Ink Blots
A Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Watchmen Crossover
Summary: Willow went as Rorschach that night when everyone changed into their costumes. Now with mentions of Stargate, Supernatural, Kiki's Delivery Service, Speed Grapher, Batman, Xena, and House.
Chapter One: Repercussions
It was like someone had dumped out a vacuum bag over the city. Everything was aged, not in the good way that raised prices, but in a way that screamed neglect. Thick layers of grime covered every surface like a second skin as if it was some weird defense mechanism against the harshness of reality.
Rorschach stalked through back alleys and dim street corners. He skirted the law, as always, and listened for the small cues of the city. Weak minded sheep mingled in the lamp light as like it could protect them and their ignorance made him sick. They ignored the rot setting in. Ignored the corruption that festered before their eyes in favor of titles and false security.
Any one of them could become a victim.
He moved deeper into the slums, gaze flickering over a half-clothed girl with dirt smeared across her face and three teeth missing, and allowed his mind to wander briefly. Where was the child's mother? Father? Sperm-donor? The girl chewed on the end of one badly-plaited braid nervously and backed up from her city of crushed cans and broken bottle windows. Rorschach paused and reached into a pocket. She reminded him so much... so many he remembered... these were the reason he fought. Why he would never surrender.
The girl hesitantly took the wrapped sugar cube from his blood-stained glove with a gaping smile. He gave her a quick pat on the head before blending into the shadows. In another block there would screaming, broken fingers, and if all went well he'd have an address.
Willow woke shaking. It wasn't so bad, not really, but the intense feelings always left her shaking. She wondered if this was what Buffy felt whenever she had a prophecy dream. Willow stared down at her fingers and winced while rubbing them to assure herself that they were whole. It hadn't been her. Couldn't have been her.
"Wasn't me. Wasn't me." Willow whispered as she tried to forget the sounds of delicate human bones snapping. Her inner nerd had named each bone as it splintered under pressure. More than the pain on the man's face, more than the blood dribbling from his nose, what worried her most was that deep down it hadn't bothered her. She'd observed Rorschach work his way through a nest of criminals like she watched Buffy go through a gang of vampires.
But they were human.
Are they? Her inner voice questioned quietly. Evil comes in many forms. Evil must be punished.
"Willow! You have to go to school!" Her mother's voice broke her from her musings and Willow gave a sigh of relief. School. Wonderful, familiar school. How she hated the sudden break as half the teachers had gone missing over halloween as well as a good portion of the student body. What surprised her most was that the police had actually taken notice for once.
Apparently if the numbers get high enough gangs on PCP just doesn't cut it. At the moment the local news had postulated everything from terrorist attack to broken gas main. "Okay, mom! I'll be down in a minute!" Willow slid out of bed and trooped over to the closet. She flicked through the hangers dismissing outfits based on color. Too bright. Too gaudy. Too... fuzzy. But I like fuzzy. It's soft and touchable. Willow frowned dismissed the conflicting thoughts by reaching for a white blouse and a skirt that would go well with some tights.
Layers were good. She always liked layers. Perhaps one of her old vests from the back? She opened the closet door a bit further and moved hangers out of the way with quick a 'snick, snick, snick' as the metal hooks slid against wood. Simple vests greeted her but when she went to grab the black one it slipped and landed on the floor.
It landed right next to where she had thrown her costume. Willow knew she had stopped breathing as she watched the black-and-white pattern shift as the vest slid off it.
"Maybe not." She murmured as she shut the door. She'd just grab a light jacket from her mother's closet.
"Hey! I need an emergency transfusion!" A nurse in a rumpled uniform called out as she ran from the emergency room. "Do we have anymore AB positive?" She asked in a rush. Her fellow medical personnel groaned in frustration while giving her a negative. They were out of just about everything. They had more patients come in over the past three days than they usually got in a month. Most that came in were either dead or barely a scratch.
