buried in her hands. She’d seen so many of their memories. All of theirs. She watched Charlotte die from both her and Spi- human William’s eyes. Watched him kill his first two Slayers, watched Buffy die… so many more that were so strong, so heavy, so painful. Some were nice, like Charlotte playing chess with her father, his kind eyes, and artistically carved wooden pipe a perfect foreground image, with all those pretty Christmas decorations behind him. Buffy and Spike slow dancing in the gallery at Anya and Xander’s wedding. Going on car rides with the four of them, with the lights of their old town twinkling around them. Spike and her mom hanging out- him painting her nails while she did his was definitely wiggy, but oddly sweet. Buffy secretly hiding chocolate hearts for Dawn to scarf down the Valentine’s Day prior.

But there was also so much death. Way more than her sister had even hinted at. Not just demons, but victims her sister had seen with her own two eyes, and when she was younger than Dawn was now. Watching Ben being shot from Spike’s perspective would haunt her nearly as much as the memory of Buffy’s ex boyfriend ra- rap- she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t even think the word. The pain she felt when she re-lived Angelus holding Spike down by the neck, while he violated him would stick with her forever. The words haunted her, but the back of her neck still hurt from residual claws. Or maybe from being flung through rubble. Both. It was totally both. 

She wept until she had a headache, dehydration sucking moisture from her cells. But she had to get up, she had to keep going. The fate of her family depended on it. Standing, Dawn suddenly cried out in pain, collapsing back down on the tarmac, agony gripping at her toes. “Ow! What the hell?” Carefully sticking her feet out in front of her, she looked at her shoes, fingers probing them carefully. “Ah! Okay, yeah, definitely something broken.” She sighed at her left foot, shaking her head and standing more carefully this time. Favouring the right side, she limped herself towards the door. “Running just as fast as we can,” she ground out under her breath. “Holding onto one another’s hand. Something, something, something, to the ground and then we say.” She continued to sing-talk as she went, the song distracting her from the shooting agony in her toes. It grounded her to the earth. As long as she was singing the song, she could keep going. As long as she had music, she would be okay. 

Dancing was out of the question, but that memory was the one she held onto the most at the moment. Buffy had made a memory for them despite wanting to give up. She knew it, Spike knew it, Dawn knew it. It was impossible not to know. And now, it was the memory Dawn was fiercely holding onto as she broke into the storage unit, forgetting the key her best vampire friend had in his coat pocket, back in Used To Be Sunnydale.  

“Can’t believe I forgot the key,” she scoffed, fingers clumsy as she picked the lock on the unit. “Thank God he put the car keys in the duff- crap!” The tool slipped from her hands again, so ripping the zipper open on the bag, she chucked the kit back in. “Time for the Lock Killer,” she murmured, pulling out the bolt cutters. “Crap. This is way heavier than I expected. Okay, Dawn. It’s fine. You carried a jack before, and that was way, way,” she grunted as she used the most muscle she could manage to clip the metal arm off the padlock. “Heavi…er, a-ha!” It snapped off triumphantly; and then the tool promptly slipped from her hands and fell right onto her foot. Her injured foot. Blade first. 

The blood curdling scream she let out upon impact was heard for miles around. By some grace of the Powers That Be, she was the only being that wasn’t a cockroach for those miles, or else she’d have an army of vampires heading right for her. After she’d been all screamed out, she wrenched the lock off, and lifted the door open with great difficulty. Panting, she hobbled over to the car, relief a minute spark in her chest. Holding the bolt cutters to keep herself from dislodging it and bleeding out, she waddled to the hood of the car. “Hey Firelight,” Dawn sighed, palm resting on the cool metal, sapping a tiny bit of the pain there. “You’re a beautiful sight right now. Sore eyes, and everything. Totally better than one of those stupid minivans.” The car had survived so much, and it would support them through this. “First, I gotta admit: I might bleed on your bench seats. Probably a lot.” Unlocking the driver’s side, she wrenched the door open and slid onto said seat. “Ow! Okay. It’s okay. I’m probably missing a toe, that’s all. It’s not like it’s a finger or… God, Lottie!” Tears sprung from her eyes again, unbidden, a wave of hopeless despair crashing through her. It wouldn’t be until a few days later that she’d recognize the situation as her being in shock. Go figure.

It took longer to calm down this time, but once she did, she looked around for the mini first aid kit she knew he had left there since her last injury, wrenching the glove box open with a sigh. After debating about it, she made a decision she knew would probably knock her out. But it was very clear to her that there was only one thing she could do, in order to keep from bleeding out. “God, I hope I don’t puke,” she hissed, grabbing what she needed. But it was pointless to stall anymore. It had to be done. She just hoped she would come to before Charlotte needed to take her pill. The last thing they needed right now was for the girl to reject her new lungs.

Gritting her teeth, she lifted her foot, sliding back on the seat until she had both legs in front of her. Switching the car on, Dawn sighed in relief at the lights that flooded the inside. “Thank fuck.” She’d feel guilt for the swear, if she wasn’t so beat up. “Okay, you can do this,” psyching herself up, she laid out what she needed, yanking out the cigarette lighter as a last minute gesture. She’d only seen this once, in a scene from a war movie they watched for history class, where a guy got a bullet to the shoulder. His friend had done it to stop the bleeding, and while she and Lottie cringed, the blonde told her that it was really effective in life and death situations. And losing a toe before needing both feet to drive, three family members needing to be rescued, felt like an emergency if there ever was one. “Your sister is the Slayer General, your mom is Slasher, the GodKiller.” Undoing her laces was hard, but the pain of taking off the shoe was gonna be so much worse. Giving herself the pep talk helped. A lot. “Your best friend travelled through time, and her brother slash your sister’s boyfriend is a master vampire, who earned his frickin’ soul for the whole damn family. Ouch, ouch, ouch! You used to be an interdimensional Key of pure energy, for God’s sake! You can handle this.”

Her movements were fast - as fast as she could with her hands shaking - as she threw the bolt cutters to the cement floor outside the car, then wrenched the shoe off. As she suspected, her toes were more than broken. From pinky to middle toe were all severed, and bleeding quite a bit. Somehow, Dawn didn’t upchuck at the sight, stomach almost numb to it. Just out of sheer stubbornness, she dabbed at the wounds with gauze, spraying rubbing alcohol onto the stumps before grabbing the car’s cigarette lighter, and pushing it firmly into the first fresh cut. 

In theory, cauterising a wound on one’s own body was painful. In practice, the agony whited out her vision, a scream ripped through her vocal cords without permission. But she kept the pressure, focusing on doing what she could, and saying screw it to the rest. If she lost consciousness for three seconds, well… those were three seconds she wouldn’t be writing about in her memoirs. Once the stump stopped oozing, she huffed greedy breaths in, pulling it away, blinking rapidly against the tears collected on her lashes. “Fuck!” She had to do it twice more. “Fucking buggering fuckity-fuck fuck!” Thank God no one was around. She so didn’t need anyone chastising her to keep her language more ladylike, or whatever. Wiping the tears away with a scrap of fast food tissues from the glovebox, she moved to her next stumpy toe. “This little piggy really misses home.”

Toes no longer bleeding, she wrapped it in the rest of the gauze from the mini kit, knowing the trunk had a full one without worrying about spending the roll. Once done, she grimaced at the blood everywhere. Her little toes looked so… Ugh. Cocktail sausages with sparkly purple polish. Spike had been in so much pain when he painted them for her, but he’d insisted on it. She was glad he had now. Easier to find them and shove them into the garbage bag from the glovebox. No, she wasn’t actually glad, that would be crazy. She just lost three freaking toes!!! But she at least could hold onto the memory of being loved by her pseudo brother, while she cleaned up the gore and blood off his seats (and herself). 

As clean as it would ever get in those conditions, she tied the bag up and shoved it to the floor of the car, intent on tossing the trash into a dumpster ASAP. If she could find one. Swivelling to an upright position, she pulled up the duffle, slipping it to the seat next to her. The keys in the ignition were easy to turn over, Spike showing her how to do it a hundred times without knowing she was studying him carefully. He wouldn’t teach her to drive his ‘precious baby’ outright, but Dawn was a good student. She paid attention to almost everything. When people would finally catch up to her ways, she was sunk. Until then, she shut the door of the car, and settled herself in the seat as she adjusted her mirrors. 

The walk was torture, loosing her toes was agony, and being left behind with two comatose adults, her disabled friend, and not knowing where her mom was definitely all filled her with dread. But the roar of the engine didn’t. It filled her with hope. “Alright, Firelight,” she croaked, voice hoarse. “Let’s go get some heroes.”

Chapter 58

Summary:

What happens when a Hellmouth collapses within itself? Demon bugs go to feast on the victims the collapse created, of course! Charlotte is left alone to fight them off, protecting her protectors just like they taught her too. Dawn rides to the rescue blaring the punk music she’d been kind of totally obsessed with since Spike made her a mixtape of angry girl rock. Also, is something weird with their vampire passenger, or are they just trippin’?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Tuesday, March 11th, 2003 - Part F

 

          “DJ got the party started, there's no end in sight. 

          Everybody's movin' to the rhythm that's inside.” 

 

To any passerby, it might have seemed utter madness to hear the Victorian era girl singing, in the bottom of a crater, in the middle of what used to be Sunnydale, eating the hardtack crackers she’d smuggled into her brassiere. But as the lone conscious individual there, she couldn’t find two figs to rub together about the entire affair. So she kept singing softly, in between bouts of worrying, fits of crying, and moments of utter rage. Besides, it was distracting her from the pain. Her body was littered with bruises, and she was certain her back was scratched to high heaven from the rubble, but she refused to look.  

It's a crazy world, but tonight's the right situation,” Charlotte sang, moving a stray lock of Buffy’s hair off their leader’s face. “Don't get left behind.” She snorted, knowing that while she wasn’t actually being left behind with their siblings, a part of her felt like Dawn had abandoned them. In truth, the rest of the Scoobies and Pote- no, newly activated slayers had left them. Abandoned them all. So, yes. Singing was most assuredly on the schedule for the evening. Even if the lyrics held some errors in spelling and grammar. 

 

          “I can feel the music movin' through me everywhere.

          Ain't no destination, baby, we don't even care. 

          There's a place to be if you need the right education;

          Let it take you there-”

 

A noise brought her out of her singing, her head whipping to the left in concern. The sinkhole they were in had been making sounds since they’d awoken. Debris shifted, gravity pulling it down once it toppled. But this one was raising her hackles in a different way. Furrowing her brow, she tried concentrating on the sound, but its source didn’t make its presence known again. 

Hmm, she pondered. Must have been something shifting around the debris. It’ll probably fall in a moment or so. Shrugging, she kept singing. “And just go with the magic baby, I can see it there in yo-” 

 

     KTCHSH, KTCHSH, KTCHSH!

 

There it was again! What on earth was going on?

“Let it flow, stop the waiting,” she continued, this time while standing. If something was going to come for them, she’d at least be prepared to fight it. Even if she was bone tired. “Right here on the dance floor is where you g- good God!”

The skittering increased in volume, the source of the sound heading right for her. Except it wasn’t the source. More like many sources. Dozens! Ugly, deformed ladybugs, their shells blue-green like the Australian ladybird glinting in the dwindling evening light, their heads bulbous and hideous. While the spots on their backs reminded her of cows, the sounds they emitted while they headed right for the Champions, made her long for the rude chattering of Bradley in her ears. Which was saying something. 

Terror gripped her heart, her fingers grasping for the scythe uselessly. It was too heavy for her to wield, her crossbow missing in the wreckage. Bloody fantastic! Scrambling around as the first one descended on them, her sore hand gripped around something bumpy but solid, hefting it up, and whacking at the head of the nearest beasty, using whatever strength she had left in her bruised, battle-weary body. The head of the squirrel sized demon-bug squished under the marble weapon, her eyes wide as she recognized it. 

The reproduction statue of Tiamat, once home at the Box, now her only surviving weapon. Heavy, but lighter than the scythe, the cement cast of the mother of the gods, keeping her safe. Like a sign from the Goddess herself, she knew she wasn’t going down without a fight.

Fear was replaced with seething outrage. How dare these beasts rear their heads now? They were done with the fight for the Hellmouth- hours ago! It was ov-er! But they didn’t seem to get the memo, coming for her and her family. “You’ve brassed off the wrong girl,” she warned, holding up the statue. It had a heft to it she wasn’t used to using, but it would have to do in a pinch. “Because I’m tired, I’m cranky, and, oh yes. That’s right. I was trained by THE SLAYER!” She screamed as she swung at the chittering demons, a warrior in the middle of battle, sore lungs and missing finger be damned. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, exhaustion temporarily abated. 

Charlotte scowled as she beat the demon bugs trying to come for her family, hoping Dawn would be back soon with the car, lest she resort to exploding them. “Not today, pests,” she yelled, beating them away, one by one. A particularly large and ugly one tried to take a bite from her brother’s face, Lottie launching it into a cement pillar twenty feet away. “Fore!” It bashed into the pillar with a high pitched scream, falling to the pit below. Dust and debris blew up around its falling corpse, kicking back up around the rest of the insects coming for her. Hideous beasts, she refused to let them beat her. “You might try to… best me,” she taunted, striking downwards with the idol of the primordial Goddess she used as a makeshift piñata basher. “But I am… a chess prodigy!” 

Alright, it was a banal threat; a catchphrase some snooty, uppish snob might use. But she couldn’t muster up any feelings of inadequacy. All she could do was survive. And survive she would. 

Five, ten, fifteen- sixteen bugs! One for every year she was sure she’d been alive for, beaten and kicked away, her body exhausted beyond everything she’d ever faced before. But she did it. They were gone. Dead. As lifeless as a Stephen R. Donaldson novel. At least, that one novel she had read with Mrs. Summers had been. Awful, one dimensional characters. Bleh! 

The bugs defeated, she panted and sank to the ground. Fixing the blondes’ hair, she trembled with more than shock. “I’m alone again,” she murmured, adrenaline fading fast. “You’re here, but not. An- and they left us! Your people just abandoned us here!” The tears were hot and heavy, trauma washing over her, with all the agony of the memories she’d had forced onto her consciousness. “And I lost a finger!” she held up her hand to the unconscious couple, finally allowing the dam of emotion to break wide open. She didn’t have to be strong in front of anyone else right then, just simply exist. And existing in that moment meant becoming a sobbing mess. That turned quickly into a coughing mess. Drat! And her puffer was lost in the heat of the battle! “Oh, Buffy,” she sniffed, curling her body against the Slayer. Head on her pseudo older sister’s shoulder, she blinked away moisture pooling on her lashes. “You’ve been through so much, and I was so, so very wrong about you.” Holding her, tucked under the arm, she let her tears flow unimpeded down her cheeks, and staining the young woman’s blouse with salt water, tears mixing with the dust on the fabric, turning to mud. “You are twice the woman William could ever hope for. If I ever- if I can ever be even- even an eighth of the woman you are… I-” 

A sob ripped its way from Lottie’s chest, and the cavern filled with her wails. The cries of a girl forced to grow up before she could catch her footing, clinging to a woman who had to do much the same. So she sobbed. Sobbed for all that had transpired, and all that could have been, had things been different. She cried, and sobbed, and wept herself drier than the heat in Desert Valley- no other intended.

It was all slantingdicular! William and Buffy weren’t meant to be unconscious whilst her and Dawn got them out of the Hellmouth pit! Buffy was the Slayer! The original warrior, the heroine who got her happily ever after at the end of the story. And her brother was meant to protect her, dammit! Instead the pair of them were teetering in a state of uncertainty, their allies all absquatulated them here, and she was moments away from searching her brother’s jacket for some of that liquid courage he kept in a flask there. “Oh, where are you, Dawn? Come back before I have a true conniption in this underground hell.”

Settled, mostly, she hugged the woman with as much confidence as she could manage. “I’m so glad you found each other,” she whispered. “You are the so perfectly matched in your hopeless romantic interludes… I think I’m using that word correctly,” she blinked, unsure. She might have taken a blow to the head, but without a CAT scan, she was hoping it was simply dehydration. “But you two.… If you still love one another after all this, I will know for certain that true love exists.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled itself from the sore lungs she had overexerted, feeling a wash of madness flood her soul. Like a light switch going off, her brain flooded with the memory of her dear friend’s favourite movie, her constant obsession with it finally making sense. “Oh, dear God! I know why- oh! That little- you know why it’s her favourite film, don’t you?” She lifted her head to look at her brother as well, his still face unchanged since the last time she gazed upon it. “She loves it, because it’s almost a fictional retelling about you two!” Effeted, her head fell back into the crook of Buffy’s shoulder. 

“You’re Westley, brother. The man hiding behind a scary title, who only wishes to be loved by the woman of his dreams. And you’re the woman, Buffy. The woman who… who went- who came from an ordinary life, to become an extra- an extraordinary leader with a great heart, despite how many times it was- it was broken, doing what she… has to, for the good of all.” Charlotte felt the sharp little claws of sleep sinking into her flesh, dragging her down, body and soul exhausted in tandem. “An- and there’s the sword fighting… an- and the… the giant pests… the- oh, evil thing… magic.. Can we rest now? I’m tired. Can we rest now, Buffy? I’m…”

Her body finally gave her the break she desperately needed, slipping into a dreamless sleep. 

 

----------

 

          When she walks, the revolution's comin'

          In her hips, there's revolution

 

Charlotte groaned at the sound filtering in her ears. “Brother,” she mumbled into the firm pillow under her face. “Shut that racket off.” But the infernal music only got louder and louder, as if it were getting closer to her. “William!” Her body hurt too much to get up and shut it off herself. Her head was aching, consciousness wavering in and out, as the base of the song rattled her teeth in their sockets. 

 

          When she talks, I hear the revolution

          In her kiss, I taste the revolution

 

Wait. That wasn’t a song William played for himself. He didn’t make the tape for his own personal enjoyment, but as a gift. A gift to the little sister he called Nibblet. 

 

          Rebel girl, rebel girl

          Rebel girl you are the queen of my world

 

Azure eyes popped open, seeing a beam of artificial light up above. Looking around, she saw the scene much the same as she’d left it, however long ago. William and Buffy were both still unconscious, attached to one another via the Slayer General’s belt, her own body wrapped around the older blonde’s for comfort. “Dawn.”

 

          Rebel girl, rebel girl

          I know I wanna take you home

          I wanna try on your clothes, uh

          That girl-

 

“Lottie!” The radio was wrenched down as the creak of the driver’s side door echoed. “Lottie, are you still down there?!”

She could sob with relief at the sound of Dawn’s hoarse voice. In fact, she wasn’t sure she could stop the tears, even if she wanted to. “Yes!” her own voice hoarse from sobs, she croaked back. “Yes, we’re still…  right here!”

Another light swung around, grunts emanating from above before it blinded her. Hissing, she heard shuffling before the light abated, illuminating the face of her friend above her. “Your big bro still has his sense of humour.”

“What?” Of all the things she could have possibly said at that moment, she said that? “What in God’s name are you on about?” 

Dawn’s crooked grin was lit up like a madwoman. She wasn’t entirely sure the brunette was completely sane at that moment, any road. “He left me a duffle of stuff - including cash - under a fake boulder.”

“So?! How on earth is that funny?!”

“He put a sticker of a pigeon on the plastic rock- rocking some shorts and a baseball cap.”

It took a moment for the words to come into focus. Then her brain caught up with them, and she burst out into peals of laughter. “Are you having me on?”

“Nope! Big ole pigeon sticker. Coolest bird I’ve ever seen,” her friend’s grin slipped away as the flashlight beam skirted over her sister, then the vampire in question. “No change?”

“No. Fought off some giant insects, but-”

“More giant bugs?!” Dawn shuddered at the thought. “I swear to God, if I ever meet the guy who designed those, I’m punching his clock out.”

“Dawn!” Even after all she’d been through, she was ready to chastise her friend for the potential of even more violence. “I would like to get out of here, say, four hours back, so can we please - as Buffy would say - ‘ get a freakin’ move on’?!”  

“Oh, crap. Right. Sorry. I think we have some rope in the trunk. Hang on.” The light vanished, but reappeared a moment later, just before Charlotte could panic. “Here. I’m sending down a flashlight.” 

Following the beam with her eyes, she stumbled closer to where the box was sliding down the jagged limestone walls. Catching it, she noticed the first aid sign on the side before unzipping it. Inside was a bandage, two alcohol wipes, and a light of her own. “Oh, biscuits. Have we run out of medical supplies already?!”

“No, that’s just the mini one. Buffy refuses to leave in the Firelight without the big one in the trunk! Even if it's just a date night. ‘Hazards of the job’, I guess. You can clean your finger, er, stump, and I’ll get the rope.” 

Shaking her head, Lottie sat on a thick piece of concrete rubble and did just that, narrowly avoiding the piece of rebar still sticking out. Holding the light between her jaw and her shoulder proved tricky, but not as tricky as hauling their siblings out of the school basement had been. She heard shuffling from above her as she worked, the noise a welcome sound after the chittering of insect demons, and the nothingness that had followed. 

Once finished, Dawn shouted above her and together, they got the strong rope down towards said siblings. “Are you gonna manage alone?” she yelled down to her friend. “I don’t think I could climb down and back up again.”

“How long have you been gone? It feels like days!”

She heard a shuffling of shoes on gravel before a mumble, and then her friend’s clear voice. “At least four hours.”

Four hours. With sunset at roughly 8:10pm, and Dawn leaving close to that, that meant it was at least one or one thirty in the morning. They only had about four hours to haul their patients up and out of there, get them in the car, and drive to shelter, or else her brother was going to be nothing but dust. “Shite.” She grabbed the end of the rope to double knot it where it was securely attached to the couple, pulling roughly with her good hand. The burned skin of her palm smarted, but she grit her teeth through the pain. It was nothing compared to the heartache if they didn’t awaken soon. “Alright, it’s as good as it’s going to get!” 

“Okay, hold on! I’m gonna pull you up too!”

“Are you sure it can handle it?!”

“It’s a beast!” Dawn yelled back, hysteria washing over her tone again. “It handled your brother crashing it into countless signs, an army of spiders making it into a nest, a demon playing Hot Wheels with it, and a bunch of mediaeval knight guys trying to shish kabob it! I think if it can’t handle this, it’s a sorry excuse of scrap metal!”

“Dawn!”

“What? I thought it might wake him up and yell at me! Is he still…?”

Charlotte gazed at her brother’s face, heart aching. “Yes! Okay, alright, I believe you. Now, pull us up!”

“Hold on!” 

 

----------

 

“Ooooh, yeah,” Dawn huffed, attempting to shove Spike into the backseat. He flopped over like a rag doll, Charlotte wheezing next to her. “You were right: undead weight.”

Lottie snorted, going to the other side, a water bottle already held up to her mouth, taking a deep pull. “Like a scarecrow in a wheat field.” Setting the bottle on the hood of the Firelight, she opened the back door, lifting his head up, as Dawn pushed him closer by his hip. “Birds tremble before him. Hey, do you suppose there are bird demons?” 

“Uh… I don’t remember. I think Buffy said she saw a demon who kinda looked like a crow, but like, with fur instead of feathers. I know there’s a shark faced demon who is a literal loan shark. Or, there used to be. Who knows if he fled before the sinkhole-cavern-earthquake, Sunnydale go bye-bye thing.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?” Lottie snipped the seatbelt closed around William’s hip, refusing to risk any more of his safety as they already had. Vampire or not, he did not need to have a broken clavicle. 

The brunette shrugged, leaning down to get Buffy in next. “What are you calling it?”

The blonde huffed as she stood, grabbing the puffer Dawn had tossed her from the glovebox when she’d gotten to the surface. Shaking it, she inhaled as she dispensed the medication, grateful to be out of the dust bowl of their home. “The Final Battle of Sunnydale.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s… okay, smartass,” she quipped. “Help me with Buffy. Watch her head.” 

It took quite a while to get their siblings in the backseat, what with the complete lack of help from the coma twins. It was taking its toll on their bodies, on top of everything else they’d been through. As soon as they found shelter, they were calling their family, and getting all four of them to the nearest hospital. Just as soon the others woke up. No way could they do that now! If a doctor or nurse took one look at Spike and thought anything other than ‘corpse’, they deserved to be fired, and they couldn’t risk that.

Panting, the blonde collapsed in the front bench seat, taking the puffer to her lips again, inhaling deeply. “Oh, sweet, sweet medicinal nectar of the gods,” she sighed, the burning in her lungs dissipating at an excruciating glacial pace. But it was abating, however long it took. “I hate that I need you, my crumpet. But you and I shall never again part.”

“Geez, if you ever get a boyfriend, he’s gonna be in New Jealous City with how much you wax poetic over that thing,” Dawn snorted, getting behind the wheel of the car. “Any more stickers, you won’t be able to read the prescription label.”

“That’s why they’re on the plastic case, not the aluminium canister. I swear, sometimes I think you purposely say things you know are incorrect, just to get a rise out of- oh, God. My brother’s been a horrible influence on you.”

Grinning archly, the brunette gunned the engine, the beast coming to life. “Okay, passengers? Check. Mirrors…. Checkity-check.” 

A rumbling noise sounded behind them, their driver unaware as of yet, as Charlotte slowly turned around. “Dawn…”

“Tunes? A-check. Oh, brother,” she chuckled dryly, throwing the car into drive, foot tapping on the gas. “I think Xander’s got about the same amount of influence if you ask-”

“Dawn… drive.” 

Pulling away from the wreckage, the brunette snorted. “What do you think I’m-”

“NOW!”

Lottie never yelled at her like that, unless she was scared out of her wits. And right then, girl was witless. Looking back where her friend’s eyes were staring widely, paler than the undead guy in the back, she slammed her good foot down on the gas, peeling out of there as the earth started to shift. Dust and sand kicked up under the tires, not only from the DeSoto, but from the Hellmouth finally finishing itself off. Charlotte screamed the entire way, the pit of Sunny-D sucking down deeper, the crater extending out past the edge of the ruins of Weatherly Park, the remnants of the zoo being sucked up, too. They drove and drove, the earlier fight pointless if they didn’t make it out of the cataclysmic dust bowl. Feeling her heart hammer in her ribs, the thrum of the engine in her throat, and the earth shifting under the wheels, Dawn didn’t lift her feet off the pedal, metal meeting metal. 

Finally, it stopped, the girls panting as they skid to the side. Turning the car around in a U-turn that was wider than a five lane road, Dawn pulled the nose to point towards their old town, the headlights showing more than they anticipated. And less. As in, nothing but the sign for the speed limit on the highway, the promise of the coastline too far for the naked eye. It was over. The Hellmouth was closed, their heroes were safe, and they made it. 

“What now?”

 

----------

 

“How’s the finger?” Dawn asked, an hour left until sunrise and not a single motel or rest stop anywhere near them. Was she even going the right way? She should have stopped at the storage facility when they passed by it. At least the unit they had would be sheltered from the sun. And their phones? Kaputski!

Charlotte looked at the gauze wrapped stub with a detached blink. “‘Tis just a flesh wound,’” she quoted dryly, pulling the map closer to her face, trying to make out the tiny words with the limited light in the cabin. The flashlight batteries hadn’t been the greatest, and she was trying to salvage what little power there was left in it, in case of emergency. Or, rather, a greater emergency than the one they were dealing with currently, at least. “It isn’t bleeding, and it looked cauterised. I think whatever happened to it, might have been the same thing to happen to our hands.”

“Yeah?” Dawn glanced down a moment, then back up as she accidentally swerved. “Sorry! Sorry. Everyone okay back there?”

Hand on her chest, trying to steady herself, the blonde glanced back, seeing the passengers much the same. She hadn’t seen William’s sleeping face in so long, she was startled by how different, yet similar it was. Both he and Buffy looked so peaceful, even dirty as a drift of hogs. “Yes. No changes. You’d think that would have at least woken William to get him to scream at you for your poor- Dawn!” She jerked as her friend swerved the car a second time, more pronounced. “You’re going to send us careening into the ditch!” she cried, huffing in gulps of panicked air. “Or- or alert the authorities, and we’ll be spending the rest of our lives in prison!”

“Autho- Lottie!” Dawn laughed. “Do you see any cars out here?! Let alone a cop car?! Or anyone besides you, me, and the coma couple?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes, huffing as she crossed her arms. “Well, stop it!! You’re frightening me!”

Her harsh tone lightened, the feeling of shame washed over her at the shaking terror in her friend’s voice. “I- Lottie, I’m sorry. I didn’t- I didn’t even realise-”

“I am not a fan of autos!”

“I forgot!”

“Apparently!”

The car was silent for a spell, the vehicle eating up the miles as they went. Abandoned homes and businesses lay stretched out around them, the only sign of life besides them was a single mayfly, splattered into their windshield. 

After twenty minutes of silence, the only conscious passenger turned around to look into the backseat. “How about a joke, William?” Charlotte asked her brother’s not-corpse. “Do you remember this one? ‘Why are you so sad?’ asked the newsboy to his chum. ‘I am thinking of Sue Davis,’ was the reply. ‘I fear her heart is false.’ ‘Well, it would not surprise me if it is,’ the newsboy stated plainly . ‘I know her teeth and hair are!’”

Their driver snorted, laughing loudly, trying to keep the car on the road. “That’s really funny! Is that from your time?”

“Mmhmm!” Lottie turned around, pulling the sun visor down to check her hair in the mirror. Dawn’s looked streaked with silver, as if the colour had been leached from it. She was worried about her own hair looking the same. But what she saw was much more conflicting. “It’s from the Daily- Dawn. Pull over. Now.”

“Huh? What? Why?”

“Just do it.”

“But the sun’ll be up in an hour and-”

“Now!”

Doing just that, she even threw the hazards on, just in case a cop car did pass by. “Okay, Lottie. What’s so life and death that you needed me to pull over so bad?”

“Check your mirrors.”

“Huh? I am, there’s nothing following us.”

“I know. That’s not what I meant. Check. Your. Mirrors.”

“Ugh! Fine,” she groaned, adjusting the mirrors but not seeing a thing behind them. The road was empty. Shocker. Pulling the visor down, she flipped open the mirror cover, the light of the slowly rising sun washed them with just enough light to see the silhouettes in the cab. “Wow. Show stopping,” she drawled dryly. “It’s me, and Buffy, and-” her heart froze, seeing something she’d never seen before. Looking between the mirror and the couple behind them, her brain short circuited. Her sister’s breathing was deep and even, the scrapes on her face half healed already. But Spike wasn’t moving. And oh, God. What did that mean? “He… Lottie, he-”

“William has a reflection.”

“Holy balls.” There was a pause before she added, “is my hair grey?!”

Notes:

Songs in this chapter:
Don't Stop Moving - SClub7
Rebel Girl - Bikini Kill

Chapter 59

Summary:

On the road again! Or rather, still. Dawn and Charlotte are still trying to find civilization, while Buffy and Spike remain unconscious. Also, deep talks and Double Business Idea game

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Wednesday, March 12th, 2003

 

“Mmm, okay,” Dawn started, tearing into her jerky with renewed vigour. Their adrenaline leached out of them as soon as the sun started its climb. Crashing for twelve hours straight after closing a Hellmouth was exactly what they needed. Now, it was hell’s anus, and they were allowed to take a much needed break. Aha. Anus. Thank goodness they found that abandoned tourist trap off the main highway. “Human teeth cleaning treats. Like the dog ones. It’s a snack, it’s a toothbrush: it’s the Snackbrush!”  

Charlotte laughed, that ‘I’m slightly disgusted’ one she did that also amused her. “That’s terrible! And you won this game? I doubt it!”

“Buffy pitched edible sticky notes! That one was dumb.”

“Yes. Well,” she continued, breaking open a bag of reduced fat chips. “They can’t all be winners.”

Dawn had driven them as far as she could before the sun was almost risen, the foursome finding the abandoned Mystical Oasis. The resort’s cabins were all damaged from some freak storm, a riot, or something a decade prior. They couldn’t sleep in one of those beds, way too damaged and grody, even for the state the pair of them were in. The hole in the roof of one and a tree through the wall of another two had been a clear sign of that. But the gift shop’s office was fairly solid, thankfully. Too exhausted to move the lovebirds out of the car, Dawn had parked it under the carport next to the building, throwing a tarp over the windows together, when they noticed Spike’s ears starting to smoulder under the early morning light. They’d passed out on the ground, minds blank, and awoke as giant bruises, downing the baby aspirin from the first aid kit, then ambled back to the car with great difficulty. Charlotte had thanked her lucky stars that she had been training with Buffy and the other girls for the past few months, or else she’d be unable to move at all.  

Now, back in the car but unwilling to move until the sun was fully set, they gorged on the snacks from the trunk. Thank God Spike listened to her when his sister told him to pack water and canned fruit, too. They didn’t need scurvy on top of everything else they were dealing with. Or constipation. Yuck!

“The golf club turned pool cue idea was cool.”

“Mmm, and yet glowing horse shoes weren't? I feel that one would fetch a pretty penny.”

Dawn rolled her eyes, unwilling to budge on her vote. “Sure, if we lived in Victorian times, and everyone owned a horse.”

“Have you not seen the ridiculous pet items they sell nowadays?!” her BFF exclaimed, grabbing more hardtack to cram in her mouth, uncaring that she was technically the only remaining Lady of the Pratt estate (if any of it even still existed). They both had seen some totally wackadoo ones the last time they’d gone in. Gemini needed a new floss toy, his teeth grody, and they’d seen a whole bunch of questionable items near the cash. “Kristy has two horses on her family’s ranch up north, and she has bows for them. Silk, in multiple colours! Imagine how much you’d make selling different coloured glow in the dark horseshoes to the Kristies of the world! Even just fifty quid per shoe, that’s two hundred dollars- for one horse! Goldmine, that is.”

“But how would they work?! You can’t just get a ten dollar horseshoe, spray paint them with glow in the dark paint, and sell ‘em for fifty bucks a pop!”

“And why on earth not?! That’s the entire part and parcel of a capitalist society, is it not?! Keep costs low, make a profit, no one the wiser.”

Dawn rolled her eyes, sipping her water. “You’ve been spending way too much time with Anya.” They went on to argue for nearly twenty minutes on the subject, bouncing back from the merits of capitalism and the ethics of it, to Kristie’s many snotty rich girl things. By the time they were done arguing about it, the sun had set well below the skyline, and ready for them to move on. 

They continued playing the game, going back and forth, taking turns to make up fake double business ideas, while the other guessed which of their former classmates could have pitched it. Charlotte snorted when Dawn guessed Thomas for the very obvious Bradley-esque business of Furby Chess , sending the pineapple chunk from her mouth flying. Dawn scoffed at the Magician Rabbit Rental Agency , but did appreciate how smart it was. Not that the idea itself was smart (to her), but the fact that she should have guessed who it was ‘from’ the second she heard ‘rabbit’. Mackenzie had four bunnies, giving Anya the fright of her life when she’d had one escape, and was zapped by an enlargement spell by mistake. Worst Fourth of July BBQ, EVER. 

Dawn followed the curve in the road, slowing down so they wouldn’t end up in a ditch. Oddly, they hadn’t seen a single car since they left the Hellmouth. Or any people. If they weren’t in so much pain, the brunette would have assumed they were dead, and driving in some weird afterlife. “Buffy had a good one: clothes that zip into other clothes and bags and stuff.”

“Ooh! She told me of that one,” Lottie exclaimed, looking over the back at the seat to their siblings. “Maybe we can take William’s coat and chop the bottom half off, to make it into a matching skirt for her.”

“Yeah! And have it unzip where we cut it, so if they’re in battle and her pants or skirt get all dirty-”

“He can unzip the bottom half and she has an instant skirt!” Lottie nodded, suddenly feeling heavy. “Except… it’s not his coat anymore, is it? It never was. It was Nicki’s.”

“Yeah,” her friend agreed, feeling way with the gross at the memory. Nothing beat your admiration for a coat like finding out it was ripped off a dead woman. “It should maybe go back to Principal Wood. Ya know, if he made it out alive.”

“I’m sure he did,” she reassured her friend. “I’m sure they all did.”

“But then they left us out there!” Dawn cried back, car swerving as she did. Pulling to the side of the road at the base of the hill, she flipped her hazards on before the emergency brake. “They left us to fend for ourselves! We had to drag our comatose siblings out of like, a massive, Texas sized crater-”

“Sunnydale sized, if we’re being accurate.”

“Smart ass.”

“Back biter.”

