#Betje Big | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whatdoyouthinkmyjobis · 6 years ago

Text

Hunters on the Hellmouth

masterlist

first chapter

previous chapter

TW: Inspired by events in BTVS 7.16 “Storyteller” and BTVS 7.22 “Chosen.” Discussions of miscarriage and abortion. Here’s a cheat sheet for keeping track of the Potentials.

Chapter 41: The Witch

DAY 1

Giles had seen Buffy’s heart break many times, but when Dean disappeared mid-kiss, Giles knew this time she might break in two.

Go to her. Go to her. Despite the urging of his heart, Giles did not break from the crowd gathered on Buffy’s front stoop. Shame froze him. He had been afraid to chase her when she had withdrawn weeks ago, apparently burdened by her secret pregnancy. Afraid to ask. And when the whole house had turned their backs on her, he’d gone along with them.

There Buffy stood -- barely a day post-demon possession -- suddenly alone.

Go to her. Go to her.

Dawn brushed past Giles and the Potentials to hold her sister’s hand and whisper in her ear.

Buffy, dry-eyed with her face set firm, turned to them and said, “Let’s hit the books. We need to focus on Caleb.”

“Excuse me?” asked Dani. “Dean was in charge, and now he’s gone. We should hold a vote.”

“No need,” said Giles, enjoying the flutter of rage across the girl’s face. “Buffy’s in charge.”

“I didn’t hear Dean say that,” she retorted.

“He didn't have to,” said Dawn with her chin held high.

“Buffy’s in charge,” repeated Betje as other voices joined the chorus.

Giles turned back into the house with a knot of Potentials in his wake. He had no idea what to do about Caleb or even if he was still alive after the fire, but Buffy needed focus. He was halfway up the stairs to grab research materials when he came barrelling back, nearly running Spike over.

“Oi! Watch it. Don’t damage the goods,” Spike said, rubbing his chest suggestively.

“It’s you! You’re the key!” Giles said, eagerly.

“Key? ‘Aven’t ‘eard that in a while.”

Ideas and memories flashed in Giles’ head faster than he could capture them. The First -- Lucifer -- had been chasing them for months because the first creature it had met in this world was Spike. But why did an archangel care about what a vampire thought was important? “The First spent weeks with you. What did it want?”

A twinge around Spike’s eyes betrayed his feelings about that time. “Information. Basic Sunnydale Who’s Who and What’s What.”

“But did it try to get in you? Read your mind or possess you?” Gabriel and Castiel had traveled through dimensions in their vessels; Lucifer had not.

“Night I ran into it ‘twas just a light, but it shot through me, jumped out looking like ‘er,” he said, pointing at Buffy as she entered the house.

“Got an idea?” Buffy asked. She still held her sister’s hand while Xander and Anya flanked her.

“Vessels,” said Giles. “It’s literally been staring us in the face this entire time. Lucifer needs a vessel. He wants Sam. He tried Astrid. There are very few options here for demons, let alone an archangel.”

“So he tried to use Spike,” she said with a quiet horror.

“But Spike didn’t give his permission--”

“--so Lucifer was ejected.”

“I ‘ad an angel in me?!” Spike curled his lip in disgust. “Now I need to shower.”

The idea seized Giles, his voice loud as he paced in the foyer. “What if, Lucifer found another vessel? Inferior, but enough to give him some form. Not a vampire because they are already possessed by demons, and obviously not the Slayer.”

“A witch!” Xander exclaimed with a giant smile. “They’re the only other group that can be possessed!”

Dawn raised an eyebrow at him. “You’d think you’d be less excited with your best friend being a witch and all.”

“Not possessable!” he cheered, pointing at himself with his thumbs. “For once, the Zeppo has the superpower!”

“Maybe that’s why he didn’t die,” Buffy muttered.

“What?”

“I, um, I got to Caleb at the winery,” she explained, the tiredness settling into her eyes. “Shoved my sword in and did not take home a prize.”

“I had the same reaction when you stabbed me,” Anya stated proudly, “and that was after Sam shot me in the head.”

“You two,” said Giles pointing at Buffy and Spike, “tell me everything about your interactions with Lucifer and Caleb. We’ll go back through everything again. If we want to kill Caleb, we need to cut off the power source.”

Barely half and hour back in her house without Dean, and between the walls, the air, and the constant jostling of bodies, Buffy was going to explode. “I’m going to check on Will and our new guests. Dawn, Anya, see if the girls need anything, and I’ll do a supply run.”

“You mean ‘we,’ oh carless one,” said Xander, happily closing his book.

“You, me, and vampire-infested buildings.” She flashed a lucky us grin. Just like old times. “Grab a couple of the better fighters to go with us. ”

Upstairs, she cracked open Willow’s door to find her still sleeping off her possession by Hecate. Buffy sneaked inside, hoping to find a few of Tara’s clothes for Ellen.

Willow stirred and muttered, “Sam?”

Crouching by the bed, Buffy brushed her friend’s hair from her eyes. “Just me.”

“Where’s Sam?” Her voice was soft and small. Tender, sleepy Will without a hint of terrifying goddess.

Buffy smiled tightly. “He came down after you fell asleep.” Willow needed to rest; she would break the news about the Winchesters later.

Jo was considering changing into a skirt when her mother, wrapped in a towel, ducked into the bedroom. “I don’t think anything in here will fit you, Mom.” Jo pointed at the flood-high hem of the jeans she’d put on.

Ellen smiled, a far away look in her eye. “Not sure my skin could handle clothes right now anyway.”

“Aren’t you cold?” Jo had turned the water up as hot as she could, but it still felt icy. The flannel she’d found barely helped.

Ellen nodded and sat on the bed. “Everything just kinda feels… sharp. Hard.”

Jo sat beside her. She knew exactly what her mother meant. Only a little noise from downstairs breached the quiet bedroom, but Jo had felt a roar in her ears since they’d arrived. She remembered holding her own guts in with her hands, growing cold and numb as blood gushed from her body. Her brave mother had offered to set off an explosion to save the Winchesters, their only hope at killing the Devil. Jo didn’t remember the explosion. Then nothing. Only it wasn’t nothing, but she was having a bitch of a time remembering what had happened. Then suddenly they were in someone’s backyard in the blazing sun.

“I died, didn’t I?” Jo whispered.

Ellen squeezed her hand. “We both did, baby.”

Jo let the words dissipate in the air. She couldn’t think about them now. Maybe not even later. So she looked around the room, trying to figure out what sort of person it belonged to.

Brown floral wallpaper and crochet pillows gave it the feel of an older woman’s room. The tangles of cheap jewelry on the dressing table, clothes strewn across the floor, and posters -- reproductions of Waterhouse paintings -- screamed college student.

Then Jo spotted an unbelievable picture from the nightstand. Dean Winchester in sunglasses and a t-shirt, his radiant smile highlighted by the sun, stood on a boardwalk, ocean behind him, with his arms around the blonde they’d spoken to.

“Mom, what was that girl’s name again?”

“Buffy? Bitty? One of those country club names.”

“She doesn’t seem like Dean’s type,” she said, handing the picture to her mom.

Ellen beamed. “They look happy.”

Jo snickered. Dean Winchester was the handsomest, cockiest hunter she’d ever met, and she had spent years pining after him. Nothing obvious. Sneaking glances when he’d come in the bar. Calling every few months to check in on him, his husky rumble making her melt as she kept the conversation light and friendly.

Trouble was, Dean was like most hunters. Emotionally distant. Messiah complex. Can’t-get-close-to-people bullshit. Jo wanted him, but she wanted him to settle down. She wanted his big heart to find a home, to trade in the revolving door of women for one woman who knew his life and his worries.

Even though he had often checked out her ass, Dean hadn’t had the guts to make a move until the day before she died. Even then, knowing it may be her last opportunity to sleep with that beautiful man, she couldn’t bring herself to be a desperate pity fuck.

It took her dying for him to be real with her. She had no idea how long she’d been dead, but his soft, warm lips gently apologizing for her fate as he finally kissed her was practically yesterday.

“Happy? Mom, we’re talking about Dean Winchester. Didn’t you say he was trouble to the core?”

“I said he was troubled. Boy ain’t had an easy life.” Ellen pushed her damp hair back and squinted at her daughter. “I also said he wasn’t for you.”

Ellen wrapped her arm around her daughter, combing her hair with her fingers. It felt familiar and surreal at the same time, like discovering everything in your house had been painted the same shade of sickly pink.

“You okay, baby girl?”

“I will be. I don’t remember living being so exhausting.”

There was small knock at the door before Bitty/Buffy came in with an unconvincing smile on her face. She handed Ellen a green skirt. “I hope it fits. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty damn good for a dead woman,” said Ellen. “That don’t seem to phase you any.”

“Read the book and saw the movie.” The blonde scanned Jo. Her eyes lit up for a brief second when she saw the ill-fitting flannel. “Well, that’s a look. I could see if one of the taller girls has pants you could wear, but pickin’s are slim. Probably best we head to the mall. You can join us if you feel up to fighting.”

Jo did feel like fighting. Something in her felt caged and angry, but she didn’t know why. Although she doubted patrons at a crowded mall would appreciate her need to punch something. “Pants would be great, but cash is not so great.”

“Oh, oh yeah. Quick recap, (because my sister has this whole ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ speech, and I don’t want to step on her thing): Welcome to Sunnydale, California. This town sits on a Hellmouth, which I guess you call a Devil’s Gate. Lucifer and his minions have driven out the entire town save for a few people on my team. Anyone else who stayed has been turned into a vampire.” She breezed through all of this lightly, as if it was a rundown of what she’d done over the summer.

“So we’re less about the shopping and more about the pillaging supplies from a vampire-infested abandoned mall. Which is where the do-you-feel-like fighting thing comes in. Bobby Singer is downstairs if you have more questions. Let me know in an hour if you want to go.”

Bitty/Buffy stopped her hasty exit when Jo asked, “Where are Dean and Sam? Things are kinda fuzzy, but I swear I saw them.”

“They had to go,” the blonde said without looking back.

Spike was confused. He hated being confused. The Winchesters (and the angels) were gone, caught a feathery red eye to destiny. He’d seen it happen.

But who were the new people?

Granted, he was used to new faces showing up out of the blue, but Potentials were not generally grizzled long-haul truckers. The man was mostly interested in the books and Giles, but he still gave Spike that sleeps-with-a-gun feel that Dean had. By the time Buffy came downstairs with two women who were probably and certainly not Potentials, he was ready for some answers.

Abandoning Giles and his endless questions, Spike followed the three women, Xander, and some Potentials outside. “Where we going?”

Buffy turned to look at him. Suddenly, he was reminded what it felt like to have your heart thrill so much, it forgets its beat. Only a day before, she’d appeared as a demon and beaten him soft. Now, she was practically radiating light.