They were still getting patients, luckily for those they already had most of the new arrivals were headed straight for the morgue. If it wasn't Sunnydale General Hospital the overflow might have been a problem but the architect of their little facility had given special attention to cabinets for dead folk. Reinforced with combination locks might be excessive for some, but it had saved more than one night janitor.
"Shit." Nurse Betty hissed as her pager went off. "What about O? Poor kid looks like he's been shot. Several times. Been bleeding out near the cemetery who knows how long."
Nurse Thompson gave a quick nod and made a quick call to the blood bank station; upon getting transferred to Sunnydale he had found it amusing that the blood storage would have an armed guard, now he realized how damn necessary it was.
Not to mention how high the turnover rate for the job.
"They got some left. It's being transferred now."
Betty gave him a tired smile and headed back to the ER. Thompson turned to Doctor Fraiser, who was on break and smoking behind a pillar, "When do you think this'll be over?"
Fraiser arched an eyebrow and for a split second Thompson thought he saw the man's eyes glow in the bright light. "It's never over." The man laughed to himself. "Think we can move all those idiots with the broken bones to a separate ward? They're taking up space."
Nurse Thompson checked the computer. "Maybe. At least the ones that have already been interviewed."
"I don't know why they even bother..." The doctor grumbled as he pushed off the pillar and put his cigarette out in a plant pot. Not for the first time Thompson wondered why no one said anything about it.
Then he remembered that in Sunnydale, no one really said anything about anything.
Amy was seriously debating the use of going to school. She wasn't by nature a vain or lazy person, but lately it had taken far more effort than usual to get up early and get ready for school. She grabbed a length of dirty blonde hair and ran a brush through it for the hundredth time that morning. Somewhere, somewhen, she had heard that a hundred strokes a day was key to soft curls. Nox, her mothers familiar, sat on her lap and purred in approval.
Still a bit wary of getting her hand scratched by irritable claws, Amy hesitantly gave the black cat a few quick strokes before resuming her own brushing. Nox had always been her mother's cat, first and foremost, and had only tolerated her presence as the occasional food giver. Lately the cat had been following her around with something eerily similar to calculating intelligence in it's eyes. Familiars weren't chosen for stupidity, after all.
"I woke up late enough as is, not like it's going to matter if I miss one more day." The teenager grumbled as she flicked her bangs to the side with her brush. Satisfied, she preened in the mirror examining her features for what felt like the thousandth time since she woke up in that dingy motel room on the outskirts of Sunnydale. And hadn't that been terrifying! Amy turned her head, eyes critically moving to the cheeks that had finally lost all signs of baby-fat, then to her breasts which had gained a cup size. Not too big, thankfully, to cause any concern.
She had gone from cute girl to pretty woman in the space of night, and she had a fairly good idea as to why. The new shop had an allure to it, a minor spell to attract attention to itself, and Amy went in recognizing the magical aura if not the purpose. She was still very new to actual spell casting even if she'd grown up around her mother and the costume shop had intrigued her. Stupid, Amy. Your mother was right. All magic is suspect. You are an idiot. Thank the Gods it didn't leave you a vegetable.
Shaking her head the aspiring witch opened her bureau drawer to put her brush away and was confronted with yet more evidence of her stupidity. Jewelry shined innocently up at hand moved to pet the black feline taking up her lap while the other dipped into the jewels. She held a sparking diamond ring to her face to better admire the way light reflected out of it. Soon she switched it for a thin silver chain a set of pearls dangled from. Amy chewed on her tongue. It was a nervous habit developed back when she was a child and her mother would look at her chubby body with distaste.
The jewelry wasn't hers. She'd stolen it while, 'out' was as good a phrase as any she supposed, and it was only right to return it. But if she took it back they would know it was her. It was impossible to sneak it back, their were cops and extra surveillance added since the heist, so all she could really do was sit on the jewelry.
Part of her scoffed at the idea of returning any of it. The same part insisted on fencing most of it, anyway, to get rid of the evidence and make a little cash.