Dawn suddenly grew quiet, looking heavily at her friend. “If I never said it before, I love you, Lottie. You’re my best friend, an- and I-” Blinking back tears, she continued, feeling breathless. Watching her friend’s experiences first hand had been way more traumatic than hearing about ‘em. Seeing her BFF’s corpse from Spike’s eyes… It was all finally coming to a head. “I got lucky to get you as a sister. I can’t- I don’t want to- you can’t die on me, okay? I- I don’t know if I could survive-”

Grasping her friend’s hand with the hand not missing a finger, Charlotte fixed her with a serious gaze herself. “I love you, too. And I shan’t abandon you. Ever. Unless you murder a baby, or something.”

“That…. As screwed up as that is, it’s weirdly assuring,” she squeezed back, trying to make the words in her brain make sense in her mouth. But she floundered, coming up with, “I promise to run all baby related murders through you first- wait, no. That’s not what- I didn’t mean it like that- I just meant- Argh!”

Snorting, the blonde only squeezed back again, adding, “ditto.” The rest of their team was gone, but neither girl was going to give up. They had each other, and were going to get their siblings back, even if it cost a few extra toes and a fingernail. 

 

----------

 

“Home sweet motel,” Dawn muttered, shaking her head. “We should clean them, somehow. They’re all dusty and gross.”

Lottie grimaced, looking from the dismal accommodations to the vintage auto and its inhabitants- one of which was also considered a fine vintage. Ish. Sometimes, he could be a right arse. “I suppose the room could be worse. Is it at least… clean?”

Dawn grabbed the flashlight the front desk clerk had sold her for an outrageous ten bucks, flicking it on and checking around. “Meh. Had worse on the run from Glory.”

“Condolences.” 

She rolled her eyes, heading back to the car. Spike was exactly how they left him, but Buffy had shifted a little on the drive there, partially curled into his side. It would be sweet if they weren’t a couple of unconscious Ugurs. “Come on, let’s get them into the room.” 

The motel was the first they could find that wasn’t a complete crap show. As in, it had walls without trees through them. And someone still putting clean sheets on the beds. Well, sheets. 

It took an extra twenty to get the front desk guy to loan them his wheelbarrow, another fifty to get him to look the other way for why they needed it. It made bringing them inside easier, although not cleaner.

“I’m half tempted to hose them down in the shower, if I wasn’t worried about them drowning.”

“No, let’s throw down the duvet. Not like they’re gonna need it anyways.” Dawn sighed. “If we put them in the shower, I don’t think we’ll be able to lift them out after, anyways. Especially cuz, hello? Wet and slippery sibs on tile-”

“Noted.”

Once both siblings were in the bed, they cleaned their hands in the slightly less than yucky sink, and got to work assessing their injuries. Lottie’s back was pretty banged up, and the girl hissed with each sting, the alcohol settling into every scrape like a big jerk. Her shirt was trashed, as was Dawn’s. Thankfully, the brunette had done a good job with her toes, though she did sob as Charlotte redressed the stumps, the old gauze sticking to the wound stubbornly. Once all patched up, and changed into their spare set of clothes from the trunk, they got to work on the sibs. 

Looking at the leg of their leader, Charlotte hissed in sympathy. The break was filthier than she’d hoped in the cavern, and had to rip the pant leg up to the woman’s knee to treat it. She’d seen broken and dislocated bones before, but not a compound fracture of a tibia like this. Not in real life! It made her stomach turn, but she swallowed the bile down, got some towels from the rank bathroom - at least someone washed it that month - and laid them under the fracture to properly debride the wound. The original binding would make the bone grow back wrong, so she had to shove the sharp tibia back into its normal position. Buffy had told her that she could see Lottie being a doctor one day, that she’d be proud to have a surgeon in the family. That five AM morning bedside operation was the first real test of her abilities, after the showdown with Caleb just four short days ago. Despite the unnerving anxiety gnawing at her stomach, Charlotte moved without a single tremor. She was ‘in the zone ’ like she had been during every chess game of her life. There were moves and methods written for aeons, and a good aspirant thinks on their toes, if and when those older ways don’t work. Think on the fly, adapt; thrive, not just survive. And she was in survival mode with Dawn, making sure their siblings were safe, so that one day soon, they’d all be thriving. 

“Alright,” she sighed, reaching for the sliced bedsheets her friend had prepared for her. “She’s all set. Nurse Summers, can you hold the patient like so?” the blonde motioned, holding the entire leg stretched outward. “And keep it straighter than last time, please?” 

Sticking her tongue out, Dawn blew a raspberry at her friend, before getting to work. As they wrapped the Slayer’s leg tightly, the two chatted quietly. “Do you think Willow’s spell worked?” she whispered, paranoia sneaking into her brain from sleep deprivation, and constant life on the road. “That the… cuz I saw some definite slayage of the majors going on down there.”

“Your sentence is a word salad, but yes,” she agreed, tying the last knot tight as she could, her hands sore. The wood was from the dowel used as the curtain rod from another room, but neither girl could care. They needed their leader healed. And the front desk guy could buy a new one with that fifty if he was so sore about it being gone. “I think… I think it’s effects are permanent.”

Nodding, Dawn looked out the window, the thick drapes blocking her view of anything, save for the shadow the DeSoto cast against the building in the early morning sun. “We saved the world, and changed it forever on the same day. Well, they did. We’re just-”

“If you say ‘along for the ride’, so help me, Dawn Euphegenia Summers,” she threatened with a pointed finger, just a few inches from the brunette’s face. “I’ll flush all your anchovies down that disgusting excuse of a toilet.”

“Geez, Lottie. Take a chill pill. Or seven.”

Checking the rise of the sun, the girl ripped off a glove to rifle in her bag for her medicine. “I shall take a chill pill, because it is very chill to take care of one’s lungs,” she replied with an air of snootiness. And followed it up with a dry, “after nearly being swallowed by a cavern of crap.”

“Mmm. Poetic.” She busied herself with getting some water before turning back to stare at her friend as if she’d grown another head. “Where the heck did you get Euphegenisis from?! I don’t even have a middle name!”

“Euphe genia,” she insisted, pulling out the dreaded plastic case. It was useful, yes, but she so hated relying on the polymer. “It means ‘true beginning’ in Latin.”

“That’s not what- nevermind.” She wasn’t gonna explain the inside joke Randi Mayem Singer wrote for the movie she’d watched with her mom and Giles, on the way back to Sunnydale post-Glory. She’d just add it to her ‘pop culture to show Lottie’ list for later. But that did remind her of their plans. “Next week, I’m calling a movie night. I promised to show you-”

“Oh dear heavens and bloody buggering hell.”

Dawn lifted her head, looking at Lottie’s pale face illuminated by the ambient light. “Woah! Language, Lo- what’s wrong?”

Lottie was pale- paler than usual. Something was definitely up. “He-” she stepped back, face slack with shock. She pointed to his neck, where she’d been wiping the grime off his skin. “He said.. h- he said it was gone. All of it! B- but it’s- it’s right… how..?” She walked closer, grabbing the flashlight and turning it on. “Look!” She pulled the chain around his neck, showing the pendant hanging from it. 

No, wait, that wasn’t a pendant. Those were- “rings?” Dawn looked confused as she rounded the bed, inspecting the jewellery in Lottie’s palm. “These were… they’re your family’s rings?”

“Yes!” Charlotte flipped them to show her the smaller of the two. “This one was the ring father gave our mum when I was born, see?” She shone the light to highlight the impressive detail on the probably pricey ring. “It was promised to me for when I was to turn eighteen. And this one?” 

Dawn whistled at the bigger of the two. “It’s simple, but really pretty.”

Charlotte nodded. “It was… oh. Oh! William, is it so?” She dropped the rings, cupping his filthy jaw in her hand. “Please, please wake up, brother!” she begged, shaking him a little. “I must speak to you at once!”

“What? Lottie, what is it?!” She grabbed her friend’s shoulder, trying to get the attention of the blonde. “What’s wrong?”

Sniffling, Lottie turned, dropping his face to lift the rings again. “This ring, here? It was the ring our grandfather got our grandmother as her wedding band. They didn’t have much money at the time, but he worked tirelessly to afford it.”

“The- your mom’s parents?” Charlotte nodded. “Woah! Didn’t they have, like, thirteen kids? Why would Sp- Will have it? I mean, he said everything was gone any- oh!” It was Dawn’s turn to step back, bouncing on her good foot in excitement. “Oh oh oh! That’s why- with the sneaking- oh, my God!”

“What? What is it?”

“That- he- oh, you ass!” She rounded on him, getting up close to his face. “That’s why you- oh, you’re such a- why didn’t you tell us, you big bleached idiot!” 

“Dawn?”

The youngest Summers girl turned around, grasping the youngest Pratt - that they knew of - by the shoulders and laughed. It was a beautiful sound, though it did make her chess companion worried about her mental stability. “William and Willow! The two of them have been all secrety the past couple of weeks, or months, or whatever. Was it days…? Anyway, I thought it was weird, but hey, maybe it was end of the world stuff, so I dropped it,” she started. “But then, I saw Willow rooting around in Buffy’s jewellery box, and I didn’t know why. And then Gemini puked all over the rug in the hallway, so I had to deal with that, and I forgot to ask her after cuz of all the craziness, and then-”

“Dawn!” The brunette shut her mouth, looking at her friend in quizzical fashion. “What are you talking about?”

Oh. Right. Gotta spell it out to her, huh? She snorted in her own head, wondering if she could make a pun on that. ‘Spell’ like spelling, but also ‘spell’ cuz Willow’s a witch. Ah… I crack myself up. “Willow, she’s good with computers. And there’s this thing, the World Wide Web.”

“Yes,” Lottie bit back. “I’m familiar with the internet’s existence, thanks ever so much for making me feel like an imbecilic great-grandmother.”

“No, no, no! It’s not that! Ugh! I’m not explaining this- okay, so online - on the internet - there are lots of websites for buying antiques, like these rings.”

“You… you think Willow helped William search for these online?”

“Yes!” Thank goodness Lottie isn’t as dense as her brother totally can be sometimes. “An- and she took one of Buffy’s rings from her jewellery box!” She looked at her sister, hoping she was right, and that Buffy would say yes. “Which means…”

Charlotte gasped, moving out of Dawn’s arms to look closer at the ring. When she was small and had seen it on her grandmother’s finger, she remembered it had been bigger. Nanna had larger hands than any woman in their family, but how could she know what size it was now, in comparison? She wasn’t a wee girl anymore. But… “look, it’s nearly the same size as mamma’s ring!”

“Oh! Buffy and your mom must have similar ring fingers. Had. Have. Ugh! Time travel is so weird.”

“No, not that,” she insisted. “Mother had small hands, ladies’ hands. But nanna had much, much larger ones. Thick fingers; genetics.” She held the ring up, slipping it onto her thumb. “This ring has been resized.”

The two girls stared at each other for a long time before embracing again. “He’s gonna ask her to marry him, isn’t he?”

Lottie nodded against her. “But only if they wake up. They have to wake up!”

“They will. Even if I have to make with the woo-woo witchy woman stuff, they will.”

Pulling away, Charlotte nodded again, resuming the care of her patient with a grim smile. “I do hope it’ll be a spring wedding. Oh, how I love the idea of tulips all in bloom.”

Dawn didn’t pay attention to her friend’s yammering, too busy cleaning her own sister’s face. Oddly enough, a bruise that should’ve healed by then was still on her jaw, which worried her. Maybe it’s because she hasn’t eaten in a while, she mused, cleaning her sister’s neck off. Maybe if we can get some- what the? Finding jewellery she didn’t expect to see on her sister’s neck, she pulled on the thin metal chain, eyes widening at the sight. Suddenly, she gasped, laughing as she saw the gaudy, awful ring attached to her sister’s own chain. “She- oh, my God!” 

“What?” her friend snapped back, watching her friend carefully. “You may not like… Dawn? What is it? What- oh dear heavens,” Charlotte stopped, looking at the ugly skull ring attached to the silver links. “That is the single ugliest ring I have ever seen in my rather short life.”

Dawn gasped in breaths, nodding. “It is!” She had tears in her eyes, dropping the ring, and grabbing a confused Charlotte into another hug. “It’s so bloody ugly!”

“What are you tal- are you attempting to dance with me?” She looked at her friend, and wondered if there was such a thing as Post Apocalyptic Survivor’s Madness, or if Dawn had simply gone too many hours without proper nutrition. Hopefully it wasn’t septic shock from her toe amputation. “Have you completely lost the plot?!”

She stopped, grinning while she pointed to her sister. “That ring, that was the ring Spike - William - gave Buffy when Willow did that spell where they thought they were gonna get married, back in seventh grade. Well, grade seven for me, first year at college for her.”

“What-? In Giles’ flat,” she breathed. “I did see that. But why on earth that one? He has so many!”

“It was-” Dawn chuckled, tears spilling down her cheeks, leaving mud streaks in their place. “It was the only ring he had that fit on her ring finger. She- I can’t believe she kept it!”

“Why would she? Would she not have thrown it out? Or simply given it back to him? They hated one another back then.”

“Yeah, but… oh. Oh!” Dawn smacked her palm into her forehead at the sudden realization. “Slayers, all have an early expiration date.”

“And… you’ve lost me, yet again.”

Dawn rolled her eyes, then her shoulders. “Buffy already died once, remember? That’s why Faith was called. Well, it was Kendra first, but then she died - murdered - and then Faith was called. Buffy’s the longest living Slayer in, like… recorded history, or something. After Kiara, and Dri, I guess. But, I mean- I’m still not totally sold on Dri really-”

“So… oh,” understanding dawned on the other teenager. “She, oh, Buffy. Did you really believe that gaudy thing to be the only engagement ring you’d ever get?” 

“Yeah. She must have.”

Now it was Lottie’s time to gasp. “Oh! Oh, I know a thing!”

“Oh, now you speak American teen girl.”

“Hush! When Buffy gifted me this,” she showed Dawn her cross necklace. “She said ‘I hope we can be family for a very long time, if you’d like that’ . I think… Your sister is a very modern woman.”

“Uh, yeah, she is. And you know, you’re already family, Lottie. Mom already thinks of you as one of hers, so you’re kinda stuck with us.”

“Yes, yes, not the- really? She- she said that?” Her friend nodded enthusiastically. “That’s so sweet! I must- no! That’s not my point. My point is… I think she was indirectly asking my permission.”

“Huh? For what?”

Gracefully, she lifted her brother’s left hand, pointing to his ring finger. “What do you think?”

Looking between the two lovers, their rings on chains around their necks, and she lost it. Dawn laughed so deeply, she was sure the gum she swallowed during their last road trip from helly things was rattling around in her stomach. “They were- oh, my God! They- ah, ha, ha, ha! - what idiots! Pure, dumb, romantic idiots!” 

“They were waiting-” Charlotte gasped in heaving breaths as she laughed with her friend. “Waiting until the- until the end of- of the world- eee hee hee hee!” The girl coughed madly, taking her puffer, and inhaling deeply, before dissolving into giggles again. 

“To propose!” Dawn finished. 

“To each other!” They looked at one another, both saying it at the same time, laughing until they wept.

Once calmer, they wiped at their eyes, looking at the star-crossed lovers on the ugly floral bedspread. “We should finish cleaning them up,” Dawn said, the thin rays of sunlight filtering in through the curtains getting stronger. “Morning’s officially here, and I think we need some shut eye.”

Charlotte nodded. “And more food.” Together, they finished tidying up, the blonde asking, “So if she was going to ask for his hand, and he was going to ask for hers, does this technically make them engaged? Or must they both be conscious for the union to be legitimate?”

That… was a great question. “Let’s ask them when they’re both awake.” But something more pressing pushed at Dawn’s brain. “Where’s the amulet?”

Blinking, her BFF looked at her queerly. “Dawn, I haven’t seen it since he was doing his impression of bonfire night. Er, New Year’s Eve. You don’t suppose…”

“That it exploded on impact? Maybe the memory… soul thing was too much for it. I mean,” she looked down at the Champions, unaware she was also one of them now, too. So was Lottie. Neither of them could see just how much they’d done to save the world. All they saw was the destruction post-fight. “We didn’t even know what it was gonna do.”

Nodding to herself, Charlotte stepped closer, touching her brother’s face with one gloved hand, and Buffy’s with the other. “No, we didn’t. But that doesn’t mean we don’t know what we shall do next. Which is to keep loving them, right?”

Oh, geez. Lottie was starting to really grow up, huh? “And make fun of their bed head,” she added, the pair giggling. Whatever would happen next, Dawn wasn’t ready to extinguish that tiny flame of hope blooming in her heart. It was keeping her warm enough to keep moving forwards. She wasn’t ready to give up on them yet. 

Notes:

Apparently, edible sticky notes are a thing now…? Didn’t know that when I first wrote this chapter, so…. Yeah. Not rewriting this.

Chapter 60

Summary:

The pair are still trying to wake their siblings, but aren’t doing a bang-up job, so… they talk.

aka: pizza and triage w a side dosing of 'hey, so we're all SUPER traumatized now, right?'

Chapter Text

Thursday, March 13th, 2003

 

They tried a plethora of things to try and wake their siblings. Talking loudly about things they knew they’d get in trouble over, threatening to scratch the car, even playing Celine Dione and Cher on full blast. The girls knew both halves of the couple hated those artists, though they weren’t sure exactly why. 

Like they weren’t sure what was happening to Spike, what with his reflection being there, but his sun allergy not yet reverted. They didn’t want to have him starve, but they couldn’t feed him blood through his mouth either. There was the inability to pry open said mouth, plus the fear that they could be hurting him that kept them from shoving the blood down his gullet. Instead, Lottie found the medical supplies Andrew and Anya had stolen from the hospital (when all hell broke loose) in the trunk of the car. They figured someone must have snuck it in there, probably Andrew. Once they got to their next motel - also, completely devoid of power like the last one - they formulated a plan. 

Dawn lifted his hand up, the arm flopping back down on the mattress in a limp heap as she let go. “Okay, it’s okay. See?” Too bad the plan was made by two teenagers with a buttload of trauma up the wazoo. 

“Dawn…”

“Yeah. No, listen. He’s not dead,” she insisted, earning her a look of slight contemptuous exasperation from the blonde. “Well, not dead-dead, but like, regular undead. You know?”

“It’s unnerving how much sense that nonsense makes,” Lottie replied, flopping down on the other bed.

And because things were going to the crapper, she naturally started up her family’s second most favourite pastime: the good ole pace and babble. “Okay, so. If he was human and dead-dead, then it wouldn’t have flopped like that. It would have, like, stayed up or fallen differently, or whatever.” Without the pacing, cuz, hello? Missing three toes now here, people! 

Grinning morosely back at the Sayer General’s sister, Charlotte looked way too much like Spike to make her comfy. “Play around with a lot of corpses there, Dawn?”

Freezing, she blinked defensively at her friend. “What? No. Shut up.” Ugh! How could Lottie look so damn smug about this crap?! “Spike lets me watch the gore-y stuff with him! Well, he used to.” She poked his chest, hoping for a reaction, any reaction. “Before he went soft!” But nothing happened. Not a stir, not a grunt, not even a sardonic comment at her expense. “Huh, thought that might work.”

Charlotte snorted, crossing her arms. “If nearly popping a tire on his precious ‘baby’ didn’t work, I very much doubt questioning his manhood would.”

“Ew. Don’t say manhood.”

“Manhood.”

Getting nowhere fast, she grabbed the medical supplies and got to work. Dawn took the IV kit and set him up, hooking up the bagged O-neg in the cooler, ice nearly all melted. They would have to pick up more when they found a running gas station. Most of the places they’d run into were shut down or evacuated, the power gone, leaving the ice freezers full of nothing but plastic bags filled with water. But the… whatever they’d gone through, the thing that closed the Hellmouth permanently had created some kind of EMP or something, knocking out the power in an untold radius. But they kept driving east as long as they could go, praying they found a working phone and a usable ice freezer- before they ran outta gas. 

Charlotte watched how Dawn hooked up the IV in their motel room that morning, no phones working anywhere. The girl had been hooked up to so many over the years, she had permanent scars. She knew how they worked- in theory. But Lottie had never had to put one into another person before. But it looked like Dawn had. Either that, or the former Key was just super confident in her abilities. She suggested to hook Buffy up to an IV of her own, just in case. “Yeah, the vitamin one, yellow,” Dawn told her, pointing to the cooler. “It’s got electrolytes in it so she won’t, like, fall apart- as fast. Or whatever.” At her friend’s put upon look, she added, “yeah, yeah. Look who I’m talking to: future surgeon of America, survivor of TB, lung transplant, multiple hospital stays, yadda, yadda, yadda.”

“Rather a nice ring to it, I suppose. Well, most of it.”

“Just don’t forget us little people when you make it big,” she grinned, her confidence suddenly slipping away. “I… I don’t know how slayer healing works for… I dunno, any injury, but stuff like this?”

“She’ll get all the help we can give her. Should we give him one too?” Charlotte offered. “An- and some blood for Buffy? She lost a great deal of it with the…” she gestured to the leg they bound. “And all the textbooks say that the body can only handle losing about fourteen or fifteen percent of their blood supply, before devastating effects occur. And we have no idea how much she lost down there. Slayer or not, she needs it. What’s her blood type?”

Babbling brook Lottie, Dawn thought. “Hmm? Oh, I… don’t know. Never needed to check, I guess. Just give her O-neg. It’s a universal donor.”

“Right. Oh, in case it’s ever an issue, mine is A-positive.”

“Of course it is,” Dawn pretended to gripe. “Even your blood gets a higher grade than I do,” she bemoaned, hanging up the bag on the pants hanger from the motel room’s closet. They’d taken the picture off the wall behind the lovers’ bed - neither teen ready to share a bed with their comatose sibling - leaving the hooks to hang the IV bags from. Their combined time around hospitals and doctors had taught them trauma care, at an uncomfortable level of accuracy. “Mine’s AB-negative.”

Lottie stopped the needle before it went into Buffy’s vein, blinking at her friend. “That’s the most rare blood type, Dawn,” she cried emphatically.  “Right after RH-null!”

“I used to be a big, glowing, orb of light… key-thingy. Not surprised that my blood type’s rare.”

Charlotte frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the needle in her hand. “Are we ever going to talk about that?” she asked her friend hollowly. “What happened in the HellMouth? Because you saw it too, I know you did. The-”

“Memories,” Dawn finished, ripping her gloves off now that Spike was properly hooked up. He probably wouldn’t have caught any of her gross germs, but she didn’t want to risk catching anything else. “Yeah, we probably should, huh?” she asked back, looking at the blonde carefully. It wouldn’t be of the good if she went into a spazzy spiral now. 

“I- I saw you- you know? How you turned human,” she put the needle on the side table, her hands trembling. “I s- saw Glory- saw your mother slay Ben. Saw his he- head explode from your sister’s eyes.”

Dawn pulled her friend to the other bed, holding her like Buffy used to hold her every night in those damned motel rooms. Much like this one. ‘Cept not. They’d never gone anywhere this nice on the run from the hell god. Nice, but currently a dust-mite resort. “I know. I- I never saw it, then, but I saw it in the Hellmouth, from- from his eyes.” She looked over to the deathly still vampire on the mattress, her eyes raking over to Buffy’s, and wondered idly if they’d be mad if she joined their hands together. God, everything was so screwed up! “He’s got a great view from up there. Wish I was that tall.”

“Give it a few years,” Charlotte choked out. She pulled away from her, shaking, looking at Dawn seriously. “I- I saw mostly their memories. Some yours, bu- but mostly theirs."

Dawn nodded gravely. “Same. Like 10% you, 35% Buffy, one or two of my own. The rest were Will’s.”

The blonde pulled back further, eyes wide. “Mine was the same, but the majority were Buffy’s, not William’s.”

Hesitantly, she asked a burning question on both their minds. “Did- did you see your- did you see what happened to-” 

“My parents?” Dawn nodded carefully. “Yes,” she looked at her brother, trying to figure out how to see him now that she knew. The light had shifted so many times since she’d arrived in Sunnydale, and she didn’t know what to do with all the different parts of the complex sculpture of him. Of her. Of the Pratt and Summers clans. Her mother was right: childhood was simple, adulthood only got more complex as the years grew on. “I watched myself slowly die, from his eyes. Then father, then… him.”

“When he was turned. Yeah, I saw that too.” And felt him crawl his way out of his own coffin like I was the one doing it, she added silently, and Dru-biotch-a clapping her hands like a seal as she watched. Without helping!

“And what mother did to him after he turned her- dear God in heaven,” she choked out, horrified at what she’d witnessed. He’d downplayed it in his retelling, keeping the anguish at arms length from her. Tears fell fast on her face now, hot, angry, and salty. “And he kil- dusted her with dignity. I saw- I felt… I felt Buffy die.”

“With the Master?”

She nodded. “But also, it was like another Buffy. Different, but the same. From some other dimension. Many dimensions, actually.”

“The other slayers?” She blinked at Charlotte, eyes filled with a weird mix of hope and horror. “You- you saw the other Slayers?”

“Yes. But also…” she didn’t know how to tell Dawn, didn’t know if she should tell her. But Dawn was her first confidant in Sunnydale, heck, since she woke up in 2001. Her best friend, a sister in arms. She had to tell her. “It- it was odd,” she settled on, explaining carefully. “I- there was a memory or two that didn’t feel like any of our own.” But Dawn’s face only advertised her confusion. “Did you not end up seeing any of that nature?”

“No. What was it?”

“I…. I can’t be certain. I ended up in a room. Windowless, not a single door in sight- simply a desk with a rather advanced computer interface upon it and- Dawn,” she breathed, eyes wide. “I- I was able to see all of their memories. The ones of them together.”

“Ewww! Like… together -together?” 

“Oh, do not make this sexual,” she exclaimed, perturbed and upset in spades. “No! As in… do not laugh, but it was as if it were their- well, their love story.”

The youngest Summers girl stared seriously at the girl, hoping for it to make sense. “Uh-huh. No, I’m listening!” she defended against the aghast expression on her BFF’s face. “Just- you’re gonna have to give me more than that, here.”

“I saw their most defining moments, in essence. Their first meeting, the original truce, the be-spelled engagement, the… the day he brought your mother to the hospital. Dawn,” she gulped. Charlotte pulled the needle, cleaned it and inserted it into Buffy’s vein, setting it up as quickly as she could, so she could finish telling her BFF before their leader got any worse. Or her shaking fingers did, either. If she focused on the clinical side of things, she was fine. But the emotional side…. Trickier. Ripping her gloves off, she placed a warm hand over her friend’s in an act of sympathy. “I heard the surgeon speaking with Buffy in the memory. Y- your mother wasn’t expected to live from that aneurysm.” She spoke calmly, carefully and quietly, but made sure each word was heard. Her friend deserved to know what the adults had been hiding from her, even if it hurt. “The surgical team was shocked he got her in time, because another five minutes later-” 

“She’d be dead.”

“Or perhaps have severe deficits.”

“Like needing a cane, or being in a coma, or whatever?”

“Seems like.”

“Woah. That- that means… I owe Spike - William - more than I ever thought before.”

Snorting, the blonde shook her head almost mirthfully. “Don’t tell him that. His head’s massive enough as it is. Any more, and he’ll sink to the centre of the earth.”

“Can’t do that. Hellmouth’s closed.” Dawn joked, though she had no humour behind it. She was running ragged around the edges. They both were. “What else did you see?”

Getting very quiet, she averted her eyes. “The Slayers. Their deaths.”

“How many of-?”

“All of them.”

“That means you saw when-”

All , Dawn,” she turned to her friend sharply. Dawn knew that Charlotte would call the expression she was shooting her a ‘giving me the morbs ’ look, but she didn’t know what you were supposed to feel like after witnessing your brother kill two Slayers, and then dragging said brother and his equally unconscious Slayer girlfriend out of the pit of hell. “I watched the light die from their eyes. I felt each one as if it were happening to me.”

God, this was so much worse than hearing how her mom would’ve bit the big one if a chipped Big Bad hadn’t thought to give his friend a ride to the ER. She’d felt a lot of the horrors herself, but every slayer- in the history of ever?! “I can’t even- Lottie…” she sighed, face pinched in more than just foot pain.  

Not that her friend let her continue on that road. “It was odd, that,” she continued. “Most of the memories were as if I were reliving them, aside from those. Although… the fight he had with Buffy in the hospital when that dunce Finn was set to get his heart fixed-”

“When he and Harmony kidnapped that doctor?”

“Yes. I saw that from both sides. Like two film negatives playing on top of one another.”

“Woah. I got the same,” she admitted. “Not of that, but the… when Spike came back with his soul. When they saw each other the first time after that? When they were both all Looney Tunes.”

“Did you see their hallucinations?”

“Yeah. But the real stuff was in colour, where the ghosts and stuff were in sepia, or black and white, so I could tell them apart.” Looking back at their Champions, she felt so much respect blooming in her chest for her family. Because they were family. Nothing could change that, not even death. Too much had happened, and they were bonded forever, now. “But they couldn’t.”

“My God. This is…”

“So very strange?”

“Fucking hell.”

“Woah!” Dawn held up her hands in defence, ready to crack a joke at the expense of her friend's use of language. “I think the f-bomb is a whole dollar in the swear jar.”

“Like I give a toss. You know what I’ve been through, what we just went through. And they left us. We saved the world, and they left us there!” Charlotte began to pace, a very Pratt family habit. At least she wasn’t limping. “I mean, what kind of nerve they must have! The cheek of it all! The absolute gall of- of all of them! Why didn’t they look for us?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“But- but Willow and Tara! They could have done a location spell on us! Checked to make sure!”

“But th- actually, you have a good point there.”

“Ya-haw!” she agreed, a very different kind of answer than Dawn was used to getting from the girl. But she had been surrounded by Californians for the past two years; some of it was bound to rub off. “So unless we get some kind of word from them in the next few days, I’m of the assumption that either one of or both of them are dead.”

“God. I can’t- I can’t deal with this,” Dawn stood, grabbing the duffle off the table, searching through for the envelope of money. Taking out $50 from their very quickly dwindling stash, she shoved it into her bra. “I’m going to grab you and me some food. Don’t open the door to anyone but me, and-”

“Keep trying the phone over and over again, every twenty minutes. I know. I’m not a child.”

“We both technically are. I’m just saying since the little ding on my face, and my weird limp are a teensie bit less noticeable than missing a finger...”

“Oh.” Right. That did make sense. 

“Yeah. Look,” Dawn tried to reassure her friend, not sure if she could give her the hope the teen was looking for. “We’re gonna get through this. They’re not dying today. I don’t know what else is gonna happen, but I’m not giving up without a fight. I’m planning on growing so old, I can’t tell what my natural hair colour is, cuz it’ll be grey, like, all over. And you’re gonna be grey with me, so I don’t feel super old all by myself, kay?”

“I know. As do I,” she grinned painfully bittersweet. “I just… I wish I hadn’t yelled at him so much in the beginning.”

“Nah,” her friend waved her off, shoving the motel room key into her bra, grabbing a hat from the bag to tuck her hair into. “Yelling at Spike is, like, half the fun of hanging out with him. The manager said there should be some magazines in the room, if you get bored. Or grab some from the car.”

“You’re not taking it?”

“No. I can’t leave you here without it. You might need it.”

“I won’t turn you away on that offer. Even if being behind that wheel petrifies me more than those demon bugs.” She shivered, settling herself into the bed as Dawn left. Once the door was locked, and she heard the footsteps retreat until she heard nothing, she slid out of it to sit on the other bed, between the lovers’ feet. She stared at them for a few minutes, the puzzle of their current state unsolvable with the information she had. “You two best rouse yourselves from this state soon, or you’ll miss making fun of our Dawnie’s new hairstyle with me. Apparently, silver is the new black.”

 

-----------

 

“You know what I just noticed,” Charlotte asked with a mouth full of the melty goodness. Thankfully, some great power was smiling upon them minutely, Dawn finding a pizzeria who still used a wood fired oven for their pies, just a stone’s throw from their accommodations. And they were open, with a deal for extra cheese at half the cost. Which was all necessary considering all of the power in the entire little unincorporated rest-stop area thingy was out. “Our burns - on our hands? I think perhaps, based on how badly they burned, that we might never have fingerprints again.”

“Huh.” Dawn stared at her hand, the slowly climbing light of the sun behind the curtains casting them in a strange angled shadow. “We could commit so many crimes, and no one would know.”

“Dawn!”

“What?! I thought that would wake them,” she lied easily, shoving the cheese and anchovy mess into her mouth. 

Lottie rolled her eyes next to her, yawning. “Sure, whatever you say…. Pumpkin belly.”

Dawn groaned. “You’re a real buzzkill sometimes, you know that?”

“Whatever. Back-biter.”

“Prude.” 

“Petty thief.”

“DILF hunter.”

“Church be- what on earth is a ‘DILF’?!” 

Dawn snorted, sitting up straighter, looking at the unconscious couple. Oh, man, she thought hopefully. If this doesn’t wake them…. “So, two schools of thought on that. There’s the MILF,” she began, knowing she was giving poor Lottie a crash course the girl wasn’t prepared for. But heck, if it would wake their siblings…. She’d apologise for it later.

Chapter 61

Summary:

I think we’re alone now. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around! But there IS a payphone- that WORKS

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Friday, March 14th, 2003

 

“Which one next?”

Dawn shrugged, the DeSoto eating up the miles. They’d been somehow missing pretty much every speck of civilization on their drive, almost like the Powers That Be had it in for them, for some backwards-butt reason. The radio didn’t pick up a single sound on the AM or FM waves, leaving them reliant on the tapes, taking, or silence. Her foot was killing her, but she kept driving. She knew Lottie was probably in a lot of pain, too. But being British meant ‘stiff upper lip, nyah, what discomfort? I feel nothing,’ so she wasn’t gonna get much outta her blonde friend. Unless she had an emotional crowbar. Man, they all needed serious therapy. “I dunno. You pick this time.”

Rooting around in the mess of cassette tapes, the blonde picked one at random, holding it up to the overhead light in the car, trying to read her brother’s slanted handwriting. “‘Buffy’s Ultimate Love Mixtape, love Spike.’ Awww… he made her a mixtape.” Ever the romantic, Lottie gave her a friend a sweet expression- one part genuine, two parts teasing.

“Totally cheesy,” Dawn grimaced, her expression turning into a smirk. He was such a lovesick vamp, but it was actually kinda sweet. None of her sister’s other beaus did that before. “Pop it in, DJ Lottie.”

“It looks about two-thirds of the way played through,” she answered, shutting off the overhead light. Draining the car battery now would be way of the bad. “Should I rewind it to the beginning?”

“Nah, let’s just let it play through.”

Popping it in, it was maybe a second and a half of silence before the radio echoed the song through the speakers. 

 

      La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

     La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

 

“It’s the end of… oh, shoot! I can’t remember,” the brunette replied to the blonde’s silent question. “It’s by some old band. Uh… Blondie, I think? It’s one of their, like, popular songs, and-”

The second the next song started, those first few chords sounding in the vintage car, Dawn knew. She just knew that somehow, someway, whatever happened, they’d survive all this. Together. Because that’s what they did every single time- especially when this song played. Pulling over to the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, she turned up the tunes, opened her car door, and limped out. 

“Dawn?” Looking around, Charlotte couldn’t see anything but abandoned farmlands for miles. Why on earth would they ever stop here? Was something wrong with the vehicle? “What is it?”

Wrenching her friend’s door open, the youngest Summers girl offered her friend a hand. “C’mon, Lottie. Let’s dance.”

“Here?! Have you completely lost the plot?!”

Laughing, she dragged the Victorian teenager outta the car, twirling her around as the 80’s jam filled the night air. Like a sign from the PTB, direct via cassette tape. “It’s called ‘making a good memory, when all you wanna do is crawl into a big, dark hole in the ground’!”

“Dawn…”

“Just… feel alive with me!” And who was she to deny such a simple, wonderful, heartfelt request like that? 

 

         I think we're alone now

         There doesn't seem to be anyone around

          I think we're alone now

         The beating of our hearts is the only sound

 

Their bodies ached, their heads swam with a million ‘what ifs?’, and their hearts were gripped in more fear than they could name. But for those few minutes - those few incredible moments - they danced on the side of the road, squealing with laughter, dancing like fools. Even as one of them had to flamingo it cuz she was missing some toes, it didn’t matter. Because they had one another, and it was what they needed to keep going. 

 

         Can't you hear my heart beat?

         Can't you hear my heart beat?

         Dancing to my heart beat

         Let me hear your heart beat

         Let me feel your heart beat

         Let me touch your heart beat

         Cause I'm gonna change your heart beat

         (Alone now)

 

----------

 

“Holy fuck, a payphone! And it’s- it’s lit, isn’t it?”