“You up for some shopping?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Could do with some new boots.”

“So could some of the girls. Plus, Jo and Ellen are going to need some clothes.”

Spike nodded at the mysterious Jo and Ellen. “I’ll drive.” He held up the Impala keys he’d nabbed from the key tray.

Although Spike longed to drive Dean’s Impala since first laying eyes on it, he’d mostly picked up the keys as a gag. Show Buffy the keys. See what she did.

A disproportionate panic swept over her face. Eyes wide, she shook her head in tight nos.

She doesn’t think he’s coming back.

Before Buffy could protest and before Spike could toss her the keys, Xander butted in. “Drive what?”

Buffy crossed her arms. “He thinks he’s driving Dean’s car.”

“Funny,” said the blonde -- Jo or Ellen? “You’re not what I would have expected Dean’s best friend to look like. I mean, he barely let’s Sam drive that thing.”

The stranger scratched at her arm like the very air bothered her and squinted at the sun with disapproval. She had a nervous, trapped energy about her. It felt familiar to Spike.

Xander laughed. “Dean and Spike get along like oil and water if oil and water were trying to murder each other.”

“Yet you’re the one with a Winchester wallop.” Spike pointed at the purple bruise on Xander’s jaw.

“I can fit four.” Xander slinked away, tail between his legs.

Having no desire to stress Buffy out, Spike tossed her the keys. “Just ‘aving a laugh, pet.”

Buffy tenderly held the keys for a heartbeat before handing them to the older woman. “Ellen? We just need to follow the other cars.”

“Sure, honey. Something normal sounds pretty good right now.”

The four of them silently piled into the Impala -- Ellen and Buffy in the front. Jo shooting Spike curious side-eye across the expanse of the backseat. It was mid-April, yet Ellen cranked up the heat.

After a few turns, Buffy cracked her window. “It fades after a while. The cold.”

Jo peeled her dark eyes off of Spike. “What are you talking about.”

“It was warm, wasn’t it?” Buffy sounded far away. “It was warm and quiet. Now everything feels cold and loud and painfully bright. I won’t motivational poster you and say it gets better, but the intensity fades.”

“How do you know?” Jo asked.

“It’s been two years for me,” Buffy replied. “More for Spike.”

Recently resurrected then? Seeing Jo’s twitching discomfort in the daylight had thrown him. Since they knew the Winchesters, they must have been resurrected and brought here by the angels. The trucker-looking fellow was probably the same story. Sam and Dean’s parents? They had never mentioned a sister; although they’d dropped the news of another brother like a bomb only a couple days before.

Jo’s body loosened a bit, as if the intense fight or flight warring in her brain had finally settled on sitting. She looked out the window on the abandoned town. A few buildings here and there had been damaged by vampires, who were no doubt nesting inside during the day, but most were simply abandoned. “A lot of people die here?”

“Part of the human condition,” Spike said. “Only, sometimes it doesn’t take.”

They pulled up to the mall. Ellen, examining the smashed glass doors, said, “Mind if I just play getaway driver? This skirt ain’t exactly made for kickin’ ass.”

Buffy shrugged. “There’s a learning curve, but sure. We won’t be long.”

Buffy issued orders to the small band of Potentials who’d arrived in the two other cars. “There are probably dozens of vampires hiding in there, but lucky for us most of them are asleep. So stay quiet and don’t wander off. We’re in and out. Remember,” she said, handing a stake to Jo, “anyone who’s not us gets a stake through the heart.”

With a small grin, Jo twirled the stake in her fingers. “A stake? Next you’re going to tell me they’re repelled by garlic and crosses.”

“They are,” said one of the Potentials, eagerly.

“I just feel extra stabby today, though,” said Buffy.

“I can get behind that,” Jo muttered.

Inside, there was a shoe store immediately to their right. Buffy pointed at Xander and his carload to break off while she led Jo, Spike and the rest to The Gap.

With no concern for style or sizes, everyone began to shove clothes into their bags. Jo was pulling jeans from the shelf when a man walked out of the dressing room.

“Want to try something on?” he asked with a hungry smile.

Buffy lept between them. One, two kicks in the face. Suddenly, he was snarling and yellow-eyed. Buffy hooked his head with her heel, yanking him to the ground. She plunged the stake into his heart.

Jo seemed most surprised when the vampire turned to dust.

“Makes clean up easy, doesn’t it?” Spike whispered in Jo’s ear. “Think we got time to hit up the food court?”

DAY 2

Dean rolled over, seeking out Buffy’s warmth, and curled his body around hers. His morning hardness grew firmer as he pressed against her backside. Barely awake, he nibbled her neck, his fingers stumbling to find a way under her pajamas.

Buffy sighed, “We don’t have time, baby.”

“I miss touching you.”

“You don't want to be late for our big day.”

Everyone in the Winchesters’ apartment was up just before sunrise. Buffy could feel the reason for her sleeplessness flipping in her stomach and pounding behind her eyes. With barely a word between them, the group stumbled to Dean’s Impala and drove back to the Summers’ house.

Willow sat on the back porch with a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. Dean’s family and Dawn headed inside while Buffy grabbed a chair by her friend.

“Here to rouse the troops? We’re fresh outta bugles.”

“Nah. Let ‘em sleep.” Buffy had pushed them to the breaking point the last time they attacked Caleb, and they still failed. A few more hours of sleep wouldn’t be the deciding factor next time.

“Feeling better, Will?”

“You mean, do I not feel like I’m made of lightning, or am I okay with this being the vessel for the goddess of witchcraft thing?”

“The former, the latter will be...latter.”

“Just Willow here. Singular and non-floaty.” She gulped the last of her coffee and stared at the bottom of the cup, divining nothing. “I think that happened before. The vessel gig.”

The only time Buffy had seen anything close to that was when black-eyed, veiny, dark Willow tried to destroy the world after Tara’s death. She hoped that wasn’t one of Hecate’s faces.

“Remember the night Dawn was attacked in the house, and Lucifer came to me dressed up as Tara?”

Buffy nodded.

“I blacked out. Whited out? The last thing I remember was this growing light. Then I woke up in a burned circle of grass. I had no idea what happened, but I think since Lucifer was trying to get me to kill myself, Hecate came to my rescue.”

“Maybe that’s why he targeted you?”

Willow’s doe-eyes were heavy with thought. “Maybe. I’m not sure how I feel about housing something the Devil is scared of. That’s not usually the plot in a rom com or plucky musical.”

With a sleeping goddess in her and her boyfriend capable of hosting an archangel, this was the only topic that could direct Buffy away from her concern for Dean. “Maybe don’t think of it as being taken over. What if Hecate is like Cinderella, and you’re her slipper?”

“No one wants to grow up to be the shoe in that story.”

Buffy shrugged. “More terrible metaphors are in the works. They’re my favorite past time as of yesterday.”

Willow eyed her with a frown. “You miss him?”

Snuggled in his t-shirt in his bed, she’d lain awake reminding herself Dean was the best hunter alive. Alive. The few moments she managed to sleep, she had dreamed of his fingers in her hair, his breath tickling her skin. “Of course!”

“‘Cause you guys were kinda on the outs for a while, then one possession and you’re back to being joined at the hip.”

Buffy picked at some flaking paint on her chair, and mulled over how much she was willing to expose. Everyone save Giles was probably just as confused, but her pain wasn’t a balm to soothe a itch of curiosity.

“I was going through something, and I didn’t know how to talk with him about it.”

“You know who is always up for a talk? Your neighborhood Willow, located conveniently down the hall. We’ve been through a ton of stuff, Buffy. I don’t understand why you didn’t think you could talk to me.”

Willow liked Buffy’s relationship with Angel when it was a crush, but had turned against it and her once it became deadly serious. Her friend didn’t understand how being alive again was a curse and how that despair drove her to Spike. How could she expect Willow, in the midst of both mourning and sorting out her sexuality, to carry any of the pregnancy weight?

“I don’t think we fixed us,” Buffy said.

“What?”

“You went dark, Willow. Really dark. By the time you came back, Dean and Sam were here, and it felt easy to just move on. I did the eggshell walk for a little bit, but mostly I was wrapped up in Dean. Maybe I never got off the eggshells, because it didn’t feel right to dump this on you.”

Tears welled in Willow’s eyes. “I know we can’t go back. I can never make it up to you--”

“You don’t have to make up!” Buffy grabbed her friend’s hand and squeezed. “What we need is time. You and me. Maybe Xander, but definitely you and me. Hey, how about we do some sort of road trip, huh? The three of us? After we bag the Devil, the girls deal with things while we have much needed friend time.”

Willow nodded and offered a weak smile. “Will you ever tell me what happened?”

“Later. Now is for coffee,” Buffy said as she headed inside.

Bobby was used to research. Piles of yellowing books, strong coffee, and a sore back were his preferred methods of learning. Much better than the knock-in-the-teeth experience style. Although, Andrew and Dawn’s “Welcome to Sunnydale” basement conference has been some of the most informative hours of his life.

For instance, everyone was making their fight harder by not differentiating demons from monsters. Anya -- defensive in a way that people with secrets are -- had insisted that a creature born on earth and with no dealings with the soul or Hell was still a demon. Bobby had some theories he wanted to test before he took her word. He’d picked up from Andrew’s nervousness and constant invocation of heroic stories that the boy felt he needed to redeem himself for something. Dawn’s swings between pride and shame when talking about her sister -- Buffy the Vampire Slayer -- had tipped him off that something was wrong. Later, when Buffy gently insisted they all travel back to the Winchesters’ apartment at night instead of staying in her own, or one of the nearby houses, made it evident that everyone in that house had betrayed her.

Recently.

Bobby would get to the bottom of everything eventually, but first, he had to survive the Apocalypse. As luck would have it, he had a book for that.

While Bobby knew better than anyone that this fight turned fresh-faced kids into battle-scarred husks faster than anything, he struggled to call anyone in the Summers’ house an adult. Anyone but Giles.

Thankfully, Bobby didn’t have to venture far into the house before finding Giles. Propped over a book at the dining table, the Watcher was either completely engrossed or had fallen asleep. With only the smallest twinge of guilt for robbing Giles of his respite, Bobby tossed a book on the table, causing Giles to jump in his seat. Asleep.

“Rough night?” Ellen asked, settling into the chair beside Giles.

Giles rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Relatively calm until the screaming began around three. A couple of the girls had rather vivid nightmares.”

“Don't know why,” said Jo, picking up a book and making a face. “Lucifer is out to get them. No big deal.”

Ellen snatched the book from her hands. “Coffee, Little Miss. Get some for Bobby, too.”

For a second, Jo’s face flushed with teenage exasperation before she headed to the kitchen.

