#literally halfway through the zeppo i was like | 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 He had been afraid to chase her when she had withdrawn weeks ago, apparently burdened by her secret pregnancy.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