Dawn didn’t even turn off the engine, throwing it into park before running out of the car towards it, missing Charlotte’s shout for ‘language’, crying tears of joy - and pain - when the dial tone worked. “Quarter, I need a- damn. Outta coins- collect!” Dialling the number from memory, she knew she was playing with fate. What if they weren’t home? What if she woke them from their sleep? What if something happened to them? ‘What ifs?’ filled her head like water, drowning all her other thoughts as she ruminated everything. 

She waited for the ringing, hoping and praying they pick- “Hello? Winston family residence. Not to sound rude, but are you aware what time it currently is?”

She choked out a sob at the sound of his voice, the best, most beautiful sound she’d heard in days, she bet. “Un- uncle Dave? It’s me, it’s-”

Dawn?!” There was rustling on the other line, and she heard the sound of her aunt on the other side. “Yes honey, I know, it’s her! Hold on,” more rustling, and then his voice came in clearly. “Hang on, I’m putting your aunt Arlene on.”

“Dawn?”

The teenager understandably fell to tears, holding onto the edge of the payphone’s metal box with the hand still in possession of most of her fingernails. “H- hey, aunt Arlene,” she gasped through happy tears.

“Oh, dear God. What happened?” the youngest Richardson girl fired questions at her, frenzied. She sounded like she’d been worried sick, which was probably way with the accurate. “Are you okay? What happened? Where are you?! They told me you were dead!”

“Not dead. Presumed to be dead and actually dead are two very different things.” The joke was as hollow as her pockets were empty. “Listen, Arlene, we- wait. Who told you we were dead?”

“The news said there was this horrible earthquake in Sunnydale, but the damage looks closer to a sink hole!”

“It was both, actually. But, Arlene, who told you?” Dawn asked, firmly trying to stay on track. She loved Aunt Arlene- she was always her favourite aunt on both sides. But the woman had the tendencies to go on and on, like a certain Slayer she knew. “Specifics.”

“Goodness, someone’s got spunk.”

“Arlene, they left us for dead! Tell. Me.”

“They… presumed to be dead. Right. Uh, let me check. Dave..?” More rustling sounded on the other line, both adults on the opposite end sorting through the basket of papers by the phone, no doubt. Dave hated throwing out even a single receipt. Little hoarder. 

Charlotte yelled out, “What is it?” from the car, shutting off the engine after a few failed attempts. 

Dawn held up a finger, thankful for the initiative, cuz they so didn’t need to lose any more gas. “Arlene?”

“Yeah, yeah I got it. It’s the Sunnydale Survivor’s Hotline , I- I don’t know who runs it, the ink’s smudged where the name was- but I have the number?”

“Hold on a minute.” She limped back to the car, searching for a pen. “Arlene. She thought… they thought we were dead.” Lifting her hand as she spoke, she made a motion with it, mimicking writing something. 

“Oh, that explains it then.” Charlotte sighed and handed Dawn the glow in the dark pen from the backpack, before breaking into yet another bag of hardtack. 

Hobbling back to scribble on her arm, she checked the ink levels of the pen. “Yeah, Aunt Arlene, I got a pen. Uh huh. Okay, thanks. Yeah, uh, listen, has my mom called?”

“She’s not with you?”

“N- no. Oh, God!”

“It’s okay, I’ll call the police. Where are you?”

“NO!” she shouted, wincing at the harshness she’d thrown at her aunt. The aunt who was helping her. Who had been grieving her, presuming her dead. “Sorry, no. It’s just… one of the survivors, she’s my friend. An- and she’s, well…”

“Is she running from the law?”

How the hell can I say this so she won’t think I’m nuts? Oh! “She’s overstayed her visa. She’ll be sent back home, and everyone there is dead. But her brother is here! We just have to get to the others. It- it’s just that we’re running low on cash, and Buffy’s unconscious and-”

“Hospital!” she insisted, as if her niece was an idiot. Arlene had no idea about Buffy’s slayerdom, nor the rapid healing that came with it. “Take her to the hospital, Dawn!”

And have them freak at Spike’s lack of pulse? Hell to the no! “No, she’s healing, she’ll be fine. N- no more hospitals. Please.”

“You girls have been through too much. How will you get there?”

“We have a car. It’s Buffy’s boyfriend’s.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“He’s… unconscious too.”

Hells bells .”

“Yeah.”

“What can we do to help?”

“Unless you can magic us up some cash, I don’t know.”

Western Union. What town are you in? ” she asked, Dave saying something indistinctly in the background. “We can Western Union you some cash.”

“Wait, really?”

Scoffing, Arlene probably leaned her elbows at the table, running her fingers through her scalp until her curls were unrecognisable. “Don’t argue with me on this, kiddo. You need the money, we have it. Do you know where you are?”

“Sorta? Lottie’s got a map, I’ll check. But, Arlene,” she closed her eyes, hoping against hope that her aunt would have good news. “Aunt Kathy. Is she..? She’s not still mad at me, is she?”

“Why would she be angry?” Arlene clearly hadn’t been told about the kidnapping-slash-joyriding that happened a few days ago. Yeesh! Had it really only been three weeks since then?! Nuts. “She didn’t seem angry when she headed back to California.”

“What the hell is she doing in Cali?!”

“Collecting your supposed corpse,” her aunt answered hollowly. The teenager could hear the woman sit down heavily in the kitchen chair, the vinyl seat’s squeak unmistakably. Dave was puttering in the kitchen in the background, probably getting the pair of them some tea and snacks. Once one was up, they both were up. “She- I told her Dave and I would take care of it, since she survived that cult and everything. But, she insisted,” she let out a heavy sigh, sounding older than she was. “She said it was her job as the oldest. She took the train, like a crazy person,” the woman laughed, a bit hysterical around the edges. “But she’s always been wary of flying. I have never been so happy to hear your voice, kid,” she blurted out, her own voice a little wet with tears. 

“I’m not a kid, not really,” she admitted, leaving off the history of her being an interdimensional key out of it. “But I’m so glad to hear yours, too. And Dave’s. Mattie doesn’t know, does he?”

“N- no. Not yet. We just said ‘missing’, which,” her wet laugh filled Dawn with a complicated emotion she couldn’t name. “Isn’t true anymore, is it? You- you found your way back to us. Sorta.”

Laughing wetly herself, she agreed. After squaring away the money transfer issue, her shaking fingers dialled the number she’d been given, praying for another familiar voice. 

Sunnydale Survivor Hotline , how may I assist you?”

The voice was a welcome, familiar one, despite their once shaky past. He still fought the good fight, and she leaned her head on the phone box in relief. “I was wondering if you knew someone who could give us a lift,” Dawn said, a smile spreading on her face, picturing his mouth hanging open in shock as he polished his glasses. “Maybe someone who kinda owes a God Killer’s daughter a big favour?”

“Dawn?!” Giles must have fallen off his chair, if the clatter had anything to do with it. After a moment, he came back onto the phone. “Dawn! You’re… you’re alive?! How- but the- and the Pot- they said you didn’t make it!”

“Who?”

“The other Potentials- well, other slayers,” he clarified. “Faith even went down after the dust settled, tried to move some rubble away, but it was fruitless. They- some said they saw you burn up in a blinding light. They saw Buffy and Spike’s hands engulfed in flames, before the Hellmouth collapsed around them. How did- Buffy?”

“We’re alive. All four of us- well, I have no idea what the hell kinda limbo Spike is in right now, but us and Charlotte, we’re okay. Mostly. I need some antibiotics,” she murmured, Giles missing the last part to latch onto the most pressing issue: Their Leader.

“Let me talk to her. I need to speak with Buffy.”

“Can’t.”

“Why the bloody hell not?”

“Cuz she’s been in a bloody coma since the day the Hellmouth went poof!” She pinched the bridge of her nose the way she’d seen him do a million times before, trying to keep calm. It was getting to be harder these days. “Listen, I don’t know what happened, exactly, but Spike and Buffy were arguing down there. He was going to sacrifice himself so she could live, and she wasn’t having any of that, so the big, dumb, stupid idiots were gonna go together, but Lottie and I said ‘screw that’, and next thing we know, we’re holding hands like it’s a campfire sing along, a bunch of light rips through us, fade to black. Lottie and I woke up at the bottom, or I guess just under the surface, with Buffy and Spike unconscious.”

“Where are you now?”

“Uh… I’m not, like, a hundo on that.” Based on the confused inhale from the Watcher, she added, “meaning a hundred percent sure. We haven’t been able to really track where we are. Been driving for-”

“Driving?! Who’s driving? You just said the only driver you have is unconscious!”

“Giles, no offence, but I really don’t have any patience left here, okay? Half of it’s still in the butt of hell. We’re in some unregistered territory in California, about an hour’s drive outside of Flagstaff.”

“Flag- you’re not in California?!”

“No?! Are you?! You said the plan was Ohio!”

“Yes, well, we didn’t exactly have the funds to drive there straight through. Arizona? You waited until Arizona to call?”

“Every single place we went to, the power was out!” Arizona. Huh. That made a lot of sense. She’d probably passed a state marker and didn’t even notice. They had been driving through the night, every night this week. Geez, how the hell did Buffy and Spike get through that drive from hell with Glory? She was donezo after a few days, and the three of them did it for nearly a month that time. “And most of the places, even if there was power here, would be way useless cuz they were freakin’ abandoned.”

“Oh, dear lord. Can you get to Flagstaff safely?”

“Yeah. Bring Willow. We’re gonna need her magic.”

“Right. And your mother?”

What? “She’s… not with you?”

“No.”

“Oh. Oh, God.”

“Dawn, focus on getting to Flagstaff. Once you’re there, and settled, call my cell phone. Here’s the number.”

She wrote down the number numbly, her heart pounding in her chest. No one knew where her mom was. No one was sure what happened to her. How did no one know? Tara and her had been the head of their medic squad. If no one knew where they were…. She walked back to the car feeling every emotion at once, and none at all. 

“What did they say?”

“We’re heading to Flagstaff,” she said numbly. “Oh. And we gotta hit up a Western Union. You still have Buffy’s ID? Cuz I’m gonna need it and a box of hair dye.”

Rifling through the bag, Charlotte pulled a few errant items out. “Mmm, no hair dye but there is… a blonde wig?” Holding it up to her friend, her face screwed up in confusion. “Well, then.”

The sight of it shook her BFF from her stupor, barking out a laugh. “Mom must have…. Mom.” Eyes big and round, she looked at her best friend as if the whole world was ending. Again. “No one knows where she is or what- what could have happened to-”

“Flagstaff first, freak out later, right?” God, it was official. Charlotte knew how to cope with trauma like the rest of the Scoobies.  

Dawn nodded, gunning the engine, praying they had enough gas to make it into town. “Right.”

 

----------

 

Their one prayer of a thousand was answered, getting them into the closest motel, the Western Union right across the street, electricity thankfully running through the entire city. Dawn entered the money transfer shop with her sister’s ID, mother’s wig, and her own ball cap, picking up the funds without the cashier giving two licks. Limping back, she booked a room, ushering the rest of her team inside before they got any looky-loos. Which was getting harder and harder to do, their bodies sore beyond measure. Honestly, kind of a mini miracle of its own that the pair lasted this long. 

Charlotte dialled Giles’ cell as Dawn finished hauling in all their crap, locking the doors to the Firelight with a sigh. “He’ll be here before sunrise,” she said as Dawn collapsed in the chair in the corner, ripping her wig off. “Told us to get some shut eye, but then I told him about our hours staring at the daisy roots making that impossible.”

Dawn snickered, wondering if Lottie even knew about her brother’s old crypt and how funny she really was. “If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s completely destroy my sleep schedule on a road trip away from disaster.”

“But they were awake then, at least.”

“Yeah, but you’re more fun to hang out with.”

“Hmm. I hoped that would wake them,” Charlotte wondered. “Oh! I have an idea,” she whispered. She cleared her throat, opening and closing the bathroom door, before saying in a faux flirtatious tone, “oh, yes, Xander! Touch me there! Oh, yes, oh give it to me, you carpenter, you!” She paused, getting zero reaction. “Drat. I thought for sure that’d wake him up.”

The brunette pulled a mischievous smile and mimicked the breathy tone. “Oh, Anya! Touch me there, yes, yes, use your tongue! No, the other tongue!”

“Dawn!” 

Dawn descended into hysterics as her friend smacked her in the face with a pillow repeatedly. “What?! I thought that would wake her up!” 

“Well, seems neither of them are going to be- wait. This place has power.”

“Yeah…?”

“Do you suppose Passions is on?”

“Oh, God, no!”

“He might wake up if he hears it to watch, and she’ll just stand up to turn it off!”

“But then we have to watch Passions. And I’d rather lose my pinky-” she stopped, feeling Lottie’s eyes boring into the back of her head. “You know what? TV sounds great right now,” she chuckled awkwardly, flicking the television on. A familiar tune played on the screen, the girl exclaiming, “Murder, She Wrote! Oh! And it’s your favourite episode, the one with the Benedict Arnold house.”

“Mmmhmmm.” 

Notes:

Edited on January 5th, 2025 cuz of a formatting error adding extra spaces

Chapter 62

Summary:

Angel brings Giles and reinforcements, and the girls spill the beans on just what a 'nice guy' he really is/was. Giles and Tara go into Buffy and Spike’s minds, but it’s pointless as they hit brick walls, endless archives filled with file folders all over, or annoying ‘in between place’ demons.

warning: mentions briefly what Angel did to Spike in the past visa-vee violation

Chapter Text

Saturday, March 15th, 2003 - Part A

 

“What’s he doing here?” Dawn pointed at Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding amongst the fancy cars. Showing up with an armed escort, a bunch of dudes in kevlar holding weapons she so didn’t want anywhere near her or her family, thinking he was all that and a family sized bag of chips. Ugh. Her neckhair bristled as he got closer, stomach acid rising like a tide wave up her throat. “He’s not welcome here.”

“Public accommodations, Dawn,” Angel answered firmly, a little colder than usual. “Don’t need an invite.”

“Still don’t want you here.”

“Dawn,” Giles warned carefully. He didn’t like the only other souled vampire they knew, but he wasn’t looking to bleed anymore than he already had. Fighting for a town tended to come with the perks of strange bedfellows. “Angel‘s generosity is the reason we’re here. He allowed us to stay in his hotel for no charge, and he’s helped us-”

“Save it!” She lifted a hand to shut him up, a throwing star in her other hand ready to flick, if need be. The Brit had long since stopped hypothesising if it was her taking after Buffy or Spike. Or Joyce. This was all her own rage here, and treading lightly was the only way to go here. “I know what you did,” she pointed at Angel. “All of it. I saw.”

His face remained unchanged, but the entire lot could tell he was annoyed. The feeling usually rolled off him in waves. “Saw?”

“Yeah. Draining Buffy, sleeping with Druscilla in front of wheelchaired Spike, mocking my sister for taking her- and what you did to Spike in Glasgow?” The rest of the parking lot looked on in various stages of confusion at her words, and while she spoke, the Head Watcher kept looking between her and the vampire, trying to suss out what it all meant. “And in Leeds. Oh, the submarine thing? Yeah, that, I get. But the other stuff?” She stepped closer, seeing Angel’s confusion fade into horror as she mimicked his accent. “ ‘You think you can stop me, boy-o? I’m the master, you’re the bitch . Now lay still, while I- ’”

“ENOUGH!” Angel roared, the entirety of the crowd silenced with his one outburst. “Okay, enough. You don’t want our help, we’ll just leave.”

“You’re good at that,” she threw back at him. “Leaving. Especially after Buffy’s left at death’s door.”

“You said-”

“She’s been unconscious for four days, Angel! We couldn’t stop at any hospitals, cuz we didn’t have money! Or our insurance cards, or- or a home! And we can’t find our mom, and the first place we did come across had no power, so we couldn’t stay there long anyways. And she’s hooked up to banana bags and blood IVs, but that’s no way to live!” Huffing in a calming breath - or as close to it as she could manage - she squared her shoulders, back straight, head high, composed as she regarded him again. She’d grown a lot in the few months since they last saw one another. She’d aged six decades in one day. “So either shut up and help, or do your Houdini act quietly.”

Charlotte came up behind her, resting the crossbow on Dawn’s shoulder. Her hands didn’t shake where she held it, for a change. A battle worn young lady now, not just the scared little schoolgirl. “I would listen to her, if I were you.”

“Charlotte, I-” 

“Will defile me if I don’t shut my gob the way you did my brother? Hard pass.”

“Oh, God,” Fred muttered, moving away from Angel in fear. There was no way to ignore the comments now. They could dismiss it at first, thinking they’d misheard, but now? There was no ignoring that. “I- I think I’ll-”

“Fred! That was Angelus, not me!”

“Glasgow was after you got your soul back, Liam ,” Dawn sneered, turning Angel into a mess of anger and pain. Good. Let him sweat. She was sick of the lies, sick of having to be nice to a hypocrite. Turning her gaze to Giles, she asked the $64,000 question. “Where’s Willow?”

“Tara’s on her way,” he offered, striding forward with Fred and Wesley on his heels. “Willow… she… well,” he faltered, wondering how to explain what the poor redhead had gone through since they last saw one another. 

Lottie gasped, faltering with the crossbow as they let the others enter. Fearing the worst, she asked, “Sh- she’s dead?”

“Oh, no!” Fred exclaimed, trying to lighten the devastatingly horrible mood around them. “She’s just on bed rest, is all.” The young woman entered the room, her human boyfriend and demon BFF followed her in, carrying all her equipment. And there sure as sugar was a lot of it. “Willow’s limbs were all broken in the incident. She’s had surgery, and got four casts on. They only did one in a fun colour, or at least I think periwinkle is fun.”

Holy crap! “Xander?” Dawn asked, manoeuvring her own BFF to stand to the side, out of the way. Blondie had gone silent, gaping a little despite herself. 

“Watching over her and Anya.”

“Anya’s still alive? Thank God.”

“Uh,” Wes said, turning to her as he winced. “She’s not mentally all… there.”

“Like the mindsuck?”

Lorne blinked in confusion, as he laid down a stainless steel briefcase on the dinette table. “I dunno what that is, honey badger, but she’s still aware of who she is and the people around her. She just kinda… loops memories.”

“Oh. Does she- does she know-?”

The green skinned demon shook his head. “About Sunnydale? No. Her main squeeze said they’d break it to her later. She thinks they’re on a working vacation.”

“How many got out?” 

“Twenty-three slayers,” Giles told her, rubbing his face in exhaustion. “Well, twenty-four now that we have Buffy.” Putting a comforting hand on both girls’ shoulders, he offered them a sympathetic look. “I’m terribly sorry we couldn’t-”

And Charlotte was just as quick to snap out of her stupor and reply with, “forgiven. Are you injured?”

Offering her a weak smile back, he noted the way both girls looked equally far too young, and yet their eyes had aged considerably since he’d seen them last. Poor little lambs, so much braver than he’d ever truly expected before. “Don’t worry about me. Not ready to bow out just yet.” 

Dawn nodded, moving to sit on the bed and rub her sore foot through her trainers- good Lord, that was a lot of dried blood! “And no word on mom?” she asked, diverting their attention back to her face. 

“The office is working on it,” Wesley offered, dragging in some more equipment, his mentor on his heels. 

“They better. I’m not losing my mother, Giles. I’m not losing any more family or else I’m going to fucking snap!”

“Dawn! Language!”

“Yell at me later,” she snapped resolutely. “Lottie and I were in hell, and we’re exhausted. Yell at me when I don’t feel like my body’s about to shut down. Work.”

 

----------

 

Tara showed up with an armed convoy like Giles had, one of the baby slayers with her. The second she walked in, she took one look at the girls, and dropped everything in her arms. Enveloping them into warm hugs, the tears in her eyes were of relief, squeezing them with love, pressing a kiss into each of their scalps. “You were so, so, so brave,” she choked out, salt rolling down her cheeks, absolutely bursting with pride. “You can rest now. You- you need to rest.”

Agreeing, they let her settle them in the bed, the team quietly discussing what to do. After some deliberation, they agreed to rent the room next door, splitting up the pair of Champions to keep from overcrowding the already tiny motel room. Buffy stayed in the original room with Dawn in the opposite bed, Spike brought to the adjoining room, Lottie and Tara following him. The tests Fred and Wesley ran on their heroes came up with a whole bunch of nothing. Spike still had no heart beat, but his reflecting act was still going strong. And Charlotte was sure his hair was starting to show their roots, but no one else could tell. Either way, they were up a creek without a diagnosis. 

“I don’t know what other test we could possibly run,” Wesley sighed, reading the printout from the peculiar machine he was working with. “I think perhaps we must differ to the supernatural for answers.”

Snorting, Charlotte swallowed her daily pill, chasing it with water. “Perhaps we should have started there, what with the nature of their incapacitation.”

Tara sighed, picking out the rat’s nest that was the blonde’s hair. Poor kid lost her hairbrush somewhere between Hayfield and Blythe, and she looked like a total tumbleweed. “Charlotte, I know this is traumatising for you-”

“Understatement.”

“But your anger shouldn’t be directed towards Wesley,” she finished, the baby slayer - Lottie couldn’t remember her name - peeking through the curtain carefully. Angel wasn’t out there anymore, but she kept looking every ten minutes anyway. Almost like she was trained by the best. “He’s not Angel.” Waiting until her pseudo sister turned around to look at her, she added under her breath, “and by the looks of things, he’s not gonna be working for that den of demonic evilness for much longer.”

“I can hear you,” the older Brit mumbled, putting the printout in his valise. “Not that anyone cares.”

Rolling her eyes a second time in as many minutes, Charlotte relented. Tara, after all, made a good point. “Alright. I apologise for my harsh tone, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. We appreciate your assistance in this matter.” Sniffing, she added, “what… exactly do you suggest we try next? Or, rather,” turning around fully, she regarded the witch. “What do you suggest we try?”

“Me?”

“William and Mrs. Summers both have instilled upon me your importance as our resident herbalist,” she answered, blue eyes shining at the older girl. The young woman she looked up to. The one who escaped her own Smith-prisoners, without the aid of the Slayer (the first time, at least). “And you are an accomplished witch. He- he trusts you. I trust you. What should we do now?”

And Tara genuinely wished she knew the answer to that quandary. She’d been pretty sleep deprived herself, what with handling the injured - and the dead - during the final battle. Not to mention healing a burst eardrum. Then, the pains of watching Willow undergo one operation after another, her only reprieve being to follow Giles across state lines, half of Angel Investigations riding shotgun. In a private jet! And now Lottie was looking to her for guidance? She was just part of the B-team! Wasn’t she? “I… need to talk to Mr. Giles, first. The- there might be something- a spell, we, umm, we could try. B- but I’ve never done it. Before. I- I’ll be right back.” Failing to move from the bed, she looked down to see why. “Charlotte? You need to let go, sweetie. I’ll be right back. I promise,” she added as the girl’s fingers tightened. Poor girl was very terrified of being abandoned again. 

Blinking rapidly, she glanced down herself, gasping as she let go of the witch’s shirt. “Oh. Sorry. I- I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay. Five minutes. Drink the tea I made, okay?”

Nodding minutely, she leaned back into the warmth the witch left on the bed, watching with bated breath as the bottle blonde left the room. Newly minted, and still on guard, the new slayer stayed behind. “Do you not wish to follow her?”

“I’m here to protect you, ma’am,” the girl nodded, as if they were playing secret service. “Mr. Giles insisted you and Dawn be protected- at all costs.”

Well, then, she mused, eyes wider than her baby blues had business being. Seems Ripper has changed his tune. Ripper. I just called him Ripper in my head. Huffing out an amused breath, she shook her head at the memory she’d witnessed from Buffy’s perspective. Bet he defecated in his drawers when Mrs. Summers whipped out that machete in the dining room. Slasher. Ha! What a… oh, God. Mrs. Summers. “No news about Mrs. Summers?” 

“No,” Wes sighed, pulling his phone to check for messages. “The biggest news I’ve received since our arrival has been from my carrier, offering new family plan bundles available to me. And, oh, yes. A local seafood restaurant in the vicinity. Perhaps we should break for lunch? Tara might enjoy a nice shrimp pasta?”

“Not unless you’re looking to make her a corpse,” the blonde sniffed. “She’s deathly allergic.”

“Oh,” he answered with a grimace, pocketing the mobile. The witch herself reentered, face determined. “Well, perhaps a pizza? Ah, Tara. Did Giles-?”

“Y- yes.” Sitting on the bed next to Charlotte, she took the girl’s hand. “But I gotta ask first-”

Offering up her wrist, the girl said firmly, “if you require my blood, I’m willing to give it.”

Which horrified the other lady to her core. Blood magic was dark magic; that’s what her mother always told her. Sure, she’d never been a perfect witch, but she drew the line at using anyone’s blood. “Charlotte, no-”

“My type is A positive, and-”

Placing a gentle palm against her wrist, the witch carefully pressed down, letting it drop. “No blood. I do need your permission, though.”

“Anything.”

“I- I need to go in… into Spi- into William’s head.”

 

----------

 

Six minutes. Tara had only been meditating for six minutes when she jerked to full consciousness, scowling as she did. “Unbelievable.”

“What? Was it truly horrible?” Lottie stuck to her side like glue, fretting over the lady since she’d already fretted enough over her brother. “Did you see him murder someone?”

“No, I-”

 

        BRIIIIIIING! BRIIIIIIING! BRI-

 

Wesley picked up the receiver, closest to the telephone. “Hello? Yes, one moment,” he said, handing the phone to the witch. “Giles.”

Taking it thankfully, she answered with a simple, “didn’t work for you either?”

“It’s like a brick wall” he replied, loud enough for the entire room to hear. 

“I’m getting the same. Red, but with-”

“A few older bricks in a white wash, colour interspersed?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” he hemmed, most likely chewing on his glasses by the arm, yet again. “I think you’re right that whatever happened to them, it created a temporary link to their consciousnesses. Head back, and you walk all the way to the right. I’ll do the same, and meet you in the middle. If you wake up before you find me, go again, but left.”

Nodding, she answered, “Sounds good,” before handing the phone back to the Brit. “Okay. Take two.”

“Break a leg,” their slayer bodyguard added, trying to be encouraging. 

This time, when Tara’s eyes went unfocused, she slipped under far faster. 

Blinking at the tall obstacle in her path, she touched the closest brick to steady herself. “It’s okay, Spike,” she whispered, starting her walk to the right, hand firmly on the wall as she took each step purposefully. It would be easy to make one false move and be stuck here forever. “We’re coming for you and Buffy. Ch- Charlotte’s alive, but she- God, Spike. She’s definitely your sister,” she chuckled under her breath, knowing that he couldn’t possibly hear her. It didn’t matter. She could hear herself, and it helped. “She’s as resilient as she is stubborn, which is a lot.”

She walked for so long, that if she hadn’t felt the rough texture of the bricks under her fingers, and how it changed minutely the further she trekked, she’d have assumed she’d been walking in place. As it stood, her face contorted in perplexed curiosity as the bricks started to change, bit by bit. At first, they were like those she was used to, standard and modern. But the further she got, the older and slightly more handmade they seemed to be. By the time she and Giles met in the supposed middle, they were a smattering between something from pre-WWII buildings, and something far, far, far older. Second century, perhaps. 

But that wasn’t the only surprise ready to greet the pair. 

“That’s… unexpected.”

A series of neon signs circled the doorway, stickers all over the green door itself. So many of them - seemingly random - were in a cacophony of colours, like a child’s fifth grade art project. “It… the colour, it’s like the door to the-”  

Magic Box , but green,” he breathed, hand reaching out to touch it, to check its authenticity, but thought better of it. 

The sign The Archives above the door shone biggest and brightest, announcing where they were: whatever on earth that meant. 

Tilting her head at the sound of the electric hum of the neon, Tara turned to the closest thing she had to a father with a hum of her own. “Have you ever heard about this kinda thing before?”

Laughing hollowly, he shook his head in response. “I think it’s safe to say that whatever is happening right now,” he turned to touch the door, unable to resist any longer. “Has never been documented before.” Trying to open it, he got nowhere. The knob refused to budge, as if it were welded shut. “Seems I’ve left the keys in my other trousers,” he mused disappointingly. 

Smiling softly, she motioned to the door. “May I?” Waiting for him to step aside, she touched the knob with her fingertips, then thought better of it, and rapped the door with her knuckles thrice. The light  dimmed, neon signs being drained minutely before ramped up to their full brightness, and the door opened without a single push. “Guess it’s invitation only around here.”

“Mmm.” Stepping into the dark room, Giles felt rather exposed. There was nothing to suggest what they could expect walking in, and neither had any weapons on them. But once fully in, the door slammed shut behind them, and the lights flicked on, one bank after the other, illuminating the building’s interior with the same exact bulbs they’d had in the old Sunnydale Library. 

Looking before her, Tara sighed. “Oh, goody. Paperwork.” 

The warehouse in front of them was filled with row after row after row after row of filing cabinets. Not just your standard three or five drawer units either, oh no. No, whoever - or what ever - had created this maze of bureaucracy had a very different version on what a filing cabinet should look like. Fifteen, twenty drawer cabinets were littered around the space, some with even odder sizes interspersed. 

There was a vague sense of organisation, the rows staggering at seemingly random patterns, but after staring for long enough, Tara snorted. Her mentor looked at her queerly, a raised brow matching his unamused face. “It- you don’t see it?” she asked, Giles shaking his head in confusion. “It looks like a bit of a maze, doesn’t it?”

Squinting, he moved to polish his glasses, only to find his handkerchief wasn’t on his person. Lovely. “I suppose. What does that have-? Oh, you must be joking.”

IKEA. They were in a bloody IKEA warehouse of nothing but filing cabinets. Great. Absolutely bleeding fantastic. What next? Was the cheese man from their time after Adam going to pop up from behind a cabinet, offering them a slice of processed American ‘cheese product’? Was his sixth form history teacher going to humiliate him in front of the classroom a second time, holding up his paper on the Nepolianic wars and call it drivel, like he had nearly three decades prior? Or perhaps his great-great-great granddaughter should make a visit, and lament on how he spent too much time fighting evil, leaving her great-great-great grandmother to do the child rearing alone? Not that he even had a girlfriend, let alone a wife at present.  

His musings were cut short as she opened the cabinet closest to them, the nine drawer unit of solid steel unwavering, as it gave up the fourth drawer from the bottom easily. “I think,” she hedged carefully, rifling through the files, pulling one out carefully. Opening it, the pair of them looked down at the document before them. The report was several pages long, typeset in Helvetica, a few photographs glued to the opposite flap of the folder. “I think these are their memories.”

Carefully lifting the papers, he started to read the sentences before him, and went cold. The Initiative remains a threat, the paper said. As long as Project 314 continues, the world is in peril. The Slayer has taken pity on the vampire ‘Spike’ - formerly known as William James Pratt, aka William the Bloody, aka Angelus and Druscilla’s former plaything - and with her Watcher - Rupert Edmund Giles aka ‘Ripper’ - has offered him protection from the military. The human being known as Alexander ‘Xander’ Lavelle Harris has been infected by the curse upon falling through the old remains of the Sunnydale Mission. His sweetheart, the former witch turned vengeance demon - Aud, also known as Anyanka - now a human by the name of Anya Jenkins, was a suitable target, but too far for- “This… this was thanksgiving,” he breathed, looking up at the young witch with awe. “This is… I think I need a drink.”

Nodding, she looked at the sea of other files, biting her lip. “I- I think… we have to read them.”

“Not that I wouldn’t agree, but this is rather a lot of files to go through,” he hedged carefully. “And we’re a bit pressed for time.”

Nodding, she rolled up her sleeves. Huh. No scratches. Perhaps it was just her soul in here, and his, the pair bringing nothing truly physical with them. And perhaps it was best if he didn’t know the answer to that particular concern. “I know, but I- I have this… overwhelming urge to find a specific document, you know? Like… like a pull.”

Now that she mentioned it, he couldn’t ignore it any longer. He’d thought that was the old librarian in him, the Watcher training never having truly left, no matter how time crawled by. But if she also felt it… “Right. Shall we choose at random, then?”

Shaking her head, she pulled her hair back out of her eyes. Her hair ties had broken ages ago, the braids Vi and Chao-Ann gave her long gone. But she could at least twist the hair away enough to keep it from impeding her work. “Think it’s more like magic than not. Intuition. Umm… I’m being pulled… this way,” she gestured to the left, a large bank of ten, twelve, and sixteen drawered cabinets looming intimidatingly three rows away. “A ladder would be nice.”

Yes, it would have been, but none appeared, so she trudged along without it. “I feel compelled to look this way,” he went down a row to his right, following the curve to the middle of the warehouse. “I do believe you’ve got the short end of the stick, my dear,” he called out to her, the twenty two year old frowning at the easy-peasie mass of three footers. “Although,” pulling the first drawer open, he sighed at the faded ink on the folder tabs, barely legible in their girly cursive reminiscent of Buffy’s handwriting the first year they met. “I do believe I spoke too soon.”

Chuckling behind her hand, she opened a drawer closest to her elbow, rifling through the memories labeled G: GE-GEO with a keen eye. Pulling one that seemed intriguing, she opened it to look inside. George Dresden, marriage. Frowning at the picture of a smug man, she couldn’t understand why it warranted a whole file on the man. And what was up with that moustache? It had to be fake, right? God, she hoped it was. Skimming the file, she couldn’t find anything useful, slipping it back before grabbing one after it, the label of George Drisdel, New York proving just as helpful. “Wait, this doesn’t make sense.” 

“Whatever the amulet did, it-”

“No, Giles,” she insisted, shutting the drawer with a clank. “Buffy doesn’t organise things alphabetically. Neither does Spike. She goes by importance, than-”

“Chronologically. Of course!” Dropping the file labelled Kakistos: Goaty Vampire Dude, he moved to a two foot patch of linoleum without a single cabinet. “Come, I have an idea.” Hustling her way over, she watched in confusion as he kicked the floor, leaving a mark on the linoleum from the leather of his Oxford’s. “I don’t have any chalk,” squeak, “or a marker,” squeak, “so we have to-” squeak. 

Getting on her stomach, he looked down at her in confusion, mounted only higher as she reached under a cabinet blindly. “Maybe, if we’re lucky, the Archive…ists might have dropped a- yes!” Retrieving her hand back, she produced a chunky tube of permanent ink, the marker cap only slightly cracked. “Better than nothing.” Handing it to him, she watched as he continued drawing the pentagram, dusting herself off. “Are you trying to make the folders re- rearrange themselves?”

“No,” he answered simply. Of all his Slayer’s friends, Tara was the most polite, and genuinely inquisitive without being pushy. He didn’t understand her friendship with the vampire, but he respected that it wasn’t his to understand. Mostly. “I’m going to cast a basic revealing spell, to find whatever it is we need to find sooner.” 

“Oh. Umm… do you think it’ll work? In here, I mean,” she gestured, frowning as the ink started to run out. “I don’t know about this, Giles.”

“If you have alternative suggestions….”

Biting her lip, she nodded. Standing, he gestured for her to continue. Frowning, Tara wasn’t so sure anymore. But she had less faith in other things before, and those had turned out better than expected, so she might as well try. Lifting her chain from behind the shirt, she looked down at her pendant in trepidation. Her mother had given it to her on her twelfth birthday. The rose quartz heart nestled in the silver cabicon that had been blessed at every full moon since, the little stone reminding her every day that at least one person would always love her. But she had more family, now. Had a pseudo mother in Joyce, and a sort of father next to her. Spike and Xander treated her like brothers would a sister. You know, that they actually liked and respected. And Dawn with all her friends? Even they included her. She could let it go. She didn’t mind, so long as it brought Buffy and Spike back to them. 

Buffy. Their leader. The one they couldn’t do this without. Spike was her friend, too, but Buffy…. She’d never been one to befriend the popular crowd, and at first, she felt intimidated by the blonde, who reminded her of Beth too much to ignore. But her misconceptions were wrong, and Buffy had become a sister to her. She had stood up for her, over and over again. Spike, too. Even as small as insisting the Potentials pull their weight, so she wasn’t the only one cooking and doing dishes, or bringing her tea when she was feeling rundown. Hell, he stood up for her in front of Giles. TO Giles. That took a special kind of familial bond she never had with Donny. 

“Umm, hello?” she called out, pulling the chain off around her neck. Looking around, she hoped for some kind of door, or maybe an office tucked away somewhere. Something to let them know there was some…being, other than them. Nothing. Nada. Not even a vent. Still, she held up the stone, voice notched up a few levels so it could carry. “Uhhh… Archive keepers? Archivists? We- we need our friends back. Our family. If- if you could give them back to us… we’d really appreciate it!” 