Redirecting her attention, Ellen asked, “Where are the girls now?” She glanced at the knot of girls lounging around the living room. “The screaming ones?”

“We moved them to Buffy’s room so they’d stop disturbing the others. I haven’t heard them in a while, so I assume they’re still asleep.” Giles checked his watch. “Is that really the time?”

“Sorry, Rupert. We thought we’d get right to business today.” Ellen offered an apologetic smile. “Speakin’ of, point me at those girls when they’re up. I don’t understand a lot about wherever the hell we are, but I’m sure mothering is still the same.”

A small smile broke free on Giles’ lips. “No doubt they need that. Some of these girls haven’t seen their families for six months.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “The squeaky blond boy said they’re here because they're the next vessel for Artemis, who is currently asleep inside of Buffy, and that’s why she’s a super-powered vampire-killing machine. Right?”

Giles nodded. “In short.”

Bobby pushed the slim book he’d dropped on the table toward Giles. He’d gotten it from a book dealer probably two decades before, as a ‘thank you’ for saving her son from a poltergeist. The book, Huntress Bound by The Order of the Oracle, contained a ludicrous story about how the goddess of witches captured and enslaved the goddess of the hunt. It was warped from years of propping up the nightstand in Bobby’s bedroom. “Archangel Asshole insisted I bring this.”

Giles was agape as he flipped through the pages, muttering, “Yes,” over and over. Finally, he looked up. “Bobby, are you any good at research?”

“Good at it? My research is the only thing that’s been keeping those idjits alive all this time.”

DAY 3

She straightened his tie. Dean looked even more impossibly handsome in his grey three-piece suit. His mossy green eyes sparkled in the late morning sun. Would it be bad luck to kiss him now?

“You are beautiful,” he said, skimming his hands over her waist and down her hips. The sequins on her gown clattered under his fingers.

“You don't think it's too much?”

“You're perfect.”

Holding hands, they turned to look at the ivy covered church. It was now or never. “Ready?” she asked.

Dean flashed his machete in reply.

Buffy kicked in the doors.

Buffy unlocked the apartment door. Sunnydale was only occupied by her people and vampires, but locking the door felt good.

She had been itching to patrol. Fresh air. Time alone. Violence. She didn’t need to go far from the apartment. Though they turned it off at sunset, the generator on the roof was a rumbling call that tasty humans lived inside. She’d dusted six vampires just on her street, each kill softening the anxious needles in her brain. Maybe tonight, she wouldn’t have that nightmare again.

She tiptoed into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water before bed, only to find Jo with a bottle of whiskey, pictures scattered around her on the floor.

Gently, Buffy removed the whiskey from her hands, and gave Jo a bottle of water. “Rough day?”

“I wanted to know if getting drunk felt the same.”

“Does it?”

“Feels pretty good.” Jo grinned at her. “I’m not usually a mess like this, I swear. But I come back from the dead to ‘The Pantheon Realm’ where my friend is dating ‘a slayer’ which totally sounds like something he would have killed when I was alive.” She used finger quotes around her words. “Although my life did involve cities laid to waste by Lucifer and his demons, so at least one thing’s consistent.”

“You think I’m a monster?”

“No! But you’re freaking me out! Everything is familiar, yet not familiar. Bonus! Now that I’m alive again, it looks like I’m going to die. Blaze of glory round two!”

Buffy understood. Heaven was rest. Hell was coming back to a fate-packed to-do. “You’ve been alive for three days. If you want to stay here tomorrow and chill, that’s fine. Maybe drive off into the sunset? You don’t have to help fight Lucifer.”

“Hey, I died helping fight Lucifer!” Her eyes were ablaze as she pointed at Buffy. Soon, she slumped back against a cabinet and ran her finger over the pictures of the floor. Jo chuckled and held a picture too close to Buffy’s face. “What is this?”

It was from Buffy and Dean’s vacation to San Francisco on Halloween. They’d stopped to watch a parade where a drag queen was affronted by their lack of costume. The queen’s solution was to dump a bag of hot pink glitter on Dean. In the picture, Buffy was laughing as he tried to rub the glitter on her. It was Sam’s favorite picture, and he made sure it was prominently displayed on the refrigerator.

“On Halloween, Dean and I took a little vacation--”

“That! That crazy, opposite day stuff is what I’m talking about.” Jo’s voice was loud and slurred. “‘Went on a vacation’, with Dean Fucking Winchester? He’s not the guy anyone goes on vacation with! He’s the guy who finds you crying in your beer after your boyfriend dumps you on vacation. He’s the guy who promises you one night of great sex before running away from any feelings he may have stirred up. Dean Winchester is much more interested in sluts than girlfriends.”

Dean had barely talked about Jo. Ellen yes. Bobby at length. Jo got short statements. She was “a kid” who was “in over her head.” “Somethin’ to prove.” He’d spoken of her death once.

Yet, on more than one occasion, Lucifer referred to Jo and Dean in much more intimate terms. Buffy hated it when they’d had to discuss her relationship with Spike, so she never asked about Jo. She was the past. She was buried.

“Sounds like you spent a lot of time with him,” Buffy replied.

Jo waved her bottle of water dismissively. “I’m happy for him. I am. God knows that man needs more people than Sam.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s just that...well...I don’t have superpowers. Is that all it took to get noticed?”

Buffy’s heart broke for Jo. Jo, ripped from death to be dealt a crappy life. Aching from the newness and unfairness of it all. Pining for the right man met at the wrong time.

“Will you girls quit yer snivlin’ and git to bed?” growled Bobby from the couch.

DAY 5

Their friends and family waited quietly in the pews while the choir of Potentials sang:

There are many here among us

Who feel that life is but a joke

But you and I we've been through that

And this is not our fate

So let us not talk falsely now

The hour's getting late.

At the head of the church stood Caleb in his vestments, clapping along with the music. With each slap of his hands, one of the Potentials exploded in a puff of blood. He was flanked by a pus-pocked corpse on a fly-riddled green horse and a white robed creature with huge black wings astride a pale horse.

Pestilence charged them. Buffy grabbed the bridle and swung up, kicking the rider off. “I got him. Go!” Dean shouted as she galloped toward the priest.

Death was missing.

“Do you think this is far enough from the house?” Anya asked, tightening her grip on her axe. “You said you burned stuff that one time.”

“Because my life was being threatened by an archangel. This is just a friendly chat between frenemies,” Willow said. “Besides, I’m much more concerned about the vampires.”

At an intersection down the street, she and Buffy sat holding hands inside of Hecate’s symbol drawn in sand. According to the books, the goddess could be summoned under a full moon with appropriate sacrifices of food; they were surrounded by bottles of wine and honey bears.

Snarls drifted past the double ring of Potentials surrounding them.

The idea was that Buffy’s spirit would be able to use Willow’s vessel state to call Hecate. Then Buffy just had to convince the resentful, former friend of the goddess within Willow that she hadn’t been betrayed, and maybe she could use her powers to help a little. “Easy peasy,” Buffy grumbled.

Willow began, “Hecate! Crone Goddess of the Moon! Power, great power. Grant me this boon.”

One of the Potentials stepped back, knocking over a candle.

“Give us some room, girls! This could get weird...er.”” Buffy righted the candle and wiped some warm wax from a honey bear. “I hope mildly melty is still goddess approved.”

“Half step out!” Jo shouted. The group shuffled.

Willow tried again. “Mistress with three faces, I accept my role. Lead me to the path. Your name writ on my soul. Hi, it’s Willow Rosenberg again. Remember? You were in my body a week or so ago yelling at some --”

Everything went deathly silent. Before Willow’s eyes, the Potentials transformed into gnarled black trees. Mist and moonlight shot through their twisted branches. Buffy, still in her meditative pose, crumbled into an ash heap; in the middle of the ashes, lay a single golden pebble.

Willow didn’t dare to breathe.

The glow of a light appeared to her left. A naked, torch-bearing figure stepped out from behind one of the trees. Her skin was as dark as the night and freckled with stars. She phased in and out of three faces -- one screaming, one old, and one calm. Her pearl eyes fixed on Willow.

“You have summoned me more than any other vessel.” Her voice was musical and animal. A whisper and a cry.

Willow wasn’t sure how to respond. Hecate hadn’t asked a question, and Willow wasn’t sure if the declaration was surprised or annoyed. Willow bowed her head to the ground, arms open wide in reverence, and waited.

A chill snaked from the top of Willow's head to the tips of her toes.

“Rise, girl. What do you want?”

Willow stood, but didn’t dare look up. “Lucifer is here. His brother Michael is coming.”

Hecate lifted Willow’s chin with her hand, forcing her to look in her glowing eyes. “Why does this worry you?”

“They’re going to destroy the world.”

“Not the whole world. Only part.”

Fear rushed out of Willow’s body. “Only part! Only! Part! Do you hear yourself?”

“My concerns are not human concerns. The world is ancient. It burns and floods and freezes in the span of my heartbeat. The world will change, but I will remain.”

“Why do you think the angels would leave you alive?” Willow asked. “Lucifer is trying to wipe out Artemis’ vessels. Why not yours next?”

Something like surprise flitted over the goddess’ calm face. “I am witchcraft itself. I will remain.”

“Oh, you got an army up your, uh -- No sleeves, okay. Have you been busy calling all witches? Huh? No, you haven’t. Meanwhile, Artemis is still locked up and --”

“Do not speak to me of the Huntress!” Hecate thundered. The stars on her skin grew as if they might supernova with her rage.

Willow put her hands on her hips. “Artemis was your friend.”

“The Huntress was closer to me than a sister. She turned her back on me! How could a mortal like you understand the pain of that break?

Willow didn’t just remember skinning Warren. She remembered trying to kill Buffy. Trying to kill Giles. And those memories haunted her with each hug, each encouraging word, each smile. “I know how rare true friends are. I know every moment of pain is worth it.

“My friends and I are prepared to fight the angels, but we haven’t even been able to get past his creepy priest groupie. But we’ll keep fighting. We’ll die fighting. Saving the world is worth it.”

The calm face did not change. “Then I shall again prepare myself to search for another vessel.”

An idea popped into Willow’s head. “Why me? Why are you using me as your vessel?”

“You had the potential to be the strongest witch in the world. A lesser witch could not contain me.”

Hecate was eternal. Witches may live long lives, but not that long. Besides, Willow was born in the 80s. “What happened to your vessel before me?”

“He...disappointed me.”

“Did he have a name?”

Hecate blew out her torch and stepped back into the rapidly shrinking trees. “Gregor Skrivanek.”

Buffy, in a meditation pose across from Willow, looked at her quizzically. “Gesundheit?”

There was a twang and a wizz as one of the girls fired a crossbow. “If we’re finished being freaky, I’d kinda like to go back inside,” said Jo.

