Disclaimer: I own nothing that anyone recognises.

A/N: First, I apologise for any OOC-ness. Second, the view presented in this of Colorado Springs isn't meant to be terribly realistic. It just kind of amuses me. Actually, none of this is terribly realistic, or meant to be taken seriously, including the OCs and, well, the plot. Third, this has been hanging around my harddrive for quite a while and is therefore a little...strange. Um, fourth, there's a couple of bad words but nothing too bad. Also, the timelines are probably messed up because I didn't pay any attention to them. But, that said, please review, if only to tell me how to fix it.

Indirect Encounters

It was supposed to be a normal, uneventful school excursion. Of course, with the typical O'Neill luck, there wasn't any chance of that.

The biology teacher, a Mr Coleman, was enthusiastic about his subject and was leading the way through the gardens with the young tour guide. Both the school teacher and the tour guide – an equally enthusiastic blonde whose name the class had been told and then promptly forgot – were both talking – enthusiastically – about the abundance of plant life around them.

None of the students in the class were listening.

Particularly not listening was Jon O'Neill, who, with his normal aversion to scientists when they were actively working on science, was lurking at the back of the long, trailing line of bored students with Cassie Fraiser. Such positioning was not, however, in order to keep from doing the assigned work, because no one else was doing any work anyway and was therefore highly unlikely to tattle on anyone else. The other four members of his and Cassie's small group were at various other positions in the straggling line of students.

Jon was doing what he would have termed, had he been offworld, or even still in the military at all, watching the class's six. Actually, he said things like that anyway, much to the bemusement of his peers.

Earlier that morning, before school had started, he had contacted the other five with the information that he had a majorly bad feeling about the excursion. That is, he had a specific bad feeling, as opposed to his normal, run of the mill paranoia. Taking heed, they had come prepared; Jon's intuition hadn't been wrong yet, and they trusted it. Intuition – or whatever else a person might want to call it.

Living in Colorado Springs, a person learnt an awful lot about weird things – things which weren't quite as hidden as the Air Force liked to believe. Not, of course, that anyone would ever talk about the not-quite-total lack of secrecy and associated weird goings-on. In fact, the schoolkids were about the only people who even acknowledged anything, publicly or otherwise, as being something more than their imaginations. Adults mostly appeared to have a remarkable capacity for rationalising – and then ignoring – any odd experiences.

Admittedly, any adult who broached the subject was dismissed out of hand as a nutcase and that possibility had never really worried the teenagers; adults automatically dismissed them as nutcases all the time anyway. But it was the schoolkids who had unanimously and silently agreed that Jon, Cassie, and their somewhat eclectic friends were the best bet at – well, lacking a politer term, and schoolkids rarely bothered attempting to find polite alternatives, their best bet at saving everyone's asses.

Jon's tension had been noted by his classmates, and knowledge of it passed along to everyone else. Every person in the gardens bar the typically-oblivious adults was expecting something untoward to happen.

So when the class were passing through a clump of trees, it somehow came as no surprise to those in the know when one of the aforementioned specimens of plant-life came alive and lashed out at the tour guide. Jon's immediate instinctive shout to fall back came as even less of a surprise.

About two miles and five minutes away, a beat-up minivan sped down the road, very possibly breaking speed limits had any of its occupants bothered to check.

'How much further?' Buffy demanded of the driver. She was feeling stressed, and the close confines of the overly-familiar vehicle weren't helping any.

'Not long. Not far,' Xander, the designated driver, replied shortly.

He wasn't immune to the tension either, and Buffy's frequent requests and back-seat driving certainly weren't helping in the communicable stress department. And while Willow wasn't speaking, Xander had that tingly feeling that meant she was doing some sort of magic sitting next to Buffy back there.

Unnerving was the least of it.

Dawn, at least, wasn't here; she had instead been coerced into holding down the fort at their rented house in Colorado Springs. Buffy was, Xander mused privately, as overprotective as she had ever been.

'We're not going to get there in time, are we?' Buffy queried anxiously, not really wanting an answer, feeling this situation was somehow her fault.

Xander knew that she would, ridiculously, blame herself if the three of them didn't manage to reach their destination in time, and made a carefully non-committal noise in answer to her question.