Nothing. “Well, I dare say,” he muttered, “that it was worth a shot as good as any. But-”

“Wait,” she insisted, motioning to the cabinet nearby. “Can- can you help me up on that thing? I have another idea.”

Sighing, he relented. Far be it from him to know what else to do here, other than read more files. Helping her up on the three foot high cabinet, he held her hand as she used it to hoist herself up on a higher one, and another higher one, until his hand was more hindrance than help, and she stood shakily on the top. “Do you see anything?”

“No, I-”  then the breath died on her very dry tongue. Movement. “Hey! You… you, there. Archivist!” Holding the necklace out in the direction of the movement, she called out, “if you show us w- what to do next, you can keep this!”

“Tara, what are you-?”

Between one breath and the next, the Archivist that had been spying on them was in front of her, and neither witch nor Watcher could believe their eyes. A Wisp. They’d been spied on by a Wisp of light, golden yellow, bobbing about. “H- hello, umm… little W- Wisp,” she stuttered out, trembling at the sight. This wasn’t anything she’d ever seen or heard of before. Sure, there were the stories from her childhood, but those were kids’ books! Not lore. ….right? “We- we’re umm, looking f- for our friends. F- family. Uh…” The Wisp circled her, almost studying the witch. Giles called up to her to be careful, the light stopping a moment, before doing the same to him. “W- Wisp?” she called it back to her, the light zooming to her face. “H- hi. I’m T- Tara. An- and this is, umm, Giles. Ru- Rupert Giles.” 

It dulled a little in intensity before resuming its glow. “State your purpose T-Tara and Rupert Giles.” 

Neither of them were expecting the monotone, genderless, accentless voice, but she held up the necklace yet again. “I- I don’t know wh- what this place is,” she broached, letting the being study the stone. “But… we need to get to our f-friends. Buffy Anne Summers, and William James ‘Spike’ Pratt.”

Lifting the stone a touch, the Wisp let it fall, the chain still in her grasp. “State your reason, T-Tara.”

“Umm, it’s actually Tara Maclay,” she answered carefully. “I just sometimes st- stutter. But-”

“State your reason of intrusion, human witch Tara Maclay,” it corrected itself. 

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Giles exclaimed. “Can you bring them to us or not?” 

Glowing a bright red, it advanced on the shopkeeper, making the man stumble back a step. “Do not interrupt, Rupert Giles,” it warned. “Or you shall be erased.” Flying back to Tara, it was back to its golden glow. “State your reason for intrusion, Tara Maclay.”

Oh, Goddess. What the heck did they get themselves into? Well, too late to turn back now. “They- they’ve been stuck here too- too long,” she explained. “We- we need to get them h- home. Back. Th- this… this isn’t where they belong.”

“And where do you belong, Tara Maclay?”

Oh, that was a hell of a question, wasn’t it? Where did anyone belong? Was she supposed to say with her family? Would it send her back to her biological kin? “Where do you belong?” she countered. 

It ebbed different colours, slowly, the gradient sliding carefully until it came back to glow it’s signature golden yellow. “You are very wise, Tara Maclay. But you are not meant to be here. You do not belong among the Archives.”

“I- I know. I… this was my mother’s,” she insisted, handing it to the Wisp. “It- it’s the most important th- thing I have left of her. If- if you help us, to get our f- family back- Buffy and Spike back, you can have it.”

Studying the stone, it touched the quartz, humming as the colour drained from it. Slowly, the stone turned clear, the Wisp now a strong, blinding pink. Shuddering, it pulled away, humming in approval. “This will suffice. Follow me.” 

Climbing down, the pair followed the Wisp through the maze, nearly losing it twice, before it led them to a panel in the wall. Four feet wide, and eight feet high, the panel shifted from frosted glass, to a set of heavy, ornately carved, dark purple wooden doors. Hitting it thrice, the knocks echoed in the warehouse, a silence following. “Wh- what now?” the witch asked the Wisp. 

“Now, I must get back to my post.” And off it went, straight up above their heads, before whisking off to where they’d come. 

“Right,” Giles sighed, turning back to the door, hearing something whirling behind it. “Maybe you should… stand behind me.”

“No,” she insisted, holding onto the sleeve of his shirt determinedly. “Wh- whatever it is, we face it together.” Swinging open, the pair blinked at the flash of light, adjusting quickly to the scene before them. “Oh…. Kay….” 

  A bunch of demons, all kinda cute and small, some fluffy green things with eyes, some just blips of light like the Wisps. But while some looked demon-like, they both knew on some level, they weren’t. Higher beings intermingled with the demons and whatever the heck the Wisps were, the strangest coworkers keeping the place running. 

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Mr. Giles.” Tara looked around at the strange office around them, the mixture of different eras echoed in the structure and decor, the equipment ranging from pre-industrial revolution, to something she was almost positive would not be invented by humans until a century after her death. “Um.. what do we do?”

Rupert blinked in fascination at the creatures around them, a phone ringing in the same exact tone and cadence that his mother had in their home before she died. A DMV. They were in a sodding mystical DMV. His eyes latched on the velvet rope ahead of them, gesturing at the gold material with his head. “Like a good Brit, we queue.” 

And so they did. Between a fuzzy green thing with eyes that farted pink, mango scented bubbles, and a nine foot tall, lanky armed, purple footed demon with an enormous beard of candy floss, they waited. And waited. And waited some more, until-

“Next!” 

Heading to the Wisp that called them over, the new Head Watcher cleared his throat. “Um, yes, hello,” he said carefully to the blinking light ahead of them. While he’d heard of Wisps in many tales in both childhood and in the Watcher’s Academy, he knew these beings were never really proven. To be the first ever Watcher to witness them… Gosh! He wished he had a pen and some paper. “We are looking for friends of ours-”

“Family,” Tara corrected quietly.

He nodded, clarifying. “Family. Are we to-?”

“Well who are you lookin’ for, anyways?” the Wisp asked, the glowing light zigging and zagging over the top of the typewriter on its desk, not touching the keys. Despite zero contact that either human could see, the keys typed away happily, whole sentences appearing on the paper before their eyes. A cursory glance showed an alphabet neither human had ever seen before, bright blue ink fluorescing under the edison bulbs. And unlike the Wisp in the file room, this one sounded straight from Queens. “I gotta lotta souls I oversees, and-”

“What do you mean you have a lot of souls to oversee? Are we not in the minds of our compatriots?”

It stopped its typing, moving an inch closer. If it had a head, Rupert would be certain it was tilting it in confusion. “You’re kidding, right?” They shook their heads, the Wisp calling over a green fluffy thing. Rolling towards them, the pair of humans looked wide eyed at what was essentially a ball of moss with long, almost etherial fur. “Molous, give them the rundown of the Archives, will ya? I ain’t got time for this. Next!”

Molous bounced away, beckoning them. Without seeing any other way, the pair followed hesitantly. “Welcome! My name’s Molous, and she’s usually way nicer. First time?” Nodding at the strangest thing they’d ever witnessed, the pair didn’t speak, in fear of saying the wrong thing. “Okay, so here’s the in-between place. We call it The Archives.”

“What happens here?”

“Mainly, the souls of humans who died but haven’t fully crossed over, they come here. Some of you earthen-humans call it ‘purgatory’,” it snorted, somehow. Did it even have a nose underneath all that green fuzz? “But I don’t know where you got that ridiculous name from. There aren’t many people who can enter into here unless they’re dead, or very nearly dead, but you two thought you were in your friends’ minds, yeah?” They nodded. “Thought as much. You both reek of earth magic.”

Tara asked the question next, head holding in curiosity. “Earth magic?”

“Yeah. Earth magic vs. Hell magic vs. Archives magic etc, etc. But anyways, the thing that nearly took out your friends, it had a lot of power. The only way to bring them back is to call their souls from the Ether before it’s too late.”

“The Ether?” Giles gaped. “It’s real?”

Snorting amusingly, it said, “‘Course it’s real! We don’t give names to things that aren’t here.” It gestured to the line of payphones, explaining the extensive keypads. “Put in the name, date, time, and place of birth, the soul’s last known location, and then hit the ‘connect’ key. That’s the one that looks like a star.”

The payphones looked old, 1910’s old. Like the GPO ones that hadn’t really survived the electronic age, with more keys than an orchestra grade piano, not all the symbols familiar to the pair. And instead of a quarter, it had a larger round shaped hole for something. “Uh…”

“Sorry, we like sugar here. Every machine runs on it. Gum’s right over there.” 

Gum? Why would they need-? Gumballs. To the left of the machines was a glass bowl the size of Giles’ long discarded sombrero, blown from an iridescent blob of glass into intricate swirls, full to the brim with gumballs. Well… this day sure was full of surprises.

Tara hesitated but eventually strode over, grabbing a bright pink gumball from the top of the pile. She felt drawn to the colour, maybe because it matched Buffy's favourite new nail polish. Depositing it, she dialled the phone as requested, hitting the star shaped key, and putting the receiver to her ear. Much like the phone at the dorms, the dial tone rang. Over, and over, and over, and over…  “Huh. Le- Let’s try Spike.”

Giles furrowed his brow, uncertain. “You know the exact time and place of his birth?”

“Well, yeah.” She went back for a red gumball this time, partially wishing they had black gumballs. “We’re friends, we talk.” Giles shrugged, a very un-Giles gesture to make, watching her carefully punch in the necessary information. Again, it rang endlessly. “They won’t pick up.”

“Does that mean they…?”

“Nah,” Molous shook its body, the green fluff moving about like the strands of a mop. “You’d just be ejected right away. Here, try this: Maxime McFlannigan O’leary, August 16th, 1958, 5:12 AM, 890 Huntington Court, New Jersey. Yep,” it nodded, watching Tara’s quick fingers. “Then 126 rue de l'Université, Paris, France. Then ‘connect’. See?” They watched the blue gumball spit itself back out of the very same hole it was pushed into, the candy flying across the room to lay on the top of the bowl of confections, without disturbing a single thing. “Maxime is very dead. For ten of your human earth years. Your people aren’t. You need someone closer to them.”

“We- we’re family!”

“I don’t doubt that; wouldn’t have been able to get in, let alone dial if you weren’t. But I meant actually closer. Physically. To them when whatever happened to them, you know, happened to them.” It rolled itself over to the furthest payphone, turning back to face them. At least, they assumed, since its facial features were hidden under the fluff like the rest of it. “Well? Come on.”

“Okay.”

At the end of the bank of phones, it turned the corner, their eyes widening at the array of shiny objects all around them. “Uh…”

“Hmm? Oh, that?” Molous rolled in a tight circle, like it was rolling its eyes. “That’s not important. Cold storage.”

“Cold…”

“Storage,” Molous finished simply, like their minds hadn’t just been blown open. The grand hallway stretched out for eons, the glass topped ceiling above them showcasing the night sky in startling detail. Alongside both of the twenty-four foot tall walls were floor to ceiling bookcases, rows and rows of glass shelves with objects of rare and precious beauty, ranging from brilliant gems to simple glowing mason jars with rusted shut lids. It was breathtaking, and soul affirming, yet somehow solemnly familiar in an unfamiliar way. “You know, for souls that were ripped free, but not yet ready to go anywhere else.”

“Like… when a human becomes a vampire?”

“Exactly! Or a demon, or a fr’i’zz.”

“A what?”

But Molous didn’t hear him, continuing on. “It stays here until the being dies, and- Oh, look! There’s one now!” A soft glow emanated from a sapphire the size of Tara’s fist before the light shot out and bounced around, then went straight up into the ceiling, the gem turning dark and dull. The lustre had been sucked out of it completely. “Ah, number 71145763-AJ. A good egg, that one. When she was human, at any rate. Always good to see when they go up. Sometimes, if the human soul was really evil before it turned species, or whatever it is you earth-humans call it, the case cracks instead of dulls like 71145763-AJ did. Once, we had a soul who was a serial killer before it turned vampire, and when the guy was dusted, the soul’s vessel exploded everywhere! Poor Meera lost a horn that day.” It motioned ahead to the caretaker moving the sapphire onto a rolling cart full of other dull things, not all gemstones. The creature had massive horns, at least seven on her head and shoulders, the top left one missing about an inch off its head. The multiple eyes on her face blinked without synchronisation, moving about carefully on her many catlike legs. “How are you now, Meera?” Molous shouted to the being.

Meera looked up, blinking several times before making a few broad hand gestures. 

Molous laughed like she’d told a joke. “Oh, Meera!” He turned to the humans, explaining, “she says ‘same storage, different grofths’. The grofths are what we call the empty soul containers.”

“Ah,” Giles said knowingly. “We have a similar saying: ‘same soup, just reheated’ .”

Molous paused, staring at the man. “What’s a soup?”

“Its a food.”

“Oh. Hmm. Is it a wet food or a dry food?”

“Um, wet, usually hot.”

Molous rolled forwards and backwards, contemplating. “Interesting. Earthen humans and their many food textures fascinate me. Any ways,” it sighed, continuing on to the bright purple sign that read ‘GOOD-BYE!’ In neon letters. “Have your earthen humans come in the front ways this time? Okay? Just do the same spell, but instead of entering their minds, ask for the ‘Archive Extension 564926-25648-MOLL’. It’ll send them right into the visiting room, in front of the bank of payphones. Jesk hates it when earthen humans clog up the line there. Also, going through our memory warehouse? Really not good for your souls. You’ll definitely wake up with the taste of earthen pumpkin in your nose and ears for a couple of hours after.”

“Umm… not our mouths?”

Molous rolled back and forth again, humming this time. “Oh, yes. Apologies. I completely forgot earthen humans only hear from their ears. Such a shame. Wasted potential, if you ask me.”

“Um, not to take up too much of your time, but who’s Jesk?”

“The Wisp you were chatting up. Sorry about them, they’ve just been in a bad mood for the past nineteen hundred years. Some idiot burned down some library in your dimension’s earthen Egypt the week before her planned vacation there. Hasn’t gotten over it since. Anyways, you should wake up now, and when your earthen humans get here, remind them that they can call simultaneously. It’ll be faster. Okay, off you go!” Pushing them with it’s soft body, it rolled them to the exit, where the door still hadn’t appeared in the wall. Good God, were they meant to phase through the wall?! “Spending time here when you’re not meant to be can make you deader faster,” it continued, casual yet firm in its need to send them back. Just as they were two steps away, the wall shimmered, and a light started to white out their vision, the pair squinting against the harshness of the early morning sunrise. “Oh, and don’t forget to-”

With a gasp, both Tara and Giles awoke in opposite rooms, the overwhelming smell and taste of raw pumpkin in their mouths. 

“So?” Dawn had her hands on her hips expectantly, sitting on the edge of Buffy’s bed, glaring at the Watcher. “What now?”

Chapter 63

Summary:

Buffy and Spike are stuck in a loop of their own making, which wouldn’t suck so much - or at all - if it wasn’t a one-way trip to Deathville. Enter: Dawn and Charlotte. Literally.

Chapter Text

Saturday, March 15th, 2003 - Part B

 

Buffy leaned back against her lover’s chest, staring at the cloudless sky above, enjoying the warm late April breeze, the promises of summer heat on its heels. Life was pretty sweet at the moment. “Mmm, isn’t this fab?” she asked dreamily. The heat of the flaming gas giant in the sky soaked her in a warmth she’d been missing, and the breeze filled her with calm. They were safe here, in their bubble. And bubbles were way mixy today. “Sun is shining, the breeze is breezing, and for once, no rain! And the flowers are in bloom. Spring definitely has sprung.”

Spike grinned behind her, his hands in the grass behind him, propping them both upright. “More a summer fan myself. As you well know, my love.” And bonus, her boyfriend wasn’t catching fire! A girl could get used to this.

“Of course, I’ve always kinda hoped,” she grinned back, her head lolling to the side. She looked at him at a dizzying angle, her funky little hat looking absolutely ridiculous perched on her head. But with the way he was gazing at her, he probably thought she looked adorable. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“We gonna go for food after this?”

“Of course,” he gestured to the tea house across Hyde Park, the pair enjoying their picnic. Except for the fact that they both forgot the picnic basket, not that they cared. Their spot in the southeastern corner was in the perfect location, with the light fragrance of the crocuses and lilies without the crowd, and the blanket under them was soft. The Victorian era park goers all enjoyed their own respective afternoons, nodding to each other as they passed by, some tipping their own beaver felt hats. Men with high waisted trousers walking with decorative canes, ladies in their gorgeous walking gowns, and even a few children playing with their siblings. It felt strangely like home to her, even if she’d never been there before. “Reserved us your favourite table, my darling sweetheart.”

Snorting at his affected accent, she stood, her promenade attire most fetching. “Well, Mr. Pratt?” she answered in her own affected accent, having way too much fun to complain about how stuffy the people in a carriage looked when they passed the lovers’ picnic spot. “I do believe I was promised some tea and teeny-tiny little cakes.”

“As you wish, Lady Summers.”

“Someone’s quoting my sister's favourite movie.”

“We’ll have them ’round for dinner next week,” he promised with a kiss to the back of her gloved hand. It felt both chilled and heated her to her core. God, only he could make that eye contact thing so hot. “Until then, let’s enjoy the sun.”

“Maybe you’ll even freckle,” she joked, taking the arm offered. 

It was a bizarre dream, but she figured it was just something she had to roll with. The weather was perfect, and her boyfriend wasn’t smouldering under the hot sun. So what if she was wearing a petticoat against her will? She got to spend the whole day in the park without him making like a big pile of dust. Besides, she hadn’t had a single day off in months! A girl had to get in her R&R or else she became a shell of herself. And she knew he was keen to show her all the best spots in the city. And he looked damned handsome in his three piece suit. And there was an ice cream vendor across from the tea house, so they were gonna pig out there, after their sandwiches. And, okay, admittedly, that was a freak ton of ‘ands’, but it was nice. She felt safe and warm and loved. 

There was just something… she wasn’t sure what, exactly. It niggled at the back of her brain, tapping at her skull like toddlers tapped on aquarium glass. Like she was forgetting… something. It felt mondo, but everytime she tried to root around in her noggin for a little tidbit of info, POOF! Gone. 

Not that he was fairring much better on that front. Because Spike wasn’t just a vamp in love with his human girl. Oh, no, no. He was promenading with his lady, his Slayer, the woman better than the woman of his dreams. Because unlike the figment of his youthful imaginings, Buffy would - and already had on many occasions - call him out on his claptrap behaviour, as well as point out which of his poems were drivel without being a bitch about it. Okay, so she was a bit bitchy about the last bit of piffle he’d scribbled down, but she’d been running on bloody fumes at that point, so sleep deprived she couldn’t sit still for five minutes without thinking she’d pass out. And oh, she really was gorgeous in everything- that full bustle included. “And after tea and ice cream,” he muttered only loud enough for her to hear, as they passed by all the fools who’d openly mocked him in his youth, the dunderheaded gits gaping in shock at her splediforous beauty. “I plan on ravishing you back at our flat, until you are well and properly satisfied. Perhaps even twice.”

Pulling out her fan, she flicked it open, starting the elaborate dance of wind upon her face. “My, my,” she said, feigning breathlessness. “Why only twice?” 

Smirking at her, he curled his tongue behind his teeth suggestively, earning him a little rap on his knuckles from the fan itself. It didn’t hurt, because nothing hurt here. Not without their say-so. And they were having fun! It had been so long since either of them had that. Being playful and open, chilling out, just enjoying the day…. It was perfect. Neither of them ever wanted it to end. It felt like it could, in fact, go on forever. 

“I have an idea,” she said as they exited the tea shop, an ice cream already being pressed into her palm. This guy, she thought happily. He really gets me. “Yes, but also,” she continued, grasping Spike’s free hand as she pulled him down an unassuming ally. There were no vampires there, no dumpsters, no straw bales. Just a little side way from one street to another, seemingly unused by anyone but them. “We should go for a dip. What say you, Lord Pratt?”

Grinning widely, he looked utterly delighted by her offer, already loosening his tie-ascot thingy with his free hand. “I say, what’re we waiting for?” 

Giggling, her ice cream disappeared along with his as she reached for her coat, already unbuttoning the mother of pearl clasps as she broke into a run. “Last one there has to do the laundry for a week!” 

“You- that’s cheating!” 

Laughing the whole way there, they followed the alley as it curved sharply left, then right, the environment on the path changing the further they went. No longer a rough cobblestoned road with high brick buildings on either side, the ground turned to rich soil, tropical plants framing them from all sides. They were in paradise. 

Nearing the edge of the pool of water, the pair stopped side by side, wearing clothes befitting a hot couple on their Hawaiian getaway. And unlike the last time she’d seen him in an oversized, tropical print shirt, he looked much more himself in the darker gunpowdwer shades of the beachwear, a hit of red splashed interspersed in a tastefully tailored way. And she knew she looked totally yummy in her new bikini. One look at his eyes and she knew he was hooked. “I win!” she cried, jumping into the crystal clear water with a hoot of victory. Breaking the surface, she pushed her wet hair back from her face to hear the telltale KTCHSHHH! of his Polaroid going off, scrunching her face a little as she saw him pull the photo from the camera. “Seriously? Don’t you have enough of those yet?” 

“Of you lookin’ happy?” he countered as he set the camera carefully aside. “Never.” Without taking his eyes off her, he slowly stripped off his shirt, giving her a show. And ooooooh boy! Mamma likely. But yet again, something was just not… she couldn’t put her finger on it. Huh. God, this was gonna seriously bug her until she- 

With a splash, Spike was in the water next to her, resurfacing with an exaggerated splash in her direction. “Hey!” She splashed him back, just as playfully, and within seconds, the pair were engaged in an all out water war. 

Squealing as he ducked under the water and grasped her around the tummy to her away from the mini wave she’d inadvertently made, Buffy tried wriggling away from him, but it was no use. Between her laughter and the slippery rocks beneath her feet, she was fighting a losing battle. Good thing he was on her side, and was dragging her towards the rock shelf behind the waterfall a few feet away. And boy, was that ever a perfect spot. 

The waterfall was the definition of  perfect. The temperature, the way it pounded on their backs, the little slice of paradise away from all the crowds… They never wanted to leave. It was peaceful here in a way their lives had never been before. Calm without being boring. Beautiful without the sacrifice. It was bliss. 

Well, bliss adjacent. 

“Wake up!”

Buffy stilled, leaning back from kissing her boyfriend. “Did you hear something?”

“Besides you and the roar of the water? No.”

Shaking her head, she knew he was probably right. Nothing could be disturbing them in their safe little bubble. Not a single- 

“William! Buffy! Wake up!”

“You sure? I definitely heard something just now.”

“Oh, my GOD! LOVEBIRDS! WAKE! THE! HELL! UUUUUUP!!!!”

Spike blinked at her, forehead creasing in deep thought. “Okay, that I definitely… Christ!” His eyes widened in shock as he looked above her head. 

Turning around, she asked, “What?” seeing only water and the tropical rainforest that was always there. Was it always there? Yeah, it was. Of course it was! Right? 

“OH, it’s about time!” Suddenly, the voice rang in clearly, two figures seemingly to have appeared from thin air on the shoreline. 

Two very familiar figures. “Is that…?” she asked, knowing damn well it was. 

“Wake up!” Charlotte begged, standing next to Dawn, the pair decked out in their own beachwear. Except, no. That wasn’t right. Dawnie didn’t own any leopard print wetsuits, and there was no way in hell Lottie would be wearing a green moomoo coverup with llamas and bats all over her. Right? 

“Wake… we are awake, Charlotte.”

Which only pissed the other teenager waaaaaay the hell off. “No, the fuck you’re not!”

“Dawn!” the Slayer barked at her sister, utterly disgusted with the sixteen year old’s behaviour. And in their oasis, at that! “Language!”

“Listen, we don’t have much time.”

“What’s happening?”

“You remember Princess Bride? ‘Mostly dead is still slightly alive’? Well, if you don’t wake the hell up now-”

“Miracle Max cannot save you! Erm, well, Tara and Mr. Giles, in any case.”

Spike barked back with a, “what the bloody hell are you on about?!”

Dawn growled under her breath in frustration, ready to smash something to bits. “This isn’t real! It’s not a real waterfall-”

“It’s not really Hyde Park, either,” Charlotte huffed, looking exhausted. They both did. How long had they been there? “You're in-”

“The In-Between.”  “The In-Between!”

“The bloody what?”

“The bloody Ether, brother!” Lottie exclaimed, ready to do some smashing herself. Probably starting with Spike’s foot. “So you best wake up now, or else Dawn here and I are going to have to fit you both for conjoined urns!”

“The Ether? That’s not real.”

Before they could blink, Dawn was in front of them, standing on top of the water like she was doing the single wiggiest Jesus impression, wearing a full length Victorian era gown. “Then tell me how I’m doing this,” she demanded hotly. “Or how Lottie’s currently got sixteen different colours in her hair?” Huh. She really did have a macaw-esque updo going on in her usually blonde ringlets. That wasn’t suspicious at all…. “Hmm?”

The couple blinked, suddenly back at the Summers’ Gallery, the girls wearing the clothes they’d last seen them in, hair covered behind twin straw boaters. “What the-?” Buffy looked around rapidly, blinking in confusion at the walls around them. Every single painting was blurry, the paint melting to the floor before disappearing in the cracks where the baseboards used to be. This didn’t make sense. Neither did the outfits she and Spike were now wearing. She hadn’t seen him in that shirt since Xander and Anya’s wedding. And her dress…. “What’s going on? How…?”

“We’ll tell you when we’re awake,” Dawn promised, shoes now bloodstained on her feet. “Now, either you wake up, or you die.” 

Lottie adjusted her boater, looking around the blank room that once held beautiful art. It was all blank frames and endless white walls now. Even the staircase to the second floor was gone, emotionless and sterile. “I would hurry, if I were you. There’s nothing left for you here. It’s just… a space. Not your home. Your home is with us, in the real world.”

“So wake up!” They said in unison. With a strong push, the couple was thrust backwards, the glass of the front windows shattering in slow motion behind them as they fell through. And fell, and fell… and fell… and then as they fell off an endless cliff face into the black nothingness as Sunnydale loomed above them, Buffy reached towards her man, and knew it was time to enter their actual world again.

 

----------

 

The Slayer General gasped awake violently, feeling her head drop as soon as she lifted it off the mattress. “ Ow . Wha- what happened?”

A gasp from the bed next to hers had her head lolling to the side, Dawn sitting upright and choking on her own spit in the motel bed, less than four feet away. “Ugh, ewww! You didn’t tell me I’d be tasting pennies. Gross!” Moving her hair from her face frantically, Buffy’s gaze fell away from the spazzy teen, a Giles-shaped hand filling her line of vision as he carefully moved the hair from her own eyes. She blinked at it, still a little dazed and way with the nauseous from the abrupt change in physical form. God, what the hell happ-?

“Cinnamon shit!” Charlotte jerked upright, on Dawn’s opposite side, overcompensating and pulling a muscle in her back. “Ah! Ouch! Bleh! Why does my tongue feel as if I’ve licked an entire roll of nickels?”

“Did it…? Buffy!” Dawn rolled onto her side, off the bed, and hopped over to her older sister, enveloping her in a hug. “Oh, my God. Oh, my GOD! It worked! It freaking worked!”

Lottie was up and off their bed as well, curling herself around the two of them. “Oh, Buffy!” she sobbed. “We were so worried! And you didn’t answer us for ages!”

Hugging. They were hugging her. And something worked. That should be- oh. OH. Arms finally working, her brain gave the signal that she was safe, that she was where she was meant to be, and embraced them back. They did it. They stopped it. They got out. The war was over, and their sisters weren’t dead. They won. They won. “Hey,” she croaked out, her voice rough from disuse. Clearing her throat, she added, “anyone got any water? Or a Diet Coke? Please say yes.” 

Disengaging, the girls moved back to give her some space, and Buffy could have wept tears of joy as a water glass was pressed into her hand. Taking a deep pull, she swished it around in her mouth to dislodge some errant sand, and turned in time to see the joy leach from the Victorian girl’s face. 

And she wasn’t the only one. “Charlotte?” Giles asked, taking the water glass from his Slayer’s hand gently to set on the nightstand. “What-? Good Lord.” 

Turning her head, Buffy’s stomach dropped, her entire world dropping out at the sight. Spike wasn’t moving. “Wi- William?” Lottie poked his face, tears filling her eyes. “No… no, he- h- he can’t be- William!” she cried, shaking him by the shoulders with what little strength she had left. “Wake up! WAKE UP!”

Dawn pulled the girl away, wrapping her in a tight hug, her own lashes wet. “W- we did what we could-”

“NO!”

“Shhh…” she pulled her closer to her side, watching as her sister started to shake the man. “Let Buffy try,” she whispered to her best friend, rubbing between her shoulder blades the way she knew Lottie liked after a bajillion hospital tests. “If we can’t get through to him, she can.” 

Out of fighting energy, she slumped into her friend’s side, tears spilling over her lashes. The headache she’d woken with was coming on harder a second time, following the heartache that settled into her ribs. “Please, please wake up.”

And Buffy was quick to try. “Spike? Up and attem! Baby, please?” Shaking his shoulders did nothing, and she’d have to work fast with the big guns before Lottie could catch on to her plan. Apologising before her palm made contact, the slap echoed in the room, pointlessly. He didn’t so much as lose an eyelash. “This isn’t funny anymore, Spike. The girls dragged your sorry a- butt outta hell, and it’s time to get up. Our sisters deserve a good day, hmm?” Moisture pricked at her eyes, threatening to spill out all over the place. This wasn’t happening. No, NO! This wasn’t supposed to happen this way! “M- maybe we, uh, we take them for ice cream, huh? Spike? Spike!”

But there was no change, no matter how hard she shook him, or how much she babbled, he wasn’t waking up. “Perhaps,” Giles tried for a spot of sympathy for their dear leader. “We might use some other method of com-”

But Buffy Anne Summers always was a tunnel-vision kinda girl when it came to men she loved. 

“Spike! William!” she cried, tears running off her face onto his. Leaning half onto him, her hands fisted in his shirt like a lifeline. “Don’t leave me! You promised! You promised me you’d never leave me. That I- that I was enough for you. That I was your everything! You’re mine, you hear me?! You’re my everything! Please!”

“Um, Miss Buffy?” Fred asked, hesitant. “Can I make a suggestion?”

“What?!”

“True love’s kiss.”

Was this chick missing an entire hardware store of screws? Cuz she was totally acting like the kinda kid who used to eat paste for fun. “You’re serious.” 

But of course the native Texan was. “Running out of options, here.” And by Giles’ and Wesley’s serious expressions, they seemed to agree. ‘Cordelia had a vision’, that’s what Angel told her when he last…. ‘You were stuck in this ‘cycle of suck’, and you needed to get out. The only thing that would work was true love’s kiss’.

Well, there were stranger things that had happened to her in the past seven days, so…. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his with all the love in her heart as she breathed out, “come back to me.” 

And while the room felt a slight shift in the universe, not even Tara, Giles, and Wes’ records could describe the power that a-washed the bleach blond’s whole being, the flash of colour so fast , so brilliant, it left their teeth rattled. And yet still, he was immovable. 

“Spike!” she cried, big fat tears running down her face as she kept kissing his lips, his jaw, his eyebrows, silently begging the universe to bring back her man. “Come back! Wake up!”

“Buffy…”

“No! No, Giles! He’s not- he can’t be!”

And God, how much he hoped she was true. “Perhaps we-”

But she wasn’t paying attention to him, fists back to gripping the man of her heart’s shirt, trying to get him to see reason. “Come back! I love you. I love you! You’re mine,” she sobbed. He didn’t belong trapped in his own head, but here, with them. With his family. “You s- you said you’d be mine. Forever!”

“....No pulse.”

No… this- this couldn’t be it. It just… it was so cruel! To be forced into a war, into a life as a Slayer without any consent, and then taking up the mantle to protect humanity, and defeating The First with the one she loved most, only to have him never wake up? This was it?! Doomed. She always knew she was doomed. 

Utterly defeated, she lowered her head, her fist hitting his chest once, hard. “Damnit!” 

Some say everything happens for a reason. And when the man known as Spike received a strike to breastbone that early March morning, it was for a very good reason indeed. The precordial thump awakened something inside himself, a gasping breath not yet felt the same as it had for 123 years as he coughed himself awake. “Bloody hell, that hurt, woman! Ow.”

Buffy sat up, her eyes bringing in disbelief. “William?”

“Buffy! Did we make it? Where are we?” He squinted as he looked around curiously, before his gaze landed on her, and his lip curled in confusion. “Why are you so blurry? And where’s- oh. That the Bits? You two are so…” his hand flew to his chest, the sensation overwhelming. Scrambling up, he turned to see his reflection for the first time in a century. “Bloody hell! I’m-”

“Human,” Charlotte finished for him. They watched transfixed and gobsmacked as Buffy put her hand over his, feeling the thrum of life below the surface. The thumping of his heartbeat felt deafening under their fingertips, but strong. Lottie was right: Spike was now, somehow, human again. “Brother, I-”

 

           GGGRRRLLLL!

 

Blinking at her lover, Buffy’s brows furrowed. “Was that your tummy?”

Eyes widening, his face went pallid, sweat dotting the top of his lip. “Buffy? Luv? Much as I love you, and what you’re doing to my hot little body - literally - you gotta let go.”

“What? Why?”

“Gonna be sick,” and without much else ceremony, he hauled himself to the bathroom, snapping the door firmly shut, and hurled his stomach contents into the porcelain bowl.

Buffy stared at the slammed door in her face with a tummy rumble of her own. “Oh! We gotta get to another bathroom, stat.” 

“Why? Oh, right,” Dawn grabbed her arm, dragging her next door. “We have this room, too.”

Buffy groaned, her leg smarting as she followed, holding her abdomen with her forearm, like it would keep her from hurling. “Was my leg broken?”

“Yep.”

“Did you set it…?”

“With Doctor Lottie? Yep!” Unlocking the door, Dawn barely had a second to wax poetic about how she and her Victorian time-travelling BFF deserved something really awesome for their heroics, when her sister shoved her away, making a beeline for the bathroom door. As soon as it slammed shut, Dawn sighed, limping to the closest bed. “Sure; peeing is more fun anyways, I guess.” Laying down with a groan, she looked up to see Giles and Fred, the pair hesitantly lingering by the doorway. “So… not that I don’t wanna seem like a pill hound, but I currently have seven toes left, so-”

“I’ll grab the aspirin,” Fred whispered, heading to the car to do just that. 

While she was gone, Giles carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, opening his mouth to tell her how proud of her he was. He doubted that if he were in her and Charlotte’s position, if he could have done what she’d done. But before he could, she opened her mouth. “If you want a hug,” she said shyly. “You have to be careful. Hauling around those two heavy idiots tends to leave a girl all bruised and full of ouchies.”

His responding grin was a bit watery, sliding closer to gently wrap an arm around her shoulders, pressing a fatherly kiss to her temple. He’d been wrecked when she hadn’t been seen after battle. It wasn’t only the grief in his heart at the loss of his Slayer, but of Dawn, too. He couldn’t help but love both of those girls as if they were his own. Sod the fact that up until three years past, the younger of the two hadn't even existed yet. He'd lost them and then they’d come back to them all. He felt so unbelievably proud of her and Charlotte for how they’d been coping all on their own, but he was too choked up to tell her. Sniffing, he said, “I personally think the grey’s rather distinguished.”

“You would say that,” Dawn grumbled in response. Her body was too tired to fight him, not that she wanted to. Giles had come for them, had brought a slayer to make sure no one touched them, that Angel wouldn’t touch them. She’d argue more later.

Chapter 64

Summary:

Dawn and Buffy share a moment, truths are revealed, and Giles is forgiven

Chapter Text

Saturday, March 15th, 2003 - Part C

 

“Molous said ‘don’t forget to-’ and then we awoke. What was the rest of the sentence?”

Dawn snorted, rolling her eyes. “I asked, and apparently, it was ‘and don’t forget to wash behind your bees’, but I’m pretty sure he or it meant ‘knees’.” She rubbed at her face, exhausted. It had been a hell of a week/month/year. “Poor guy- thing doesn’t have any friends there. The beings who go there barely acknowledge him/it. Apparently, his species only eats dry food, like, in a powder. Mostly powdered sugar.”

“He- it told you?”

She shrugged. “We kinda walked in on their lunch break. I think him/they and Meera are, like, together.” She shuddered. “I can’t even imagine what that would look like. They couldn’t even fit in the same photo! She’s, like, twelve feet tall!”

Giles pulled his notebook from his pocket, furiously scribbling. “Fascinating. She was rather far from us when we… I don’t understand.” Looking down, he watched as his usual script turned into a mass of squiggly lines of ink, Rorschach test of the great beyond. 