DAY 9

Before she reached the steps to trample Caleb, Buffy tumbled and bounced down the rest of the aisle. Her horse had turned into a toy. Likewise, she was small and limp, unable to move on her own. Caleb, scooped her up in his giant hands. “Did you think this was about you?”

He turned her toward her friends and family. With the snap of his fingers, they were ablaze. “Did you think you could save them?”

“The blame is on me,” he continued. “I let that vampire’s obsession with you trick me into thinking you mattered, but you don’t. You’re empty. You try to fill it with school, with shopping, with any man who is desperate enough to fuck you, but you’re a little doll who needs other people to pose her.”

He turned her away from him, toward Death at the end of the aisle, his scythe and robes spattered with blood, and dangling from his hand -- Dean’s head.

In a weird way, it was comforting to have all the Scoobies gathered around the dining table researching monsters. Almost homey, if it was even possible to feel at home in her own house again. Of course, Buffy’s semi-fond memories of high school slaying didn’t involve Spike sitting next to her as they researched monsters, or Andrew Wells fiddling with a camcorder. They didn’t involve researching how to kill a human either.

Xander’s eyes were practically cartoon hearts locked on Ellen as she replaced his empty plate with a second helping of sloppy joe, cornbread and green beans. “You’re just the most amazing, Ellen.”

Smiling, she tousled his hair before checking on the Potentials in the other room.

Xander ravenously tucked into his food.

“Xander, you got a little.” Dawn wiped at the corner of her mouth.

Anya glanced at the sauce smeared on Xander’s face. “It's just pride.”

Xander mock laughed before taking a giant bite of cornbread.

“It’s been a long, dark time since we’ve had seconds,” Andrew declared, zooming his lens in on Xander. “But Ellen knows all sorts of recipes. Tomorrow, she’s going to teach me to --”

Dawn paused from note-taking. “Andrew, what are you doing?”

“I’m making a documentary of our gallant heroes. My redemption arc heavily features. I’m, like, the Vader of the group.”

“Don’t show interest, or he’ll think you care.” Anya slammed her book closed. “Why can’t we just set him on fire again?”

“I don’t want to be on fire,” replied Andrew, meekly.

“Not you. Caleb,” she clarified. “Fire is the traditional, time-respected way to off a witch.”

Willow scrunched her face in disgust. “One, I’m generally not a fan of the burned-at-the-stake scene. Had a close call once. A singeing, if you will. Two, I have a theory--”

Buffy tuned out while Willow explained again. The goal was to kill Caleb, but to kill him, they had to return him to a much more human state. When Dean had asked her if she was ready to kill a person, she’d bristled. While it wasn’t the Slayer’s job to deliver justice in the human sense, Caleb had clearly chosen the path of evil. She’d plunged her sword in him without hesitation. However, in light of Willow’s plan, Buffy couldn’t help but wonder if Caleb -- once separated from the archangel controlling him -- could be saved. Was he simply another victim of Lucifer?

Ellen drifted back into the room, her eyes on the windows. She sucked on the insides of her cheeks when she was nervous, and she’d been nervous ever since Jo, Bobby and Giles left town two days ago to follow some leads.

“Has she called?” Spike asked, gently reaching out to touch Ellen’s arm.

Ellen smiled and patted his hand. “A few times. Thought they’d’ve been back by now.”

“Don’t tell him I told you,” Spike lowered his voice to a whisper, “but stodgy ol’ Giles is right decent in a fight. She’s in good hands if it comes to that.”

Before Ellen could respond, the Impala pulled up outside. She smiled at Jo, still in her bland detective suit, coming up the walk with the Winchester's green cooler. Buffy recognized the relieved mom look. Ellen was doing a good job not steamrolling everyone between her and her daughter’s embrace.

Jo arrived with a triumphant smile. “Not even rusty.” She handed her mom the cooler. “Stopped for food before Apocalypse-zone. Got some fresh stuff!”

“Thanks, hon.” Ellen set the cooler on the table and wrapped Jo in a bear hug.

Bobby, tie loose and trucker cap back on his head, set a box of files on the table. “Had a minor setback, but we got it.”

“What happened?” Buffy asked.

“I’m afraid I am not a convincing FBI agent,” Giles said with a sigh. He glared at Andrew. “What is he doing?”

Undeterred, Andrew zoomed in. “Set the scene for us, Giles. You’re sweating bullets in the FBI office, surrounded by men in black who’ve been trained to sniff out a lie. What do you do?”

Bewildered, Giles again looked to the group. “What is he doing?”

“‘E’s keeping calm.” Spike reached into the box for a handful of files. He handed one to Buffy.

“Meet Gregor Skrivanek,” Bobby said. “Box one.”

“Of how many?” whined Anya.

“Three more in the trunk,” Jo said with a smirk.

Anya closed her book and left the room.

“Did you get the mementos we need for the spell?” Willow asked.

“That’s box four.” Jo smiled. “It’s in the backseat. Although they’re less mementos and more burnables.”

“Burning is the goal!” Willow smiled.

Buffy opened her folder, a thick police file from Boston. It contained three coroner reports and photos of three different teenage girls. Two slashed at the throat. One was just a head. All were bloated and distorted from floating in water.

“Get it all,” Buffy said. I’m ready.

DAY 12

On yesterday’s patrol, Buffy had captured a vampire minion and gave him a message for Caleb.

Highway 1 bridge at 10. Alone.

Caleb was cocky. He’d show.

The wind whipped around Buffy as she stood high above the ravine on the bridge headed out of town. She pulled her coat tighter -- not tight enough to outline the ax hanging from her belt -- and passed the time by watching Orion, Dean’s favorite constellation. Willow had told her Orion the Hunter was the only man Artemis loved. (“Later she maybe killed him, but that’s totally not your story! Not a blueprint!”) It was a cute bit of trivia, but it didn’t matter.

Dean was no more Orion than he was Michael’s toy. She was more than a holding cell. If they were anything, they were masters of their own fate.

“You came,” Caleb shouted down the bridge. “I’m surprised after the beating I handed you last time, but then you are an arrogant bitch.”

She bit back a grin. It was almost too easy. “Don’t pretend you know me.”

“Don’t I? Buffy Summers became the Slayer without any training because who would have guessed such a shallow waste of space could be anything? Certainly not her daddy who ran away in terror. Now she tries to fill the hole by spreading her legs for any old guy who shows an interest.”

He smirked at her with the hungry glare of a middle-aged man parked outside a middle school. “People think Lucifer has Daddy issues, but he’s not still trying to gain approval. He can flex his own power.”

“Kind of a crappy story,” said Buffy. “Not very accurate either. I give it two stars, but one of those is a pity star.”

She slowly walked toward him. “Here’s a story I heard recently. About thirty-five years ago, a boy named Gregor was born with the most powerful magic skills history had ever seen. Of course, floating objects over his crib frightened his parents, so they dropped him off at an orphanage. He grew to despise the nuns who ran the place. Conveniently for him, he was the lone survivor of a fire at the orphanage when he was six. By the time he was thirteen, every orphanage and foster home he went to after that found a girl dead within six months of his arrival. He was never tied to the deaths though, because he was using magic.”

Snarls echoed from underneath the bridge. Buffy had expected Caleb to bring backup; although, she tried to not dwell on what could be climbing so high above the ravine.

“Are you trying to appeal to my humanity?” Caleb sneered. “This is more nostalgia than anything.”

Buffy continued. “Murder. Murder. Murder. Always girls. Probably misplaced mommy issues over being given up. But when Gregor turned sixteen, he was caught strangling a girl and sent to a juvenile detention center where he supposedly found God. When he got out, he changed his name and became a priest. And a serial killer.”

“Nice story--”

“I wasn’t finished.” The power of her voice stopped him in his tracks. “If this boy had been a powerful warlock, why did he start choking girls. Why did he get caught?”

Caleb cocked his head to the side, clearly desperate to know.

Two pairs of feet thudded behind her at the entrance to the bridge. She couldn’t deal with them now. Caleb had to be first or the spell wouldn’t work.

“It’s because Hecate cut him off. He was supposed to be her star, her vessel to move about the Earth when needed, but he was too maggot-riddled for her.” Hecate's sense of morality may be different from theirs, but it was clear she held women in higher regard than men.

Shots zipped through the air. Whatever was behind her roared.

With Caleb distracted, Buffy closed the gap between them and slapped him across the cheek, leaving an ashen handprint. The contact of their skin blazed white hot as his body, no longer a vessel, ejected the bit of Lucifer’s grace that could fit inside.

Doubled over on his knees, Caleb growled. “What did you do, you bitch?!”

“Magic,” she replied as she swung her axe down on his neck.

One swing for her. One for Dawn. For Grace. For Vi, Sophia, and every Potential he’d killed. Buffy, whose personal code was to never kill a human, chopped him to bits for every girl he’d murdered.

She spun around. Two Turok-Han were heading up the highway towards the tall trees where Bobby, Jo, and Ellen were perched with rifles and blessed bullets. Bobby had been right. The bullets hadn’t killed the vampires, but they had slowed and distracted Caleb’s minions.

Buffy took a deep, stuttering breath over the bloody mess in the road, grabbed a chunk of his hair, and tossed Caleb’s head into the ravine below.

“Hey!” she barked. The vampires stopped to consider who to kill first. “Miffed about being shot? Don’t lose your head over it.”

With a running start and two hand springs, Buffy was between them. She twirled her ax above her head. The vampires’ heads popped off, and they crumbled to dust.

Buffy rose. Her grin to the stars. Blood dripping from her ax, from her fingertips.

Bobby and the Harvelle’s stumbled out from the brush.

“Well that went off without a hitch.” Ellen wrapped her arm around Buffy’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

“Yeah, Will’s spell turned off his vesselness.” Buffy’s hand had been covered in the ashes of some objects Caleb had owned. After Willow wrote the spell in the ash, all they needed to make it work was skin-to-skin contact.

They all began the trek back to where the Impala was hidden. Buffy resisted the urge to bounce. “God, I wish Sunnydale wasn’t shuttered up. I’d kill for a burger.”

“Nothin’ like the Apocalypse to make you miss the little things,” said Bobby.

Buffy missed one thing that wasn’t so little, but she wouldn’t let her mind drift there. The dream would come again, for sure. Tonight, however, she would live in the moment. She’d beaten back the Devil.

next chapter

23 notes · View notes

bethadastra · 8 years ago

Photo

ME:A Countdown (no spoilers, only guesses and hypotheticals)

On Betje Ryder’s family, past, and life in the Milky Way

15 Days: Delve into the Ryder family background - how is/was their relationship with their father, sibling and mother? Do they get along, hero worship, close twin connection, sibling rivalry, was it strained, was it distant, etc.