Amy replaced the necklace and closed the drawer, locking the antique lock built into it, and gently lowered Nox to the floor. She was criminal. The spell that had effected everyone made her into a criminal and her stomach did a little flip. She did not want to go to jail. She wanted to be free to make her own decisions, to be free from anyone dictating her life. Jail was the exact opposite of that.
"I hope you're happy, mother." Amy grumbled a she picked out a set of her mothers old platform high-heels. "Now I'm everything you ever wanted. I'm pretty, slim, and athletic with wonderful balance." As if to drive the point home she did a quick spin in the shoes that once would have made her crash painfully to the floor. "Only I'm also a cat-burglar. Yay."
Picking up her school bag by the bedroom door -she didn't need 'truant' added to 'thief' on her list of offenses- she headed downstairs for her mothers car. As she walked by the thin wooden door swayed, and a once-polyester-now-very-real-leather body suit shifted on it's hanger. A thick belt covered in pouches tapped against the door and a steel claw-tipped glove unbalanced enough to fall on the floor.
Nox sniffed it, then purred in contentment.
Things were strange. Very, very strange. Frank Colcoon ran a wet hand over his face as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and bemoaned his choice of costume at his work's mandatory halloween party. Sure it hadn't required much effort on his part -an old suit and a quick trip to the new shop across the street to pick up a trench coat from the bargain rack- but now he knew way more about the supernatural than he ever cared to.
For one thing he had over six thousand years of memories jumbled up in his head and sudden liking for trench coats.
Frank sighed at the bags under his eyes, caused by lack of sleep and a night of demon-slayage, and fumbled for the aspirin. Hello, I'm Castiel, an Angel of the Lord. He had spoken those words with such brevity at the door, explaining to the doorman that he was, in fact, in costume. How was he supposed to know what was going to happen during the door prizes?
Glorious pills went down easily with a handful of water. Maybe the voices would shut up. He knew they weren't Father, there wasn't enough love in them but instead a cold righteousness that demanded allegiance and attention.
"Fuck 'um." Frank growled as he screwed the cap back on and picked up his razor. He made a small incision on his finger and sketched a quick ritual symbol. The voices cried out in outrage as they were forced back. "They don't know shit."
Castiel knew God, or at least knew what it meant to follow God. Frank had been an on-again, off-again christian with an interest in fantasy and the supernatural with the main room of his apartment lined with full bookshelves. When he had turned into Castiel, the angel was able to track the chaos magic back to its source, but hadn't interfered. Why? It wasn't his place. It was a human action that humans had to resolve.
But there was one thing both the human and angel part of his psyche could agree on.
"I'm not some lap-dog," he growled out while gripping the sink, knowing they would hear him. "And I'm not YOUR solider." Anna taught him something, at least. "This is not part of the Plan..."
The sink cracked under his anger, and he shook himself. The voices, perturbed and annoyed, were leaving. It was quiet again. Blessedly quiet.
Harmony sat at her desk with her chin propped in her delicately manicured hand and stared at the board, boredly. That in itself was not unusual, but the reason behind it was. Normally staying awake during chemistry was a lost cause: she never understood it anyway. All those diagrams and elements were confusing. Now though, when she glanced up from her drawings of unicorns and kittens she understood. It was as if someone flipped a switch in her brain and all the information made perfect sense.
It made so much sense she felt like she was reviewing her ABC's, and while the feeling of utter confidence was nice, it was so tedious her mind kept drifting.
The blonde popped another piece of gum in her mouth and resumed doodling in her pink spiral. There was a happy unicorn walking through a big ring portal, and a princess waiting on the other side. Her throne was surrounded by people with flaming staff.
The teacher walked down the isle, sighed in disappointment as he noticed the usual artwork on his worst students desk. Harmony blew a bubble with her gum and smiled at the man. He shook his head and called on someone else to answer his questions. The blonde gave her drawing a critical look. Not quite. It's missing something...
The stone ring in the drawing looked a little empty. She added a few lines to segment the ring and scribbled symbols in on it. It was almost like her dream. She liked the dream with the big shimmering blue portal that went places that were not Sunnydale, places filled with servants and sun and good food. She couldn't wait to leave the little town and go places. Maybe L.A. and become a famous actress. She was a goddess; she'd make it big no problem.