“Oh, yeah,” Dawn yawned, settling lower on the bed. “No one who enters The Archives can write down what they saw. Talking about it, sure, whatever. No biggie. But no documentation or whatever can be taken or exchanged. It was on the posters in the visiting rooms. That, and to not eat ‘earthen durian’ in any of the rooms. Apparently the smell is ‘off putting to the Wisps’.”

“It’s off putting to many humans as well. Some enjoy the taste too much to argue.”

“Huh. I gotta put that on my ‘making Lottie try new things’ list,” she said, pulling out her own little notebook like the junior Watcher/Guardian she was on her way to become. “How do you spell that?”

 

----------

 

Washing her face free of the grime felt so freaking good. The whole shower did. Her body was sore beyond belief, especially her leg where it had been apparently broken when she had been comatose. Getting out of the shower and drying her body, Buffy felt like a bruised mess, but more like her old self. New, with the revelations of the mind share or whatever it was called when they all linked hands. But still her. More her than before. 

I never want to do that again, she thought as she caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked like she’d aged five years, but felt like it was closer to fifty. She’d seen his death- his entire family’s. Charlotte, Alexander, and Anne’s. She knew now that her mother only lived because his father hadn’t. Died of the aneurysm that took him right in front of his grieving son and wife. She had cried herself dry in the shower at all of the memories that had overtaken her, but she felt the pinpricks of tears coming back up now. Alexander Henry Pratt the Second’s last words were asking for a daughter already dead, and then gasping out in agony, before collapsing in his seventeen year old son’s arms. And Anne! Sweet, loving Anne, the demon twisting her love into- No. She couldn’t think of them. Not of the bad memories. The good ones. I need to hold onto the good ones. 

The Pratt family playing hide and seek for every birthday, going to the Espresso Pump with Dawn for girl time, her shopping trip with Charlotte, making pancakes with her mom while-

“Mom.” Grabbing the clothes someone had left her, she dressed clumsily but quickly, exiting the bathroom with still damp hair. “Where’s mom?”

Her sister didn’t stand, foot thickly bandaged by the doctor Fred lady who was chatting quietly with Giles. Dawn did shuffle upright a little more, eyes haggard and hair- 

“Your hair is grey!” Limping forward, the Slayer sat heavily next to her sister’s hip, touching the now silver steak amongst the brown. How had she not noticed before? It was kinda, sorta, totally obvious. “You- how- the amulet?”

Dawn nodded gently, touching her sister’s hand and pulling it down carefully. Linking their fingers, she rested their joined hands on her lap. “Fred- Dr. Burkle and Giles think it was a soul binding. Like, the amulet is soul powered-”

“But it’s only supposed to be powered by one soul,” Fred continued in her Texan accent. “When all y’all linked up, the- well, Mr. Giles?”

“The souls… I’ve no idea how, but you four formed a connection. One so strong, it created not only the world saving beam of light, to permanently rid us of the Turok-Han and close the hellmouth,” he took his glasses off, cleaning them carefully with a trembling hand. “But created a force so strong, it- it saved your lives.”

“What do you…? The amulet was supposed to kill Spike, wasn’t it?”

Giles blinked in confusion. “Spike?!“ Okay, a little more than confusion was coming from the G-Man. “You gave the amulet to Spike to wear?!”

“It needed to be a souled vampire!” she cried back, exhausted from the accusations. “And I sure as hell wasn’t going to give it to Angel after he assaulted me!”

“He what?” “Assaul- no.” “Vampire?!”

The three argued at her incessantly. A bunch of clucking hens, Spike would call them, but he was too busy puking his guts out next door. Finally, it was Dawn who shut them up with a smack of her open palm to the nightstand. “Enough!” Buffy turned to gaze in awe at her sister. It was such a mom thing to do, it made her heart ache. God, where was their mom? “Okay, we’ve already established that Liam ,” she sneered out his human name, knowing it now that she’d witnessed Fledgling William’s memories of Angelus. “Has problems with boundaries, so let’s talk about the whole… thing later.” Her hand gesture over her sister was vague, but needed no explanation. “Buffy, what did you mean when you said it had to be souled vamp? Cuz Giles looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel in his nose about the ‘vampire’ part.” 

The slow blinks turned rapid as confusion coloured Buffy’s face. Turning to Giles and Fred, she gave them a play-by-play about what Angel had said when he’d given her the gaudy necklace. “And he said the only way was for a Champion - a vampire with a soul - to wear it.”

Fred frowned, mouth parted slightly as she sank into the wooden spindle chair in the corner. Dawn felt bad for her. Her whole world was shattering before her very eyes. The handsome vampire who saved her from an alternate dimension was not the man she thought he was. His compassion had apparently been conditional, and she was now adrift. Must have felt like Suckyfest 2003. 

Giles thankfully stepped in, hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “Fred tells me that was not the case.” His tone was gentle, the fierceness underneath the surface carefully contained. Barely. “The amulet is soul powered, yes, but it does not require a vampire specifically to power it.” 

“Wh- then who, specifically?”

“A being of great supernatural power.”

“The Champion doesn’t have to be….” Fred trailed off, shaking herself from her temporary stupor. “It could also be a, well… a slayer.”

Buffy looked at her palms, the faint scarring on the delicate skin that would probably never fully heal a strong reminder of what they’d just been through. Days ago, apparently. “So… so he lied to me. Again.” She scoffed, shaking her head as her gaze dropped, landing on the closest thing to a father she had. “Why am I surprised? I don’t even know who- I don’t know how I ever fell for such a- a-” 

“Con man?” Dawn offered. “A git? Sodding useless asshat? A wanking, brooding loutish toth?”

“Dawn!”

“What?!” she spat back at the Watcher. “You’re all thinking it! You heard what Lottie and I saw! What he said to Buffy after they…. What he did to Spike after he got his soul!” She was crying now, tears slowly falling in a crescendo of sorrow. “How he treated Buffy, like- like-” she sniffed as she turned to her sister. “We felt it!” The colour leached from her sister’s face as she heard Dawn’s confession. “She fe- Lottie felt when he drained you, like she was the one being drained, and when he- with Spike? I- I felt the claws on the back of my neck and-” her fingers reached behind her hair, fingertips grazing the bandage hiding the wounds underneath. Whether the wounds were from some physical manifestation of the memory itself or from being flung into the cavern wall, they’d never know. But the scar would remain, until it was covered in ink. “I don’t even know what made him go after you! He said he saw you before you were called, right? You were younger then than I am now! And this grown ass man just like… what? What could he possibly have loved about a fourteen or fifteen year old girl in that way?! That’s- it’s- it’s just so-”

“Perverse.” Giles’ voice broke out in the midst of Dawn’s rambling. 

“Yes! Thank you. Perverse. It’s perverted, an- and sick and twisted, and so, so, so wrong! I’m so sorry you fell in love with him, Buffy,” she sniffed, grabbing her sister’s hands in hers. “And I’m so sorry I was such an ass to you when mom got sick. You’re the strongest, bravest, coolest big sister I’ve ever met. Probably in the whole world. You- you almost died, and I- I just- I couldn’t deal!” Her sobs were back tenfold, her body shaking as it took over her. The onslaught of memories all four of them were thrust into witnessing had cracked them open at the souls, and Dawn was having a hell of a time processing it all. She’d tried to keep her cool with Charlotte, to be the rock while her friend crumbled. Now it was her turn. Brave Girl Dawn had left the building, and Falling Apart At The Seams Dawn took her place. “I watched- I watched you die!” she sobbed into the blouse, the Slayer General having a hard time keeping back her own tears. “When the Master bit you, and you drowned. An- and when that grody vamp shishkaBuffied you with your own stake. And I woke up, an- after. After the soul bond - or whatever - broke up, and we couldn’t wake you! It’s been days and there was no change! I thought- I thought you’d be gone- forever! I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to do any of this without you.” Looking up with waterlogged eyes, she sniffed as the blonde looked on in perplexed pride, thumbs wiping away errant tears. “You’re my sister, and as much as you drive me totally bonkers, I love you. I am so, so, so glad the monks sent me to you instead of someone else, cuz I freakin’ love being your kid sis.”

Buffy sniffed, crying now, too. Unused to the overt admonishment of love and respect from the girl, she fell silent. She’d tried so hard to shield the girl from the horrors she’d gone through, and for Dawn to have seen it first hand? It was overwhelming. But the expectant look in her eyes told her she couldn’t just keep her trap shut forever. “You’re not much of a kid anymore,” she settled on, wiping at her own sore eyes determinedly. “You dragged us out of the pit of the Hellmouth, and took care of us for days. Fred said you two- oh, sorry. Dr. Burkle-”

“I’m not actually a doctor. Lorne just calls me that sometimes as a joke. Cuz I kinda didn’t finish graduate school, and he… it’s a long story.”

“Right. Well, she said you hooked us up to IVs and blood bags every day to keep us from dying. You walked over three hours to the storage facility on broken toes, dragged us out, drove for days! You made sure Charlotte took her meds, ate, showered- you even gave us sponge baths!”

“Ew, no, just you. Charlotte washed Spike. Not like, all of you and him, either. Just your face and hands and neck and stuff we could see.” A sly grin spread across her face, as if she knew something she shouldn’t. “We should have a talk about that later.” She gently poked her sister’s collarbone, where the shirt covered her and the jewellery in question up. 

“About…?”

Fred jumped in, trying to ease the tension between the sisters. “Sh- she also cauterised her toes, when she-”

“She what?!” The blonde whipped her glare back to her little sister, furious at the lead that was buried there. “You what?!”

Dawn groaned, rolling her eyes. “The broken toes? Some of them got severed. I had to stop the bleeding!” The teen collapsed on the pillows, exhausted with the line of questioning on top of all the hell she’d just lived through. “It hurt like hell, by the way. Not just the cauterising, or cauterization or whatever, but carrying your heavy ass from car to room, and back on my amputated freaking toes.” She shot a glare at her sister. “Thanks for asking.”

Sighing, she slid off the bed, crawling over her sister to curl up on her side around her. “Sorry. Just… you didn’t tell me.” 

“Didn’t have time to, yet. I’m exhausted.”

“I can relate.”

Dawn snorted, rolling to hug her sister back, tucking her newly grey haired head under the loving chin. “Last time you carried me, you had Spike on the other side. Plus, you have freaking slayer strength!”

Buffy couldn’t help but laugh through her tears. “Touché.” Reaching up, she touched the streak of grey in her sister’s hair and smiled softly. “It suits you. In, like, a Rogue from X-Men kinda way. What?” she sighed at her sister’s raised eyebrows. “I’ve been friends with Xander for seven years, I pick up on his nerdom.” Dawn rolled her eyes, yawning. Despite the exhaustion suffusing her body, the brunette was fighting it to stay awake, almost like she was afraid her big sis would disappear into the Archives again. “Come on, sleep. You’ve definitely earned a nap at least eighteen hours long.”

“Only if there’s food after,” she mumbled, slipping into her dreams. “And an… iced lemon loaf… with the.. poppy seeds and… ginger mints… Gotta find… Seph… Miss Whiskers, get down… murph.. guh-llol-key…” And Dawn slipped into her much needed rest.

Once she slipped under and Buffy was sure her sister wasn’t gonna wake up again, she slipped out of the bed, and worked her way to the table. “Charlotte’s right,” she murmured fondly. “That girl’s snores did not get better with age.” 

“Mmmm.” Giles couldn’t stop staring at her, at the pair of the Summers girls, counting his lucky stars that they were back with them- Charlotte too. Even Spike. Not that he magically liked the vamp- former vampire. Putting his hand carefully on his Slayer’s- on his first Slayer’s shoulder, he reminded himself that he didn’t have to love Mr. Pratt or even like him. As long as he was watching Buffy’s six, he’d allow the man known as Spike to be a part of this team. There was no reason to stand in anyone’s way. They were the winning team for a reason. And as Buffy curled herself into his arms, he shut his eyes and embraced her back. He may never be a father with how he was stuck in his bachelor ways, but he had two daughters in this very motel room - alive! - and he wasn’t going to take that from granted ever again.

Chapter 65

Summary:

Y’all didn’t think I’d ACTUALLY kill Joyce ‘God Killer’ Summers, did you? Maim, mmmm, maybe a little. But KILL? HA! I’m not writing 50+ chapters just to off her. Puh-lease.

TW: hospitals, trauma, gore, severe burns, memory loss, split personalities (Anya), broken bones, missing limbs, nudity {non-sexy}, vomiting of blood, etc.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, March 11th, 2003 - Part G

Same day as Sunnydale’s fall. 

 

Joyce groaned. Her head hadn’t hurt so badly since she had her an- oh God. Was she having another aneurysm?! Shit, shit, shit! She needed the hospital, needed a- a doctor. If only she could- 

Why can’t I open my eyes? Dread filled her veins, the memories of the final battle flashing in her memory bank like a lightning strike. Turok-Han, everywhere. Her axe knocked from her grasp, flung into the head of another. Her birthday gift from Dave’s father had done some damage, but she’d run outta ammo for Sir Remington before a hot, blinding light hit her whole being with an energy like no other. An energy that glowed so brightly that she felt her eyes blow out. Did that mean-

“What is it, Paw?” A young boy’s voice broke out through the thick air of her memories, a few feet to her right.

“It’s a person, dingus,” a young girl’s voice now, maybe a few years older than him. “Oh, man, I think she might be dead. Paw! ” 

Dead? Her brain scoffed at the very notion. With this much pain? I sure as shit doubt it. 

Dirt was kicked up, tires of a truck or tractor to her left, hoofbeats to her right. Horses. There were horses here. A horse ranch, the smell unmissable. Was she still in their dimension? There were no ranches in Sunnydale, last she checked. God, where was she?!

“Owen, Jessica, get away from there!” a surly voice called out. The children scampered away, a ringing filling her ears. Everything hurt. Why did it have to hurt so much? Oh God, did she get slammed into bedrock?! “Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he breathed by her side. “What happened to you?”

“Is she breathing?” Another man, voice a little higher, maybe a decade younger broke out, a little further back. A horse huffed as he spoke, the man most likely sitting atop the animal.  

“Yeah,” he shouted, Joyce flinching at the sound. “Hey, you flinched. Can you hear me?” Yes, I can hear you. They can hear you in Arkansas. Shoot, Alaska probably can hear you, too. “Can you make a sound or wiggle your toes to let me know you can hear me?” She struggled against the pain but grunted anyways. “Oh, thank you sweet baby Jesus.”

Jesus?! she scoffed. Yeah, he’s great and all, but you should be thanking Buffy, and- oh God. Buffy. Dawn. Charlotte. My girls, where are my babies?! 

“Get me a blanket, and call an ambulance. Now!” She flinched again against the sound of his scream. His labour roughened hand gently touched her shoulder, but he might as well have smacked her with a hot skillet. It burned. It seared her right to the bone. “Get Jed to clear the road, they’re gonna need the room! I gotta turn you over, now,” he added to her, much more gently than he’d been yelling before. Bad idea, bud. Or Paw. He must be Paw. Still, turning her over was not the way to go. “Grunt once if you think I can.” She tried to grunt twice for hell no , but could only manage the one. Her lungs felt like they’d been splayed open. “Alright, here, take my shirt,” he said, laying some cotton over her side. “Gotta protect your modesty.”

Modesty? Joyce pondered. Oh, great. I’m naked ?! It’s official: I HATE the Hellmouth. I hope we won, hope it’s shut forever. Gotta drown it in concrete and boulders the size of my Jeep. Damn. I’m gonna miss that car. 

She let out the most gut wrenching, heart throbbing, foundation shaking scream as she was flipped to her front, her eyes popping open. 

Not liquified, her eyes snapped open to the blinding light of the sun, a flash of plaid before it touched her skin. Everything ached. It hurt more than giving birth to a tumour the size of a golf ball out of her nostril. Cuz at least she had her girls to wake up to after. The only face hovering over her was that of a grizzled rancher, concern dripping down his sweat covered face. “Do you have a name, dear?” he asked empathetically. “Can ya remember anything? Anything at all?”

Yes. Everything

There was yelling in the distance. Sirens. Help . Help was here . Help was a sweaty, sunburnt rancher. Help was the tractor he rode in on. Help was the ambulance. The kids. The kids helped too. She had to remember the kids helping too. Had to thank them. When she could speak again. Would she ever speak again? 

“Over here!” She whimpered at the yell, the volume overtaking her. Some God Killer I am. 

A flurry of movement happened around her, but she may as well have been watching each shot of a movie, one by one, staring at them side by side, like one of her daughters’ old Spot The Difference magazines. Paw, the old rancher who’d helped her, and his son waved the ambulance down, kept the majority of the sand and dirt off her as the vehicle stopped nearby, then from the stretcher as it zipped towards her. The men were told to take the plaid off her by the paramedics, but they resisted, saying they wouldn’t leave her exposed to the hot sun, insisting they wouldn’t want to have their own selves exposed to strangers. They only removed the shirts when the EMTs got her a clean sheet, then loaded up on the stretcher. 

And started hounding her the second she was. “Can you remember anything?” She listed her head to the side, seeing the horror of the crime scene where she landed. She’d been thrown, or whipped, or something similar, falling somewhere fifty or sixty feet away, her body dragging the grass, sand, and gravel with it, before landing to rest in the hard packed earth where she’d been flipped over. Oh, God. She’d gone that route face first! How? And how was she even alive?! “Ma’am. Can you tell us what happened?” Oh, GOD!

“She’s dehydrated. We gotta get some fluids in her. Ma’am, do you have any allergies?” 

“Grunts,” her saviour roughed out. Paw. Paw grunted out. “One for yes, two for no.”

“Ma’am. Do you know where you are?”

Does it look like I have a map?! GRUNT, GRUNT. 

“Do you know who you are?”

Yes . GRUNT

“Do you have any allergies?”

No, thank fuck for that. GRUNT, GRUNT. 

“Is there someone we can call?”

My daughters. My babies. Call my babies. Their number’s right here. She grunted, trying to lift her arm, and terror gripped her heart at the sight of it. Covered in burns, cuts, scrapes. Road rash from the fall. Wounds from the battle. Several broken fingers. The skin was so raw, she couldn’t believe it was her own. Like she was an extra in some horror movie, a woman surviving a house fire. Great! She didn’t realise she was shaking until the paramedic had her strapped into the gurney, brought up into the ambulance. 

“Okay, ma’am. Please stay still.” The doors shut, the sound echoing in her head, second only to the kids screams outside to get better. “You’ve sustained a lot of damage.”

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock, she wanted to snort. And your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired. Angry. She was angry. And in agony. God, what the hell even happened to me? she thought bitterly. One moment, I’m dusting a demon about to lop off Lottie’s head, and the next…

“Can you tell us anything?”

“Your necklace,” the first tech said. “Maybe we can use it ID- ouch!”

“What happened?”

“Don’t touch it. It just shocked me!”

GRUNT, GRUNT. 

“Don’t touch it?”

GRUNT.

“Okay, ma’am. Is it a religious symbol? Cuz legally I can’t remove a religious symbol unless your life is in danger.”

Was it? She didn’t know. No one ever told her, only that Fatima had made it herself. She grunted once, hoping it was enough. God, I’m tired. I think I should close an eye or-

“Might be able to identify her on the database,” she idly heard the driver say, the siren blaring as they flew down the highway. She felt so dizzy, ready to throw up her lunch, breakfast- even the dinner she had at Arlene’s tenth birthday. “Two craniotomy scars-”

GRUNT, GRUNT, GRUNT. 

“Three? Oh, right, here’s the small one right there, see? Plus, when’s the last time you saw someone with one green eye and one purple eye.”  Wait, that’s not right. My eyes are brown! C’mon, how can you be so- 

The blinding light. As she’d been thrown up and backwards, she didn’t see just white light. From her left eye she saw purple, green from her right. She thought it was a trick of the light, but maybe something had happened to her eyes. They were burning like crazy.

“-And the religious symbol… someone’s missing her. I just know it. Ma’am, I know talking is painful, so don’t say anything if you can’t talk. Save your strength. But if you remember anything-”

With all the strength left inside her, she opened her mouth and said the two words she could muster, losing consciousness as the last letter fell from her lips. 

“God Kill…er.”

Chapter 66

Summary:

The survivors of The Final Battle For Sunnydale lick their wounds and mourn their lost ones in the Hyperion, The rest of the Scoobies are featured in this briefly, as is Clem for a hot second. Kathy, Kit, and Rona interact.

TW: mentions of hospitals, trauma, gore, severe burns, memory loss, split personalities (Anya), broken bones, missing limbs, nudity {non-sexy}, vomiting of blood, etc.

Chapter Text

Saturday, March 15th, 2003 - Part D

 

Pacing, pacing was good. Pacing was better than nothing. Better than sitting around, and watching his wife brush his best friend’s hair like a girl with her dolly. Better than seeing said best friend laid up in bed, twelve hours post-op, both legs and arms in twin casts, rods and pins and screws and plaster and stitches and hope all keeping them together. Yeah. Pacing. Pacing was way of the good. 

“Uh, Xander?” He turned his head to the sound of Rona’s voice from the hall. She looked better, like she’d eaten and showered and slept. He wished he looked better the way she did. But he’d slept fitfully since they got here. 

Angel. Angel’s hotel, Angel’s hotel they were staying at. The Angel who was the CEO of an evil law firm. The Angel who had rushed off with Tara and Giles, half his crew on their heels. Angel who was off to go see Dawn and Charlotte. Who had Buffy. And Spike. He didn’t like Spike, but if he had to choose between the vampires, he wouldn’t choose Angel. Not by a long shot. And now they were over in Flagstaff, and no news other than Tara’s call when they saw Dawn and Charlotte’s exhausted faces. So pacing. Not eating, and pacing.

Rona looked at him expectedly, her eyes hard, but nervous. “Rona. You have news? Is it Giles?”

Shaking her head, she handed him a note. “This guy’s on the phone downstairs, and he’s like, I dunno,” she shrugged. “I think he’s a demon? Like, from one of the demon bars Buffy and Spike took us to, but the line’s kinda,” she wiggled the fingers of her unbroken arm in a very Buffy-esque way, indicating static. “Fuzzy. Staticky. Maybe the connection keeps dropping, or he’s got bad reception or something.”

Xander looked down at the note in confusion, then a shock of a memory came to the forefront. “Is he still…?”

“Yeah,” she motioned him out. “I’ll stay with the… gang.” She gestured behind him with her head, Anya softly singing some childhood lullaby in Norse, stuck in her pre-demon days today. The spell aimed at Charlotte had a different effect on Anya Harris. She flipped between the days in moments, sometimes. He felt like he was married to three different women. Norse Anya, Demon Anya, and the Human Anya he fell in love with. Norse Anya - Aud - was difficult to understand, hard headed, but found him very attractive and snuggly. She would see their matching rings, exclaim ‘ friðill’ in glee, and humm happily. Demon Anyanka… woof. He’d take Norse Human Anya over Anyanka any day of the week. “Is she Anya One today?”

He looked back at his lovely wife, now putting the wildflowers she’d collected the evening prior into Willow’s braided hair. Willow, eyes closed, was crying softly, still in pain. Not sleeping, cuz her face was slack when she slept now. Activating all the Potentials had created a surge of power so strong, she’d broken both her arms. When the force had sent her flying backwards, she’d been crushed by a falling chunk of building, her legs shattered on impact. As long as he would live, he could never forget the blood curdling scream she had let out when she lay in the street, unable to move, limbs splayed about. Like a toy falling to the ground, as Andy showed up from school early. The medications she’d been given from the hospital were strong, but not strong enough to knock the pain out completely without sending her into a coma. No, he couldn’t leave either of them, but the note… he had to speak to this guy, demon or not. “Yeah. One A, and she ate. Willow will need her pill in an hour…. 47 minutes, so I’ll be back before that. Just…” 

Rona nodded, face firm. “You got it, Chief.” Out of all the Slayers in Training, he found Rona’s straight to the point attitude the most helpful this time. The girl had some experience with mental illness from a cousin… somewhere. It was hard to keep track of everyone’s families. All he knew was that the girl was becoming one of Anya’s favourites to sit next to when her mind was addled like this, and the girl was good to keep his wife from flying off the handle. And Rona didn’t mind being doted on by Aud’s love of her ‘fríðr’ chin, whatever that meant.

Spike would know what to do, the way he helped Tara when she’d been mindsucked. Xander had been pissed as all hell when the vamp had disappeared in the night without warning a week later, leaving them in a constant storm of suck for weeks. But now, knowing he did it to keep Dawn from being HellGod lunch, he had a much smaller grudge. Could use him right now, he thought begrudgingly, climbing the stairs down to the first floor. He’s an ass, but he knows how to deal with crazy. As his feet hit the main lobby, his brain added, and he always carries booze. I’m not Tony, but I could really use a stiff drink right about now.

Before the battle, he’d seen the demon buddies of Spike’s each downing a bottle of booze in the corner, far from the girls. They offered him a swig, but he’d refused. He patted his jacket after, when he’d been sitting in the chair between Anya and Willow’s hospital beds, looking for his cellphone, finding a flask Hos had slipped into the front pocket when he wasn’t looking. The demon was dead now, along with Xerxes and his wife, so it couldn’t be any of them. It made the mystery caller even more mysterious. 

He lifted the receiver, pressing Line Three and speaking. “Hello, this is the Xan-man.”

“Xander!” He heard the static Rona had been talking about, but it seemed to be improving slowly. He hoped. “It’s Clem, from the wedding?”

Xander breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing the voice right away. “Thank God. Was worried it was one of Anya’s exes. You’re not one of her exes, are you?”

“God, no! I only ever…. the four… she wasn’t one of ‘em!”

“You’re cutting out a bit, Clem. Rona said,” he waited for the static to clear, talking between the breaks. “A woman…. in a field… saying God Killer?”

“Yeah!” A large bang resounded on the other line, Xander flinching at the sound. “How’s the reception now?”

“Actually, a lot better. So, you heard of a God Killer? Cuz if you’re yanking my chain…”

“God, no!” he exclaimed genuinely. “I wouldn’t- not with this. Maybe with some cheese and then going, ‘gotcha! It’s not cheddar, it’s light cheddar!’ But not with this. Never this.”

“Okay, how do you know it’s her? Did she say anything? Why didn’t she call us?”

“Okay, so, firstly,” Clem said nervously. “We’re not gonna ask how I got into the national missing person’s database, okay?”

“Clem, our town’s at the bottom of a sinkhole, along with every single thing I’ve ever built, my car, my home, and my other eye ; I don’t care what systems you hacked into right now.”

“Okay, phew! Cuz I might have broken several laws. Oh geez, I hope this line’s secure.”

“Clem! I don’t mean to rush you, but I have a best friend with both legs and arms in casts, another one comatose in Flagstaff, and a wife with split personalities she didn’t have before, so I’m in the need for short and sweet answers. Please ,” he added as a last resort. The demon had spent hours of his own time collecting and tearing apart flowers for their wedding day, throwing the petals over them without expecting anything in return. He could manage a please for the floppy eared demon. Even if he did eat kittens on occasion. 

“Okay, fair point. Sorry to hear that, by the way,” he sounded genuinely upset by the news. “If you need anything, just call my number- I’ll tell you later. Okay,” he changed gears in the conversation as rapidly as Spike did his car while driving. “So I’m on the database, looking for missing people and demons - yeah there’s one for demons, but no, I’m not sharing the link - and I see one that catches my eye. Do you have a pen?”

“Yeah, hold on…. Dead. Dead. That one’s dead. Yellow? Who uses yellow pen?! Crayon, I get but, Ugh! Why’s every pen here inkless! Oh, pencil! Okay, shoot.”

“Okay, it’s a weird one, but bare with me. ‘Woman, mid to late forties, multiple surgical scars, including bi-lateral craniotomy scars’, which means on both sides, according to Mer. ‘Found naked and hairless, covered in injuries,’ and it lists a lot of them, but there's more.”

“More is good, keep going.” God, could it really be her? Please, please, please be her. Having to break the news to your friend that her mom was dead was so not fun. 

Clem shuddered a breath in. “Okay, here’s where it gets… toupee-y.”

“You mean wiggy?”

“Yeah! Man, I’m so not with the slang anymore. I miss saying ‘I can dig it’.

“Clem…”

“Right. Sorry. Okay. Wig territory ahead. ‘Left eye purple, right eye green.’”  

“Okay…. Yeah, that’s given me extra strong wiggins.”

“Oh there’s more. ‘Handmade talisman on a cord around her neck,’ and there’s a picture of the necklace, the pendant looks like it was struck by lightning or something, because it’s partially fused to her breast bone.”

His pencil fell from his hand. “Fused? What do you mean ‘fused’?”

“Captain Xander, I’m telling you what I see on the screen. And the screen says ‘partial metal melted and fused to breastbone’ under the notes.”

“My God. You said there’s photos?”

“Yeah, none of her face. Just X-rays and something called a CT- Scan, but I think the pendant is the key here.”

“Can you send it to me? I’ll give you Willow’s email. I can’t remember my password.”

“Aw, man. I’m with you. I’m using Spike’s right now,” the demon admitted freely. 

“Spike?! Spike has an email?!”

“Well, yeah. How else is he supposed to check in with the other models and stuff?”

Xander was floored. The damned vampire got a soul, a girlfriend, his long dead sister, and email?! “Wiggy, wiggier, wiggiest.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Clem, where is she? Is she at a hospital?”

“Yeah,” he replied, some clicking sounds of claws on keyboard filtered over the phone into his ear. “She’s been unconscious since they found her, she drifted in and out a few times, but she’s been put in a medically induced coma for the last… forty five hours. She only said two words over and over again. That’s what gave it away. The nickname you gave her.”

“God Killer.”

“Yeah,” he breathed back. 

God. It was her! It had to be. “Email me everything you’ve got. And uh, thanks man. You really didn’t have to do all that-”

“Are you kidding me?! Of course I did!” the demon huffed, offended at the insinuation. “She might be a smoothy like you, but she’s still my friend. She’s the one who got on me to get my act together, and move in with my Mer. Without her, I’d have chickened out and never made up with my lady. Now we’re both safe, and you think I would just ignore Joyce? Not a chance, Xan. I may be a demon, but I’m not gonna leave my friends when they need help.” Damn. Okay. Point for the kitten eater. “And uh, Buffy and Spike? Are they still….?”

“Coma? Far as I know. But I haven’t had an update for hours, so I’m not sure.”

“Okay. Can you call when you do?”

“Yeah. I’ve got your number here. The one ending in 8431?”

“That’s the one. Thankfully I switched networks before the big fight. Sorry I didn’t stay; peaceful demon means avoiding conflict.”

“It’s all dust in the ground now, dude. But uh, thanks. For the… everything, Clem. When Anya’s her modern self again, I’ll send her your best.”

“Mer too. She’s been choked up since we left. Only signing and not speaking at all, but she’s… yeah, I’ll tell her right now, my wrinkle muffin,” God, they had the weirdest pet names. “She’s signing to… I think that was taro root or chicken stew- ow, Mer! She threw a banana at me! Oh, okay, yeah, there’s a spell she said that can help- sorry, herbal tea and to- yeah, I can send it. I’ll email you the recipe. Should help ground Anya when the personalities… wazzat? Oh, fluctuate. I’ll send two emails, then. Oh, shoot. Listen, I gotta go, my battery’s near drained.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for the email. Oh, before you go, where is she exactly? The hospital I mean.”

“Uh, so she was found on a ranch, like, horses and cows, and they took her to a local hospital. But they air lifted her to the University of Utah Hospital once they found out her, uh, unique circumstances.”

“Yeah, I’ll be- Utah?!”

 

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Kit hesitated before knocking on the door. She heard from Lea that Rona went to sit with Anya and Willow while Xander did some phone triaging downstairs, but she wasn’t sure if it was still a good idea. It had seemed like a good idea when she thought about it seven minutes ago. Now, not so sure. 

Knuckles raised, she startled as the door opened, her fist falling away before she could knock. “I could practically hear your internal monologue through the door.”

Sighing, she followed her sister in arms to the couch in the suite, where it had been angled to face the patients. Damn. She’d never  Willow so out of it before. It was harrowing. Sitting next to the girl her own age, Kit offered her a granola bar. “How are they?”

“Rough. But Anya One seems happy with her flowers,” Rona shrugged, shaking her head at the offered food. She just kept on playing with that weird thing in her opposite hand, rolling it over and over again in her palm. But at the rate she was healing, the cast would be coming off the other arm pretty dang soon. “They tell you where Dawn and Charlotte are?”

“Yeah. Hey,” grasping the other girl’s shoulder, she met her exhausted eyes with her own red rimmed ones. “How are you doing?”

“Peachy with a side of keen. Oh, God. I’ve been hanging around too many white people,” she groaned, shaking her head. 

Which was ridiculously hilarious to the eyeliner wearing girl, who couldn’t stop the giggle, even if she wanted to help it. “Now you’re almost sounding like Thomas. That’s all he’s been grumbling about since we got here. Nevermind that Carlos is about as white as a crate of poblanos.”

Snorting, the new slayer shook her shoulders, unable to stop the chortle either. Too tired, too much death. It hurt. It hurt so much to lose as many as they had. She already lost so much, but she wasn’t gonna let it darken her heart. Even though she felt like it was hopeless. Being dragged into this life by the Powers That Gave Zero Craps, she chose to stay to avenge her family. But now, all she wanted to do was crawl in a hole and die. “With how hot he likes his hot sauce? He’s either not white, or part sorcerer, and he’s not patient enough to learn Latin. Uh… I’m assuming.”

“Your assumption is right on the money. He took Spanish cuz he wanted an easy A. Books with teeny-tiny font and Los aren’t mixy. He might need glasses. Huh,” she mused aloud. “Probably why he’s got so many headaches.”

“Did you seriously come to complain about your boyfriend?”

“He and I aren’t like that. Thank God. And what? Blow up the friend group? Yeah, right! Uh, no. I came to give you a break. I can stay here, put on a new movie, chill for a bit. Does anyone need any pills soon?”

“Uh… yeah, but why? I’m okay.”

The white teenager looked at her with a heavy look speaking of years of experience. The other girl wasn’t fooling her. Not one bit. “Rona…” she hedged carefully, nearly whispering. “I was here when you all started showing up. You’re not fine, but you just went through a war against The First Evil to have ever… eviled, so you get a pass on the eye bags and snark.”

“I don’t snark.”

“Any ways,” the other girl breezed by, continuing on with her rant. “There’s someone downstairs who wants to see you.”

“Wants to…? Who?”

Pinching her thumb and index finger, she mimed zipping her lip shut, before standing with ease. Unlike the others at Sunnydale, Kit had been staying at the hotel with Los and Thomas, Thomas’s family taking residence with one of his cousins across town. Mrs. Anderson had sent them over with a buttload of supplies, and Mr. Anderson had popped in every day with food for the three kids, until the three became… well, everyone else. He’d set up shop in the kitchens, cooking for the rest of the survivors, despite the lacklustre reception from the brooding owner of the hotel. Where Mrs. A made great food, her husband knew how to make it pretty dang close, too. 

Popping the thing Hos had left her into her pocket, the newly minted slayer stood with a grumble. She was tired, but, whatever. Heading down where Kit insisted she go - if only to shut her up for a few minutes - the teenager froze on the stairs at the sight before her. “Kathy?”

Startling, the eldest Richardson sister flew up the remaining steps, wrapping Rona up on her arms, squeezing the girl’s middle with a sigh. “Oh, thank God!”

“Uh… what?”

“I- I heard about it- on the news, an- and I rented the first car out, but my phone died, and I kept trying the phone line, but it was always busy, and- you’re alive,” she sobbed, wiping the stray lock trying to find its way into the slayer’s mouth, jaw slack in shock. “You did it. You actually did it! I was scared you might not- but you did it.”

And like a giant kick to the lock, the last bit of manufactured calm broke, the chest of complex emotions spilling out onto the floor. Sobbing, she felt her knees give way, the older woman catching her, slowing her fall as they sank to the ground. It was over. The evil wasn’t coming back after them today. Some type of evil would always come after her again, but not that one, and she could finally rest. But what was rest to her anymore? She’d lost friends, her whole family was dead. She was alone. So utterly alone. 

“I know,” Kathy murmured, holding the girl like she had held another, over a decade ago. Kissing her sweaty forehead, she didn’t care if the teen soaked her blazer in saltwater- it’s why she always had an extra on hand. “I know it hurts. And it’s not gonna stop hurting. I can’t take your pain away,” she rubbed at the shaking back, the slayer tightening her arms just a tiny bit more. It grounded them both, even if the middle aged woman’s ribs smarted. “But I can carry it with you, if you let me. I got myself one of those bags on rollers, and it just so happens they came in a big set. So you’ll always have one of those, if you need it.”