I honestly can’t say, because I want more of the canon backstory before I decide on any angsty or fluffy relationships, especially if the writers swoop in and change everything up with a plot twist. As a child, she had mild hero worship for her parents, since they weren’t around as much, but had important and high-profile jobs. Rather than use this as a foundation to connect with her brother, however, they distance themselves a bit because they feel like that is the only way they can individually become great, and the only way they can understand why their parents made the choices that they did.

14 Days: Describe some important or formative events in Ryder’s history. How did these impact and shape them?

Again, I don’t want to come up with these crazy and complex backstory events until I’m a little ways into the game. I don’t want to waste my creative energy on something if it’s only going to get scrapped as soon as I finish the character creator.

But Betje dislikes being intimate or social for most of her life, due to minor incidents where her interests were mocked/teased, and her intelligence usually outpaced her peers. This gave her the time and energy to become a focused soldier and researcher.

13 Days: Why did Ryder join the Alliance military? Later on, what were Ryder’s reasons for signing up to the Andromeda Initiative?

Ryder equated the Alliance to a bright future as a child. As she grew up and travelled the universe, she added the Citadel to her list of options. Andromeda was a natural next step. If we take family and political motivations out of the story, Betje joined the Andromeda Initiative out of pure curiosity. She wants to know more about the universe beyond the Local Cluster, and she doesn’t care if the price is written on a one-way ticket.

12 Days: How will Ryder feel upon waking up from cryo? Relieved, excited, scared, impatient to get going, lost, etc.

A) Nauseous. Cryo won’t be kind on her tummy.

B) She’ll want logistics. Packets of info on what’s been done to prepare, what needs to be done... And sooner or later she’ll find something that she wishes she had been more prepared for. And that will turn into self doubt, which will require her teammates to help her open up and boost her confidence.

11 Days: Once in Andromeda, what are Ryder’s goals? What drives them?

Betje wants to learn. She finds unity in sharing knowledge, and is driven by the need to analyze and collect and study and share. Out of anybody on the Tempest, her codex collection will probably be the biggest.

10 Days: Will Ryder ever miss the Milky Way? What things and places will they miss most?

I don’t know if Andromeda or any of the ships will carry the ingredients for percik chicken, but she’ll miss the heck out of indulgent, zingy fried chicken while in space. She’ll also have a small but sad feeling when she realizes she won’t ever see the human homeworld again after waking from cryo, but she never felt any deep connections or nostalgia for anyplace on Earth.

9 Days: Did Ryder have any notable friends or connections in the Milky Way? How about past relationships? Which friendship or relationship was the most significant to them?

No idea…. This will be another thing that reveals itself when I start playing. Generally, she’s so caught in her own inner monologues that she keeps most connections and relationships professional.

8 Days: How does Ryder feel about aliens? Are they uncomfortable, wary, intrigued, curious, intimidated, not bothered, etc? In the Milky Way, where did they stand on humanity’s place in galactic society - Earth first, Terra Firma, human superiority, peaceful cooperation, pro-galactic integration & unity, etc? How will they feel upon discovering that there are sentient alien races in Andromeda?

Betje sees every sentient being as something to analyze and better understand, whether human or alien. She’s comfortable with almost all alien species (even finding certain ones sexually attractive, ay yoooo), and had an obsession with the mysterious Rachni as a little girl. When it comes to galactic society, Betje sees humanity as a small slice of the big galactic pie. There’s no sense in focusing all of her talents with humanity only, or trying to discredit other races.

She’s an explorer, and though she may not show it very well during the trip through Andromeda, she ecstatic about there being previously undiscovered alien races and can’t wait to meet them. I sense some minor hero-worship and maybe even attraction to Jaal when they team up.

7 Days: Ryder’s father gave the twins informal N7 training in the past. How did Ryder feel about this (pressured, resentful, grateful, motivated, overworked, excited, etc)? What are their feelings on “N7” as a symbol? How do they relate to it, if at all?

I don’t knooooowwwww. This is where I’ve stopped tracking spoilers & in-game content that isn’t covered in the briefings. At this point, I think that the overachieving/ambitious side of Betje will be very grateful for it, but maybe a small part of her will be bitter because she believes that it fed into her distrust of others, and distanced herself from her peers while growing up??? I think that she has an immense amount of respect for N7, no matter what her relationship with her father is. I’m hesitant to assign a specific value because I have a feeling that there will be events in the game that make the N7 status something that it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be? Either way, Betje is grateful that her training gave her the ability to travel the galaxy.

#meacountdown #betje ryder #mass effect andromeda #me:a

7 notes · View notes

vincentandriessen · 8 years ago

Text

'Ik ben nooit ouder dan vier geworden, ik verwonder me over alles'

In 2010 sprak ik Dick Bruna. Hieronder het interview dat werd geplaatst in het Financieele Dagblad.

Ondanks 120 boeken, zijn leeftijd (82) en miljoenen op de bank werkt Dick Bruna nog steeds zeven dagen in de week.

Een vriendelijke oude man met grijs golvend haar en een fraaie snor. Wie hem niet zou herkennen, zou niet vermoeden dat deze man die dagelijks nog door Utrecht fietst een van de bekendste Nederlandse nog levende ontwerpers is. Dick Bruna: internationaal bewonderd en beroemd in Japan. Hij verkocht wereldwijd meer dan 85 miljoen boeken en is multimiljonair. Maar wel een die tot op het bot bescheiden is gebleven en zelfs op zijn 82ste iedere dag blijft doen wat hij het liefste doet: figuurtjes tekenen.

Hij zit aan een houten tafel in zijn atelier in de binnenstad in Utrecht. Geen luxueus grachtenpand maar op de zolder van een onopvallend pandje waar nog twee appartementen in gevestigd zijn. Hij had al jaren zonder zorgen van zijn successen kunnen genieten maar dat is niets voor hem. Net terug van een maand vakantie met de hele familie in zijn huis in Frankrijk: 'Ik ben blij dat ik weer aan de slag mag.'

Bruna heeft verschillende figuren verzonnen: Boris Beer, Snuffie, Betje Big. Maar hij is vooral bekend als vader van Nijntje. Het konijntje ontstond in 1955 tijdens een vakantie in Egmond aan Zee. Op dat moment werkte hij bij de uitgeverij van de familie waar hij omslagen van boeken illustreerde. De inspiratie voor het tekenen kwam van kunstenaars als Matisse, Mondriaan en Rietveld.

Zijn Nijntje - in het buitenland bekend onder de naam Miffy - is wereldberoemd. Bruna's boeken zijn in meer dan vijfenveertig talen verschenen. Het konijntje is vooral erg populair in Japan. Het beheer en de exploitatie van de rechten rondom Nijntje en de andere figuren wordt sinds de jaren zeventig verzorgd door zijn bedrijf Mercis.

Waarom is Mercis destijds opgericht?

'In die tijd reed er in Engeland een raceauto rond met een afbeelding van een beer die ik ooit getekend had. Maar die auto's crashen natuurlijk ook zo nu en dan. Ik vond dat dat niet paste bij tekeningen voor kinderen dus is er toen besloten om de bescherming van de afbeeldingen professioneel aan te pakken.'

Nijntje vertoont ook een opmerkelijke gelijkenis met het Japanse figuurtje Hello Kitty en het Belgische katje Musti. Wordt daar ook tegen opgetreden?

'Vroeger durfde ik dat nooit hardop te zeggen maar die figuren zijn gewoon gejat. Tegen Hello Kitty was niets te beginnen omdat in Japan destijds geen juridische bescherming kon worden gezocht en in België hebben we het er bij laten zitten. Ik dacht daar toen milder over, maar het is natuurlijk gewoon een schending van mijn rechten. Nu zou ik wel een rechtszaak zijn gestart. Het doet me pijn om de figuren te zien. Ze worden gemaakt met een computer, de liefde ontbreekt, dat zie je er aan af.'

Over de omzet doet zijn bedrijf Mercis geen mededelingen, maar het vermogen van Bruna zelf wordt door maandblad Quote geschat op enkele tientallen miljoenen.

U lijkt om dat geld niet veel te geven?

Bruna lacht bescheiden. 'Nee, het doet mij bijzonder weinig, maar ik heb natuurlijk makkelijk praten in deze situatie.'

U houdt niet van dure spullen, kleren of restaurants?

Hij moet even nadenken. Met enige twijfel: 'Ik ga natuurlijk wel eens uit eten.' Dan schiet hem iets te binnen. Bijna triomfantelijk: 'De auto is na negen jaar verkocht en nu heb ik een nieuwe.'

Voor zijn leeftijd ziet hij er erg vitaal uit. Het lopen gaat wat minder de laatste tijd maar hij fietst nog steeds. De dagen zijn min of meer hetzelfde gebleven al die jaren. Hij staat op tussen half vijf en vijf, maakt een ontbijtje en perst sinaasappelsap voor zijn vrouw. Iedere dag maakt hij 's ochtends een tekeningetje voor haar dat op het glas met sap wordt gelegd zodat er geen vliegen in kunnen komen. Soms is het een eenvoudige tekening maar hij is er op andere dagen ook wel een halfuur zoet mee. De tekeningen gaan over wat er die dag gaat gebeuren - een verjaardag bijvoorbeeld - of iets wat ze samen hebben beleefd. Als hij vertrekt naar zijn atelier staat zijn vrouw op.

Hij woont tien minuten fietsen van zijn atelier vandaan. 's Morgens stopt hij onderweg altijd bij een café voor een kop koffie en de krant. Rond acht uur zit hij achter zijn bureau te tekenen. Tussen de middag even naar huis, een slaapje en 's middags weer terug naar het atelier voor brieven en de administratie. Genieten van zijn pensioen? 'Daar moet ik niet aan denken.'

Nijntje is in de loop van de jaren veranderd. Ze heeft een iets kleiner en ronder hoofd en minder scherpe oren gekregen. Hoe komt dat?

'Die veranderingen zijn me zelf ook pas opgevallen toen ik de tekeningen bij een tentoonstelling eens naast elkaar zag hangen. Ze zijn nooit bewust doorgevoerd. Maar ieder keer wanneer ik Nijntje weer teken, probeer ik haar weer zo goed mogelijk op het papier te krijgen. Ik probeer het steeds weer beter te doen. Daardoor is ze in de loop van de jaren beetje bij beetje veranderd.'

Waarom kijkt Nijntje - en ook alle andere karakters - altijd strak in de lens?

'Dat heeft met de eenvoud te maken die ik nastreef. Ik probeer uit te gaan van het platte vlak. Als iets ruimtelijk is, probeer ik net zo lang te tekenen totdat ik het herkenbaar tweedimensionaal kan weergeven. Hetzelfde ook met Nijntje en de andere karakters. Ze kijken de lezertjes recht aan of ze staan met hun rug op het papier.'