Harmony giggled and ran a thumb over the smooth gold that ran from her fingertips to wrap around her wrist. She didn't remember much from her daddy's costume party but it had left her with the most lovely ideas.
"No nap! More cookies!" The holy terror screamed. Mrs. Van sucked in a breath and took a step back from young Mr. Travers, one hand moving to the silver cross hanging around her neck. She was one of the oldest residents of Sunnydale, a truly remarkable accomplishment, and she had spent thirty years running her day care. Never before had she such a troublesome ward.
"You need to lie down, Mr. Travers." She said crisply while watching his mouth. Unusually pointed teeth flashed at her as the boy growled out his demands for cookies. At her continued denial his anger grew and his face, his cute cherubic face, took on a disturbingly red tone. Other children were sitting up from their nap-mats looking interested. Drat! If I don't take care of this soon they'll all rebel!
Schooling her features Mrs. Van released her necklace and took up the large metal ruler usually kept along her desk for measuring her charges' growth on birthdays. With hard eyes and voice she gave her ultimatum. "Mr. Travers. You will go back to your mat and settle down."
Was that smoke coming out of his nose as he stamped his nike clad foot? Her jaw clenched. She pounced. The Travers spawn yelped as his teacher zipped around him, old but nimble and experienced, and slapped his backside with her ruler. He howled, and again she hit his bottom with resounding thwacks. The redness in his face faded into shock and pointed teeth receded to tiny tears.
With a third and final slap she pointed to his nap-mat. The small boy swallowed and nodded, a gleam of respect and awe in his eyes, before trudging back to spot with not even a half-hearted request for more cookies. Mrs. Van watched him coolly until he settled then sat back at her desk to put smiley face stickers on some connect-the-dot worksheets.
She'd always said boys were little devils at heart.
The leather felt good to wear. It wasn't the same armor of her idol, that clothing was far too conspicuous, but it felt right. So did the recently stolen rifle slung at her back and the oh so familiar ring of metal hooked to her hip. Katlin rolled her neck and popped her knuckles as she stepped into the bar. It was almost midday and most patrons were absent. Perfect.
"Hello, Willy. It is Willy, right?" The woman called seductively as she stalked to the bar. She wasn't good. She wasn't evil. She just was. Everything she did was for her family, even if the stress was slowly cracking her mind. "Tell me about the big bad."
Willy looked at the woman like she crazy, and in a way she was. "Who are you? Why should I tell you anything?"
Katlin fluttered her lashes and perched on a barstool. "Oh. I think you'll tell me." She leaned forward. "I think you'll tell me everything I need to know." Her hand lashed out and grabbed his hair, smashing his face into the bar even as she used the motion as leverage to flip over it. A bottle quickly found its way into her spare hand and she broke it, pressing the sharp glass into his stomach.
Katlin had been a fan of the TV show, Xena: Warrior princess. Not everyone remembered that Xena hadn't always been a champion of good, or remembered why she had turned warlord in the first place. Katlin always liked dark Xena best. It had been a dream come true to find the 'dark' version of Xena's armor in the costume shop.
"I'll do whatever it takes to protect my family, Willy. Even if it means spilling a little innocent blood." Willy whimpered as the broken bottle dug deep enough to draw blood. "How innocent is yours?"
He couldn't talk fast enough.
People mingled all around her. They laughed and gossiped; business as usual. Never mind the sudden decrease in faculty and students alike. Never mind that very same fate could just as easily happen to any of them, at any time.
Willow stared down at the jelly dripping over her fingers. How could she have ever been like that? How long ago had her only thoughts revolved around school work and her few friends? How had she been so blind to never wonder why a third of her class would inevitably go missing over the year? The statistics were staggering, she'd checked, so how had she ignored it all the time?
The jelly crawled over her fingers like a caterpillar, slowly and with intent. Willow heard a fly before she saw it circle around her sandwich. Her eyes narrowed.