Rona didn’t speak, only sobbed, barely hearing the words the woman was quietly murmuring to her, her temple pressed to a pale cheek for comfort. It didn’t matter what she said, so long as she kept saying it in that soft tone. That motherly tone she’d missed. God! She missed it so freakin’ much! When the last time she’d been on the receiving end of that, she hadn’t known it would’ve been the last time her own mother would be holding her- ever. And the thought of it only made her tears fall faster and harder. 

“You’re gonna be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like it yet,” Kathy promised, refusing to let go. She wasn’t great at the touchy feely stuff like Joy and Leany were, out of practice for twelve years, but she knew this. Knew that in the wake of your life being practically ripped from your own hands, that nothing helped the way a good cry with a safe person was. “And I’ll be right here, okay? I’m right here.”

And she was. 

 

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Spike was still puking when her phone rang the first time, the sound of his wrenching louder than her ringtone, but paused five minutes later. “Thank the Goddess,” she sighed, exhausted from the limbo of crap they'd been in for days. “A respite from the-”

Bee ba dee ba dee ba dee ba . Her phone chimed from the nightstand. Bee ba dee ba dee ba dee ba.

“Hello?”

“Tara, thank God,” Xander breathed on the other line. “Buffy and Spike, are they…?”

“Awake? Oh, yeah,” she answered, tired to the bone. She really hoped the carpenter was bringing her good news. She so didn’t need to hear about Willow’s anguished tears right now. It was bad enough when the redhead ejected her from the patient room, requesting the newly activated Kennedy to keep her company instead. Tara didn’t know what she’d done wrong, but when Giles told her about Dawn’s call, she figured she’d handle it later. Like a coward. But it wasn’t the time for all that.  

BLEARGH! 

“Is Buffy puking?”

“Oh, that would be way better than what’s actually happening.” Charlotte emerged from the bathroom, taking the mish-mash of herbs Tara had prepared for the ex-vamp, before heading back to her brother. “No, it’s Spike.”

“Spike?”

“Yep.”

“He’s… puking?”

BLEARGH! 

“Yep.”

“But wouldn’t he just be puking up-” 

“Blood? Yep. And bile, and his stomach lining, and maybe his pride,” she sighed, weary beyond measure. “Buffy’s awake and eating next door with Dawn and Giles. Want me to-?”

“Not yet. Uh, is Angel still there? With his cars and access to giant piles of money and stuff?”

“Umm, I don’t think so. It’s bright out, Xander. And… there was…” she hedged carefully, “an incident.” 

“An incident? Tara, what the HELL is going on?!”

“Oh, man. So much. I- I don’t even know where…” she trailed off, in that way that all Scoobies did before dropping a major truth bomb. Inevitable that she’d adopt it herself, she just wished she’d have a few more years before being as cynical as she felt now. “Xander, I’ve learned more about our universe and life and death and souls and minds in the past ten hours than I ever knew before. Starting from when we got here to this call right now? I’ve aged ten years, at least. But, uh, basically, something happened at the Hellmouth where the four of them, they… I can’t even put it into words.”

“Did the Macarena?”

“I wish. Would be less painful for them.”

BLEARGH! 

“Can you summarise?”

She laughed, hysteria bubbling to the surface. “No, but Dawn and Charlotte might. Just… not now. You think we had it bad… oh, man,” she found the corner furthest from the bathroom door, whispering into the phone while Spike panted, finally letting his oesophagus rest from the barf fest. She prayed the herbs helped. “They dragged their comatosed, injured, half dead siblings out of the crater. Like, they were right at the bottom of the whole town, and crawled for hours and hours to get out. Dawn walked for hours to get the car - Spike’s car - from storage, amputated Dawnie’s toes, battled demons- and that was just the first day!”

“Oh, God. I can’t… I can’t even… God. Those girls went through the wringer.”

“Gets worse.”

He sighed on the other end, a long and suffering sound. “Oh, man. Why’d you have to go and use the ‘W’ word?”

“I won’t get too into it, but they kinda… They shared memories. The four of them.”

“What? Like, campfire style?”

“More like… mind melding levels”

The pause on his end of the call was so pregnant, she was worried she’d have to call a midwife. Or become one. No, just… a world of no. “That- is that even possible?”

“I can’t get into right now, but all you need to know is that Dawn and Charlotte saw some bad memories of Spike and Buffy’s, and chewed Angel out over them, in front of everyone the second we got here,” she shuddered a breath at the memory of those words being repeated to her after. Giles looked ready to dust the CEO, and she wouldn’t have blamed him. “I have to admit, I respect them both so much more than I ever did before, cuz- cuz the strength to do that… I doubt I could ever have done it without trembling. They stood their ground like they were… like they were these… I dunno. World leaders, almost.”

“Damn. I just… I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean. Is… is Willow okay? How’s Anya? Everyone okay on your end?”

“Willow’s hair is gonna give ‘farmer’s daughter going to a wedding reception’, but Anya’s got her distracted.”

“Hmmm, Anya One today?”

“Yup.”

“Everyone else?”

“Yeah, are you sitting down?”

Falling into a dinette chair, she squeezed her eyes shut, dreading for what she knew was coming.

Chapter 67

Summary:

The Pratt family would like to unofficially announce their adoption of one Glinda Ducks Pratt. Aka: Tara’s a genius and Charlotte falls asleep on her shoulder. I made it sound more fun than it really is, sorry.

Lottie and Spike share a moment regarding their memories

Chapter Text

Saturday, March 15th, 2003 - Part  E

 

“Glinda’s a bloody genius,” William croaked, face leaning against the tub, pale, but still flushed in the cheeks a touch. He hadn’t vomited since drinking the tea, a welcome respite from possibly dying via ejecting his entire intestinal system. It wouldn’t have been such a rank deal, if it hadn’t been coming’ outta both ends at first. Thankfully, his kid sis hadn’t pushed her way through the door until after he’d yanked his pants back on, only to heave up even more blood and bile under her supervision. 

She dutifully closed the toilet lid, flushing away the gore, before wiping his face with a cool damp cloth. She’d never seen her brother in such a state before. Any man, at that. The closest she’d gotten was seeing Mr. Giles hungover one morning, when he’d admitted to Joyce that his girlfriend Olivia had left Sunnydale for good a few months ago. It was still unclear if she left Mr. Giles for good as well, and she was loathe to ask. Especially now. 

Her brother was alive. Not just undead alive, but actually, capital A Alive. Human and Alive. It wasn’t a sight she thought she’d ever see again, and while he looked like the dog’s dinner warmed over, she was still relieved. “I never doubted it, brother. She earned her scholarship to UC Sunnydale, after all.”

William grunted, eyes rolling over to look at her as she held a glass of water to his lips. The bent straw was an afterthought, figuring her brother would not be able to manage more than a slow sip at a time. Instead of taking it right away, he snorted. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Blonde, curly haired women. You sure know how to treat a man after a beat down of the century, ay?”

Screwing up her face in the patented Pratt family fashion, she scoffed at him in confusion. “What on earth does that mean?!”

“Reminds me of Joyce,” he replied softly. His throat was sore, gums still red from bleeding. “After Glory.. when she…”

“Beat you for information on the Key?”

He grunted once. “Joyce held water for me like that. Same expression coloured her face, too.”

She nodded, sternly holding the straw to his mouth. “And like her, I'm going to tell you to shut your gob or drink. Wasting your - now much needed - breath is not a good use of your body’s resources. Drink.”

He dutifully followed her instructions, a fond expression colouring his face, instead of the smug smirk she was sure he was hoping to convey. Once he was done with the sipping, she set the glass aside. She wiped his face more, just to have an excuse to give him some comfort. A hug was out of the question in his state, but helping him out of the coat he was sweating in wasn’t. 

It was a labour of love, getting that first arm out. There was no telling how much pain he was truly in, but she could tell it was a great deal of it. After five minutes of wrestling with the leathery beast, he was free of the leather, and thankful for it. “Don’t know where I’d be without you, Pidge.” She was about to make a snarky comment about how he’d probably be dust in the wind, but didn’t get the chance. “I remember. You were in my memories. You snapped me out of it.”

“Not very well,” Lottie scoffed, remembering his look of desperation when he’d been in the memory of slaying that first slayer in China. “If I had-”

“No, pet, not in the- after the one of you dying, it went on repeat.” He tried sitting up straighter, flailing about in the sweat on his limbs. She pushed his shoulder down, settling him. “When I saw you in the New York- when I- Nicki. When I killed Nicki… you shoved me back, yeah?” Her nod was hesitant, uncomfortable with the entire conversation. “When you shoved me, it threw me into the first one- Xin Rong. I didn’t even know her name until now. If you hadn’t… I would’ve never known, an-” He averted his eyes, shame flooding his whole being. Not just his own. He’d felt her shame too, when she’d been watching. Like a lens to the sunbeam, scorching the ants in his once long dead heart. It ached now, as it beat once more. Not a clue as to why, besides the girls that saved him. “And that ain’t ight. Can’t apologise for her death, what with it being a fight to the- it was me doing what was in my nature, not that it makes it any righter. Wrong, still, killing her, and not knowing her name. But you…” He looked up at her then, his eyes damp. “When you told me to snap out of it, and you shoved me, you shoved me into the memory of my first kiss with Buffy.”

She blinked in confusion. “I saw things in a rather different order than you, it seems.”

“Figured. You seemed ready to have me take a quick shufty over a holy water factory.”

She sat down across from him, back pressed against the vanity. At least this motel had bothered to keep their bathroom in semi-clean and functioning order. The last place had loose tiles, and she nearly acquainted her chin with the sink when she’d tripped on one. “I saw the slayers die.” Hollow voice, it echoed against the ugly bathroom walls. “All of them.”

“When- when you say all of them-”

“All of them,” her eyes were harder than her biting tone. “When Druscilla killed Kendra, when Buffy… when Buffy was bitten and drowned by that bat faced git- all of them. In order. From Sineya to Kendra. Er, from Kendra to Sineya, rather.” Her sigh was heavy, shoulders slumped. “So much death… I felt some,” she said hollowly, touching her face carefully at the memory of a slayer from the 1400’s that died in an inferno. It felt like she’d have a scar from that one, though the flesh was smooth. “But I saw other memories, too.” Her eyes twinkled, the same way they did when she’d come home with that fifth place ribbon, and he told her how proud of her he was. “I watched Buffy fall in love with you.”

William’s eyebrows raised up into his hairline. “When you say ‘fall in love’, you don’t- you didn’t see anything… silatious, did you?”

“Sex, you mean? No, thank the heavens for small mercies.” They chuckled lightly together. “No, I mean… you telling her about me, in a cemetery of all places,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Cooking for her, a memory of her falling asleep on the couch, and you just… carried her laundry upstairs- without telling her you’d done it, so she wouldn’t have to,” his awkward blush said more than he intended. “Cheering her on in some… demon establishment with that Clem gentle-demon clapping as well-”

“Wait. At the bowling alley?” He attempted to sit up again, but slid back down against the slick tiles. “She- at the alley? Really?”

She shrugged. “I sensed she was content then. She seemed to be surprised at how happy it made her, to have someone cheer her on as you did. She once told me your loyalty to her was the one constant she could always count on. That whenever she felt ‘sucky’ ,” she lifted her hands to hook her fingers in the air to quote the phrase clearly. “It was always you who was backing her up, reminding her of her accomplishments. Of her strength and resiliency. I also saw some memories of her with her mother discussing you, and she was rather conflicted when you first moved in. And the poetry you wrote her, for your anniversary?” His ears pinked in embarrassment, ready to argue that sticking point. Not that she let him. “I haven’t seen two people so in love with one another as I had with mother and father.” Which was exactly the right thing to say, his expression going soft around the eyes. “But I think… with what I saw, I’m rather convinced that if you didn’t move in… We might not have-” she shook her head, unable to say the words past the thick lump lodged in her throat. 

His hand was gentle as it touched her shin. “We can’t think about that, Pidge. Cuz not having you around… no. That’s not a possibility I wanna entertain. Not again, yeah?” She nodded resolutely, standing. “You gonna get Glinda to look at me again, ain’t ya?” She nodded firmly a second time, bending down to kiss his forehead. “Love you, Pidge.”

“Love you too, Pug.” 

After a beat, he cocked his head to the side, blinking up at her. “Where’s your hat gone?” 

“Spoils of war,” Charlotte opened the door, sniffing away unshed tears to see Tara’s pale face, hand over her mouth in shock as they locked eyes. “Sunnydale has- Tara? Did something happen?”

Slowly her hand lowered, the trembling of her bottom lip scared the young teen. “Are you sure? Picture?” she asked the mobile phone in her hand. A brief pause, then her eyes flicked to see Spike slumped against the glass wall of the shower, pale face of his own reflected in the shiny surfaces around him, before she uttered an aghast, “ Utah?! But that doesn’t- Has she ever even been to Utah? Yeah. I’ll- No, just call Giles. Yeah, the room right next to ours.” She stood, advancing to the bathroom, face determined. “No, call them, and tell them. …Yeah, I’m needed here. You want me to…? Yeah, I’ll tell them. No, just- and you called the hospital?” She bent down, looking at his face with both hands, phone shoved between ear and shoulder to keep from falling. She wasn’t a doctor by any means, but she could confirm dehydration easily enough. “Okay, so it’s definitely- yeah. Okay. Thank the Goddess for small miracles. …Yeah- no, tell her I’ll call her after. Yeah. He stopped puking. For now.”

“Hopefully for good,” he wheezed, too weak to fight off the young witch. “Bein’ Rex’s chew toy was a bloody parade in comparison.”

But Tara was still regarding the man on the phone. “You too. And call them. No, Giles. Buffy’s phone broke, and we can’t find Spike’s charger for his.”

“There’s a spare under the front bench seat. Silver case.”

“Oh, that’s helpful!” Charlotte scoffed at her brother. 

“You, too. Hey, Xander? We really did it, didn’t we? Made it out alive.”

Xander scoffed on the other line, the phone slipped down enough that everyone could hear it where she was examining his mouth. “Well, unalive in evil-dead’s case.”

“Nope, I meant what I said.”

“Wait… you said he was barfing…”

“Yep.”

“And alive so…”

“Human? Oh, yeah.”

“Oh, my God, Tara!” The phone slipped off her shoulder, Xander yelling so loudly that his words were heard by the whole bathroom. “You can’t just blurt out important, life changing news like that?!”  

She shook her head, lifting the phone to put it back to her ear. “I wasn’t gonna, but then you said what you said, an- and you know how I hate to lie!”

“Jesus, Tara!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Listen, I gotta go. Call Giles. Love you.” She hung up quickly, blinking at the phone with an odd expression. 

Charlotte shuffled from foot to foot, exhausted and more than a little dizzy. “What was all that about?” 

“First,” she replied, directed to their un- undead British grouch. “I need to get you upright. Or at least sitting…. not here.”

William looked ready to faint at that suggestion of moving even an inch. Which was rather humorous to his sister- in a deranged way. She threw up, lost a finger, dragged his sorry bottom out of the ruins of their town, and carried him and Buffy, to and fro for days. But she wasn’t acting like an insolent fool. “If you’re giving me options, I vote: shower.”

“I vote: not gonna happen,” Lottie drawled. “We just pulled you from a crater bigger than our town, and you wish to drown yourself?!”

“Blimey, Pidge, it’s just a shower!”

Playing mediator, Tara decided for them. “Upright, in the dinette chair. Charlotte? Can you put it next to the bathroom?” Her young friend agreed, leaving the pair of them in the dingy water closer. Offering him a hand, she sighed, “come on.” He looked at her with a grimace, like he was about to argue, but she wasn’t dissuaded. “I can either h- help you to the chair, o- or drag you there. Your choice.”

Blinking up in shock, he nodded once. “Glad to see the good witch of the Midwest grew a backbone during our pleasure snooze.”

“Always had one. J- just,” she shrugged, as if the rest was obvious. Spike didn’t bother arguing. He was in far too much pain for it. Standing on his left, Charlotte flew back in to take his right, and with some struggling, the pair got him upright. Leaning on Tara’s side, he forced his feet to move, letting Lottie go to make room on the chair. “You need more w- water. I think you’re dehydrated- amongst other things.”

“Like a touch iron deficient?” he joked, groaning at the pull around his ribs. “Bruised to high heaven, no doubt.” Once he was sitting, he let out a heavy sigh of contentment, then went right back to business. “So we made it, huh?”

“Yes.”

“How many’d we lose?”

Tara sat across from him, Charlotte on the only other chair. “A few. I- I’m sorry, b- but your bowling friends…”

“Mmm. Meera too, then?”

“She- she sacrificed herself. Faith saw. Sh- she was already…”

Nodding, he already knew what she was gonna say. It had been obvious to him since the second he laid eyes on her in the basement that day. “She’d been sickly for a while. She’s been half dyin’ for weeks. Decided to go out with a bang, ay?”

“Yeah.”

Snorting, he grinned leisurely, sipping the water gingerly. “How she always wanted. She go after Xerx or before?”

“Before. Her, then Hos, then….”

Swearing a blue streak, he felt his heart lurch against his ribs. Xerxes always wanted to go out before her, or at the same time. He couldn’t bear to watch his lady bite the big one, but then he had to watch both her, and his best mate of millennia go- in the same day, no less. “Still… war’s like that, I suppose. Least he’s back with Moira, finally.” Sniffing unconsciously, he looked around with curiosity. “Where’s Joyce at? Didn’t see her earlier.”

“We don’t know,” Charlotte sniffed herself, hiding her sorrow by leaning her head in her hands. “We don’t know what happened to her.”

Tara grimaced, correcting the girl with a “well-”

Only to be cut off by their former resident vampire. “Or your finger?!” Grasping the girl’s hand, he yanked it forwards, inspecting the fresh bandage there. “What-?”

“Gift of the Hellmouth,” she answered dryly, her own cynicism fresh in the forefront of her mind. “Price of admission.”

“Bloody hell. What do you mean you don’t know what happened to her? Harris must have heard something, to be calling, yeah?” 

Nodding, Tara outlined the basics. That Joyce had heard a Charlotte-esque scream from the bus, how she’d gone after to grab the girls, and that she’d been flung out of the Hellmouth the second the four champions had joined hands for a little mystical Kumbaya. But it was the place she’d landed in that really through the pair for a loop. 

“Utah?!”

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

“Wait,” Spike looked around the room, hand moving about like he was trying to remember something. “D’ya have a map?”

“Uh…. Phone book?”

“Bigger.” 

Eyes widening, the witch didn’t bother asking why he needed it, just stood to peak her head out. Asking the slayer - hey, when’d she get out there? - standing guard to grab a map of the entire country, a sharpie, a phone book, and a tin of ginger mints from the room next took. Closing the door again, she let out a shaky breath, before turning back towards them. Smiling politely, she strode back, her skirt swishing with each step. “J- just a few minutes. Umm… how’s your stomach?”

“Bloody fantastic,” he snarked dryly. 

Smirking, his sister bit back, “un bloody fantastic, I’m sure. What with dear Tara’s help.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Ducks.”

Nodding, the woman sat back down, opening up her case of herbs again. “D- doctor Charlotte? Care to assess our patient?”

Perking up, the words a second wind to the girl, Charlotte slid her chair closer to the woman. “Absolutely, madam pharmacist. I prescribe two hundred and fifty CC’s of water, immediately.”

“It’s stat,” he grinned. “Ain’t it?” Even battered and bruised, she was more than happy to help. Buffy was right, he mused as he watched her fuss over him. She’s gonna make a bang-up surgeon. 

Once they’d made him choke down his water, checked his throat and ears for signs of infection, and up his sodding nose, their sentry returned with the supplies, then went back to her post. 

With the sharpie, Spike marked their location, Sunnydale, Los Angeles, and the hospital in SLC. Then, he marked a fourth dot, higher than the last, just a touch to the left. He connected the five locations with the marker, narrating as he went. “This was us, this was where the Summers clan used to live,” he pointed to locations as he went. “It’s also where Charlotte was taken to after being resurrected in London. This,” he pointed. “Is this little slice of paradise for lice, and here is where Joyce killed Glory.”

“God Killer, Montana.” Lottie joked hollowly. “I know it’s not the official name, but I’m sure we can get it changed for a small fee.”

He snorted, almost amused. Almost. “This is halfway between us and where she killed Glory. If I had to guess, whatever happened to her… wait, you said the amulet fused to her bone.”

“Yeah.”

“Paper?” Charlotte handed him some, the two ladies watching as he drew the symbols from memory. “Was it like this?”

“Could be. Wait, isn’t that-”

“The one she got from Fatima? Yeah. It… Thank God . It might have just saved her life.”

“Yeah, I think so.” Tara’s fingers brushed the sketch reverently, wondering what would happen once they saw her. “Looks like you saved her life twice.”

He jerked his head at her in confusion. “What are you on about?” he demanded. “I didn’t- it was the protection symbol!”

The young witch huffed, sitting down heavily again. “Humble is a really wiggy colour on you, Will.” She gentled her glare to something close to familial sternness. “She wouldn’t have had that,” she tapped the sketch, “if you hadn’t asked her to come with you to Africa.”

“She wouldn’t have been ejected from the Hellmouth if-”

“And you’d have been dust, you arrogant ass!” Tara yelled back, hand slapping to cover her mouth once the words slipped out. 

The three of them leaned back in their chairs, shock colouring their features as they revelled in the fact that their mild mannered, conflict hating, good witch of the not so mid of the Midwest, had picked up some piss and vinegar attitude between L.A. and Flagstaff. “Alright, then,” Spike blinked, leaning closer to offer his trembling hand to hers. She frowned as she grasped it. She had to get some food in him, fast. He was going to pass out again soon if he didn’t eat. His palm was tougher than she remembered it, but it was also warmer and clammier too. “Whatever you say, ducks. You’re the boss, here.”

She shook her head, trying to find the courage to apologise, but her mouth wouldn’t work. 

Charlotte was the one to speak next, shuffling her chair even closer to the witch. “We’re very glad you’re here,” she sighed, laying her head on Tara’s shoulder. “Thank you for being here. You’re a great friend. And older sister.”

“Si- sister?”

“Of course,” the teen yawned, exhausted as it was past her new bedtime. Nights on the road, sleeping when the sun was out, it had created a new circadian rhythm in her. And she was due for another lie down, now that she’d had her pill. “You’re not shaking the Pratts off you that easily. You’re stuck with us now, like a… a… I dunno, sticker.”

Spike chuckled roughly, coughing a little at the raw feeling of the action in his belly. “You’ve got that fire in ya, now. Always knew it.” He squeezed her hand gently, Tara’s eyes slipping off Lottie to look at him incredulously. “Glad to see it again.”

She nodded, knowing he’d be insulted with an apology now, squeezing the hand back as gently as he did. “G- gotta have it. To be a part of this family. R- right?”

“Yep. Pidge?” Charlotte grunted on Tara’s shoulder, eyes slipped shut. “You fall asleep on Ducks, there?”

“You have the oddest fascination with birds, brother,” she mumbled back. “Now shoo! Birdseed is not welcome here. Glow in the dark horseshoes… aisle.. twelve.”

Spike sighed, head falling in his other hand. 

“Di- did she just fall asleep on me?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled wryly, lifting his face up. “It’s official. Pidge falls asleep on you; you’re family.”

Tara smiled, looking at the snoozing teen before she felt the drool on her bicep. Quite a bit of it; yikes. “Well… at least she’s hydrated.” Turning to her pseudo brother, she asked, “so, recently human man: what’ll it b- be for your first meal as recently re-human…ized? Ch- Chinese or pizza?”

Chapter 68

Summary:

Joyce ‘GodKiller’ Summers wakes up in the ICU, and has her own piss and vinegar attitude about her current accommodations- aka 'Joyce needs some damn schnaps'.

Fred and Wes ask Giles for a job.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Saturday, March 15th, 2003 - Part F

 

“Can someone get me a damn glass of schnapps?” Joyce was pissed. No one was paying attention to her, and it was just plain rude. 

“Miss, you cannot drink in here.” Unless it was to scold her, like she was a petulant drunk college student. “You’ve had surgery, and-”

“Yeah,” she replied bitterly. “I know that, dingus. I’ve cheated death a third time, I get it. But my daughters are missing, and I have no hair left on my body, including on my- and I have my… protection amulet fused to my bone like I’m IronWoman or something, and I go by Mrs.” She scowled at the guy, wondering how one could interpret an eyebrow-less scowl. No one would give her a mirror to test out her theory for herself, but that was probably for the best. Seeing her arms and legs had sent her into a sobbing fit earlier. “Even though I’m not married to him anymore, I’ll always be a Summers. So if you don’t mind: schnapps, or get the hell out of my face, and find me my kids!” 

The poor intern fled but she didn’t care. Her hands hurt so much, she couldn’t dial even if she wanted to. The fingers on her left hand were severely broken, the reconstruction taking a dozen hours. Shame they couldn’t save the pinky. Her foot had been broken as well but it was a rather small bone, a compression fracture that required little surgery time, her three toes left behind in the Hellmouth. Her opposite leg… now that one was a doozie. Not only did it need a rod and some screws, but she’d torn a ligament and injured something called a fibular nerve as well. If she walked again, she’d be lucky. The rest was just skin and tissue damage. She missed her hair. Vanity? Meet Joyce. But she couldn’t care just then. Her hair was the one thing she could control when all hell broke loose, and now she didn’t have any left. At all. Even her big toes were hairless. Everything was gone. Eyelashes, she hardly knew thee. 

On top of that, the interns and doctors all talked about her, but not always to her. It was humiliating, and if Margaret Walsh were still alive, she’d have decked the woman, because this? Yeah, this made her feel like a science experiment, and yet the professor had delighted in treating both humans and demons alike in the same fashion. It was a good thing the scientist was dead, because if she hadn’t been…. Okay, self, she tried to get through her psyche, knowing if she didn’t calm herself down, the nurses would inject her with yet another drug. Bleh! Fat chance. Too much anger raises the blood pressure, and that can lead to a stroke, which you don’t need right now. Or ever. But especially not now. Not after… God, she was going to be in pain forever, wasn’t she? The morphine helped, but at what cost? Was she going to need to be on it forever? And what if her burns never healed? Some of them were on her downstairs bits, she just knew it. How would any man ever look at her again? Not that she was thinking of handsome men taking her on romantic dates at the moment. But being stuck in a hospital bed, with only pain and the beeping as companions, the brain went where it wanted to. 

“Mrs. Summers?” She turned to see an older nurse - closer to retirement than she might like - at the left side of her bed, smiling softly at her. “We've received a call today.”

She liked this nurse, she remembered. Had nicknamed Joyce ‘sunshine’ when she’d first woken up after surgery, back when her mouth wouldn’t work. Kind hearted. God knew Joyce needed some kindness right about now. “Good news, I hope.”

“Yes, very. I brought you something,” she grinned, producing a tote bag filled with goodies for her favourite patient. “They found your family. They’re on the way.”

“R- really? My kids?! My kids are coming?!”

“Yes, and your sisters, too. Not sure when your sisters will be here, but your kids are on their way right now. I thought we might make you more presentable for company, if you’re up for it.”

Oh, God. Was she ever! “Let’s see what you’ve got in your magical bag of tricks.”

A lot was in that bag, apparently. A silk scarf much bigger than the one Buffy bought her after her tumour removal surgery for her head, some sensitive skin safe makeup for the parts of her face that weren’t too beat up, and a thin, gauzy shawl, in the same shade of blue as the cardigan Charlotte gifted her for Christmas. She pulled up the chair in the room closer, gently brushing some colour back into Joyce’s face. Her lips weren’t too badly damaged, though there was zero chance she’d get her eyebrows drawn on (dammit). But her nurse was very kind as she attended to something most wouldn’t. 

Mabel told her about her own three girls - a set of triplets - who were all married now. The two of them traded little jokes about how some things never change with daughters, no matter the generation. Mabel checked her vitals while she beautified her, and when she was done, Joyce felt a little less gloomy about her family seeing her in such rough shape. 

She’d been there for days. No one gave her updates the way the older nurses did. Probably because no one else could stand to look at her. Or they were all weirded out by the ‘protection amulet’ fused to her breast bone. No one had any answers for that, only that it was a medical miracle that she was alive. Mainly, until this morning, she wasn’t able to talk. 

The pain had been excruciating, but she endured the medications and pokes and prods with gritted teeth. After she heard some interns calling her ‘Mrs. Kruger’, though- Oh, she officially lost it. 

‘Why don’t you come and say that to my face, you wankstain!’ she yelled at them, biting tone heard all the way down the hall. She hadn’t meant to unleash her fury on them, but enough was enough. They didn’t listen to the supervisory staff on their etiquette, so she’d make them listen. Respect was earned here, it seemed. ‘Yeah, you! Oh, not so big and mighty now that “ Mrs. Kruger” can talk, are you, you Toth? How dare you treat a patient like this? A person like this? YOU try getting flung from a Hellscape, and land into a field in a completely different state, and see how YOU feel after! Go make yourselves useful, and call my freaking daughters!’ They’d all just stood there, shock colouring their features before she added, ‘NOW!’ and promptly passed out for another eighty-seven minutes. 

She woke up feeling guilty, but didn’t apologise for her actions. Mainly because her tolerance for bullshit was reaching its peak with all of them. But a small part of her didn’t, because the formerly crass, insensitive, mocking interns were now a heck of a lot less crass and mocking. They all knew her as the God Killer, from what her ramblings had told them. It wasn’t until the head of every surgical department that had worked on her - orthopaedics, neurology, plastics, a couple of others she couldn’t remember - as well as some higher ups that she was sure included the head of the hospital, all congregated in her room, that they learned her true name. They asked her question after question about what happened to her, about where she was from, about who she was…. 

Joyce was exhausted with it all. She made them a deal: she’d answer a question for each one they did. Starting with what jerkface was responsible for teaching bedside manners to the interns, because they needed to go for emotional sensitivity training, along with the surgical trainees they ‘so-called trained’. It definitely made some of them uncomfortable, though she did find the neurology surgeons’ reactions amusing, their lips in thin lines, trying to stifle their giggles at the other’s being called out so viciously by a patient. Their intern must have told the pair of them about how she chewed them out, the only one who hadn’t joined in on the orchestra of assholery.  

The head of the social services department said she’d pop in every day Joyce was in the hospital, and the rest of the hospital staff all took turns in ‘passing by’ or ‘running an errand’ in hopes to see her, to the point of needing security guards stationed near her door. It was a lot, but she figured if she were in medicine, and a once in a lifetime patient landed in her hospital like she did, she’d be pretty tempted to do the same. Charlotte definitely would. But she’d have more tact, Joyce would make sure of it. 

When they asked what happened to her, she stuck with the most believable answer she could muster, without straight up being a liar. She told them that at one moment, she was in Sunnydale. The next, she woke up face down at the ranch where she was found. That she knew the family that found her had helped her, not hurt her. She told them she knew she fell down, face first, from dozens of feet away from where she landed, the impact dragging her. Told them that she felt the worst pain of her life, but that the things that her body had gone through… she didn’t know. They did. Sort of. Knew what treatment she needed to have to heal her from it, at least. She should have died, they’d told her multiple times, and the gaps in memory were, sadly, normal. If the rancher’s grandchildren hadn’t found her when they did, well…. 

They also knew her name by then. A call had come in from somewhere in Los Angeles County, by someone who was sure she was the ‘God Killer’ they were looking for, and that she made the best double-stuffed brownies the world had ever tasted. She cried so hard in relief, knowing that if the man they spoke to called her ‘God Killer’ and knew her brownies, that her girls would know where she was. Once they found out she wasn’t crying tears of sadness or pain, but relief, they asked her if she’d like to be called her first name instead. They’d been asking it since she woke up, calling her Jane before they’d heard it. She laughed at that, croaking, ‘that was my mother’s name’ before telling them to call her Joyce. ‘But not the interns,’ she said. ‘They call me Mrs. Summers or God Killer. Joyce was a gift, the others, I earned.’ Which they didn’t have a chance to ask her more about before she passed out from exhaustion again. 

God, she hated hospitals. 

 

----------

 

Angel had the common sense to not contact them directly again after the entire ‘Dawn and Charlotte hand the vampire CEO his ass on a rusty platter’ incident. Instead, he sent a very haggard looking Wesley over in his place. Wes brought with him a bucket of self-loathing, smelling like a whiskey bath, and access to the company jet to get them to Joyce ASAP. He also just so happened to come with an important question for Fred that was answered by her asking Giles another question. 

“Can- you have a new council, right?” the shy Texan asked. “One that’s, well, not a Watcher’s council, per se, but, maybe- Wesley was a Watcher. And, I know I’m not- but I’m good a- a- at research, an- an- and we can’t work for him. We just can’t. And you’ll need help, right? Turning it into something… bigger. Better. For the new slayers?”

Giles blinked, setting his chicken lo mein down on the motel room dinette table. “Erm… is this your thinly veiled atttempt at asking me for a job?” 

“Yes. The both of us, cuz,” she looked back at the beaten up Brit behind her with a small smile. “I go where he goes.”

“And I go where Fred goes.”

Giles leaned back, looking to their Slayer General expectantly before receiving a shrug. He turned back and with a serious expression, he asked, “and what are your qualifications?”

Fred, unknowing that the new Head Watcher was pulling her leg, started to list them. “We- well I studied at the California Physics Institute of UCLA, the graduate program run by Oliver Seidel, but… well, that was before he got jealous of my brain, and kinda sent me into a dimension where humans were treated like cattle for five years. Lorne? He’s from there. Pylea? But he wasn’t one of them! One of the dem- peop- beings who thinks like they did! He- he- he left Pylea cuz he hated how they thought! How they treated people, but you know that already, ummm… Oh! I head the Research and Development team- did run- so I know how to manage a team, an-”

“Fred?” She turned around to see Wes’ haggard - and slightly tipsy - expression. “He was kidding.”

“What?” She turned back around to see Giles with a tiny smile in the corners of his mouth. “But his face was so serious!”

“British,” Buffy mumbled behind an egg roll. “They’re very dry with it.”

Spike had snorted in response, one arm wrapped around his girlfriend, other hand on his fork. “Well, Rupe. You gonna institute some kinda anti-fraternization policy at HQ? Cuz if ya are, you’re gonna need to get some of those forms on it and such for them two over there.”

“What?” 

“And us, though I don’t want to sign any bloody-”

“What are you on about?”

“Oh, come on!” He gestured with said fork between the only recently dating couple before them, twinkle in his eye. “You didn’t- you’re losing your edge, old man, cuz it’s bloody obvious they’re shag- ow!”

Buffy winced internally, forgetting her boyfriend was human now, and that her little smacks to his shoulders to say ‘stop being a pig’ had to be a touch softer. “Stop that! They clearly haven’t told people yet,” she hissed at him under breath. “It’s too new!”

“Oh, well, nevermind then.” He sniffed, turning back to his food. 

Fred blushed, asking the ex-vampire, “how’d you know?”

Tara snorted, wiping her hands on a napkin. “He knew about Willow and I before Giles and Buffy did. He’s good at noticing things. Except for the sauce d- dripping on his shirt.”

“What? Oh, come on! I just put this on!” He scoffed as he dabbed at the sweet and sour with a napkin, sucking his teeth in. “Dunno how you did that, Wes. She’s smarter than you, better looking, and better adjusted… good for you, mate.” He pointed his fork to Fred after he dabbed the majority of the red sauce away. “You, however, are getting top marks for dealin’ with that one. And uh, for, you know, suggesting my lady love here bring me back from the brink of undeath. You like hydrangeas?” 

“Are you planning on wooing another woman in front of your long time girlfriend?” Wesley spat at the man, stepping forwards to shake up the blond’s body into shutting up. 

“No,” he threw back. “They mean ‘gratitude’. Didn’t they teach you anything at that poncey academy that wasn’t about apocalypses?”

Giles scolded him, telling the boys to ‘play nice or no one gets a cookie’ in that condescending older father way that got them all shutting up. For now. “When can we leave? The girls will want to see Joyce.” A strong throat clearing from the bleach blond man between the blonde women had him correcting himself. “The girls, myself, and Spike will be wanting to see Joyce as soon as possible.”

“We can be fueled and on the tarmac at Flagstaff Pullman Airport in two hours,” Watcher Jr. explained. “The flight between here and Utah is under an hour… Spike? Are you quite alright man?”