In hoeverre zijn Nijntje en Dick Bruna met elkaar te vergelijken?

'Ik ben de schepper van Nijntje dus ze zit natuurlijk wel heel dichtbij. Dat kan niet anders. Maar zelf vind ik dat ik het meeste lijk op Boris Beer. Een beetje ondeugend.'

'Annie M.G. Schmidt heeft ooit gezegd dat ze nooit ouder dan acht is geworden. Zo ben ik nooit ouder dan vier geworden. Dat moet je ook een beetje houden om deze boekjes te kunnen maken. Ik kan me nog altijd over een heleboel zaken verwonderen. Tijdens de vakantie heb ik bijvoorbeeld een tijd lang gefascineerd naar mijn kleinkind van drie gekeken. Hoe die energiek door het zwembadje stapt.'

Hoe ontstaan de ideeën voor de boekjes?

'Veel ideeën vallen me te binnen als ik op de fiets zit. Dan zie ik bijvoorbeeld een bepaald raam met een opmerkelijke vorm of een bijzonder huisnummer dat ik kan gebruiken. Of ik bedenk opeens een tekst voor een verhaaltje.' Lachend: 'Dan stop ik wel direct met fietsen en schrijf ik dat op want inmiddels ben ik bang dat ik dat weer ga vergeten.'

Ook kinderen zijn een bron van inspiratie. 'We wonen tegenover een schoolplein waar ik zo nu en dan iets zie gebeuren wat me op ideeën brengt. Bovendien heb ik zes kleinkinderen. Die zie ik dan een naam op een hut schilderen die ze hebben gemaakt of ze maken een deur in die hut die helemaal niet open kan. Dat zijn dingen die blijven hangen en misschien ooit weer gebruikt worden in een boekje.'

Zo nu en dan worden ook ideeën aangedragen door ouders. Zo ontstond bijvoorbeeld een boekje over Nijntje die in het ziekenhuis ligt en oma Pluis die doodgaat. Taboeonderwerpen zijn er niet. 'Nee, ik geloof het niet. Maar het blijven natuurlijk wel boekjes voor kinderen. Vader en moeder Pluis die gaan scheiden, dat zie ik bijvoorbeeld nog niet zo snel gebeuren.'

Ieder boekje begint met twaalf ideeën voor tekeningen, pas daarna volgt de tekst. De tekeningen worden met de hand gemaakt. Van een computer moet Bruna niets hebben. Voorwerpen die hij nog niet eerder heeft getekend, zoals een jampot, worden eerst natuurgetrouw geschetst en pas later vereenvoudigd. 'Uit het hoofd lukt me dat niet, ik moet zo'n jampot dan echt zien als ik die teken.'

De definitieve tekening wordt uiteindelijk gekopieerd op een plastic vel zodat Bruna met behulp van gekleurde knipsels kan bepalen wat welke kleur zal krijgen in de tekening. Een nieuw boekje maken duurt maanden.

De boekjes hebben standaard twaalf tekeningen en twaalf pagina's tekst met op iedere pagina vier regels. Het klinkt als een onaangename beperking, maar niet voor Bruna. 'De meeste verhaaltjes kunnen prima in die hoeveelheid pagina's verteld worden. Alleen bij de boeken Kerstmis en Ruben en de ark van Noach heb ik meer tekst gebruikt. Die boeken hebben ook een ander formaat.'

U bent nu 82 en heeft nog lang geen zin om te stoppen. U heeft twee zoons en een dochter. Zit uw opvolger onder hen?

Hij schudt resoluut zijn hoofd. 'Nee, niemand gaat mij opvolgen. Dat heb ik nooit gewild. Als ik ga, dan houdt het op. Gelukkig dat ook geen van mijn kinderen de behoefte voelt om mijn werk voort te zetten.'

U heeft ook boekomslagen en affiches gemaakt. Wat vervult u met de meeste trots?

'Ik ben eigenlijk nooit trots. Maar de tijd dat ik affiches maakte, vond ik wel erg leuk. Proberen om een zo pakkend mogelijk beeld te maken, het liefste met zo min mogelijk tekst. Dat is een uitdaging. Er is wel eens een man naar mij toegekomen die de trein had gemist en een halfuur moest wachten op de volgende. Hij vertelde me dat hij tegenover een affiche van mij had gezeten en zich tijdens het noodgedwongen wachten geen moment had verveeld. Dat vind ik dan wel heel leuk om te horen.'

U werkt nog altijd zeven dagen in de week. Een workaholic?

'Ja, ik kan niet goed thuis zitten. Zo nu en dan blijf ik zondagmiddag wel eens thuis maar dan werkt mijn vrouw me al snel weer het huis uit.'

Wat voor een effect had dat op het gezin?

'Mijn kinderen hebben mij natuurlijk wel gemist in hun jeugd. Ik merk dat ik nu veel meer tijd bezig ben met mijn kleinkinderen dan ik vroeger met mijn kinderen besteedde. Ik was er wel tussen de middag en las ze 's avonds een boekje voor, maar achteraf denk ik wel eens dat ik misschien wat meer tijd met ze door had mogen brengen.'

Na honderdtwintig boekjes moet het volgende een makkie zijn, toch?

'Ik blijf het moeilijk vinden om zo'n tekening zo eenvoudig mogelijk te maken. Ik ben een perfectionist, het moet altijd honderd procent zijn.' Dan, bijna verontschuldigend. 'Ik ben ook helemaal niet zo'n geweldige tekenaar. Ik heb nooit een opleiding gehad en er is verder ook niets wat ik kan. Er zijn bovendien veel collega's die veel beter kunnen tekenen. Zo'n Peter van Straaten bijvoorbeeld die heel snel zo'n tekening kan maken, daar heb ik veel bewondering voor.'

Die bewondering is er ook voor juffen op scholen. 'Sommige kunnen zo heel snel op het bord een Nijntje tekenen. Keer op keer. Dat vind ik heel knap. Dan denk ik wel eens: kon ik dat ook maar zo snel.'

0 notes

whatdoyouthinkmyjobis · 7 years ago

Text

Hunters on the Hellmouth

masterlist

first chapter

previous chapter

AN: Here’s a cheat sheet for keeping track of the Potentials.

Chapter 36: Blame

Dean woke up with a kink in his shoulder and a tightness in his lower back that made him feel older than his thirty-two years. In her flurry of activity after Cloé’s suicide, Buffy had worked the Potentials -- and by extension him -- all day. The goal had been for the girls to try to pin larger targets -- him, Sam or Spike. Many of the girls distrusted their bodies, unaware of how to use momentum and weight to their advantage. To Buffy’s disappointment, only half a dozen girls were able to regularly take the men down after three exhausting hours.

After the sparring session, Buffy had surprised Dean by asking him to stay the night, something he hadn’t done in weeks. They spent the night alternating between holding each other and arguing. She was so tied up in knots, the stress once sent her running to the bathroom.

“Food poisoning?’ he’d asked, wearily holding back her hair as she leaned against the toilet.

“No, it’s...God, I’m so stressed.”

“Girly, you can’t wear yourself down like this. I can hear that frog in your throat. How’re you gonna yell at people without a voice?”

He’d hoped to make her laugh, but even in the dim light he could see tears welling in her eyes. “I have to yell. There are things, things I have to do.”

“And you’re great at all of them.” Dean scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to bed. Curled around her, he softly sang until she fell asleep.

Before dawn, Dean stumbled to the kitchen, where the girl who’d discovered Cloé was eating pickles and staring out the window. “See anything nasty out there?” he asked as he filled the coffee pot.

The girl shrugged.

“You eat that for breakfast every morning?” he asked, pointing at her bowl of rice and pickles.

“In America.”

“Well, sweetheart, I’m gonna make you some real American breakfast. Ever had pancakes?”

She shook her head, her bangs falling into her eyes.

“It’s literally cake for breakfast.”

She stuck out her tongue in disgust.

Wook was quiet, but then she’d been quiet before finding a body. She was a lost-in-thought, hiding-behind-her-bangs, one-dark-lipstick-short-of-troubled kind of girl. Dean wasn’t sure how discovering Cloé’s cold body had effected Wook, but he couldn’t go wrong with kindness.

“Come on! What’s not to like?” he asked with a big smile. “Plus bacon, which is like meat candy.”

“Gross.”

“Pickles?” He raised one judgemental eyebrow.

The batter was mixed by the time five Potentials -- Sophia, Maya, Molly, and one of the new arrivals -- stumbled in, rubbing the sleep from their eyes.

“Morning, handsome. Whatcha’ makin’?” asked the new one. Blonde curls. Freckles. Margo? She’d arrived only days before the massacre and seemed to be in complete denial that anything horrible had happened. She was older than most of the girls and possibly more experienced in burying the bullshit.

“Pancakes for the pickle-eater.” He gestured at Wook who waved at them with her spoon.

“Any for us?” asked Molly, quietly. Dean’s heart broke whenever he saw her tugging on her sleeves to cover her burned arms. She’d arrived with innocent, wide-eyed excitement.

Dean lifted the giant bowl of batter beside him. “Want some Mickey Mouse ones, Pigtails?”

For a split second, she grinned. She always grinned when he called her Pigtails.

But Molly wasn’t the only shell shocked girl. Sophia and Maya leaned into the counter as if they needed support. Sophia had big blue eyes that always looked like she was on the verge of tears. She was one of the three survivors of a Bringer attack in Europe where her Watcher had been murdered in front of her.

Grace came in, waving sleepily at the girls. She hugged Sophia, and they whispered. Then Grace gave Wook’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “Dean, no coffee?” she asked with a small smile as she filled the pot with water. “I thought that was why you stayed here, no? To make food?”

“Haha.” But he smiled anyway. Grace -- kind, serene, and take-no-shit all at once -- was one of his favorites.

“Grace, you’re a saint,” said Margo, tumbling off of her stool in pursuit of coffee.

Maya, her dark hair slipping out of her ponytail, looked like she hadn’t slept in days. For every girl like Molly who had arrived viewing the Summers’ house as an adventure camp, there was a girl like Maya who was not happy to leave her life behind. Maya was one of those girls who had chosen her college before she hit puberty. She wanted to change the world, she’d confessed, by becoming Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. She loved order and process and plans, not the instinct and improvisation required of a Slayer.

Dean piled pancakes high on a platter as fast as the girls ate them. After so much bad news, hunger was a good sign.

Maya reminded Dean of Sam -- driven, smart, angry. Over a month ago, when they’d sat down with Buffy, Giles and Xander to decide which girls were moving where, Dean had asked for Maya. Buffy had disagreed, pointing to Sam’s fluency in Spanish and the translators on their phones as reason enough to keep a native English speaker at her place. They’d argued. He’d dropped it.