What reason was there Buffy should shoulder the burden alone?
"Wills? You okay?"
Willow jumped and looked up, blinking at her best friends worried face. Xander perched on the concrete bench rather like a frog with a chocolate bar half-eaten in his hand. She could practically feel the distinctly non-Willow thoughts drain away at his presence. "Um. Yeah. Just thinking. It was really crazy last week, crazy."
"I hear ya." Xander hopped down to join her on the ground while stuffing the candy in his mouth. "I swear, being surrounded by crying midgets is the worst thing, ever."
Willow gave a grunt and forced herself to finish her PB and J. It didn't have the flavor she remembered. "I'm just glad it wasn't me." She took a sip of her juice. "Though I wonder if Willow-babble and Midget-babble is compatible?"
Xander grinned and crunched up his wrapper before slipping it into his pocket. He leaned back and Willow watched him. He was different but she couldn't quite figure out what it was. She scanned the courtyard and watched her fellow students move about. There was a sharp pang in her chest as she was once again reminded of how empty it was. Her eyes darted to all the exits, her genius mind making calculations she never would have considered before.
"It would take twenty steps to get to the parking lot." She mumbled absently.
"Ten to get to the stairs, flat out, and another ten to reach the roof." Xander replied with eyes closed, his face tilted to the afternoon sun.
Once again the red head found herself looking at her friend wondering how he knew that little fact; why he had said it. Did I say that out loud? She shuddered and took a deep breath. Depressing thoughts were for later. She'd deal with them later. Lunch was almost over and she needed to focus for school. She didn't need to think about the best escape routes, the most efficient methods of taking down obnoxious jocks, or how many people had died during Halloween.
Xander yawned. "Buffy and Giles want to meet when we get out of classes." Willow nodded and crumpled up her brown bag before tossing it into the garbage with complete accuracy. "Three points!"
Willow smiled and followed her friend to their next class, noting with surprising pleasure how he carried himself. And since when was he so muscular?
His little paws batted at her feet begging for attention. She ignored him. It wasn't that she was upset with him, he was actually one of the few comforting things she had, but he was too unnatural. The young girl bit her lip and focused on her current project. Her dad's knife wasn't as sharp as she'd like it, but it got the job done.
"Kiki?"
You're such a hypocrite. She sniffled and put a little too much force into her motions causing the knife to catch in the wood. It jerked out of her hand and fell onto the bed. You can't even get being a witch right. Idiot.
"Kiki! Talk to me..."
Swallowing, the girl looked down at the small cat-shaped being at her feet. "I'm sorry, Jiji." She picked up the knife and resumed her carving. Everything was a jumble in her mind, a mixture of memories that swam into a confusing puddle. It had been horrible to not even recognize her own mother when she got back from her trip. Part of her didn't believe making a new broom would help.
But was soothing, and it gave her the illusion of doing something. "I'm sorry." As long as she didn't think about the bodies, or the fires, or- Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Her hands gradually stopped shaking, and the impossibly alive stuffed cat rubbed against her thighs with deep calming purrs.
"It'll be okay. You'll see."
Harry sat at the kitchen table, glaring balefully at the innocent looking trench coat hanging by the door. He didn't know how, but he was sure it was part of the reason his daughter kept having nightmares and woke screaming for a character that shouldn't exist. Tetsumi Saiga was just a cartoon character; there was no reason his daughter should go to him for comfort and protection.
There was no reason he answered to that name as quickly as his own.
There was no reason his eyes stung whenever he looked at things through a lens. No logical reason his brothers old camera was filled with film from Halloween night that, when developed, showed things that should only be in horror flicks.
Harry ran a hand through his hair and reached for a carton of cigarettes that he never smoked, because he wasn't a smoker. "Damn..."
He never should have agreed to dress up with his daughter while escorting her friend's little trick-or-treat mob. He never should have picked up the coat from that weird little shop's bargain rack.
A strangled cry had him upstairs in less than a minute with his arms around his twelve year old daughter. She buried her face in his chest. "S-saiga... daddy..."