Turning to the recently re-humanised man, they looked on as he clutched his chest. “God, I bloody hope so. Ugh! My heart’s ready to explode.”

“Spike? Bunbury,” Buffy grabbed him, feeling his chest in concern. “Oh, God! Giles?!”

The others scrambled around, trying to figure out what was going on, what they could do about it… except for Tara. Tara Maclay only grabbed something from her purse, cool as a cucumber, putting two big round pill shaped chalky pieces into her palm, handing it to the blond, and instructed him to chew and swallow. Ready to call an ambulance, Giles watched in fascination at the normally fidgeting witch’s calm demeanour. “Tara?”

She didn’t acknowledge him, just handed the ex-vamp a glass of water, instructing him to drain it, two fingers on his wrist’s pulse point. After a few minutes, she asked, “better?”

Nodding in shock, he asked, “whatever that potion was? Patent it. Bloody miracle drug. What do you call it?”

Giggling, she answered, “Rollaids.” The room looked on in utter bafflement, lost on the correlation. “Congrats. You ju- just had the unfortunate combination of acid reflux an- and heartburn.”

“How’d you…?”

Pointing to the spicy Szechuan beef he’d been eating, her smug smirk mirrored her easy shrug. “Haven’t been human in a while. Figured you forgot how spice affects a human stomach.” 

The room let out a collective sigh of relief, their Slayer embracing Tara briefly, before holding onto her boyfriend, sighing an even heavier breath of relief. She nearly lost him all over again! God! He kissed her forehead back, murmuring that he’d be alright, a little bit of pepper hardly going to end a Big Bad like himself. Instead of laying into him about how he had to be more careful, that his mortality made him open to a bunch of new things, just itching to get him. She decided on yelling at him over it later, too tired to fight anymore today. Plus, their sisters were finally catching a few winks in the corner, and no one wanted to wake the teenagers. She sniffed, tilting her head up to gaze at him. “How long’s the drive? From here to the hospital, do you think?”

Calculating in his head, he winced. “Longer than three hours- even the way I drive.” 

“Great.” Buffy sighed, shuffling her chair closer to lean up against him, thighs pressed together. “Two hours, then. Can you call it now?” Wes nodded, reaching for his cell. She speared a piece of broccoli from her own carton, leaning on her love, if only to remind herself of his state of mortality. And her own. “Cool. Want some spring rolls?”

Notes:

Let’s pretend they shelled out a buttload of cash for that Chinese restaurant to deliver that food in the morning, K? K.

Chapter 69

Summary:

Let’s check in on Joyce, shall we?

Chapter Text

Saturday, March 15th, 2003 - Part G

 

The medical team at U of U Health was top notch, a first rate trauma center to rival anything Sunnydale could have ever made possible. But even a team of the best of the best had it’s shortcomings. Like asking questions that weren’t going to get the kind of answers they wanted. Like ‘could you tell us what happened to your mother?’ and ‘do you need medical assistance?’ amongst other things. Things the daughters of one Joyce ‘GodKiller’ Summers weren’t super keen on answering. 

“How is she?” Giles asked as soon as they entered the ICU’s dedicated burn unit, the nurse at the desk knowing who they were on sight. 

Joyce must have given them a detailed description. “Rough to look at,” the younger nurse - Amy - said, having about as much of a filter as Anya usually did. “But Mabel made her up real nice! I just… I want you to be prepared, is all. Most family members here aren’t ready to- she went through hell,” she answered more seriously, looking at Giles with a friendly smile. “But she's a strong woman, your wife.”

Spike barked out a laugh, shaking his head as if she’d said the funniest thing he’d ever heard. To be fair, Tara and Buffy were also trying not to poke fun at the mistake, they just had way more class in holding it in. “Not his wife.” Pfft! As if Rupert would be that lucky. “Family, yeah, but she’s only a missus in name.”

“Oh, you’re the son-in-law!” she exclaimed, the others not bothering to correct her. “Wow, she was right. You do kinda look like Billy Idol.” 

Charlotte tilted her head in a joking manner, asking, “who?” just to mess with them. She wasn’t stupid, just outdated. And after all she’d been through- that her family had been through, they all deserved a slightly lighter mood. 

“Oh,” Amy blinked owlishly, turning to the older nurse - Mabel - hoping for backup. “He was a British singer too, right? Is he still alive?”

Mabel rolled her eyes, standing up with a sigh. Seemed like Amy was a bit too much with the perky for the seasoned veteran. “Your mother has had a tough time with it,” she told them instead. “The doctors told you what she went through?” They nodded. “Okay, come with me, but you’re all going to have to wash your hands, and wear a gown and gloves.” She started walking, the group following her, Tara and Giles staying behind as the maximum per visit was four. Amy, the other nurse, had them busy with a stack of paperwork to rival the Council, and a promise to bring them down after the others were done. “Keep touching to the minimum if you can, she’s very sore. We have her on medication for the pain, but it’s as high as it can be without damaging her organs, so she’s still in some discomfort.”

“But… she’ll live?” Charlotte asked, voice small. Her brother slung an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in close to him silently. Keeping her calm here was gonna be tough, but she refused to leave her pseudo mother’s side if she could help it. 

Mabel chuckled lightly, winking at the girls. “Strong woman, your mother. When they first brought her here, she couldn’t talk. The pain was just too much. It’s very common to a lot to patients in here,” she reassured the teenagers kindly. “The human body does it to save energy on fixing all the boo-boos inside. And yes, I know boo-boos isn’t the correct medical term, but it’s just fun to use.” She eased the anxiety just enough to keep Lottie’s hands from shaking. “She was just so tired that she needed to rest. But some foul mouth interns insulted her, and she sat up, despite the agony it must have caused her,” she motioned to the wall of sinks to her left for visitors to wash their hands. “And she cussed them all out to kingdom come.”

“Insulted her?” Dawn asked. “How?”

“Doesn’t matter now, dear,” Mabel smiled at the girl. “All that matters is that you’re here. She’s been asking about you for days, but she hasn’t been conscious long enough for us to get your number. Thankfully a man called us, a…” she pulled a chart off the wall ahead of her. “Mr. Harris. Another man called before that, asked if the ‘God Killer’ was there, and if she made double-stuffed brownies, but he didn’t leave a name.”

“Brownies?” Spike turned to his girl, bumping shoulders with a smile. “Can only guess what other bowler that could be.”

Buffy laughed, sounding a little crazed. Just last night, she was dreaming of getting tea in Hyde Park, then swimming in a tropical waterfall. Now, a loose skinned demon and an elderly nurse were the key to her mother’s survival and recovery. “Did he sound like he was from Ohio or Florida?”

Mabel shrugged. “I’m not sure. Amy took the call. Said she heard meowing in the background.”

The couple looked at one another, exclaiming together, “Clem.” 

“Clem?!” Dawn choked out, wiping her hands on a paper towel, before being gowned and gloved. “How would he..? No, nevermind. Tell me later. Can we see her now?”

Mabel nodded, waiting for everyone to be gowned and gloved before stepping around the corner. The door to the room slid open as the lab tech finished up, the beeping of the machinery quieted for comfort, but no less filling the air with sounds the five of them hated. Latest blood samples carted away, Mabel stepped in. “Mrs. Summers,” she said with a soft tone. “Joyce? Are you up for some visitors?” She motioned for them to come around the corner, stepping aside. “I’ll be right out here if you need me. She’s ready for you.” 

Buffy broke down as soon as she saw their mother, but Dawn - despite exhaustion, sleep deprivation, and missing three toes - was the first to run to her side. “Mommy!”

And despite the apparent agony the poor injured woman was in, their mother still smiled through the misty eyes, relieved at the sight of her family. “Oh, my brave girls. Oh, my lovely, lovely girls!”

“Mom, your eyes!”

“I know,” she exclaimed, that little scrap of valley girl still inside her. “If it weren’t for how beat up I’m sure I look, I wouldn’t be able to stop staring at them.”

“But… why? How are they…? How did this happen?”

Joyce looked at her eldest, hand raised just a few inches off the bed. “Close the door?” 

Shutting it had been impossible, rooted to the ground just inside their mother’s hospital room. Buffy couldn’t stop staring at the way her mother looked, but it wasn’t the burns, nor the metal cage holding her leg together, nor the wires and tubes that had her transfixed. The eyes. Her mother’s beautifully soulful eyes were no longer the gorgeous russet brown as it had always been. Because her left eye was now violet, and her right was a beautiful emerald. What the hell happened on that hellmouth?! 

But Spike had her back even with the mundane, shutting the door behind him, and guided her to her mother’s bedside. 

Once there, Buffy reached out and grasped a single finger on her poor mom’s good hand, offering her a smile she knew could reach her eyes. “Mom?”

“Short version?” Joyce told her family simply. “I saw.”

“Saw?”

“The light. Everyone else ptobably saw it as orange or white. I saw the real colours.”

Dawn stepped back, unsure what to expect. “Real… mom, what are you saying?”

“The power that brought back Charlotte was purple. Dawn, when she was the Key, glowed green.” Staring down her eldest as Buffy’s face grew more confused, she added, “don’t ask me how I know that, because I don’t know. I only know it because when I woke up in this bed, the answers were as clear to me as the crystal goblets we have in the dining room- and by the looks on your faces, I’m feeling like they didn’t make it.” 

Dawn looked down at her hands, sitting on the plastic backed chair left for visitors with a sigh. Poker face? Her? Utter crapola when it came to her mom. “It- it’s all gone. The whole ding-dang town.”

Their mom just shut her eyes for a moment, sighing out a long breath. The Slayer always wondered how her mother managed to compartmentalise in a crisis, and how that specific gene seemed to hop over her and Dawnie. But after a gentle squeeze from the blonde, the older woman popped her eyes back open, and offered Buffy a crooked grin that also didn’t reach her own technicolor eyes. “It’s just stuff,” she reasoned lightly, but her daughters knew better then that. They knew their mother would miss their TV nights on the couch, and the ivy wallpaper in her bedroom, and porch seat where they’d go out to eat ice cream on whenever they needed commiserating. It was home for a long time, but she was alive, and asking for more than that after the year they’d just had felt like tempting fate with a lemon. “I still have my three girls, and our bleach blonde guy, so, ya know. We’ll just get more stuff. Find a new place to live to make more memories in.” 

“Too true, Joyce,” Spike added lightly from behind Charlotte, who was no longer shaking like a leaf. 

“What- what do you suppose caused you to see… what the others didn’t?” the curly haired girl asked. 

Joyce rolled her head ever so slightly to face her, and the others could see just how long a road she’d be on before she got her groove back. Poor J, her neck stiff and patchy from the burns and scrapes, the left trapezius was plastered in medicated gauze with a thick, yellowish coating. Probably antibotical. “Whatever supernatural magic gobbilty-gook lingered around both of you girls helped… create that light. It was like a- I dunno. Like a dome over you four. It- it saved your lives. Just like my talisman did to me. Save for the hurt of being hurtled through the stars and states. Think maybe it’s why I could see it. Stuck with me forever now.” 

“Bloody hell,” Spike breathed, barely able to believe his very ears. Or eyes. That protection symbol of hers had fused to her chest, visible through the thick gauze covering her chest.  “Pringle can of light.” 

“Yeah,” she answered, her silk scarf slipping down a tad, revealing even more gauze underneath. None of them mentioned a thing, keeping it noted. “Like the slayer dream Buffy had in the fall.”

The dream she kept having. And the nightmare Willow had. Both came true, and not in the way anyone could have ever expected them to. Buffy felt bereft as her sister and mother kept talking, hearing nothing herself. Alive. Mom was burnt and littered with broken bones, but she was alive. Their family stared death in the face and won. Not without a few casualties, but they still- oh, no. Mom was looking at her now. Crap. Did she ask me a question? the blonde thought, trying to zoom herself back to the reality of the hospital room. Crap on a stick! “Wanna run that by me again?”

“I asked if the ride was bumpy,” her mom repeated, yawning a little as she clearly was exhausted. “Dawn said the DeSoto made it.”

“Oh, yeah. A little.” No way were they telling her about about just how bumpy their ride outta dodge really had been. Not until the matriarch was out of the woods. And then maybe another year after that. “Still with some gas in the tank.”

“And in the cabin,” Lottie teased, getting a stuck out tongue from her BFF in response. 

“Gosh. I’m so lucky.” 

Well that was so not the thing they expected to hear from the woman in this current predicament. “What?”

“I am so proud of my girls,” she said, cupping Buffy and Dawn’s cheeks in her hands. She motioned for Charlotte to come closer, the hand on Buffy’s cheek slipped away, coming back warmer. “All of ‘em.”

The former Victorian blinked as her own cheek was cupped, uncertain she’d heard the matriarch correctly. “I- I’m - you consider me a- a-?” 

“Daughter? Of course I do.” She looked to Spike, her friend haggard, and her loving smile - and heartfelt teasing one-liner - slipped off into concern. “You look awful!”

His responding chuckle was rough, almost like the chain smoking was finally catching up to his oesophagus. “I’m human.”

“What?!”

Ease her in , he promises.” Her eldest shook her head, rolling her eyes as she did. “I’ll do it gently, he says. Ugh. Yeah. He’s human. The… link thing we did, it fueled too much power in one space, so he absorbed the after effects to keep a soul… bomb leaving the entire Western coast in a pile of ash.” Buffy sighed. “At least that’swhat Fred said.” 

“Holy… human, huh?” She looked at him pointedly. “Know what that means?”

“Don’t say it, Joyce.”

“No more smoking for you, mister!”

Placing a hand on his chest, he groaned with his head tilted back. “Argh! You wound me so, woman.”

But that wasn’t all she had to say to the man. “Do I… notice something else different about you four? Besides Spi- William’s newfound humanity, I mean. Some... news someone wants to share?”

Buffy looked over at her boyfriend, and his gaze diverted away from her. “I dunno,” she said curiously. He knew better than to keep secrets from her. And keeping one with her mother?! “What news is there to share, William?”

“Uh… oh, Clem found you!” he exclaimed, avoiding his lady love like the true coward he was. No, actually, not a coward. Because they hadn’t a single moment betwixt them since the battle, and he sure as shite wasn’t gonna ask her in the hospital of all places. A place every single person in this room already hated. And at her mother’s bedside while said mother was covered in more injuries than he’d ever seen on a single alive person? Like hell! Turning to Joyce, he noted her surprised expression looked incredibly amusing without her eyebrows. “He searched all the databases and found you. He and Mer wish you a speedy recovery.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news! But I was talking about what happened to Charlotte’s hand?!” 

“Oh! I lost a finger,” the girl shrugged, still a little emotionally detached from the event. 

“Yeah,” she said, gesturing to her own hand. “We match.”

“Woah!” 

They spent the next ten minutes comparing injuries, Dawn and Charlotte filling them in on the injuries Buffy and Spike had healed while comatose. Not that they had the term comatose, just… sleeping. Many of their wounds matched her own. Although the burns she’d sustained were solely from landing in the ranch. A ranch she asked someone to please send a thank you basket to, for their kindness and help. Something that earned her a mixed bag of responses. Especially because the hospital had received a large bouquet of get well flowers from the ranch themselves, kept on the nurse’s station right in her line of sight, on account of her room needing to be sterile. They were beautiful, and she’d have to ask Spike what those blooms all meant later. 

Joyce would have to stay in the hospital for a few more weeks, something she loathed. Hospitals and the Summers clan were way with the unmix-y. But the burns to her body were severe, and the P.T. she’d have to do so she could walk on her new leg was going to be painful and long. It made her feel powerless, being in that bed. Made her feel way worse than after her craniotomies. But she was alive. Joyce Summers cheated death thrice. GodKiller was now DeathCheater . She was allowed to give herself a nickname in her head, right? Right. 

And in true form, Buffy insisted they weren’t leaving her alone, already looking into rental properties across the street from the hospital, for as long as they needed. There wasn’t much of a plan for them outside of staying with Arlene and Dave, the guest room already there and waiting for them. So whatever she needed, her family would provide. 

Before they left for the evening, Joyce asked to speak to Spike alone. Buffy gave her mom a very confused look, but Dawn and Charlotte just winked as they left. Once alone, she motioned for him to sit down next to her. “So… when are you asking? Cuz I didn’t see a ring on her finger, and you said-” 

“Joyce. Christsake,” he sighed as his ass hit the plastic chair. “I just woke up out of a bloody coma a few hours past, and been huggin’ the porcelain throne, and with how much boke I’ve brought up for damn near forty minutes after-”

“You’ve been… that can’t be good for you.”

“Well, the way I figure it,” he sniffed, “my human body rejected all the blood and crap I put into it when I was a vamp, so…” he shrugged, looking at her hand where the pins were holding her fingers in place. “Bloody hell, you… you’re an incredible woman, you know that?” 

She snorted, rolling her eyes. Ouch! She had to remember to limit that motion. “No, really?” She sighed as she watched the tendon on his jaw jump. “I’m so tired of this, S,” she admitted quietly, no longer having to keep her brave face on. Eyes downcast, she felt cracked open, her emotions spilling out onto the hospital linoleum floor. “The hospitals, the worrying… the pain… Sometimes, it’s more than I can bare. I’m glad to be alive, don’t get me wrong. I’m just…”

“You were expecting to die there,” he murmured, face tight. “Hoping to. Guess we match.”

“Guess we do,” she nodded, a yawn slipping out of her mouth without permission. “Gotta keep fighting, though. Those girls won’t forgive us if we stop.” 

“I know, J. Bet they try to reach through the Ether to yank us back, if we ever do.”

“Dawn would, just to cuss us out,” she joked, a tear slipping down her cheek. She hissed as the salt stung her wounds, a tissue dabbing it away seconds later. She opened her eyes to see Spike’s worried face as he gently blotted them away from her skin. “I’m okay, I’m just…”

“Tired,” he finished for her. He knew what kind of ‘tired’ she felt. Not just exhaustion from the fight, or her fall. Tired of pain. Of being on the mortal coil. But she had given him a lifeline when he was all barmy with his own unlife, wanting to give up himself. She refused to let him go it alone, like hell if he would leave her side now. Family, she said. And family didn’t leave each other behind in  melancholic agony like this. “You should sleep, hmm? We can come tomorrow, bring you some liverwurst on pumpernickel.” She chuckled wetly, more tears fell as she did, and he blotted away each one dutifully. “I know, Joyce,” he whispered. “I know you’re in pain. I can’t even imagine…. We’ll do PT together again- after. I’ll get another one of those, uh, foam squishy balls for your hand. An- and the places we’ve found, one of them has a tub with those jets. Be good for your leg after, yeah? We can go wherever you want after you’re healed, take you back to London, again. Show you the places where Pidge and I saw a century ago. Greece? You’ll love the shopping there, get you some of that mastic frozen yogurt. Or, we could even hit up Holland. See the tulips.”

“Not much of a tulip man, are you?” she sniffed, letting him dote on her. She didn’t want to be a lump. But Joyce knew he needed this more than she did. Feeling useful helped ground him, like it did her. “We can make plans later. Right now, go with the girls. And get some sleep. You look-”

“Like crap warmed over. Yeah, yeah.”

“No, like you need it,” she finished for him. Her good hand slowly lifted to cup his jaw, and said the four words she’d been wanting to say, ever since he showed her the ring he had found for her daughter’s hand. “You’re a good son.”

Spike didn’t cry. He was proud to say that while William J. Pratt the poet had been a soaking wet wimp, Spike the Vampire was a badass. But he was a complex individual, and times changed after- oh, who the hell was he kidding? He cried when Buffy told him he was beneath her. When Druscilla had welcomed Angelus into their bed in the factory. Hell, when Buffy had painted his nails after Glory played piñata with his insides (only after she went to bed, of course). But he was human again, and he was always hard pressed to hide his emotions, heartbeat or not. “Joyce, I-” 

“And a great friend to me,” she continued, needing to say what he needed to hear, before her throat decided it couldn’t handle any more sound leaving it. “A great brother to three girls, and I know you’ll be an amazing husband to Buffy. But you need to get off your insecure ass, and ask her already.”

He sniffed, a laugh falling wet from his own throat as his tears fell without permission. “Language, J. What will the nurses think?”

“Oh, I already called a bunch of interns a group of wank stains earlier.” 

“You what?!”

“Hey! They called me Mrs. Kruger! They deserved it, if you ask me.”

“Terrible bedside manner, on their part,” he nodded, using the back of his gowned arm to wipe away his own tears, when something niggled  his temporal lobe. “Wait… three? You got a bun in the oven we don’t know about?” he smirked. Tried to, any road. 

She groaned in response, staring at the white popcorn ceiling. “God, I hope not. I should just tell them to scoop all that out, and… this is definitely not a conversation you and I are ever going to have again, because frankly,” she looked back at him with trepidation. “It’s morbid, intimate, and way with the weird. I blame the drugs; there’s a lot more here than when Charlotte- don’t tell the girls about… ya know.” He nodded, miming zipping his lips. “And I meant Tara. You’ve been a better brother to her than that awful Donald ever was. You know he used to-?”

“Beat her. Locked her in a closet for a whole night. Amongst other things,” Spike ground out, jaw set. “I swear, if I didn’t have my soul when I was chip-less…” He sighed, closing his eyes as he no doubt counted down from ten. “She’s brilliant, Tara.” He opened his eyes to look at her more calmly. “Buffy and I were stuck in a loop together. But Tara- she and Giles negotiated their way into our… brains or memories or what have you, and she unlocked the door. If she hadn’t… Well, she’s family.” He chuckled wryly, lowering the lights above her as she yawned again. “Glad to be a part of a family with such complex, wonderful women. Makes a man feel like he can do anything.”

She hummed, motioning him to come closer. Pressing a careful kiss to his cheek, she felt herself start to slip under the veil of sleep. “I’m glad you saved my life, William. Now go live yours. Or I’ll kick you ass.”

He sniffed, pressing a careful kiss to her forehead, on the silk scarf to avoid hurting her. “I will, mum. Get some rest.” 

Chapter 70

Summary:

Some loose ends get tied up w Buffy and Lottie- and our heroes get a checkup.

Chapter Text

Saturday, March 15th, 2003 - Part H

 

Willow’s recurring nightmare had been real. Buffy didn’t know how to cope with that knowledge, didn’t know what to do or say to the redhead right now, anyways. The vision had seen her mother engulfed in flames, and Joyce had been. Her mother was ejected from the Hellmouth, her entire body not only burnt on the outside, but had suffered every injury the four of them had, too. And still, she lived. God, how totally messed up did their lives have to be for that to happen? It was a load of awful with a side of badness salad. 

“Buffy?”

She turned with a raised brow, ready to snap back that she was sure she was fine, when she remembered where she was. “Charlotte. Is everything okay?”

Charlotte’s laugh was a bit strangled, though she coughed to try and ease it a smidge. “Uh, in a manner of speaking, you know, in that ‘we just averted another apocalypse’ way,” she answered dryly. “Even though I’ve only been part of stopping the one. But, erm, I was wondering if you’d be alright to chat. Perhaps somewhere private?”

Nodding, she stood to follow the girl. It would still be a while before the ER nurse called the sixteen year old. While Buffy’s slayer healing had given her the power boost she’d needed, poor Lottie’s lungs were in need of some TLC. And x-rays. And a buttload of IV drugs, probably.  

They found a little bench down an unassuming hallway between the ER waiting room and the imaging department, sitting on the surprisingly plush leather covered seat. “What’s up?”

“When we joined hands… on the Hellmouth,” she answered quietly, ensuring she was out of earshot from the general public, as she spoke to the General of Slayerkind. “What do you remember?”

Buffy paused, not sure if she wanted to repeat what she’d seen. The heinous things Spike had done, watching his father die before his very eyes, the assault Anne Pratt had done once the demon took over. But also seeing Charlotte get sicker and sicker, how she slipped away in the night, how he’d been the one to find her cold, unblinking eyes staring at the ceiling haunted her. She didn’t want to repeat any of it to the girl. “You mean did I see some of your memories?” Lottie nodded briskly. “Charlotte, what I saw…” the girl who adored her big brother, the one who had been locked in the mental ward of a children’s hospital, who had been terrified out of her mind more days than not in Los Angeles and Sunnydale than she’d ever been elsewhere. The way the ‘Smith family’ treated her, God! It made her blood boil. “I don’t think I’m ready to tell you all I saw, not yet at least.”

“This has more to do with what I saw, actually.”

“Oh?” Buffy tilted her head, unsure if she wanted to know. But hey, she was curious. “What uh… w- what in particular did you want to… you know, talk about?” Please don’t be a sex thing. PLEASE don’t be one of the sex things! 

Charlotte squared her shoulders, sitting straighter. Sitting taller. “I saw the Slayer line.”

“Dawn, she- I thought she was joking, but you really did, didn’t you?”

“Yes. How they were Called, how they… how they died.”

“Oh, Charlotte.” She’d seen- oh, no. “You know that’s not who he is anymore, right? He hasn’t been that way for a while. Even before he got his soul, cuz-”

“Of the chip. I know,” she reassured her brother’s sweetheart with a gentle hand. It never ceased to floor the older gal just how gentle this little Pratt could be. And how bold in her shenanigans with Dawn. “And his love of you, as well. And while I am relieved to know you had been aware of his previous… dealings with those slayers, that’s not what I wish to tell you.”

Huh. That was… she didn’t know what on earth Charlotte could be thinking of then. Was it about Sineya’s own death? Buffy had only seen the making of the first Slayer, not her death. “Oh? Okay. Well, you know about him killing those two slayers, and I know about that, and we all know about Sineya, or at least, mostly about her, so…?”

But she wasn’t looking the Slayer Genera in the eye. Couldn’t look her in the eye. She wanted to, felt cowardly for not doing it, but she needed to say what she needed to before she lost her nerve. “Are you aware of the Mohra demon?”

“Mohra… no, don’t think so.”

“Green, humanoid, red jewel betwixt the eyes, hooded cloak?”

“Oh. I think… yeah, maybe. I remember in L.A., after thanksgiving a few years back, Angel… Why are you asking? You saw our fight, didn’t you? The shouting match in his office.”

Charlotte grimaced. Ripping the bandaid off was not all the fun it was advertised as. “No. Not… exactly.” She sighed, shaking her head. “What do you remember of the incident?”

Buffy chewed her lip, shrugging uncomfortably. Hey, you try sharing your memories with your boyfriend’s little sister, and have a conversation about your ex - whom you’ve known hadn’t exactly been a gentleman in any of their memories - and stay level headed! “I dunno. Not much, really. I showed up, angry at him, the green demon guy showed up seconds later, Angel barely blinked, killed the thing, yelled at me. I yelled back, and next thing I know I’m on a bus back to Sunnydale, itching to slay a demon of my own. Why? What did you see?” 

“Oh, bollocks,” she sighed under her breath, before continuing at normal volume. “That’s what I was worried about. Why couldn’t the Powers That Be have just shown you what they made me see? Hmm?” She gestured above her, as if she could scream loud enough to the heavens to get them to understand her pain. “But, there was more that happened that day,” she sighed. “I suspected as much when I met with Angel back in the late fall. But…”

The teen slowly went over the memory of Buffy rushing to L.A. to give her ex a piece of her mind, shifting Buffy’s world on it’s axis as she continued with a version of the past that couldn’t have happened. Could it? Angel had been human?! And they’d made love - multiple times according to the dream version of her begging him, which was its own level of embarrassment hell - and he’d given it up. ‘For her?’ He could finally be with her and he… chose not to? Had chosen not to. Begged the Powers - begged! - to turn back the clock. He’d rather kept his super powers than be with her. Be human and with her. But as she went through the story, the little details that never made sense started to fall into place. 

She’d once thought Angel would be her future, like she was this unfinished person who would be ready for him one day. Maybe… like cookie dough. She needed the right time to bake before letting him into her heart again. But she had stopped with that metaphor the second she’d told Spike she loved him for the first time. No one just finished growing as a person, not really. Instead of cookie dough, she was a sourdough starter. As long as she was fed, she’d continue growing. And Spike was the same, too. At least, he had grown to be, once he started dating her. And they grew together, around one another, making bread together. 

Angel was the first love, but had she really ever known him? He wasn’t cookies, or dough, or starter. He was like… a stone. The water dripping on him had changed him, shaped him into a different man, but that took way too much time. Waiting on him was like waiting for fresh baked bread at the town dump. It just wasn’t going to happen. Some pasts deserved to stay there, and after everything she saw William James ‘Spike’ Pratt go through at the hands of her former beau, she knew she didn’t want a damned thing to do with the vampire ever again. 

“An- and he asked the Oracles to… well, turn back the clock, if possible,” Lottie continued, nearing the end of the tale. “They…. See, they allowed him to keep the memories.” She watched in growing unsteadiness as their leader’s eyebrows jumped up into her hairline, hiding behind whatever was left of her fringe. “He killed the demon the second it crashed into the office with that clock, and then th- the yelling.”

“But,” she slowly felt the words in her mouth, as she wrapped her brain around the startling new realisation. “He did all that because he- cuz he didn’t want to be human… again. Cuz he- I wasn’t enough, was I?”

The other blonde shook her head. “I genuinely don’t know, Buffy. But I highly doubt it. He sounded… it almost sounded like he was in- well, in pain. Perhaps physically from the fight with the Mohra, but emotionally as well. As if he knew that he wasn’t enough for you, not the other way around.” Which is true, the girl thought. You’re far too good for a pillock like him. Hell, for my own lout of a brother. 

“That’s total bullshit,” the woman exclaimed, startling the younger lady with her curse. Buffy wasn’t a woman to toss them around, after all. But maybe some exceptions had to be made, especially after what they’d collectively just survived through. “I would’ve done anything for him. I had, you know. Once.”

Charlotte nodded, hand gently touching her own neck. “I know. I felt it.”

Oh, God. She couldn’t mean- “You- you did?”

She nodded. “Some… most of the memories, they were like echoes. I could see and hear, but that’s all. I couldn’t move, or yell, or physically do anything to change them. Just an audience of one. But some… some I could touch, or stranger still, I was reliving them… as you.”

Oh, no. Oh, God. “The bite… you felt him feed on you like he did on me?” Horrified barely scratched the surface of her tone. For this girl to have faced that…. 

“Y- yes. An- and to give him such a gift?” She couldn’t stop the tears now, Buffy wrapping her arm around the teenager reassuringly. To ground them both in the present, where no one was going to bite either girl. “To- to save his life and he just… leaves?!”

“I know. It was- you know we both made choices that-” she stopped herself, feeling like the world was turning in the wrong direction, spinning them off course. Excuses were just that: excuses. The reality of the here and now was too glaringly obvious to avoid. She almost died, and he still left. He made the decisions time and time again in their relationship, no matter what happened. Now, he was nothing but a big ole stranger. “That don’t really matter now.”

“Of course they do!” She wriggled away, sniffling. “He chose to make a mockery of the gifts you’d given him. He lived in a mansion, because an apartment wasn’t enough. You gave him your… and he never apologised for her fallout after, because he treated you as not mature enough.” And yes, she was aware of the rambling nature of her speech, but she didn’t care. She had the sneaking suspicion that no one had said these words aloud to their Slayer before, and it  needed saying. “Yet you were magically mature enough for him to justify taking the gift you’d given him. He nearly took your life, and it wasn’t enough. He had the chance to be with you, but the second he realised that you’d be stronger than him, that he’d be no longer able to rely on his strength to protect you, provide for you, he decided that vulnerability wasn’t enough either.” Charlotte looked more gutted than Buffy felt in that moment, but she dared not interrupt the girl’s speech. Miss Pratt needed it as much as Miss Summers did in that hospital. “He snubbed you, time and time again, and- and- it- it just…. I- I look up to you, quite a bit.”

Offering the blinking girl a tissue, she replied, “Soon, I’ll be looking up to you, with how fast you’re growing.” She knew her face was pained, but lightening up the mood was the only thing she could do in that moment. It was a lot, reliving it all. But hearing this? Oh, boy. It was- WOOF! 

Too bad Charlotte wasn’t up for lighter moods. “How very droll, but let’s digress. I look up to you, and I felt it my duty to tell you.” Dabbing at the corners of her eyes with the tissue, she tried to pull a hold of herself. “I may not be a slayer, but I still wish to learn under your tutelage if possible. And you- well, you’re my family, aren’t you?”

Oh, God. She had wanted to hear Lottie say that for months. It was such a bittersweet time to hear it now, but she didn’t care. Nodding, she croaked, “of course you are.”

“Then family reminds us when we are acting a fool. And you are not the fool for loving him, despite his love being a mockery-  the very definition of the word. ‘Love is patient, love is kind’,” Charlotte began to recite the poem from heart. “There is one line of that which I favour most. ‘It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres.’ Love without trust is lust. Life without hope is meaningless. Protecting whom we love is important, but only if they wish to protect us back. And Angel could never truly love anyone the way they deserve, because he had no patience with hope. He could not persevere a lifetime with you, unless he had his vampire parts with it. It feels selfish, to me. How someone cannot be patient and kind with the one they love. How they could not want their love to be the best version of themselves they could be. How they could… how they could leave, without at least making an attempt to make it work. As if everything boiled down to ultimatums no one could fulfil. He’s a selfish excuse of a man.”

Buffy was quiet for a second, thoughts ruminating in her head a million miles a minute. Dawn had said something to that effect before. It had been about Riley, but the parallels were there. And it was a tough pill to swallow. “I see.”

“Do- do you wish me away?”

“Huh?” Snapped out of her reverie, she saw how downtrodden her messenger was. As if she’d shoot the kid for telling her that she was worth more than what her exes had bothered giving her. “No, Charlotte! I’m… I'm glad you told me, I’m just… all processy here, is all.”

“There is another quote I favour, that our history teacher - at the former Sunnydale High - had on the wall in their classroom. Baruch said ‘Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.’ And personally, I think you are enough,” she leaned her head against the woman’s shoulder. “You are who you are, and I think who and what you are, what you represent, it’s the stuff of legends. You,” she lifted her watery smile up, hoping she had the strength to say all she needed to. “Your strength made me feel… so out of place, before. But Dawn, she showed me how strength isn’t just physical. And you, Buffy Summers, have shown me that sometimes, vulnerability is the biggest strength out there.”

Oh, God. The girl finally did it, didn’t she? She was totally gonna make the Slayer General openly sob in the hospital, just fifteen feet from the ER waiting room, wasn’t she? “Is that right?”

“Yes. Because being vulnerable… It's frightening. And the other girls were so scared, and everyone was going after one another’s throats, but you defused us like we were a bomb. You said that you knew you’d probably die in the battle, but you were ready for that possibility. That so long as you went down fighting, it- it would be okay,” her tears came down hot and heavy now. “And I couldn’t- Buffy, I could not go on if you hadn’t woken up. Thank the heavens that Dawn was awake when she was, because if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able t- to have- after the- it was horrible!” 

Buffy held her closely, letting the girl sob against her. She knew that if  Dawn or Spike showed up now, Lottie wouldn’t finish what she wanted to say, so she let the girl cry as much as she needed to. Heck, the Slayer General was totally gonna weep like a baby about what she’d seen herself later. “Charlotte,” she slowly started, once the sobbing moved to softer sniffs. “If I had been gone, I’d need you to move on, you know that, right? To keep living. Keep fighting the good fight, not as a Slayer, but as a- as a woman. The fight to have a good life. The single hardest thing to do in this world is live in it. We wouldn’t want you to-”

“Lay on my back and let death take me? I know. But- but the strength in you, Buffy.” She sniffed, sitting upright, rubbing her eyes on her sleeves aggressively before facing her hero squarely. “You are… I see why William calls you ‘his everything’, because to be a part of the Scooby gang, it makes me feel as if everything horrible I’ve suffered through will power me to move forward. That I- I am not the sum of my memories, or my failings. That I am allowed to hope for a future- that I have a future. A good one.”

“A great one.”

“Perhaps. I must first finish my schooling, though I wonder if I could ever get into university on a chess scholarship.”

Buffy laughed, the abrupt change in conversation such a Pratt thing, it was hard not to. “Duh! We’ll find a way, you know that. You’re family, Charlotte. You’re going to have a great life from here on out. I know promising isn’t my specialty-”

“You kept your word.”

“Told you nothing bad would happen to you, and now,” she gestured emphatically around them, unsure of what to exactly say. “Hellmouth go boom. And you and Dawn had to take care of your brother and me, and then mom, and-”

“And Angel never touched me,” the girl added. “And I didn’t die a second time,” she held her fingers up as she counted. “And no vampire has tasted my blood, no demon has devoured me or turned me. I am here. Alive, and despite the missing finger, fairly intact, thanks to your taste in jewellery,” the blonde smirked, holding up the hollow cross the Slayer had gotten her. The pills inside had kept her lungs from ejecting out of her body, Charlotte too exhausted that first morning to grab the pill bottle from her bag in the trunk. She’d kept Lottie alive, even while being comatose. “You are more than enough, Buffy. You are everything I have… I have always wanted in an older sister.”