Betje shuffled into the kitchen, her short blue hair pointing in all directions, mascara smudged under her eyes. Giles, already dressed, wasn’t too far behind.

Betje, a survivor of the train massacre with Sophia, glanced at the pancakes before pouring herself some black coffee. After a couple sips, she pulled out a cigarette.

“Oi, Betje, do that outside or Buffy will kill ya!” said Molly.

Betje raised one eyebrow and looked outside. They didn’t really patrol much any more. The city was half empty, and Lucifer sent vampires every night to spy on the house. Their training squads never needed to go far for a kill. But the sky was getting light. At this hour, any vamps still outside would be in a hurry to get away before the sun broke over the horizon.

Betje pushed the cigarette back in the pack and grabbed a sweater hanging by the back door.

Giles looked up from his mug. “Betje, we can’t be too careful right now.”

She picked up a stake from a crock on the counter. “Anyone else feel like a morning kill?”

Grace rolled her eyes. “I will go with you for practice. Not so you can smoke.”

Betje shrugged and went out into the dim light. Dean and Giles watched the girls from the window, but nothing came for them before the sun appeared. The girls moved into its beam.

“Where did she hide the aspirin?” asked Maya. After Cloé’s suicide, Buffy had locked all the medicine in Willow’s bedroom before working the girls all day until they collapsed around sunset.

“I can get you some in a bit,” Dean offered.

The girl nodded and poked at the pancake on her plate. After a minute, Maya muttered, “Cloé, Gabi, Jabulela, Lys, Naomi.”

“Don’t forget Annabelle and Astrid,” said Molly, who’d seen what remained of both girls.

“And all the girls who didn’t get this far,” said Sophia, rubbing a chill off her arms.

Tears welled up in Maya’s dark eyes. “I can’t even mourn them.” Her voice was a raw wound. “I knew about the vampires and the stupid crosses and holy water. I knew The First was out there looking for us, but I wasn’t prepared for some bullshit Christian angel to hunt us down.”

Sophia laid a hand on Maya’s shoulder, but the girl batted it away, her face twisted with rage. “I don’t want your comfort! Don’t you see? He’s taking everything. Even my Gods.”

“Let’s not jump to any hasty conclusions,” Giles encouraged.

“Lucifer being real doesn’t mean your gods aren’t,” Dean said. “Gods run on worship, so maybe your gods are livin’ the high life in places they’re most worshiped?”

“How would you know?” Maya asked in a hoarse sob.

Years ago, Dean had scoffed at his baby brother for praying, for believing in anything other than what they could see. By the time Sam met angels, he was crushed. Something about watching the faith drain from Sam -- the same look Maya had now -- stirred up his own latent desire for something bigger than himself. For something holy. “What religion are you?”

“Hindu.” She took a tissue someone handed her and blew her nose. “I’m not even a good Hindu, but it still means something to me. It’s part of me and my parents. It goes back and back connecting me to my whole family. Literally. My mum even tells me I’m the reincarnation of her aunt.”

Dean nodded. “‘K, so I been doing this since I was a kid. Monster bait. Shooting ghosts. Whole nine. Met a few gods in my time too.”

“Bullshit!” declared Margo.

Sophia held her cross to her chest and nearly stopped breathing.

“Sure as shit,” Dean said.

“Like Jesus an’ Buddha an’ stuff?” asked Pigtails.

“Buddhists don’t worship Buddha,” Maya clarified.

Dean resumed making pancakes. “No big fish. These were old European pagan gods. Back in the day, fields of people would be sacrificed to them. Now, they’re hobblin’ along and tricking people to survive. They were weak enough, Sam an’ I could take ‘em.”

The girls gazed at him with a spectrum of skepticism and awe. Giles tried to hide his eye roll behind his coffee mug.

But Maya wasn’t reassured. “Are you telling me you want to kill Kali, because I don’t see that happening.”

“I believe what Dean is trying to say,” Giles interjected, “is that your worship gives your gods strength. You speak their names. You give them offerings. As such, Kali would be more likely to be found near one of her temples rather than in, say, rural Indiana.”

Maya shook her head. “That makes Kali sound so small, so needy. I cannot keep her alive.”

“Does that mean we’re fighting Lucifer because of some damn Satanists?” asked Margo around a big bite of pancake, “‘Cause I always thought that was Halloween nonsense,”

Dean shrugged and added four more pancakes to the platter on the island. “Above my pay grade. I know he ain’t hurtin’ for lackeys.”

Sophia sighed heavily and stared at the food. “God abandoned us to the Devil. How can we fight him if we keep losing girls?” Hope drained from her watery eyes. Wook patted her back.

For a moment, Dean toyed with telling them everything was going to be alright. They’d hit rock bottom, and were on their way up. No more deaths. No more tears. But he didn’t. “Listen, this whole Slayer thing is bullshit. One girl against all the evil in the world is a stacked deck, and I’m sorry fate or destiny or whatever dragged you into this. But just ‘cause the deck is stacked against you doesn’t mean you fold. Now’s when you show those evil sons a bitches what you’re made of, and I plan to go down swingin’.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Maya roughly pushing away from the island. “You’re old. You’ve lived your life. I’m only seventeen!” She dashed into the backyard, Giles on her heels.

Dean turned off the stove and leaned against the counter watching as Maya buckled to her knees, sobbing. Turning back to the breakfast crew, equally engrossed in Maya’s despair, he explained, “Both of my parents were murdered by a demon that worshipped Lucifer. Good people who helped raise me an’ my brother were killed by another one, Meg. Couple months before we moved here, we were going after Lucifer when Meg comes outta nowhere, kills a couple friends of ours, Jo and Ellen. Now, I have two options. I can hide. Hope they can’t find me. Maybe grow old with the ghosts of the dead keeping me up at night. Or I can load for bear and go after it. Second option does better by the dead.”

There was a clamor of feet down the stairs and yelling in the living room.

“Up! Up! Up! Get dressed! We’re going for a run!” Loud groans of protest followed Buffy into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” she asked with fury, as if she’d caught him making out with a mermaid.

“Breakfast,” said Margo, taking another bite.

“You all need to be dressed and in the front yard in five minutes.” Buffy’s voice was icy.

Other than dirty looks and one sigh, the girls shuffled out.

Her burning gaze settled on Dean. “What the hell, Dean?! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Uh, because you were up all night?” -- yelling at me.

“That doesn’t matter! The Slayer doesn’t need as much sleep as everyone else, and what is that?” she asked, pointing at a plate of fresh pancakes.

“What does it look like? It’s breakfast? You want the kids to die from exhaustion first or starvation?”

She rubbed her temples and spoke in the low, measured voice of adult to irritating child. “Go to Xander’s. Get the girls packed and moved back here. Call Sam. Tell him the same. The neighbors all left, so we might as well save some driving.”

Dean nodded. “Good idea.”

Buffy glanced up at him, longing in her eyes. Slowly, he approached her. To his surprise, she didn’t push him away. She fell into his arms, her head resting on his chest. Holding her felt like holding the whole beautiful, heavy world.

“We’ll be okay,” he said.

“We won’t,” she whispered.

Dean kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Buffy.”

She pulled away, her face pained. “Now? Now is when you feel like you can say it?” And she walked out of the room.

Spike sat on the lawn, the still-odd sensation of sun on his skin, while he flipped through the Potentials’ dossiers. In theory, he was resting. Buffy had used him again this morning as a target for the girls. After he’d been dragged to the ground by Sophia, Betje, and Lara successively, he’d cried uncle. He healed fast, but not vampire fast.

In reality, he was watching Buffy as she barked at the girls. There was tension in her face and nothing in her eyes. He knew that look. It was the same look she wore when she came back from Heaven, absent of desire or care. She’d given up.

He turned back to the trainees. Keisha had only been training as a Slayer for a few months before coming to Sunnydale. From the outside, she seemed perfectly average. Average height. Average grades. The mid-range cuteness most girls settle into. A little heavy, but in full possession of her muscles and weight. In fact, her understanding of how her body moved exceeded that of most of the girls. Coupled with her hard work, she had grown into one of the most capable Potentials, killing four vampires during her three months in town.

She had won the last three rounds, successfully forcing the small but more experienced Ju, then the athletic but inexperienced Steph out of the circle crudely painted on the lawn. Displacing Dani, a win that caused the crowd to cheer, had taken longer. Keisha was winded, her hair sticking to the sweat on her cheeks.

“Get in there, Kate,” Buffy ordered.

Keisha held up her hand. “Give me a moment, a’ight?”

“Kate, go!” Buffy barked. In seconds, untrained Kate had Keisha on her back.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?!” Keisha shouted, her usually calm voice hot. “I said. I needed. A breather.”

“You don’t get a breather in a fight. Rona, get in there with Kate!” Buffy shouted as Keisha slinked away.

Kate Spike knew. She was a mouthy, sarcastic and pessimistic. She had known nothing of the supernatural before Giles brought her to town from Ireland, and she hated every moment of training. Spike liked her.

Rona he did not know. Tall and well-muscled in camo pants and a cut-off tee, she stayed just out of reach to Kate’s right, forcing the smaller girl to constantly turn and use her energy in pursuit. Eventually, Rona grabbed Kate when she lunged and tossed her from the circle.

“Ladies, why did Rona win?” Buffy asked.

“Because she’s trained,” Kate complained.

“Pfft! Brawling ain’t training for vampire shit,” Rona scoffed. Her file said she was from Flint, Michigan, which meant nothing to Spike. Clearly, he needed to learn more about Michigan.

“Kate kept doing same thing. Grab. Miss. Grab. Miss. Rona use to her advantage,” Lara explained.

“Remember, girls, if something doesn’t work, don’t keep trying it. That gets you killed. Lara, since you’re in the know, see if you can knock Rona out.”

Lara’s grin was dark and hungry. Her dossier said she’d been training for two years. She was there when the Bringers killed her Watcher and was still injured from the brawl. Spike pitied Rona for the rage Lara needed to work out.

In seconds, Lara had dropped to the ground and swept her leg under Rona who fell out of the circle.

“Rona, you didn’t even try!” By some miracle, Buffy looked more mad than she had before.

“Why? She got years on me. Kinda like those vampires you’s ‘spectin’ me to fight.” The girl waved Buffy off and headed inside.

“Grace, go get her,” Buffy commanded. Grace did as she was told.

Spike’s body popped in protest as he got up. He leaned into Buffy, speaking low so the girls wouldn’t hear. “It’s after one. How about lunch? Most of the girls didn’t eat break--”

“You want to call it quits, go ahead. We have training to do.” Eyes steady on the circle, she didn’t even look at him. “Molly, you’re up!”

Molly, who was a decent fighter, lasted less than ten seconds before Lara had thrown her out of the circle by her pigtails. “Oi! That ain’t fair!”

