A/N I've been working on this for a while. It's a crossover/AU between Being Human: US and BTVS. All of us who are familiar with Being Human: US know how Josh and Aidan meet. Josh gets attacked by a pack of vampires and Aidan intervenes before they beat him to death. Well, what if instead of Aidan, it was Faith.
BTVS Pre-Req: For any readers who aren't familiar with the Buffyverse or for those of you who need a refresher; here's the gist about Faith: Faith is a vampire slayer with a dark past. At the end of the show thanks to a scythe and some major magic mojo every potential slayer is given the gift of the slayer. So, instead of there being only one; there are many. The ending of the show implies that the next mission of the Scooby gang is to find all the slayers. After the series ended there were some comics that came out and I have taken some minor details from those as well. That is what Faith is doing in Boston she is in charge of finding the slayers in New England.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Being Human: US. I have written this story just for fun and to tribute some awesome television.
Reviews are appreciated, but lurkers are okay as well.
It was another average night for three restless vampires. Marcus was accompanied by two lackeys: a large man whose name he didn't know and Shaun, a sleazy brit whose job was to be a liaison for the London family. There was talk that Bishop (along with some other unknown parties in Bristol and London) wanted to go public. Marcus he was eager to find out as much as he could, so that when the time came he would be right at his side. But until then he had one more player to kick off the board. Aidan. Bishop's perfect little soldier and the proverbial thorn in his side. Aidan was Bishop's current top advisor, and the reason why they were waiting in this greasy spoon diner.
"When is Aidan coming? I'm starting to get bored," Shaun grumbled, he hated that he had been dragged all the way across the Atlantic just to help out their American counterparts.
Marcus glared at Shaun, annoyed by his incessant complaining "Yeah, if I have to drink one more cup of this sodding coffee I'm going to start feeding right now, I don't care who sees me." He took another gulp of the oily coffee and grimaced. "I don't think even humans could stomach this stuff, you know what I mean?" He looked to the big spiky haired vampire opposite him.
The big vampire stared into his coffee and was silent, as usual. Not that he needed to use words to get what he wanted. The man was built like a tank.
"You don't say much do you?" Shaun leaned back with an amused grin on his face. "That is why I like you, you know?"
Marcus flipped his phone open. "Be quiet," he snarled. "I just got a text from Aidan; Bishop wants us back."
Shaun snatched his leather gloves off the table and roughly slid his hands inside them. "You mean to tell me that we have waited here for an hour and a half, just to rendezvous elsewhere?"
Marcus rolled his eyes and tried to tune out Shaun's ranting. He snapped his fingers and motioned to the guy behind the counter to bring the check.
"You Americans are so unorgan—," He stopped mid-rant as he realized that Marcus wasn't listening to him anymore. At that moment all the vampires simultaneously picked up on a faint pungent aroma that they recognized as a scent that was distinctly werewolf. The wicked grin on Marcus' face widened and his eyes darkened momentarily… Well, well, well what do we have here? Without saying a word the other two knew what he was thinking. The three nodded to each other in agreement and glared the young man down. He was clearing the table next to them; he moved slowly, like he was weighted down by sadness and resignation. He picked up the glass and carefully stacked the dirty plates onto each other, lost in thought.
I keep to myself for the most part. The last thing I want is for anyone to notice me. The way I see it, the only solution is to keep going through the motions, because it is really the only way I can function since that horrifying night when I lost everything that made me human. I try to analyze what happens to me every month as scientifically as I can, even though I know, deep down, that clinical detachment will not work for this. Before I was attacked, all I had to worry about was being the perfect student, son, and soon to be husband. I would give anything to take that night back. Now I'm stuck with this, this infection that makes my body change from a man to a monster every month. When it happens I feel the individual fibers of my muscles expand and contract. My heart pounding furiously as it struggles to pump blood throughout my body. My endocrine system expels surges of hormones and chemicals to help my body deal with the trauma. I experience liver, kidney, and heart failure almost simultaneously, but I don't die. I should die. Every time it happens I want to die, but no, somehow I still survive. All the while my bones break and shift and then I become something unnatural, something inhuman. It's been five months since I first transfor– since the incident, five months since I had to leave everything I ever cared about in my life. This wasn't supposed to happen. I should be at MIT, not working in this crappy diner, busing this crappy table. He placed the last plate into the bin and sighed. Who am I kidding? I deserve this because I am a monster; sometimes I am overwhelmed by the enormity of my self-loathing.
On his way back to the food prep area he got the feeling that he was being watched. He turned and saw the three men he just served glaring at him. Every instinct told him that those three men meant him harm. However, he didn't want them to know his suspicions, and hoped that the expression on his face didn't betray the panic and terror he felt inside. He made his way to the food prep area and did his best to try and look busy. He wiped down the counters carefully avoiding their gaze.
After a few minutes he snuck a glance toward the front, and breathed an internal sigh of relief that they were on their way out. However, his relief was short lived as he noticed that the tall bearded man had his beady rat eyes levelled on him, a smug predatory grin on his face. He glanced down and continued to wipe the already pristine counter just to avoid the tall man's gaze.
An hour later his shift ended and he grabbed the trash and made his way to the back door. He stood in the doorway momentarily and peered up and down the alley to make sure the coast was clear. After he dropped the bags into the bin he turned toward the street to leave.
"Well look what we've got here. Woof woof little doggie." He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he slowly turned around to see the tall, slender man from the restaurant walk out of the shadows with a wicked grin on his face. It was like something out of a b-horror movie.
"Wha- What are you talking about?" he was stunned and bewildered that he not only had enough nerve to get the question out, but also the fact that the man seemed to know what he was.