“I… really?” Okay, waterworks were seriously on their way any second now, cuz WOAH! 

Charlotte nodded. “I hated being the little sister of a brother at times. Our neighbourhood was filled with bigger families of five and six children, and our neighbours across the way had two daughters, close to your age and Dawn’s, who… I so wished I had a sister to take me to balls and embroider with, to chat about boys to, teach me how to be a lady. And yes, William has always been a devoted brother, but he was useless to ask fashion advice from.”

Buffy snickered, refusing to hide her smile this time. “Even then?”

“Ugh! The man wore salmon neckerchiefs as a child round his collar instead of a tie! Little matchstick boy runnin’ around the house, as if he were on some grande adventure to set fire to the… although, he is mighty fond of that lighter of his,” she sighed, lost in a web of memories. The games of  make believe they’d played as children had been to cheer her up, especially when she’d taken ill. Instead of saying anything about that, however, she instead focused on a more pressing issue. “But now, I see you and Dawn as the sisters the universe decided upon for me, and I am blessed. I miss my parents, our cousins- I miss so much of the Norfolk and London of my past, but I also miss Revello Drive. I miss the sleepovers with Dawn and Kit, movie nights with the Scoobies, going shopping with you at the mall, getting milkshakes with Tara, even that four person chess board of Willow’s. Because my family is with you now. And… it means everything to me.” With shaking fingers, she cupped Buffy’s jaw with her hand - the one with all five fingers - and took a deep breath to steady herself. “I do hope my brother comes to his senses and gets a ring on your finger quickly, or else I’ll have to swat him in the rear, because I do wish to be your sister on paper, as well as in heart.”

Buffy’s laugh was strangled, high pitched and a bit choking. “I uh… you mention marriage a lot, Charlotte. You know I don’t need a ring on my finger to be his, right?”

Lottie nodded. “I know. As I know that this,” she gently pulled the chain around Buffy’s neck forward to show her the ring she had kept there. “Is not a piece of jewelry you would have taken with you into the final battle, unless you intended to give it to my brother once the dust had settled. And look,” she gestured around them. “Dust? Settled.”

Dammit! Her heart beat in tandem as she tucked the jewelry back under her shirt to keep from attracting any more attention. It wasn’t supposed to go this way! Gah! “How did you..? Dawn.”

She chuckled again, a giggle on the end reminding them both of her age. “We found the ‘Classic Love Songs’ cassette tape in the glovebox in Dessie, and she blasted track number two,” she leaned in close, whispering, “‘you are the wind beneath my wings’,” to Buffy’s utter humiliation. 

“That was the spell!”

“Mmhmm, I’m terribly sure it was,” she continued to giggle, Buffy grumbling good naturedly next to her. “What I’m saying is… Angel wasn’t enough for you, not the other way around. I hope William is enough for you.”

Buffy pressed her hand over the ring where it hung in the hollow of her breasts, pressed right up against the breastbone. Her mother now had a piece of metal fused there on her own body, but this somehow felt more permanent. “He is. He’s my… he’ll always have a place in my heart. I love him,” she looked at Lottie with watery eyes. “You know, he was about to say it, all those years ago. He took me on a date under the guise of a stakeout, and it was horrible ,” she snorted, remembering the smell of burnt popcorn like it hadn’t been nearly three years ago. “And Riley had just left, and Dawn knew she was the Key, but Glory didn’t, and I was having the worst year of my life, and I thought, ‘this absolute jagoff thinks tricking me on a date when there’s a homicidal vampire on the loose is romantic, and he thinks this- THIS is gonna fix everything wrong in my life?!’ So I told him to not say anything. And I just kinda… I went on and on about how he was right, all those months ago, how I can’t keep a man cuz I’m never enough for them, or I’m too much sometimes, and he was so offended that I’d even think of myself like that.”

The sixteen year old levelled her with a stern expression freakishly similar to her brother’s. “I feel pretty certain that a great deal of people would if you said such a thing about yourself.”

Which she matched with her own. “Yeah, maybe. But- but we were mortal enemies! To the death! But he didn’t want to die, didn’t want me to die, either. When- when he did finally- when I let him tell me he loved me, I felt… very conflicted.”

“Sure. If Kristy had tried to kill me and said that to me, I’d feel very conflicted on whether to strike her with my fist or kick her. And she only ever tried to kill other’s spirits.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not ruling Kristy out for becoming a hit woman one day herself. She’s just got that…” Buffy shuddered. “You know?”

“Oh, I think that’s less her and more her friend Mackenzie. She keeps an electric taser on her person.”

“Huh. Maybe. I’ve never seen them apart from each other so… nevermind,” she shook her head. “What I mean is, I used to dream about getting married and having babies, but when William told me he loved me, I thought ‘I don’t need babies. Maybe I just need a guy who thinks it’s enough to just be with me’, and it felt like enough. Then I actually fell in love with him and it was like… BOOM! WHOOSH! ” Using her hands, she mimed a bomb going off, the mushroom storm cloud that followed a bit off kilter. “It made sense. It didn’t before cuz master vampire + vampire slayer usually = heartache- and a couple of dead people, but…”

“He’s not Angel.”

“Nope. He’s his own man. He turned his life around. Unlife. Life?”

Giggling, the girl shook her head, shrugging. “Who knows! He’s breathing now because he must, his heart beats again, and it beats for you. It will always beat for you.”

“And you,” she nudged the girl’s shoulder with her own. “You’re his sister. You’re family. You’re stuck with us, whether you like it or not.”

Grinning, she told her heroine, “I like it. Very much.”

The Slayer grinned back. “Good. Me, too.”

“Summers, Charlotte!” The voice calling out to them startled the pair of blondes, Buffy standing abruptly to catch the nurse before their spot was taken. “Charlotte? Summers, Char-”

Waving one handed, she used the other to help her boyfriend’s sister up. “Here! Right here! Sorry, just-”

Jerking her head, the statuesque nurse gestured to the hallway. “Follow me.” 

“Did you give them your last name by mistake?” the patient whispered furtively to her chaperone.

“No. We signed you up under our insurance after what happened last time. Just go with it,” she hissed back, helping the girl along. “Coming! She’s right here. I’m- I’m her sister.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” the nurse said offhandedly, clearly on the tail end of a twelve hour shift. Either that or she was a complete bitch. Jury was still out on that. “This way.”

They followed her to a room, explaining how they were survivors of Sunnydale, and her patient had yet to see a doctor. Those magic words had the place buzzing! Woof! No matter how many times Buffy had been in a hospital with Charlotte, she never got used to the flurry of activity the girl managed to incite. Three separate doctors saw them, poor Lottie whimpering into her shoulder as they poked and prodded her, asking them more questions than they knew existed! Three X-rays and one MRI later, the younger blonde was nodding off where she sat. After the sixth ‘routine test’, the Slayer General put her foot down. 

They’d put Dawn through several of her own, had her toe stumps debrided before outfitting her with crutches, had Spike’s foot X-rayed, given him his own blood work, and left enough time for no less than six phone calls from Giles to the Hyperion before they finally gave  their Champions a clean-ish bill of health, and they were discharged. Buffy was beat in more ways than one, but she was also relieved. 

Over. It was all over. Their town was gone, but so was The First. The Bringers were gone, and the Turok-Han were dust, too. The last Guardian gave her life up, sacrificed by a frightened and jealous man who wanted power, just like the Shadow Men did. The dust both actual and figurative had settled, and there was a long road ahead of them, full of possibilities and unknowns in equal measure. She and Faith weren’t the only Slayers anymore. That would have to be something she’d have to talk to Giles about later. 

But as she waited with Charlotte and Dawn for Spike to come back from the car rental place, she looked out at the golden rays of the late afternoon sky, and felt like there were more slayers next to her. She blinked against stinging tears, wondering if Kendra ever knew of their true origins, how she would feel about it if she were still around. She knew Rona and Vi would’ve looked up to her, and Lottie would have begged to play chess with her, and Dawn would’ve asked her a million questions, and- 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Blinking to her left, she watched Dawn gaze out at the horizon further away, lost in thought herself. She seemed older, not just in age, but experience. “The first time- after Montana, on the way home, Giles and mom stopped at this little diner, and we ate burgers at sunset. It felt like… like the world was exactly how it was supposed to be, ya know? Like it was gonna have some good in it again.” 

And she agreed. The end of an apocalypse felt like relief, and pain, and exhaustion. 

And by the sounds of some rumbly tummies, hunger. “Oh, biscuits,” Lottie murmured under her breath. “Suppose we could convince William into stopping at a diner of our own? Miss Tummy-Tumpkins is all a gurgle.”

“Lottie, just say you want a burger! Geez, you sound so old when you talk all British like that!”

“Fine! Less go saddle up for some grub, pard-ner,” she bit back, with an even worse American accent than her brother had, somehow.

And just like that, the beautiful moment was all fizzled out. “Do I need to separate you two?” And a more pressing reminder pushed against her mind. “You didn’t notice anything envelope shaped behind the middle seat armrest thingy in the back of Dessie, did you?”

“Uh…. No..? We didn’t bother checking. Why?”

Crap. Maybe it was still in there. Dear God, please still be in there! “Think we can get someone to ship the car to us ASAP?”

Dawn sniffed, readjusting her crutches for the upteenth time. “I think if you bribe- I mean ask the pilot with some meringue cookies, they might stick it on that jumbo jet. She said her girlfriend put her on a sugar-free diet, like, a week ago.”

“And there’s a bakery on the way to get burgers,” Lottie added cheerfully as Spike pulled up to the curb with the rental. At their cocked eyebrows she exclaimed, “I think we’re all entitled to a little treat after stopping the end of the world, don’t you?”

And they did. They really did.

Chapter 71

Summary:

Final chapter! This was meant to be no longer than the last installment, and yet....

Buffy and Spike officially get engaged.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Saturday, March 15th, 2003 - Part I

 

Getting burgers was a hell of an affair now that her boyfriend needed to eat actual food to survive. Standing in front of the burger shack counter, the man was staring wide-eyed at the menu above for a solid five minutes before Buffy asked if he could even see the letters. Which Spike was less than pleased with hearing from her. He could read them just fine, he just- it had been so bloody long since he’d had human food, and in one day his whole world had changed from blood to burgers. How was a man to choose between fries and onion rings after a 180° change like that?!

But in the end she ordered him both, promising she’d be eating half of it anyhow, cuz she was more than happy to ‘help with cleanup’. It earned her a sour expression and a kiss, so, all in all, not bad. Charlotte even ate her entire burger without picking at it like a little sparrow, something that Dawn had noticed too by the look of things. And Dawn, gosh. The Slayer General had seen her sister put lots of food away on the regular, but this was…. Bleh! Two burgers, an order of fries, and a chocolate shake the size of her face were consumed all at once, even Spike wrinkling his nose in disgust. 

Once the girls were fed, however, they were nodding off where they sat, and the couple got them a room to crash in at the motel across the street. Once the girls passed out in their clean clothes - Tara had made sure to grab their duffles on the way out of Flagstaff, thank goodness - Buffy took to the park between the motel and the hospital with Spike’s hand in hers, feeling oddly rejuvenated. So long as Giles and Tara could keep them out of trouble for a couple of hours. 

“When we get Dessie back, you’re taking me on a trip,” she told him surely as they passed a family of black-chinned hummingbirds on their walk to a little bench nearby. And I’m getting the insurance papers out of the car, she added silently. Never thought I’d be so glad for mom’s psychic telling her to get her ducks in a row, and she told me to stash them there, but I never expected to be in St. C post world-savage either. 

“What’re you on about?”

“Dessie,” she repeated, though he didn’t look like that was clarification enough. “The DeSoto? Are you sure you didn’t hit your head? Cuz those rocks were big, and concussions don’t always seem way with the obvious at first.” 

Stopping short, she followed, watching was his expression when from confusion to just plain shock. “You… you named my car?!”

“Uh, yeah? You’re telling me you haven’t?”

He rolled his eyes. “Not bloody… Dessie. DeSoto? Real original, luv.”

Geez, for a guy who just survived a hell of a brush with death, he sure was being critical for no ding-dang reason. “What did you call her, then? Sparky? Hot Wheels? Luigi?”

“Lu- Luigi?!” He dissolved into giggles, unable to stop himself. “Wh- why-?”

“Cuz it’s Italian! Isn’t it? DeSoto sounds Italian. Wait, no, American made. Right.” Nodding once decisively, she scowled as he continued to chortle like an idiot. Ugh! Sometimes, he could really drive her up the wall. Like now. Now was way with being one of those times. “Stop laughing at me!”

“No- not at you, bl- bloody Luigi!” Gods, she made him happy. All of their possessions in that town were gone, he had no source of income, her mum was in the hospital for the foreseeable future, and he was now permanently human, which tallied up ought to have equaled to a right awful ole time. And yet here she was, making him laugh so hard he was afraid of hurling in his boots. 

And yet, there was nowhere else either of them would rather be than with one another. The last time they’d gone through the whole post apocalypse diversion, ‘let’s chill out and then do something fun’ thing, they’d been home. Now Sunnydale was gone, along with their house, their things- their life in the town on the mouth of hell had finished. But their new one together was just beginning. Her mom was right, those were just things. Sure, they’d miss their bedroom with all the photos they’d framed, the memories associated with them still burned in their minds. But they could always get a new room, in a new house, and decorate the crapola of it all with new, brighter, shinier memories. The girls would have so much fun picking out things for their own new room, and once Joyce was done with her recovery, she could get back on her feet, their family together, and happy, and-

Mom was acting kinda weird, she thought, dragging him to the bench to sit down on. She asked him- “What news, William?” 

She’d been calling him that a lot lately. He was human now, it was his human name, it made sense. He knew she called him that when she felt closest to him, but it also felt bizarre. She said it when she was close to cuming or when they had quiet moments together. But this…? It was an emotional minefield. “Wassat?” he asked back, trying to brush off her suspicions. 

Thing was, despite no longer being the only one of two slayers out there, she was still THE Slayer before all of the new ones. The OG: Original Girl chosen to be the one to slay demons, and no slayer worth her weight in stakes was dumb enough to let something this mondo go unanswered. “In the hospital with mom,” she told him seriously, still holding his warm hand in hers. “She asked if she noticed something different about us, and if we had some news we maybe wanted to share. So,” she glared poignantly at him. “What news?” 

“I, uh,” he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Aha! He was hiding something from her! “Maybe, sorta, kinda… asked your mum for something.” 

“Okay… and this… thing , you asked her for. She was asking if you got it?”

“More or less.”

“Are you gonna stop with the cryptic guy act, and just tell me what’s going on? Or am I gonna have to wait until we’re shrivelled, little greying prunes, and- oh, my god,” her eyes widened, finally realizing the thing glaring right in her face. “I… I get to grow old with you…” Awe beheld her eyes, mouth, face- all of her being. It wasn’t just that he was human now, but that she actually had a chance to make it last twenty-five. She wasn’t the only active slayer anymore; neither was Faith. It wasn’t all resting on her dainty but strong shoulders anymore. They’d changed the course of history, and the universe decided to give them a wonderful opportunity as a reward. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God!” She threw herself into his arms, and although weakened with exhaustion, he wrapped her up in the embrace with a strength he didn’t know how he still had. “I love you, God, I thought I was gonna lose you!”

“Never,” he muttered into her hair. “Would have found my way back to you. Eternally yours, remember?”

Buffy pulled away, staring at him with awe, before asking knowingly, “how’s your knee?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Your knee? Still hurts?”

“A mite. Why? Wanna find a little hidden corner in a bush, and get down to… ‘business’ ?”

She smirked a little, fondling with the chain around his neck. “I kinda… I dunno.” But he must have broadcasted something on his face, because she suddenly switched gears and shook her head. “Nothing,” she dismissed the thought, trying to stand. “Just let’s… let’s go somewhere.”

“No, no, no, no, no. Backup,” he said, keeping fast to their seats. “You asking about my knee, or about shagging?”

“Mmm, both?”

He saw her insecurities rise to the surface, and just couldn’t let it get worse. “You know, when you told me ‘this is the worst year of my life’ in that alley ‘bout two years back,” he said instead, pulling her in close. “I never expected all this crap to rain down on us-”

“None of us did.”

“But I’d do it all again.” She looked up at him with that lovelorn look he used to only see her give to other blokes. But here she was, Artemis, Athena, and Aphrodite all rolled into one, looking at him like this for almost as long as he’d wanted to ask her his question. “All of it, so long as I can be next to you.”

“Always. I want to be with you always.”

“It’s gonna make this next part easier,” he joked, yanking the ball clasp open. He pulled the chain out from behind his shirt, revealing the two rings attached. “Well,” he declared as he started to slide off the pine. “I might need some help off the ground after-”

“Don’t you dare injure yourself more, Spike.” She shook her head, touching his cheek softly, before looking down. “Oh, my God.” Kneeling. Ring. He was- he was gonna- “Oh, my God , is that…?”

“After Pidge asked about mother’s jewelry-”

“Stop!” She held his hands, looking at him in awed devotion. “It’s too precious. The way we live, I’ll- I’ll just ding it up, an- and it’ll break, an- and they’re antiques! They’re older than we are! An- and…”

“So it’s not what they represent that scares you?” She shook her head. “It’s that… Buffy, it’ll be okay. I already got Glinda to enchant them. These two aren’t going anywhere. Well, one is for Pidge. She was promised it when she was five, seems a mite rude to go back on that word now.”

“Spike…”

“Buffy, you’re the only one who ever saw me, all of me, and wanted it. Wanted me after it. All the parts, even the ones you hate.”

“Spike, please.”

“I love you. I have loved you the second you let me live when we fought in that teaching suite at the hospital.”

“That’s such a weird way to fall in love,” she complained. 

“Yeah, well. Truth be told, I only ever said that shite in the sun way back when, cuz,” he took his free hand, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Kinda jealous.”

Well, that was just a hell of an addition. “Jealous,” she parroted back, more than a little stunned. “Of Parker.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Cuz of his hair?”

“Not cuz of his bloody hair! Because- well, cuz…”

Oh, man. He couldn’t mean- “Of me? You lusted after me then?”  

“A spec,” he grinned slowly, leaning down to kiss her forehead, her stunned expression adorable. “More like… I was jealous cuz this bloke says a few deep words, and he’s got this incredible woman hooked on his every breath. And she’s giving the relationship her all, and I was… not. Ever. No one saw me as anything more than an chewtoy or humanoid sex toy. Not worthy enough to have a woman care half as much.”

“What about Harmony?”

“Just each other’s play things, pet.”

“Mmhmm,” she leaned up a little more, kissing the tip of his nose gently. “But now?”

“You’ve been the one holding the cards, you called the shots because it was a crap year for you, and this past year’s been crap for us both,” she let go of his hand to see the rings. The smaller one, she assumed, was for Charlotte. The larger one would fit Buffy’s ring finger perfectly. It was simple, just a single setting in the silver band. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen something so delicate, yet sturdy and elegant at the same time. “But I uh, I kinda figured this had to be something I had to do first, let you call the shot of a yes or a…”

She kissed his mouth, shutting him up. “Bunbury,” she kissed along his face, down his chin, up his jaw and his ear. “It’s not gonna be a no.” 

“Well thank bloody hell for that.”

“Keep going with the speech. I know you have one prepared.”

“Do you, now?” he smirked. “And why’s that?”

“Cuz I have one, too.”

He pulled back, blinking at her in confusion. “What? Wh- what do you mean?”

Behind her own shirt, she pulled a chain up, showing off another ring, a fake promise from a lifetime ago. “I kinda thought it was the only engagement ring I’d ever get,” she laughed, breathlessly. “And I- I immediately forget the rest of what I was gonna say, except that-”

“You kept it? The skull ring?”

“Yeah,” her voice cracked and she didn’t care. The sun was setting around them and he wasn’t catching fire and she loved him. He loved her and was going to sacrifice himself for her - yet again - and he wasn’t leaving, was proposing to her, and she was going to do it right freaking back. They were partners, after all. “You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had, which is so freaking sad because,” she was laughing and crying at the same time. “It shouldn’t be right that I felt more joy killing demon roaches with you than I did dancing with any one of my exes, or watching a movie, or anything I ever did with any of them. And we weren’t even dating then! Just two friends, killing the worst smelling nightmare fueling.. things, side by side, in a freaking garbage dump!”

He laughed, his own watery smile flooding his eyes. “It was really funny when you bought Xerxes that sauce at the gas station after. The worker looked right pissed!”

She laughed back, remembering the thirty year old’s grumbling words as he grabbed the mop at her hasty, albeit messy departure. “I- I almost considered sitting in your lap that night,” she admitted sheepishly. “At the bowling alley, not the dump.”

“Figured.”

“But… you changed from this horrible, arch nemesis to a reluctant ally, and then poof! You became a friend.” She stroked his cheek, looking deeply into his eyes, pouring everything she had in her to show him that she meant every word she said. “I was so scared to fall in love again, to be close to anyone after what he did to me, and there you were. Letting me lean on you when my legs weren’t strong enough to hold me up, who fell on the metaphorical sword so Dawn would be safe- God, so many times! And you never let us actually praise you for saving mom’s life-”

“It was only a ride-”

“Even before you had a soul, though! Boastful, arrogant, soulless, vampire Spike would have 100% gloated. But you didn’t.”

“Cuz I was in love with you. Even then.”

“And I was a shell of myself then. Now…” she shook her head, feeling more confident than she had when she’d attached the chain to her neck a week ago. “We’ve got a long road ahead of us, and I know we’ll always have gas in the tank if we’re together.”

“Car metaphors? You sure know the way to a bloke’s heart.”

“Bzzzt! I’m not done,” she tried for a stern expression, but she was too happy to pull a grumpy face. “I knew I was in it for the long haul when we were on that stinkin’ road trip from hell the first time, but,” she steadied herself with her eyes shut for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. “I knew I was a goner for you, that I’d never love any man as much as I did you… a little less than a year later.”

“But… the key?” He felt for his car keys, the little symbolic metal attached there that she’d given him on the beach the night she told him she loved him. “That was.. more than a year after your mum killed that beast.”

“I know. I kept trying to tell you sooner,” she huffed. “Was carrying that thing in my pocket for weeks, but we kept getting interrupted, and I needed the moment to be perfect,”

“It was perfect cuz it came from you, Buffy.”

“Just… I knew on Mother’s Day.”

“Mother’s Day. Why…?”

She grinned, looking at their hands, rings meant for the other, the promises they were going to make. “The story. The bouquet you brought mom, told us about all the different flower meanings over the past few years, and I know white carnations bring good luck to mothers, but about the woman who petitioned congress for years to make it a holiday. Cuz she…” her tears came more steadily now. “H- how she was- she grieved her own mom, and she wanted to- wanted to honour moms everywhere for the sacrifice, an- and hard work they’d done, and I just thought, ‘I’m the luckiest- lu- luckiest girl alive to have a- to have a man who sees… who sees mom like I do’ , an- and then I saw the way she hugged you an- and how you just kinda,” she shimmied her shoulders, smiling at him through the happy tears. “Melted into it and I knew then , I knew I was in love with you. All the other doubts just went poof!

“If I’d-a known that, I woulda pulled that story out on day one.”

“Shut up,” she shook her head. “It’s not like that. It was all the little things you did. Like… like you were building this… this…”

“House?”

“I was gonna say puzzle, but yeah. A house. A house of our- of our story. The bricks and the… the stuff to attach the bricks together. The Mortimer.”

“Mortar.”

“Yeah, an- and that was like… the last shingle. Our house was ready to move into.”

“You helped. You made the windows,” he offered, kissing her knuckles one by one as he spoke. “And the plumbing, and the fireplace, every good home needs a fireplace. Keeps the cold out, warms the hearts.”

“Love me a good fireplace”

“Don’t we all. And without you, there’d be no foundation. I was ready to end it when I couldn’t fight anything. And Willow, she stopped me from staking myself.”

“But that was Willow, not me.”

“Ugh , I’m not saying this right at a- okay, look. Look at this,” he motioned to the skyline around them, the waning sun casting beautiful orange light everywhere. “You did this. You saved the world again and again, and you did it without expecting a single thank you. A single dollar from that Council of Wankers, may they rest in pish.”

“Spike!”

“But you did it. You showed up in Sunnydale and you saved people again and again, and without you, do you think Willow, or Xander, or any other blasted Scooby would have survived as long as they did? Without you, Willow wouldn’t have been alive. She wouldn’t have- and then I wouldn’t have been-” he gestured between them, then the setting sun, and how his hand wasn’t catching fire. “When I said you were everything to me, I meant it. Then and now an- and for the rest of time, Buffy.”

“God, it’s so unfair how good with words you are. Cambridge has my deepest thanks.”

“But seriously, Buffy. I love you. I will always love you, will you do me the honour-”

“Yes.”

“Of tying my shoe?”

“What. You, ” she looked down, scowling as she looked back up at his stifled grin, literally stomping her foot on the ground. “You ass! You’re wearing boots! And the laces are, like, superglued or something!”

“You interrupted!”

“Ask me properly, or I’m gonna get down on one knee, and embarrass you in front of all these people.”

“Don’t interrupt me this time, then!” 

“Fine!”

“Jesus, you’re infuriating…ly perfect. Will you marry me? Will you be my wife?”

“On one condition.”

“I already said I’d cut back on the smokes and the drinking, don’t make me stop the candy. A man only has so many vices.”

“No, I was gonna say you let me choose a matching band for the actual wedding rings. I- these don’t really match.”

“Like us.”

“Yeah. But we match now .”

“Yeah.”

“Can I see the ring?”

“Is that a yes?”

She rolled her eyes, holding up the ring she had kept safe for him, taking it into the mouth of Hell itself and back again, taking his left hand and poissing to slip it on his own ring finger. “I’m literally the one proposing back to you, dummy.” Looking at his eyes, his own hand lifted the ring to her own finger. “Yes, Spike. I’ll marry you.”  

Choking out a relieved sob, he slipped it on her finger as she did in tandem, the pair embracing as soon as the metal was safe where it belonged. Together. They were alive, safe, and together. Bloody engaged, and happier than two-  “Oh, God,” Spike pulled away from her in sudden fear. “Our sisters are gonna kill us.”

Huh? “Why?”

“Cuz they’re not here!”

Buffy shook her head at his complicated expression. He could be such a dope sometimes. But he’s my dope, she thought happily, thumb rubbing over the stone on her new piece of shiny. “They took care of us after the hell- of an accident , remember.” She caught herself before she said more to the passersby, hauling him up to follow her. “They already saw the rings.”

He laughed, lighter than air as his girlfrie- his fiancée dragged him off to an new adventure. “I love you,” he whispered to her temple as he slung an arm around her back.  

“I love you, back,” she replied, hand slipping into the back pocket of his jeans. “You asked my mom for my hand in marriage, huh?” she abruptly asked as they neared the exit of the park, a plaza opening up ahead of them. 

“Know you’re a modern woman,” he explained easily. “But she’s also my friend. What’s more, she named her axe. Not thick enough to see the least dusty path to getting that ring on your finger, luv.”

Looking down at said new ring, she gazed at it’s brilliance in astonishment. “Who’s was this, by the way?”

He chuckled, fondly telling her of the ring’s origin. “My mother’s mother. Nana Victoria and PawPaw Elliot. Working class folk, they did the laundry at the bastard my da called ‘father’s’ house. That’s how mum met him, if you recall. Thing Pidge didn’t know about, was Nana noticed dad struggling with the abuse, was there when he needed a friendly shoulder to lean on, and when he needed out, she offered to let him and the nippers sleep in the back room of their shop.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” she stopped, looking at him in a peculiar fashion. “Your… your father was in a terrible situation, and your nana went, ‘know what will fix this? I know! We’ll have him move in and our daughter will marry him?’ Talk about history repeating itself.”

It took a few moments for what she said to sink into his thick head, but when it did, it was a glorious lightbulb moment on his face. “That’s not what happened! She just offered , he didn’t take it!” he argued. “Besides, father didn’t start courting mum till nearly a decade later, and she had so many suitors then. She’d become a real lady of the London scene, after her father expanded,” he shook his head. “Wasn’t like us. They pined for each other for years before they did anything, and even then, he still was raising his siblings. And-”

“And they got married, and had two kids named William and Charlotte,” she continued, hand warm in his own hot palm. It was electrifying, having all of him warm for once. She had a feeling she was gonna have a much shorter road to her orgasms from now on. “Who ended up in Sunnydale over a century later, just in time to help save the world.”

“Yeah,” he croaked, overcome with emotions he wasn’t expecting to have. Her way of seeing the good in damn near everything was a balm to his soul. “Suppose they did.”

After another twelve steps, she abruptly said, “I thought you told Lottie that all the jewelry was gone…?”

“Was,” he told her with a soft, complicated smile. “Your mates are witches, yeah?”

“Wha-? You, what? Had them recreate it and the tiny one…?” No. his face was totally broadcasting something else. Something more. “Don’t tell me this is the actual- do I even wanna know?”

“Pawn shop in town had them in the window,” he chuckled, kissing her hand over the ring. “Willow found them on one of her sweeps in town. Took it as a sign.” 

Pulling it off, she looked at the inscription inside, and her mouth popped open. Elliot Thompson had clearly loved Victoria very much, taking the extra step to make it one of a kind- despite having little cash to his name. The romantic had their initials carved in there, two hearts intertwined between them. Slowly turning it, she laughed a little wetly as she saw a newer engraving, clearly magicked up by her now recovering BFF, by her own romantic as hell boyfriend’s request. BAS and WJSP were etched there forever, a tiny stake between them. “You sap,” she said fondly, wiping the happy tears away as she slipped the engagement ring back in its place on her finger, holding his face in her hands reverently.  “Victoria and Elliot, how long were they married for?”

He laughed, nudging her mouth into a kiss before sayin, “They married when they were fifteen and sixteen, and died peacefully in their sleep, right in their marriage bed at the ripe old age of 95 and 96.”

“Holy shit!” She looked at the ring and it felt so much heavier than a moment before. “Eighty years?!”

“The only things they ever fought about were who cheated at which card game, who hogged the covers most,” he poked her side, knowing damn well that neither of them ever drifted from one another in their sleep far enough to steal any covers. “What wallpaper to use in the grandkids' nurseries, and the royal family. Pawpaw hated them, Nana loved the drama.”

“She would have loved soap operas.”

He huffed a laugh, nodding enthusiastically. “Absolutely.”

Feeling overwhelmed, she asked, “They were happy?”

“They had thirteen children, luv. They were a little too happy.”

Buffy snorted, laughing at the implications as they finished their journey across the parking lot. The tarmac was cool from the March breeze, unlike the love in their hearts, the Slayer and her lover headed straight for the bakery their sisters had mentioned earlier. “Geez, someone should’ve invented the pill sooner.”

Which he only took offense to in a fraction of what he might’ve done pre-Buffy. “Hey! I’ll have you know my mum was number twelve, thank you very much!”

“Well then, maybe we should get married on the twelfth of something.”

“No, on the fifteenth.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“It’s the day you told me you loved me for the first time. It’s also today’s date.”

She stopped them, turning to peer into the newspaper in the coin operated box next to them, the date glaring up from the lone paper that hadn’t sold. “Woah. How did I forget what day it was?! I didn’t even realise it was the fifteenth!”

“Comas will do that to ya.”

“Geez. Well, fine.” In all honesty, she didn’t care what day they tied the knot on, so long as they were together. Heck, she’d marry him in the hospital’s chapel the first chance her mom gave them, so long as she got to pick the right dress. Turning back to her man, she took his hand again, continuing on with their walk. “Then we have to have twelve of something now.”

Was he hearing her right? He was human now; could have lost his ability to hear good and proper during that battle. “Twelve… you’re not serious.”

“Well, yeah. For... luck or something.”

“Goldilocks…”

“No, I’m serious. I know your.. history with her was- you know I saw, right?” she asked quietly. He nodded, face as sombre as hers was. “But that wasn’t her. It was the demon, and even if it wasn’t the demon, the love you had for her - the love Victoria and Elliot had when they made her, was real. So we’re really celebrating them, cuz without them, there’d be no you, and I like you a whole heck of a lot. In fact, so much so that I love you.”

God, he was the luckiest sod in the whole country. “Mmmm,” he agreed, slowly coming around to the idea. “So… twelve shots?”

“Good God , no. But…” she gestured to the bakery shop window display before them, their deal for cookies showcased in big bubble letters. “Six for you, six for me?”

“We starting a new tradition?”

“Why not?” she countered with a snort. “Our house is at the bottom of a sinkhole along with pretty much everything else we ever owned, might as well start new traditions to go along with our new lives.”

“God, I love you.”

“I love you too, William.”

“My Lady Buffy,” he said, standing straight and holding his arm out to her. “May I have the privilege of escorting you this evening?”

“Why, Lord William, I thought you’d never ask.” She smacked his ass before taking his arm. She laughed at his sputtered expression, kissing his cheek. “Come on, bunbury. Let’s get some cookies.”

“Minx,” he shook his head, but held the door open for her anyways. “Gotta bring the girls back some too. Or they’ll never shut up about it.”

“Yeah, we’ll get a dozen now, then bring back four and pretend like we didn’t-” she stopped, noticing the two teenagers in bad disguises hunched over in the corner booth. Because of course the girls would have ignored their request to sleep off the rest of the day in their motel room. Little rapscallions.She dragged him over there, staring down at their sisters pretending they didn’t exist. “You two are horrible at being undercover!”

“Nuh-uh!” Dawn argued, pulling off a familiar looking baseball cap. “We’ve been tailing you for hours and you only noticed when you came in here!”

“Also, why were you going to have seven of each of something and only leave each of us one?” Charlotte countered, taking the hood off her head, Buffy recognizing the sweater as her own. “Hardly seems fair, now does it?”

“Hours?” Buffy asked, only now noticing the cups and plates littering the table, including a half picked apart muffin that was clearly the blonde’s. “When you say hours…?”

“Excuse me? Could we have four of those triple chocolate lava cakes here please?” Dawn asked, hailing the person at the counter nearby. “Our siblings just got engaged down by the park, and we're in a celebrating kinda mood.”

The entire bakery let out a cheer, the surprisingly busy crowd of patrons and employees all clapping, the server gushing over them, telling the couple that coffee was on the house for the lovebirds. 

Once the ruckus had died down a smidge, and Buffy’s blush wasn’t quite so blush, she remembered that they were supposed to be mad at their sisters, and turned back to scold the pair. “You saw?”

“Better.” Producing a single use film camera on the table, the former Key couldn’t wipe the shit-eating grin off her face if she tried.  

Charlotte giggled. “Dawn and I might not be professionals, but there must be at least one usable photo on that film roll.”

They what?! Not only did they obviously sneak out of their room under two (normally responsible) adults’ noses, but they also had been tailing them? And gotten photographic proof of their siblings’ engagement?! 

“You guys are slow,” the brunette continued at the gaping Champions. “I mean, I’ve only got seven toes, using crutches, and Lottie and I beat you here.”

“I even had half of my tea,” the blonde added. 

“And I had an entire hot chocolate.”

“And we also had enough time to take several photos of our own.”

“Right outside this very window.”

“Including a very amusing set of poses that shall inspire your wedding night to- hey!”

Spike shoved the remaining bit of muffin off his sister's plate into her mouth, shutting her up. “You little sneak!” he chastised fondly. He knew he ought to have been miffed at their subterfuge, but he didn’t have it in him. Happiness radiated too much from him, slinging his arm around Dawn’s shoulders as he slipped into the booth next to her. 

And Buffy’s own scowl left her face, sitting next to Charlotte as she showed her future sister in law the ring that stood the test of time. And promptly covered the girl’s mouth with her hand when she suggested a wedding dress with bows. 

They were never going to have a perfect life, but they had one that was worth sticking around for. And as the Guardian stepped back from the window, slipping her hood back on, she let them have their good day together. “God knows we don’t get a lotta them,” she sighed, limping back the way she came. She had her own slayer to protect, after all. “I’m on my way, Puffin. Just needed a detour first.”

Notes:

Final instalment to be posted sometime in 2025. I have a lot of other things I'm falling behind on, but since I'm ill, I figured I ought to post the rest of this now that I have time. Happy New Year!

Notes:

A lot of this fic will lean towards a lot of Dawn's perspective, but I'm not a monster in making underage sex scenes, so no worry there. And yes, Gemini will be safe from demons. Mostly.

Series this work belongs to: