Stepchild of Belief

Disclaimer - they belong to Joss Whedon not me

Rating - PG-13

Pairing - B/A, S/D

Time line Post NFA/Chosen

Summary - The team gets called to rural West Virginia to investigate a bizarre string of deaths

Author's Note 1 - Thanks to SJ for the beta. This was written for the Happy Endings ficathon. Challenge parameters are at the end.

Author's Note 2 – I'm not exactly sure when I wrote this as it seems to be published at none of my usual spots. However, judging by the subject matter, I'm going to say it was around 2006-2008. The Mothman Festival is a real thing but it no longer uses the amphitheater for the talks described here and the Bennigan's is long gone. But in the time frame I just mentioned this is how the festival was and yes I've retconned this a tiny bit. Also it's AR, ignoring the comic canon because at the time I hadn't read them (and still haven't as far as the Buffy comics are concerned).

Chapter One

"This is just nuts," Buffy scowled, looking at the tightly-packed, festival vendor stands that crowded the street just across from their hotel; the Historic Lowe Hotel.

"Oh, come on, Buffy. You just know Andrew and Xander are eating their hearts out. They'd love this assignment." Dawn gestured at the silvery statue across the street of a muscular man with an insectoid head and 'lacy' metal wings. "The Mothman Festival just screams Xander's name."

Buffy snorted. "No argument. Where did my Watcher go?"

Dawn pointed toward the river. "Down at the amphitheater. He wanted to hear Rosemary Ellen Guilley speak. Besides, he's still grumpy that you stuck him in a room with Spike. It's best to just let him be."

Buffy grimaced. Ever since Angel and Spike had survived the apocalypse in L.A., they, along with Angel's kid, had joined in with Buffy and company. They had caught up with the Slayer in England and just started pitching in. It felt like...well, not old times, but it felt good to Dawn. Nostalgia was good sometimes. There was something uplifting after a long day to hear the three-way snark fest between Angel, Spike and Xander, and heaven help them if Connor joined the fray. Poor Angel usually ended up taking refuge wherever he could get some peace.

There had been uncomfortable moments, of course, especially at first with the vampires and Buffy but to Dawn's surprise Spike had stopped pursuing her sister. He seemed hurt that Buffy hadn't bothered to contact him when he came back from the dead. When she had come back to life, she had run to Angel. Spike saw her failure to meet him to be a sign that whatever they had was over. Spike spent his energy trying to keep Angel from Buffy but he looked like he was running out of steam for it. Dawn was grateful because that was getting old.

"Buffy, look." Dawn held up a little, gray, stuffed winged man. "Mothman! I have to get one for Giles and Xander...wait, no just Giles. Xander needs a Mothman T-shirt."

"He'll wear it proudly," Buffy said with a wag of her head. "But I don't see how this helps at all."

"We don't even know why we're here yet," Dawn replied. "Besides the reports. It's not enough to narrow it down. It seems like a lot of strange unrelated accidents. The only thing that links them is the persistent smell of cut grass, dandelion and a hint of sulfur."

"And what's up with that?" Buffy ran a hand through her hair. She had shorn it short and couldn't stop playing with it, unsure if she liked it. Dawn didn't. Buffy was still too thin, and the short hair made her look more anorexic. However, Dawn knew how much of a detriment long hair could be in a fight.

Dawn rolled her shoulders in response to Buffy's question. "No clue about the smell. We're still looking for that in the books. Want me to go to the amphitheater with Giles and listen in to the local mythology?"

Buffy glanced towards the river, and then shook her head. "No, and Angel and Spike have the book and web work covered."

"Or Angel has the mouse shoved up Spike's butt at this point or vice versa," Dawn replied, moving on to the next vendor.

Buffy snorted. "More likely than not. Stay with me. You can be an extra set of eyes at the scene of the last attack."

"Okay but first, look." Dawn held up a Mothman mug. "For Giles and the stuffed Mothman can be for Willow."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Dawn!"

"Lighten up," Dawn shot back and ignored her sister's puckered face so she could make her purchases. Buffy was too damn serious anymore, and she hated it. Dawn ran the silly stuff back to the hotel, which was just across the street. She ignored the sounds of vampires arguing coming from Giles and Spike's room next to hers and headed back out to catch up with Buffy. "Okay, ready, where to?"

"The guy who contracted Giles owns a furniture store right there." Buffy pointed down the block.

"Convenient."

They walked down the crowded streets, past the old store fronts. Efforts had obviously been made to preserve the nineteenth century facades. Huge balls of flowers were supported by black wrought iron poles in a beautification attempt. It was a community hanging on by its fingernails but it was trying hard to keep itself not only alive but pretty.

The furniture store was catty corner to a bar that had a strange, almost Mediterranean-looking flourish to its crumbling balcony. The windows above the furniture store were boarded up and painted to match the store front. There was something depressing about it for Dawn's money and the bar across the street creeped her out, though she couldn't say why.

No one greet them as they came into the store, as if no one particularly cared if a couch got sold that day. They made it all the way to the counter and had to ding the bell before a sales person came out to greet them.

"What can I help you ladies find?" he asked, his bottle brush mustache jiggling.

"We're looking for Mr. Hutton. He called Mr. Giles about the..." Buffy broke off and glanced around as if she expected someone to show up in the store. "The body in the apartment."

The man's ruddy face lit up. "Oh, you must be Ms. Summers then. I'm Mr. Hutton."

Buffy nodded. "I'm Buffy and this is my sister, Dawn."

Hutton's watery blue eyes narrowed. "You're younger than I expected."

"We're good at what we do though," Dawn offered, cheerily.

Hutton rolled his flabby shoulders. "I felt like I was in an X-File when this all happened. One of the local kooks...uh, I mean psychic mediums suggested I call this Mr. Giles." Hutton paused for a moment, looking lost in thought as he absently stroked his mustache. "Well, I guess this would be the place for feeling like you're in an X-File."

"Because of the Mothman?" Dawn glanced toward the storefront and to the people in costume outside the glass.

"Him, the UFO's, the curse of Cornstalk."

"What?" Buffy broke in.

"Indian curse." Hutton shrugged. "Don't know much about it. Maria could probably tell you more."

"The medium?" Dawn asked, thinking that name sounded familiar.

He nodded. "Come on. I'll show you the apartment. It's upstairs."

Dawn made a face behind his back. She and Buffy had lived for a little bit above a store in London and once the thrill of being in the center of things wore off, she found it tedious, noisy and often smelly with the bars and restaurants and all their dumpsters too close by. She wouldn't want to die in such a place. Then again, Dawn wasn't sure where she might want to die. Given her lifestyle, it wasn't something she wanted to dwell on.

"You can get up here from inside the store or the staircase behind the building," Hutton said as he unlocked the door. "Both doors were locked from the inside until I opened it up to find Tori when her boss called to see why she hadn't been at work in two days. She was simply dead, didn't look like she had been attacked or anything. The police seem to be stumped."

"There was something said about a funny smell," Buffy prompted, her eyes raking over the sparsely furnished apartment.

Hutton nodded. "It smelled like grass clippings and coal fire to me. You girls aren't from around here, are you? You've probably never smelled a coal-burning stove." He grinned slightly. "Kind of like bad eggs sometimes. Now, the apartment mostly smells like bleach from me and my wife cleaning up the place, though I don't know who'll want to rent it after what happened here. I need to get back down to the store. Just come back down when you're done."

Dawn waited until he was gone before saying, "I can't imagine wanting to rent it in the first place. All the windows overlooking the street are bordered up."

"Yeah, not of the cheery," Buffy remarked, starting to poke around.

There was little to see as far as Dawn was concerned. Someone had obviously been here and packed up all of Tori Morehart's personal belongings, leaving just the furnished portions of the 'furnished apartment.' There was a hint of bleach stench in the air but even that was faint now. Too much time had passed. She let Buffy take the living room and bedroom while she investigated the bathroom and kitchen. The door to the backstairs was inside the kitchen.

She went out onto the 'balcony' such as it was, a warped little thing that left Dawn with vertigo. She would have hated carrying groceries up those steep steps in the winter, heck at any time. As Dawn turned to go inside, she saw something in the upper corner of the door, stuck in the hinge. It looked like mulch. Dawn pried it free. It really did seem like something that would be found in a compost heap and there was still a faint grassy scent to it. "Hey, Buffy," she called.

"Find something?" her sister replied hopefully.

"Maybe."

Buffy popped out of the bedroom, eyes bright. She came over and took a look at what Dawn held. "Looks like something someone scraped off their shoe."

"And if it had been on the threshold, I'd agree but I found it at the top of the door and it does kinda have the smell everyone's talking about." Dawn worked up some enthusiasm for her find. "Think I should take it back to Giles?"

Buffy nodded. "It's better than nothing."

And nothing was all they found otherwise. The sisters headed back to the Lowe hotel, disappointed.