"N- no, you've made a mistake," he immediately began to back away from the man, continuing to feign ignorance hoping it would prevent the situation from escalating, but he knew that he couldn't reason with bullies; it had never worked in the past. He turned and ran towards the street, but was accosted by another man in a long overcoat wearing black leather gloves. The man's stance was defiant; his eyes alight with sadistic glee.
"Stay a while mate," Shaun sneered in a false lighthearted tone while he pushed him back towards the tall bearded vampire who Josh surmised was the ringleader of his tormentors.
His eyes darted to the back door of the kitchen, which was still slightly ajar. He opened his mouth to call out for help, but was silenced when he was violently pushed back against the wall. The force of it left him breathless and dazed. When his vision cleared he saw that he was held in place by a giant tank of a man. The man's large hand wrapped around his throat holding him in place. He clawed at the man's wrist trying to push him away but to no avail.
"No, no" he choked while Tank brought his other hand up and effortlessly pried his fingers off of his wrist, pinning his arm to the wall. At some point, he wasn't sure when, Shaun was on his left side pinning the other arm to the wall as well. The two vampires held him in place while Marcus pulled his arm back; his hand closed in a fist. He tightened his jaw in anticipation seconds before the vampire's fist collided with his face. It was like getting hit with a brick. Tank pulled him away from the wall and threw him toward the ground. Still dazed, he stumbled awkwardly and desperately tried to make his body cooperate enough to get away.
Marcus sees him limping away and grabs the collar of his vest pulling him back. "Where do you think you're going?" he says. They laugh and mock him as he twists and tries to escape, "Aw, he thinks he can get away." He hears the British one jeer.
He unzips his vest, slides out of it, and runs as quickly as he can. He barely makes it a yard or two before he collides into Tank. He gasps as he stares into the vampire's black soulless eyes, and is horrified to see that the man has also grown long and sharp fangs. He turns around and the other two men look the same. The vampires circled in closer at an impossibly fast rate. He feels helpless and that every motion he makes is frustratingly slow. The three vampires move in a blur until they are within arm's reach of him.
Once again he tries to maneuver around them seeking the safety of the street. Tank blocks his way, shoving him into Shaun, and then Marcus. It was like this for a few minutes and he until Tank throws him to the ground. He laid on the frozen ground; his mouth was open breathing in the cold air along with tiny specks of powdery snow. His eyes squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in a pained expression. The cold felt good against his throbbing jaw and for a few blissful seconds he was left alone. But he knew it wouldn't last because he could dimly hear the sound of their boots crunching in the snow getting louder with each step they took. Marcus grabs him by the back of his neck pulling him up and murmurs in his ear, "Just so we're clear, pup. You are meant to be on the ground, you are beneath us." Josh had no idea what he was talking about; he can barely concentrate on breathing let alone try to process a supernatural hierarchy lesson from a vampire with a superiority complex. Marcus pushes his face into the snow. "Come on guys now let's really have some fun."
Moments later he feels their feet in his gut and back with brutal force. He quickly realizes what is happening and tries to curl his legs up to protect his torso, but they are too quick. His body is screaming at him in agony while the vampires continued to beat and kick him. His eyes stayed open, but he wasn't seeing the graffiti ridden brick wall on the other side of the alleyway. He had retreated into his mind to escape the pain. It was the same place he'd go when his parents would passive-aggressively fight at the dinner table. He gasped and cried out as he felt another kick in his stomach that took the breath out of him. Please stop he desperately thought. Please just let it be over.
He was ripped out of his reprieve and screamed as he felt his arms being violently wretched over his head. Tank had grabbed his wrists and was dragging him further back into the alley. He laid curled on his side for a moment, staring blankly ahead as blood and saliva slipped past his lips. He could vaguely hear his attackers laughing like a bunch of idiotic frat boys, reveling in the torture they were inflicting on him.
Go! He told himself. You've got to keep moving. He dug his fingertips into the hardened snow and tried to drag himself away but, they were there. "No!" he cried out as they grabbed him by his ankles pulling him back to danger. In one swift and seamless motion Tank flipped him onto his back. His breath froze in his throat as he felt Tank's hands on his hips. He didn't want to think about what they were planning on doing next and he fought them with everything he had. He clenched his hands into fists and swung his arms around aimlessly, inadvertently hitting Marcus square in the nose.
"Hold him!" Marcus shouted with one hand clasped around his bleeding nose.
His breathing quickened "No, no, no" he hoarsely cried out as the British vampire grabbed a hold of both of his wrists and managed to cross them over and brought them down hard on his chest.
"Ahhuhhh!" He screamed in agony as the force aggravated his already injured ribs and bruised chest. He continued to squirm underneath Shaun's grip as Marcus spoke "I know what you're thinking pup and I can assure you that is the last thing we want from you."
He clenched his eyes shut, his chest heaving as he hoarsely cried out "What do you want!?" Marcus didn't answer, he just grinned devilishly and stepped aside as Tank flipped him over onto his stomach. He lay on his stomach expecting the worst. He felt their hands roughly pull his shirt over his head and gasped as his bare back was exposed to the cold Boston air. The cold, wintry air stung on his bruised back as the three monsters pelted him with snow. He writhed on the ground desperately trying to dodge the barrage of ice and snow that the vampires were raining down on him with terrible force and furious speed. His arms were trapped in his shirt and he couldn't see a thing. But he could still hear their laughter and the muffled words of their taunting, and it was then that it occurred to him that this was it; this was how he was going to die. He was going to be beaten to death in an alley.