“The object is to throw your opponent out of the circle. I don’t care how,” Buffy said. “Julia, you’re next!”

Sam added two more suitcases to the pile that blocked the sidewalk, not that anyone was casually strolling around Sunnydale anymore. The news of the slaughter at St. Agnes’ had spurred most of the remaining families to flee the town. Robin Wood had closed the high school.

At least the buses were free now, and within and hour Wood would be arriving with one to transport all of the girls and their luggage back to Buffy’s. If they ever got the rest of the apartment packed.

Christ, the girls have a lot of shit!

Lili emerged from the building, two bags in hand. Upon seeing Sam, she quickly moved to hide one behind her back. Lili, an orphan from Estonia, was one of the only girls who had thrived since arriving. Her eyes and skin were brighter now that she ate and slept regularly. Her habit of stealing had not made her any friends; although, Kimberly had attempted to make her some clothes. She should have two bags now.

So why hide?

Sam leaned past her to hold the door. “Lemme help you with that.” He smiled at her as he lifted the bag from her hand. It was heavy. Laptop heavy.

He pulled out his phone and turned on the translator. “You know we’re just going back to Buffy’s?”

“Are you going to pack?” she asked, smugly. “The girls are handling your books and other stuff.”

Sam nodded. “That’s nice of them.” She knew he knew. That was enough. Besides, she’d get tired of trying to bypass the passwords after a while.

“Hey, did you happen to find Dean’s stash of candy?”

“No.” Lili looked interested. At least he thought she did. She was hard to read.

Sam smiled. “I’m going to check on the girls. Make sure that candy gets packed.”

Lili almost smiled.

Something tugged at his heart when he knocked on the door of Jada’s old apartment. He took a deep breath. Told his heart not to flutter.

“Andate, vampiro!” A laugh echoed in the apartment when Maria opened the door.

Sam was glad they could laugh after everything that had happened. It kept them human. “How’s packing going?” he asked in Spanish.

The girl shrugged. “Do you know how many curling irons we have? Everyone’s arguing over what belongs to who.”

“That doesn’t matter. We just have to move everything to Buffy’s. Sort it out later. Put what you have in the hall, okay? We can always come back if anyone’s forgotten anything.”

As soon as Sam opened the door to his own apartment, a couple voices fell silent. The girls who didn’t speak English continued chattering away, casting suspicious or worried glances his way. He didn’t like to turn on the translator on his phone unless they asked. Let them complain in peace. Dean’s call this morning about moving everyone back to Buffy’s had only caused a surge in grumbling.

Stepping around cots and clothes, Sam headed to the kitchen, where some girls were working on packing up the food. The moment she saw him, Nitika poked Shakti and unleashed a flurry of Marathi.

Shakti sighed. She was tall and slim, pretty in that awkward, alien way a model is pretty, and very, very rich. Servants rich. Summer home rich. Private jet rich. And now she was sleeping on a cot, acting as translator to another girl from Mumbai, one far below her social rank. It goaded her, but like the leader-in-training she was, she bit her lip and soldiered on. Now, the shorter, bespectacled girl had a question for him that she needed to present.

“Nitika wants to know,” was how Shakti usually began, wanting to make it clear the words weren’t hers, “if we still have to train today or if we can attend to laundry.” Nitika was one of many girls who had arrived with one suitcase. Shakti had at least four, and Sam was fairly certain she sent all of their clothes to a cleaner anyway. At least when one had been available.

“Excellent plan!” said Kimberly, slapping the counter. Though certainly not rich, she had also arrived with several suitcases and changed her clothes with her mood. “Spraying sweaters with perfume only goes so far.”

Sam shook his head. “Sorry, Buffy’s orders are moving then training.”

A groan rose from the group in waves as the update was translated from language to language.

“This is a good plan.” He was kicking himself already. He knew some of them didn’t like Buffy, but all of their reasons were shallow. Complicating the issue, most of them were homesick. There wasn’t much to reason with at this point. Still he continued. “It takes how many trips to get you all back and forth to Buffy’s every day? Plus, there’s strength in numbers.”

“Deux filles sont mortes là-bas,” Eva said over the crowd. Two girls have died there.

A stillness settled over the room. What could he say? That they shouldn’t have gone outside? Been alone? That their futures would be clinging to Buffy’s skirts?

He didn’t have to answer the girls. The door banged open and Dean, his cheeks flushed from activity, joined them. “I got Lili and those million bags packed in the Impala. Should be back in forty for another round.”

“No need. Robin is coming with a school bus.”

Dean drew back in surprise. “Robin? Wouldn’t have expected that dickbag to raise a finger.”

Sam smirked. “I may have said something about him being less useful than Spike. Besides, school is closed. If I play my cards right, he may take up in one of the empty houses by Buffy’s.”

Dean smiled and patted his brother on the shoulder.

“Okay, ladies,” Dean bellowed, “I got room in my car for one more. Quicker we get to Buffy’s the happier she’ll be.”

Solange, an army recruit from Armenia, pointed at Sam.

He knew what she wanted. He got out his phone to slowly recount for her why Dean was there. Unfortunately, Armenian was not one of the translator’s better languages.

The girl stared at him, her large, expressive eyes showing a mix of confusion and disgust. “Why to serve her?”

“Serve? Buffy?” Sam asked.

“She is not a good officer.”

“Whoa, wait a second!” Dean surveyed the room, getting a feel for the tension he’d walked into. “Buffy is the best Slayer to ever live. Bar none.”

“For a lot of stuff, totally,” said Vi. She continued wadding up clothes and shoving them in her duffle. “Buffy beat The Master. She killed, like, a million vampires. She died beating Glory. There there’s all the demons and ghosts and stuff. Buffy’s cool. But The First isn’t any of that. It’s an archangel.”

“Life’s full of firsts,” Dean said.

Eva asked a question in French. The translator squawked, “Why aren’t you in charge? Or Sam?”

“Because we’re not the Slayer.”

“Who was chosen at random,” said Shakti. A wave of agreement rolled through the girls as she continued. “History tells of many Slayers who did not last a week. Buffy was not even trained when she was called. It is nothing short of a miracle that she has become such a legend.”

“See!” said Dean with a smile. “Buffy knows what’s up.”

“But being a survivor is not the same being a leader,” Shakti said, cooly.

Dean clenched his teeth. “You want to say that to her face? Do any of you want to tell the woman who took you in to keep you safe that she’s doing a shit job?”

No one made eye contact.

“Enjoy your damn bus,” he said before storming out.

God, there’s too much blood.

The house felt quiet at this hour. It had been two weeks since Buffy had spread the Potentials into the neighboring abandoned houses. That had caused the unending stream of bathroom traffic to ease up, which meant Willow wasn’t constantly waking up to the sound of flushing or vomiting.

Instead, the nightmares had woken her. The same nightmare Willow had been having for weeks. She was herself. She was beside herself. Behind herself. She was young. She was old. She was angry, her veins black, shooting out a power she could not control. She was setting Sam Winchester on fire.

Willow took another sip before refilling her glass. The cold water ran down her throat, reminding her she was awake. It hadn’t been real. She was Willow Rosenberg. Powerful witch. Total nerd. The Slayer’s best friend. Friend to Sam Winchester.

As Willow headed back to her room, something outside caught her eye. She grabbed someone’s hoodie by the door and stepped onto the porch.

“Buffy?” she asked, nervously reaching out. Her pounding heart relieved when her fingers brushed her friend’s shoulder.

“I didn’t know insomnia was contagious,” Buffy said. She was trying to make a joke, but the sadness in her eyes wasn’t selling it. A plaid shirt peeked out from under her sweatshirt. She’d been crying.

“Buffy, it’s four in the morning.” Willow sat on the porch beside her.

Her friend nodded. “That makes sense. An hour ago, it was three.”

They sat in silence for a while. Willow breathed a little spell to keep the chill away. Should have grabbed a blanket. She didn’t want to leave her friend, but she wasn’t sure where to start either.

Buffy got up and stalked across the street. She ripped a branch off a bush in front of the neighboring house and disappeared behind the palm. There was a cry and a poof of dust. She slowly walked back to the porch.

“How many vampires have you killed tonight?” Willow asked.

Buffy shrugged. “Six? They just watch. It’s kinda gross.”

“That’s gross? I mean, the vampire scale is sort of tipped heavy on grossness and evil.”

“They’re up to something.” Buffy’s voice was hard. “Probably reporting back to Lucifer.”

By now, Lucifer had to know that they’d spread into neighboring houses. No more driving between Xander’s or the Winchesters’. Even Principal Wood had agreed to serve as a den parent. Trouble was, the houses the guys had taken up in weren’t their homes. They’d warded them against angels and demons. Garlic and crosses hung everywhere. Willow had done a few protection spells with her little coven before Buffy pulled the girls off of all witchcraft studies.

“Do you think they’re looking for weak spots?” Willow asked. “What if they got in one of houses?”

Buffy shook her head. “These are spies. Not soldiers.”

“Never been a fan of the war metaphors.”

“Not a metaphor,” Buffy said, darkly. Her words hung heavy in the air.

“What did you do to get blacklisted by the Sandman?” Buffy asked.

“It’s just PMS,” Willow lied. “You?”

Buffy sighed. “Giles called a couple hours ago. He needed a ride. I asked Xander to go.”

Xander’s Potential house was across the street, which explained why Buffy was up and watching. But Giles usually rented a car to drive himself and the newest Potentials home. “Did he say anything else?”

Buffy shook her head.

“We’re not going to win,” Buffy said.

“Don’t say that.”

“This is beyond everything.”

“We beat Glory.”

“I died,” Buffy said. Her face was disturbingly calm. “Let’s say we defeat the Devil -- who we still don’t know how to kill -- not everyone is going home. I promised these girls I’d keep them safe. I can’t. I can’t keep them safe, or you or Dawn or Sam. People I love are going to die, no matter what I do.

“I keep…” Buffy stared at her hands. “I’ve been sitting here in the dark imagining you dead. You. Giles. Dawn. Dean. Everyone. We have to keep going, keep fighting. It’s us or the whole world. But I have to prepare myself. We’re not all going to make it to the end.”

Deep down, Willow feared the same thing. She leaned over, and hugged her friend.

They waited.

Eventually, Willow went inside for coffee and blankets. They waited some more.

Just past dawn, Xander pulled into the driveway. Giles had his arm in a sling. They were the only people in the car.

“What happened?”

Giles sighed. It looked as if he’d aged ten years. He spoke in a flat voice of someone recalling an accident. “When I got there, they were all dead. There was a Bringer though. Now he’s dead.

“I’m tired,” he stated, heading inside to sleep.

“Are you coming in?” Willow asked Buffy.

The Slayer kept her eyes on the rising sun. “Why?”

Cut scene from this chapter

next chapter

39 notes · View notes