'Xander,' Buffy began, about to reiterate her words, when Willow interrupted.

'Done it,' she said, in a voice that would have been gleeful if not for the previously-mentioned stress.

She was holding a small LCD monitor, which she had somehow rigged to show the event that were unfolding at their destination, like a modern crystal ball. Somehow.

At the sound of Willow's voice, Buffy immediately leant over to her, looking at the mojo'd monitor. And let out a heartfelt curse.

Xander risked taking his eyes off the road, and asked 'What is it?'

'There's a class of high school kids there, on some tour. Which would be fine. Except they're about two hundred feet away from the demon.'

'And closing,' Willow added nervously.

'Crap,' Xander said, and followed it up with internal string of expletives, pushing the accelerator further down towards the floor.

A matter of tense seconds later, Willow let out a noise of surprise. Buffy, once more staring through the windscreen, as if willing the road to pass by faster, turned back towards her friend.

'Wills?'

'What is it?' Xander said, feeling like a broken record but adding in his two cents all the same.

'Uh, guys, you should probably...see this,' Willow said. 'It's...sort of unusual.'

'Unusual how?' Xander said, resisting the urge to ignore the road and look instead at Willow.

Staring into the screen, tilting her head curiously, Buffy replied 'Sunnydale unusual.'

Dammit. I knew there was a reason to hate trees.

The latest weird alien crap to fall into Jon's life was – well, he couldn't really call it standing, as such – but it was definitely right in front of the class, lashing out at them with its not-exactly-arms. Lashing out with many of its not-exactly-arms. The alien-thing was tall. And green. And leafy, with a touch of woody.

Still, on the bright side, at least it should burn well.

With that thought, he called out 'Steph, Nick!' When the pair looked at him, he gestured wildly at the alien. 'It's basically a tree! Burn it!'

Eyes lighting up, Jon's two pyromaniac friends – because everyone's really a pyro at heart, and Steph and Nick merely had appropriate and plentiful supplies for active pyromania – nodded excitedly, high on adrenaline. As they ran forward, pushing past teenagers, Jon glanced around at the rest of his classmates. Chris and Cassie were organising the other students away from the alien, and placing themselves between it and the other kids – Chris with his ever-present knives, courtesy of a past with social welfare that he didn't talk about, already in his hands. Miranda was running much-needed interference with Mr Coleman, and simultaneously checking on the unconscious tour guide.

Grinning – in both pride at his team – friends, whatever – and anticipation of the fight ahead – Jon reached for his own smuggled knives, and headed towards the two pyros, who had gleefully set a portion of the being on fire. Homemade grenades could really come in useful sometimes.

'Nick! DUCK!'

'Okay...That's either really good news,' Xander paused, and went on 'or really, really bad news. They're used to being attacked by demons?'

'Oh yeah, looks like it. Coping well, it seems,' Buffy said abstractedly, more than a little disturbed that otherwise normal teenagers had to have the ability to fight demons. Hypocritical or not, she just didn't like it.

Willow whistled, knocking Buffy out of her thoughts.

'Look at that! Man, are they good at setting stuff on fire.'

Buffy checked the monitor, and sure enough, the kids had chucked something at the demon, causing its wooden-looking skin to flare up like anything. She began, just a little, to feel better about getting to the gardens on time. Maybe – certainly if things went on as they were now – everyone would actually live this time.

Musing, Willow continued 'You know, I don't think they even have a Slayer. That kid in charge is a guy, and Slayers are all female,' she said, and then paused. Sounding more worried, she went on 'We were sure this place wasn't a Hellmouth. If it is they should have a Slayer, but they don't. If it is, we should have noticed it earlier. But if there's no Hellmouth then there shouldn't be many demons. And if not many demons come here, why are the kids experienced enough to react like this?'

Wincing at the screen as a green limb came perilously close to disembowelling one of the kids, and he retaliated by slicing it near-through with a vicious-looking sharp knife, Willow trailed off, her brow furrowed in thought.

'No Slayers?' Worried again, Buffy peered closer at the small screen held in her friend's hands.

'No, I don't think so,' Willow replied absently, focused on something else.

