#edit: forgot to put in the link to ao3 dhdfklfdshlfdsfhlfds

[theajaheira]

imperfections (53/?)

read it on ao3!

GOD. OKAY. i am two chapters ahead and have officially entered the section of the fic that uses canon as more of a suggestion than a direct plotline. look forward to some messy family drama and a lot of emotional conversations.

not that this chapter has a shortage of that either, tho.

By the time Buffy returned from her usual patrol, the Scoobies had found a handful of articles on fear demons, as well as a few books detailing how to stop them. The only problem with this, however, was that none of the fear demons described were as subtle or as insidious as the situation that was happening in Sunnydale.

“There’s always the possibility that this really is just Sunnydale paranoia going horribly wrong,” Giles was saying as Buffy entered.

“Oh no,” said Ms. Calendar. “No, no, no. Remember what you said in the hallway? You said I’m always right about everything and you should listen to me.”

“Jenny, your argument is the most convincing one,” said Giles, looking up from his book with a tired frustration, “but even after countless hours of research, we’ve found little to no evidence that would support demonic involvement.”

“I might have to poke a few holes in your argument there, Giles,” said Buffy, striding up to the table. “What do we know about these kids?”

“What?” said Giles, setting his book down.

“Facts,” said Buffy. “Details.”

“They were found in the park,” Willow began helpfully.

“No,” said Buffy. “Where do they go to school? Who are their parents?” She paused, looking around, and saw that her instincts had been correct: not a single one of her friends had an answer to give her. “What are their names?”

“My mom’s been talking about those kids nonstop,” said Cordelia uneasily. “But she’s never once mentioned any names.”

“It never came up,” said Faith. “At all.”

“I assumed someone else had the details,” said Giles, looking bemused. “I suppose I never really…”

“We need info,” said Ms. Calendar. “Willow, pull up some newspaper articles, see if anyone ID’d the kids.”

“On it,” said Willow obligingly, taking Ms. Calendar’s place at the computer.

Ms. Calendar stepped up to Buffy, giving her a small, tense smile. “How’s your mom?”

“Well, let’s put it this way,” said Buffy, her stomach twisting at the thought of some of the things her mom had said, “I sure as hell hope that it’s some kind of fear demon pulling her strings.”

“Two Children Found Dead, Mysterious Mark,” Willow read aloud, then frowned. “No, wait, that’s from fifty years ago.”

“Keep going,” Xander added.

“Wait,” said Giles. Then, in a very different tone of voice, “Jenny, Buffy, come here and look at this.”

Exchanging a puzzled look, Buffy and Ms. Calendar obliged, stepping up to peer at the computer screen. From behind her, Buffy heard Ms. Calendar’s low whistle, and found herself extremely agreeing with the sentiment. “Those are the same kids,” said Buffy. “How are those the same kids?”

Willow loaded up the next page. “1899,” she read, eyes wide. “Utah. Rural Community Torn Apart by Suspicion.”

“A hundred years ago?” said Giles, confused. “How is this possible?”

“Oh, it goes way past a hundred years,” said Ms. Calendar suddenly. “Willow, can you scoot?” Willow scooted, and Ms. Calendar took her place, typing furiously. Information flew across the screen faster than Buffy could keep track of it.

“Jenny, would you mind slowing down a bit?” said Giles, leaning over her shoulder.

Ms. Calendar stopped on a German article. “1649,” she said with satisfaction, then squinted at the print. “My German’s a little rusty. Rupert, can you…”

“Of course,” said Giles, tilting his head and reading the article himself. “It was written by a cleric from the Black Village. He apparently found their bodies himself. Two children…”

“Greta and Hans,” Ms. Calendar finished, at which point she and Giles exchanged a Look.

“So they have names,” said Xander. “That’s new.”

“Do you think—” said Giles.

“Greta and Hans,” said Ms. Calendar with meaning. “Hans and Greta.”

Buffy cleared her throat. “Anything you guys wanna share with the class?” she said.

“Some folklorists believe that certain regional stories have very, ah, literal antecedents,” said Giles.

Buffy blinked.

“Fairy tales are real,” said Ms. Calendar.

“Hans and Greta,” said Faith, and then her eyes went wide. “Oh, shit.”