'Hmmm...' Buffy muttered to herself, not sure if she should be worried that the kids didn't have a Slayer with them, or somehow offended they had managed so well so far without one. She decided to go with worried – she could always be offended later. Opening her mouth to ask Xander, again, when they'd get there, Buffy was sidetracked – to Xander's relief, as he'd guessed she'd be asking again soon and really didn't want to answer again – by three things happening in short order.

First, Willow's forehead de-wrinkled and she began to look satisfied.

Second, the minivan swerved violently to avoid a slower vehicle.

Third, the monitor emitted noise. Much noise, in fact. Sounds of burning, of explosions, of the irate, and now flaming, demon. Sounds of intermingled babble from the large majority of the class. In the foreground, five students, apparently nearly the only ones knowing what they were doing, shouted to each other, trying to be heard over all the other noise.

'Cassie, grab that – yeah that bit! – now, Chris, now!'

'Steph, got a light?'

'You idiot, didn't you bloody bring-'

'Steph!'

'Catch, then!'

'That hurt, you sonuvabitch. You're gonna get your ass kicked!'

'Look, mind your language, yeah?'

'You don't think that this is maybe not the time for your swear-jar attempts?'

And in the background, and older voice, answered by a younger, calmer one.

'Miranda, are you sure that this is the best-'

'Yes, sir, positive. Now just hold that there, while I tie this down, will you? Please?'

Personally, Buffy thought they were being a bit loud – but if that's what worked for them, then hey, why not? And it's not like the kids had to worry about anyone hearing – besides those in the immediate area, the gardens were deserted.

'Guys, what are you doing back there?' Xander inquired from the front seat.

'Nothing. Willow got sound.'

'Oh, good. Who's winning?'

'Uh...'

The women studied the goings-on in the gardens again.

'I think we can safely say the good guys have the upper hand.'

'Oh, good,' Xander reiterated. He still didn't slow down, though.

Arthur Coleman couldn't help but feel that he had, somewhere along the way, lost control of the situation entirely. He knew, also, that it probably wasn't the best idea to be relying on one of his students for medical advice regarding how best to treat an unconscious tour guide. Furthermore, she was a tour guide with what might have appeared to be nasty lacerated whip marks, if he hadn't seen them applied by a tree, of all things. On the other hand, he didn't know anything about medical issues beyond purely academic knowledge, so at least Miranda seemed to know what she was doing.

You're a grown adult, you should know well enough to seek help when it is needed, with at least a minimum of embarrassment.

Somehow, words like that didn't actually help when he was relying on a bunch of school students to save both him and the rest of his class from some sort of moving tree. A tree that was now, it seemed, on fire, but was still managing to do an amazing job of flailing around dramatically and causing damage.

Arthur Coleman, biology teacher, abruptly felt an overwhelming desire to find somewhere to close his eyes and hide until the world made sense again. Instead, he finished helping Miranda fix the tour guide's arm, and her leg, and then tried to get that part of the class not doing battle with an animated flaming tree into some semblance of order.

Strangely, none of the students appeared to be especially perturbed by the sight that was now confronting them all. Maybe he was getting old.

The tree-thing was now flailing a lot less dramatically than it had been previously. Thankfully, the flames scurrying along its limbs, or branches, or whatever, appeared to finally be having a proper, debilitating effect upon it, limiting the damage it had been incurring until any harm it did was solely to itself. It was also perhaps fortunate that the tree-thing's intelligence was stunted enough that it didn't even attempt to eliminate the fire that was now burning brighter than ever.

The class of students, who had grown practised in these matters, judged the fight to be more or less over, bar the clean up that would inevitably ensue to prevent any adults stumbling over the remains and having to invent an explanation so that alleged demon-trees could fit into their view of the world. Indeed, those class members who had been actively participating in the fire fight were now standing back, watching the blaze with something approaching satisfaction.

The feeling only lasted a few seconds.

'Uh, did anyone happen to come up with a plan to deal with all the other flammable stuff around here?' Miranda asked hesitantly, fearing that she knew the answer.

'Right. Oops.'

Silence fell, leaving only the sounds of the crackling fire, and the teenagers free to think about all the problems surrounding the lighting of fires, for whatever purpose, when completely surrounded by plant-life. Miraculously, it seemed that nothing else around the class was yet burning, the evil tree-thing the only object, living or otherwise, that was aflame. The students exchanged mutually shifty glances, waiting for the other shoe to drop, or the wind to change.

Mr Coleman looked as though he were about to speak up, to herd the class out of the immediate vicinity as directly as possible, and then call the fire brigade from a safe distance, and then decide what to do about having to explain the reasoning behind the fire.

He had just decided on blaming it all on a freak accident (there were enough around, in Colorado Springs, for this to be a believable excuse, and it was possible he'd just figured out why, if he couldn't manage to forget the whole experience with the aid of alcohol) when the tree-thing, for no apparent reason, flamed brighter than ever, giving off an effect similar to that of an abnormally large strip of magnesium.

And then the tree-thing, had any of the class been looking to see, rather than shielding their eyes, promptly exploded. Or possibly imploded. Or something. None of the students, nor Arthur Coleman (who was now giving seriously consideration to that strong drink), nor the tour guide, who was just now coming around, saw what precisely had happened. Upon opening their eyes, all that remained of the most recent battle against forces unknown was a pile of leaves and twigs, such as might have been left by an untidy or lazy gardener.

'Oh. Critical mass. Okay.'

'That works for me.'

'It exploded,' Buffy said, sounding every bit as shell-shocked as if she had been caught in the blast herself. 'The tree-demon exploded.'

Xander couldn't help but think that this was probably, given other available options, a piece of news leaning towards the optimistic.

'Imploded, I think,' Willow said absentmindedly, before her tone turned decidedly grumpier. 'What exploded was my monitor.'

'It did?' Xander asked, while Buffy was occupied in saying 'Is that what it did?'

Continuing in her sulky attitude, Willow replied huffily 'I think its retinas have been burnt out.'

'Retinas?'

When Buffy, Xander and Willow reached the gardens where the recent demonic events had taken place the area was deserted. The class of schoolchildren had vacated the gardens, probably to avoid any questions that might ensue. And the teacher that had accompanied the class likely wasn't as used to supernatural events as were those that had taught in Sunnydale.

Any questions coming from teacher or guide would be awkward. But the kids had seemed practical. They more than likely had already formulated some sort of backup plan to deal with questioning. And adults hated to ask stupid-sounding questions anyway. So that was probably all fine.

The tree branches rustled above the heads of the trio, leaves moving in the wind and occasionally dropping to the ground to rest among their fallen comrades. It was credible that some of those fallen leaves had belonged to the tree-demon, but it was impossible to tell. The gardens were silent beyond their footsteps, and the wind.

The main problem was just how a bunch of kids knew so much about defending themselves from demonic visitations. Such abilities weren't problematic, as such, but from everything that Willow could determine Colorado Springs was not the site of a Hellmouth.

So why, exactly, were demons common enough in this area to make necessary the existence of a group of kids like those Buffy had just seen? Demon-fighting vigilantes didn't just crop up wherever there was a one-off appearance of the paranormal. They were far rarer than that.

It was worrying. If there wasn't a Hellmouth then something else had to be attracting the demons. And the three Sunnydale expatriates had no real idea as to what that might be.

They wandered slowly through the garden grounds, circling the area calculated to have been that where the incident had occurred. Their occasional quiet comments broke the silence, and the nearly imperceptible sound of the grass and leaves flattening beneath their feet. With the demon dead, and the class gone, there didn't remain much for the three of them to do.

Squatting on the wide branches of a tree, leaves hiding them from view, Jon and Cassie froze as the short blonde woman halted her steps. Almost directly beneath them she stood unmoving, her posture suggesting that she was listening for something.

Equally motionless, Jon and Cassie shared a glance hoping that firstly she hadn't heard them, secondly wasn't looking for them and thirdly wasn't going to stand there all day because otherwise there were irritating and inconvenient cramps in their near future. And Miranda would only be able to stall the teacher for so long.

The breeze started up again, hiding any noises Jon or Cassie might be making amongst the movement of the leaves around them. Cassie propped her back more firmly against the tree's wide trunk to better balance herself, briefly wondering why they were hiding in a tree when they had just killed something masquerading as one. Putting that minor quibble aside, Cassie stared unblinking at the fair-haired woman below.

There was always a chance, living where she did in such a close vicinity to alien interference, that she might suddenly develop telepathic powers of persuasion. Unlikely, but only as much as Jon's uncanny and probably alien-influenced intuition, which was exactly what Cassie had to thank for being stuck in this uncomfortable tree.

But whatever the reason for it, leaving telepathy aside, the woman didn't look up. If she had she might have found, whoever she was, that the leaves had shifted in the breeze just enough to allow her a clear view of both Cassie and Jon, who was carefully holding onto a branch to keep his own balance, further out on the tree limb as he was.

And then the man who had arrived with the blonde woman called out to her, and she turned to look at him as the wind changed and the leaves shifted back to hide the two teenagers in the tree from any wandering eyes. Peering carefully through the remaining gaps in the thick cover of leaves, Cassie could just manage to see the blonde walk off, presumably to rejoin the friends that Cassie couldn't currently see from her position.

She looked over at Jon, who with a marginally better view of the three on the ground would have a better idea of when it was safe to move, or indeed speak. It was several more careful shifts of stiff limbs later when Jon signalled that it was safe again to move. When Cassie slowly stood on her branch, hands behind her and holding onto the tree's wide trunk, she saw that the three adults were nowhere to be seen.

'So were they what got you nervy?' she asked curiously, sitting down again and settling herself as comfortably as she could manage.

Jon shrugged. 'I think so.'

'And?'

'Dunno,' he said. 'But it was weird how they turned up right after the tree-thing, yeah?'

'Yeah,' Cassie confirmed.

And it was weird. Even if her saying so only proved the presence in her of the paranoia that she would swear was contagious because she hadn't been this badly affected before Jon had started attending her high school, it was weird. And "weird" in Colorado Springs always smelt suspicious.

'Reckon it's connected?' she asked.

'Maybe. Did you notice they were looking around for something? And they were only looking in a small area.'

'Yes,' she said slowly. 'Like they knew what they were trying to find, and knew where it should be. Signs of the tree-thing, you think?'

Jon shrugged expressively again. 'Maybe it's worth seeing if they turn up again, though,' he said, and shifted on his branch, preparing to vacate his perch.

A few moments later, both Jon and Cassie had dropped out of the tree, landing easily on the ground below in a manner that suggested long practise.

'We'll tell everyone to keep an eye out, then,' Cassie agreed as they started jogging in the direction previously taken by the rest of the class.

'Just in case.'

Their footsteps landed almost silently on the grass as the pair ran to rejoin their classmates, hopefully doing so before the teacher realised they were missing. Or at any rate, before the teacher felt compelled to do something about his discovery of their absence.

'They were watching us?' Xander asked sounding slightly strangled, his tone skipping curiosity or disbelief and going straight for instinctive outrage.

'I guess,' Willow offered absently, trying to again fine-tune her crystal-ball-monitor.

Xander produced some indistinct grumblings. Buffy remained quiet.

The three were again gathered in the van around Willow's latest experiment in meshing magic with technology. She had managed to get operational again just in time to pick up the steadily-growing-clearer images of two schoolkids running through the gardens, and determine from where they were running. It wasn't hard to guess, even with no sound, what the pair had been doing. Hence Xander's frustration, which both women were easily ignoring.

A moment later, apparently tired of mumbling vague complaints, Xander said 'Buffy?'

'Hmmm?'

'Are we staying, or moving on?' Xander asked, and then added 'Long term, I mean.'

Buffy hesitated. 'There's no Hellmouth here,' she said finally, in the tones of someone wanting to be persuaded. 'So there's technically no reason to stay.'

Willow and Xander shared a glance.

'Except of course for the demons that need slaying, somewhere for Dawn to actually attend school instead of traipsing around the country,' Willow began.

'Possibly less hectic than Sunnydale given the no-Hellmouth-thing, the why-so-many-demons-when-no-Hellmouth thing,' Xander picked up. 'And then, the thing with the schoolkids.'

Willow turned to him, tilting her head in inquiry. 'You mean the kids-killing-demons thing, or the kids-spying-on-us thing?'

'Either. Both. Maybe the kids-knowing-we-were-there-to-spy-on thing.'

They both looked at Buffy.

She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. 'Then I guess we'll hang around for a while.'

[-end-]