“Jenny’s paranoia theory was entirely right,” said Giles proudly, knocking Ms. Calendar’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Ms. Calendar. “I kinda thought that whatever we were up against was using the deaths of those kids as a way to screw with the minds of people in the town. From what we’ve found out, it looks very much like the demon is the kids.”

“It feeds on our darkest fear,” Giles added. “Turns peaceful communities into vigilantes.”

“And the leader of those vigilantes is my mom,” Buffy finished, horrified. “We have to talk to her!”

“I’ll go with you—” began Ms. Calendar.

“Absolutely not,” said Giles. “You’re already on their witch list. I’ll go with Buffy, and you—” He hurried to a stack of books on the table, pulling one out and handing it to her. “Chapter seven, I think,” he said. “It should make the demon appear in its true form. I’ve supplies at home in the study.”

“Cool,” said Ms. Calendar, and gave him a quick kiss. “Beep me when you need me, ‘kay?”

Giles gave Ms. Calendar a worried smile in return, then turned to Buffy. “To your mum’s, yes?” he said.

This was when Michael from Willow’s coven tumbled in, sporting a black eye and a bloody lip. “I was attacked!” he gasped.

“Oh, no, by who?” Willow gasped, hurrying forward to support Michael.

“My dad,” said Michael miserably. “Him and some of his friends. They’re taking people out of their homes—talking about a trial at City Hall. They got Amy.”

“Giles, we have to get to my mom,” said Buffy.

But Giles’s eyes were on Willow and Ms. Calendar. “Anyone who’s even close to being a witch, stay here,” he said sharply. “Jenny, that goes for you too. Don’t go home, don’t get anything, just—”

“Oh, you are not pulling this!” objected Ms. Calendar, infuriated.

“Jenny,” said Giles. “There is a stark difference between me being overprotective and me making sure the angry mob doesn’t put you on witch trial.”

Ms. Calendar opened her mouth, glared, and shut it. “Fine,” she said. “Fine!”

Giles muttered a few words, and the books once again vanished, leaving only the book in Ms. Calendar’s hands. “We’ll get to Joyce and get the spell together,” he said. “Stay safe.” And with that, he hurried out of the library, Buffy at his heels.

So absolutely nothing went according to plan.

“Buffy,” Willow was saying, her voice squeaky and urgent. “Buffy!”

Buffy stirred, wincing. Her head ached, and were those ropes digging into her stomach? As she opened her eyes, she was met with an angry mob, all of them holding torches and surrounding…oh no.

“So they got to the library,” said Ms. Calendar helpfully, her voice thin. She was tied to a stake at the far end of the room. “Can’t wait to tell Rupert all about how his bright idea ended up with us all tied to stakes. You know. If we don’t get burned alive.”

“Great pep talk,” said Amy sarcastically.

“Hey, B,” said Faith from the stake next to her. “Think Cordy and the guys got away, if that helps.”

“Not really,” said Buffy, wincing. At the front of the mob, she saw her mom, looking impassively up at her. “Mom!” she called. “Mom, you don’t want to do this—”

“When has it ever mattered what I want?” said her mom matter-of-factly. “All I wanted was a happy, normal daughter, and I got a Slayer.”

“Torch,” said Mrs. Rosenberg helpfully, handing Buffy’s mom a torch.

“Can you get loose?” Faith asked Buffy.

“They tied me pretty tight,” Buffy answered, but struggled anyway. The ropes didn’t loosen. “Willow, Ms. Calendar, you guys got any witchy tricks up your sleeve?”

“I’m a theorist!” Ms. Calendar burst out.

“And the most I can do is float pencils,” Willow added, sounding miserable about it.

Buffy’s mom had lowered the torch to the kindling, and a fire was beginning to start around them. “We need an exit strategy,” said Buffy through her teeth to Ms. Calendar.

“Working on it!” Ms. Calendar seemed to be trying to jostle her pager free. This only kind of worked. It did fall out of her pocket—and right into the flames. Ms. Calendar cursed violently in a language that Buffy didn’t know, which made more than a few torches turn in her direction.

That gave Buffy an idea. “That’s right!” she shouted at the crowd. “Be afraid! Be—uh, be very afraid, for if we die, your souls will be—”

“Cursed!” Faith chimed in. “Totally fuckin’ cursed and shit!”

“Maybe don’t yell at the angry mob, kids,” said Ms. Calendar tensely. “Really didn’t work in Salem.”

Amy then attracted a significant amount of attention by turning into a rat, scampering free of the fire, and running from the stake-burning.

“She couldn’t have done us first?” Buffy said indignantly.

Faith was still playing up the curse angle with a ridiculous amount of enjoyment for someone who was being burned at the stake. “Yeah, you in the back!” she was shouting. “You’re gonna have, uh, boils! Don’t look at me like that, you know where they’re gonna be—”

“Maybe we should leave,” said the subject of Faith’s curse in a high-pitched voice.

The air in front of Buffy’s mom shimmered, and then those two little kids were standing in front of the stakes. Oh, great,thought Buffy.

“But you promised,” said one.

“You promised to kill the bad girls,” said the other.

“Mom, dead people are talking to you,” Buffy persisted. “Do the math!”

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” said her mom placidly, like Buffy wasn’t a hair away from being really on fire.

The doors opened, and Giles, Xander, Cordelia, and Oz all hurried through, none of them noticed by the angry mob. Oz made a dive for the fire hose in the corner, Giles started getting his supplies ready, and Xander and Cordelia hovered apprehensively at the back.

Oz broke the glass. This got the crowd’s attention. “Stop them!” Joyce shouted, right as Oz turned the fire hose in Willow’s direction. Giles was frantically reciting in some language that sounded kind of like German; Ms. Calendar seemed to be trying to shout over the angry mob and correct his pronunciation.

“This is a mess,” said Faith conversationally to Buffy. “You wanna get milkshakes after?”

“Yeah, okay,” said Buffy without thinking, then stopped. Blushing, she glanced over at Faith (who was giving her a small, crooked smile), not quite sure what to add as a qualifier. It’s not a date, she thought, but…honestly, she kinda wished it was. It felt weird to hammer home a point when it wasn’t a point she really wanted to make. And what did that mean for her and Faith, if—

Buffy’s semi-panicked thoughts were interrupted when the two kids morphed into one giant, terrifying demon, provoking screams from the now-much-less-angry mob and a relieved grin from Giles. Buffy’s mom blinked, then stared. “Oh my god!” she gasped. “Buffy!”

“Protect us!” the demon rasped. “Kill the bad girls!”

“You know what?” said Buffy brightly. “Not as convincing in that outfit.”

Rupert and Joyce freed Buffy first, careful to make sure the dead demon didn’t topple over and fall on all of them. Then Joyce went to untie Willow, Buffy untied Faith, and Rupert untied Jenny, who spent most of the process making cheerful jokes about A) bondage and B) I Told You Staying In The Library Was A Bad Idea. It was perhaps a mark of how exhausted Rupert was that he didn’t really argue with her; Jenny made a mental note to kiss him silly before bed. That usually helped.

Willow’s mom had left.

Jenny noticed this fact because, as she was rubbing the rope burn on her wrists, she saw that Willow’s gaze was directed towards Joyce and Buffy. Joyce was whispering half-sobbing apologies and kissing the top of Buffy’s head; Buffy was snuggled in her mother’s arms, smiling softly.

“Hey,” said Jenny, sitting down next to Willow on a patch of charred straw. “You okay?”

“She burned me at the stake,” said Willow quietly. “And I know Sunnydale’s weird, I know she won’t remember tomorrow, but…Buffy’s mom at least remembers right now, you know? My mom isn’t gonna hug me and kiss me and put burn cream on the places where my sneakers melted weird—”

“Let me see those sneakers,” said Jenny immediately.

Willow’s mouth trembled. Without a word, she stuck out her feet; there were indeed a few places where the tips of her sneakers were made of strange, liquid plastic. “They don’t hurt that much,” she said. “But they still hurt. And it’s not even that she doesn’t notice, Ms. Calendar—she’s just not there.”

“Let’s go home,” said Jenny quietly.

“I don’t wanna go home,” said Willow, her voice wobbling.

“Not to your mom,” said Jenny, feeling suddenly very grateful that she and Rupert had sprung for a house with an extra bedroom. “Rupert and I have more than enough space at our place, remember?”

Willow nodded, then tucked her face into Jenny’s shoulder. As Jenny carded her fingers through Willow’s hair, she noticed something else: Joyce, still hugging her own daughter, was giving her a small, approving smile over Buffy’s head.