"Hey. It's okay. I'll protect you, they won't get you. You're free now. Safe."
Harry rocked his daughter as she quieted. His little Jess was lost and broken and it would only get worse if what he suspected had occured. He didn't know how, but if Kagura's abilities had carried over... Jess would never be able to have a normal relationship. Anyone she kissed, besides her own father, would die.
He really wished the nightmares would stop. His own had only been staved off by the whisky downstairs.
Detective Niska took a drag of his cigarette and surveyed the morgue. It was nearing capacity and still bodies were trickling in. He tapped the ashes out in the nearby stainless steel trash-can and slunk over to the slab where the coroner was working. "Barbecue fork?" He asked hopefully.
The gray haired woman shook her head with a sigh. "No. Plenty of bites on this one, but it was the blunt trauma that caused death." She gestured tiredly to the sheet-covered gurney a few feet away. "I don't even know what to put down for that one. Probably should just cremate it and call it a night. It's got me an appointment with Mr. Daniels tonight."
The detective lifted the edge of the sheet and sighed. It wasn't so much that only parts of the body were present, as it was the parts were green. Literally green and scaly with just a touch of barbs. "Mayor's not going to be happy." No one was going to be happy and gangs on PCP wasn't going to cut it. Nothing mobilized sheep like a nightmare biting them on the nose. "Burn it. You won't get anything else like it. In fact, you didn't even get this one."
SDPD was actually going to have to do some work. I'll have to call Simmons and arrange for a little 'planting'. Call in the patsy's from out of town. That might work.
"Sure. Sure." The old woman smiled wistfully as she bustled over to clean her scalpels. "It's just been me and Mr. Daniels. Just us and the dead bodies. As usual."
Greg watched the swinging door swish as the police detective walked through it. He twirled his cane around his fingers and pushed off from the wall. Interesting... he thought about what he had just overheard. The cops were dirty, no surprise there, but the mayor too? And to such a degree?
Greg House had never been particularly hardworking, but lately he hadn't been able to sit around. He went on runs enjoying the feel of being able to move around without a limp, though he kept the cane around for sentimental and practical reasons. He'd developed a fascination with puzzles, not to mention TV hospital dramas. No one seemed concerned that a college drop out was hanging around the hospital, lurking and thieving interesting looking patient files.
Barbecue forkings? Mass hallucinations? Please. Greg snorted and glanced past the still swinging door into the morgue. Green clawed fingers poked out form under the sheet. Huh. Maybe I'll enroll in medical school. Betcha I'd ace it.
Gregory House was a practical man. So was the fictional character that shared his name. He'd figure out the whole Sunnydale conspiracy from a safe distance.
There was something comforting about the musty old books. Maybe it was the smell. Willow walked up the steps and ran her hand over the spines as a sense of nostalgia went through her. Giles takes good care of these. Makes me feel a little bad about eating pizza while researching. She smiled and plucked a text from the shelves. "Basic Magical Theory, Second Edition."
The pages were thick and covered in an artistic scrawl that made reading them a trial, but never let it be said that Willow Rosenberg backed down from a challenge. At least academically. She turned the page and absently noticed the soft tap of of well worn dress shoes on the wooden floor.
"Ah, Willow?" Giles glanced at her book with a faint smile. That particular volume had been like a gateway drug for him. "Might want to bring that. Care to join us?"
The red head blushed and snapped the book closed to tuck it under her arm and follow the librarian to the foyer. Buffy was sitting on the table with her books scattered along the top as she talked to Xander. Willow felt her mouth twitch in amusement, or maybe annoyance, as Xander's eyes kept flicking from Buffy's face to her chest. He wasn't that bad before. A faint grumble echoed in her mind.
Buffy's feet kicked as she chirped happily. "At least I won't have to study for french anymore! I've got that class in the bag!" She fluttered her eye lashes at her Xander-shaped friend. "Que diriez-vous de de vous?"
Xander startled and shifted allowing all four legs of his chair to meet the floor. "Come again?"
Buffy giggled before shaking her head and going into slayer mode. "But, seriously, what was up with that? I mean the rose stone download is a nice perk, yeah, but the police are going crazy trying to figure everything out. And how come you didn't notice anything?!" The blonde spun around on the last bit, finger pointing accusingly toward her Watcher.
Giles sighs as if he's explained everything a hundred times and it's possible he had. He takes off his glasses and polishes them. "I was doing some research, as you well know, and there are enough wards placed on the library that I didn't hear anything. I had no way of knowing that anything was wrong, and it was halloween, I had no reason to suspect that anything was a miss." He replaced his glasses. "What we need to do is discover the cause of the sudden, possessions, and if it was an isolated incidents. You said you became a noblewoman, yes? What about Xander?"
"Solider boy." Xander responded with a grin. "Born and Raised in Sunnydale, stationed too."
"Interesting..." Giles went behind the check-out counter and brought back a few books. "Willow?"
"I, um, went as a comic book character."
"And you became her? Complete with superpowers?" The native brit looked absolutely fascinated as he flicked through a thick and moldy tome. Squinting, Willow could just barely make out the faded 'transformations and transmutations' embossed on the cover.
She chewed on the end of hair. "Him. I went as a guy, and he didn't have any superpowers."
"Unless you count complete bad-assery as a power." Xander tilted his chair back and resumed his careful balancing with his feet propped up on the table by Buffy's books. "Which doesn't look like it carried over, no offense, Wills. I mean, Buffy has her French down and can make tea that has Giles drooling, I'm pretty sure I can strip down and reassemble any firearm you place in front of me, but all you get is few missing hours."
"I wonder..." Giles skipped several pages. "Buffy came from the past. Xander, you were a marine of Sunnydale? Specifically?"
"Yes sir, Mr. G-Man, Sir. And apparently Jimmy knew all about our beloved night life."
"Fascinating. It's quite possible this was more than a simple transmutation. More like a... possession... very similar to what happened between Xander and the hyena primals. Traits getting passed on and the like."
Willow grabbed one of the big books she recognized from an earlier research session and flicked to the page she remembered. It had a fancy drawing of two earths and some swirly things that had some magical significance she hadn't had time to look up before. Where is it... ah! "But to pass on traits, wouldn't the, uh, spirit, have to be real? I mean, I went as a comic book hero. How could that be real?"
"Perhaps it made only a facsimile of your character based on the idea by mixing several others. Of course we would need to find another who dressed as a 'superhero' to be sure. No abilities were left behind in you, yes? If I may?" Giles asked and Willow passed over the book, still open, laughing as Buffy and Xander glanced at the page before blanching. Latin wasn't either of their favorite languages and Willow still needed her notes for translation half the time. "This is quite a sound theory, if totally unproven. You see the idea is that everything conceivable exists. Writers, artists, have the ability to tap into these alternate realities and... that's it!" The three students moved back as the Watcher snatched the thin beginners volume Willow had left on the table and turned to the chapter titled 'Chaos Theory'. "Bridging the universes isn't that difficult. Keeping control of it, however, is. Perhaps with some sort of ritual set up..."
Willow nibbled bottom lip. Conversations replayed in her mind, loose and unfocused as everything from halloween was, but bits and pieces stood out like jagged parts of a puzzle. Xander was staring at her, and for the first time she noticed the combat knife flicking tucked surreptitiously into his jeans, one thumb rubbing over the handle absently. "When I came back to me, I was in a weird room. Candles and such, and a broken statue."
Giles froze. "Where was this?"
Xander snuk into his room through the window, not that he needed to, but it was fun. He liked sneaking around; it had become almost second nature to him. The window shut silently and he went about his usual routine. His shirt was tossed into the over-flowing clothes bin where his pants would soon be. The combat knife he'd picked up at the costume shop gleamed a decidedly non-plastic as he set it on the night stand where a half whittled stake lay.
The Zeppo reached under the mattress and pulled out his new baby. Like the knife, the gun hadn't changed back. Though it did run out of ammo and he could always get his Uncle Rory to buy him some later. "Not bad for a buck fifty." Xander began dismantling the weapon. "Incendiary rounds. That'd be good for the vamps." Jimmy's memories were murky on a lot of things, most of the time, but fights and facts stood out like flashbulbs.
Humming was something that Jimmy always did when cleaning his weapons, and it passed over to Xander. A shoebox filled with q-tips and gun oil sat invitingly as Xander got to work. With each adjustment and polish he saw people, things, dying. Whatever reality Jimmy had come from had been rough. There was no bliss. Sunnydale residents didn't have the luxury of ignorance. That's probably why he didn't freak out like everyone else.
Xander started singing under his breath as he rode the tide of memories, "Hello darkness my old friend..." He remembered bleeding a vampire dry and unloading clip after clip into bark-covered demon. Cody and Keller backed him up with small tranquilized guns to keep off the mesmerized so he could shove a small bomb into the bezoar under the school. "...And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains..." Their units had done good even without superpowers. Xander grinned as another memory bubbled up. White walls covered in smoke and fire.
He wondered if the Initiative existed in his universe. His boys and their boys had never gotten along. No. Not my boys. Jimmy's boys. I have girls. Buffy and Willow.
She'd been thirsty all day but a steady supply of juice boxes reduced the dry feeling in her mouth to manageable levels. It was a good thing that her mother decided it would be better for her to stay home, as her teacher Miss Harrison was really strict about eating and drinking in the classroom. Besides, coloring beat out maths any day.
The small blonde girl chewed on the straw of her juice box and sucked up the last of the sweet liquid. They ran out of apple, so she was stuck with strawberry kiwi, which wasn't too bad but the aftertaste was a little funny.
Her mother walked in with a fresh juice box and knelt down to study the girl's work. "That's... very interesting. Who is it?" The girl grabbed for the drink with a smile as her mother gently looked her over to examine the various scratches and bruises littering the little girl's body.
The blonde child sat up and plopped down in her mothers lap, enjoying the attention, and answered cheerily. "That's Mr. Jimmmy! He's my angel!"
"He's the one that saved you last night?" The mother asked for clarification. She'd berated herself for letting her baby get hurt, though logically a high-school escort should have been safe, and was determined to find the mysterious 'Jimmy' to thank him. Her baby had stumbled home in the early morning just as she picked up the phone to call the police, covered in hurts and tears but alive. There were a few parents that couldn't claim even that.
Clara herself didn't say much, just that everything had gotten fuzzy, but insisted on being rescued from 'mean monsters' by 'Jimmy'. Her mother sighed and held her tighter wishing the drawing was a bit clearer, but it was a little much to ask a six year old. Jimmy evidently had brown hair and was in the army. Or just liked green.
The little girl drained the juice box and squirmed in her mothers lap. "Yeah. He was really nice. He walked us all home! Him and the lady-in-the-dress."
"We'll have to thank them next time, hmm?" The woman commented as she stood up and swung her child into a carrying position, nearly falling from the weight. It had been too long since she last carried her daughter anywhere. "Why don't we take a bath? You've gotten so dirty..."
"Hey! I'm a big girl! I can take a bath by myself." The child protested.
"Of course." Her mother smiled tiredly as she set the girl on the bathroom floor and closed the door. She leaned against the wall, rubbed her temples in exhaustion and worry, and told herself nothing could happen to her baby while she was in the house. Clara had been bathing by herself for almost two years now.
Inside the bathroom the small blonde girl tested the water with her hand, noted the nice warm temperature, and carefully stepped into the tub. Her bottom hit the tub with a painful thud as she stared in fascination and horror at her lower body.
"MOMMY!!!"
His younger brother was sleeping, thankfully, in the upper bunk. Sammy wasn't nearly as bad off as him, for which he was thankful for, but the whole situation was maddening. He still didn't know what exactly had happened on Halloween but it just stank of the supernatural and he wasn't going to be caught unawares again. Even if they were kids. Even if he was slowly losing his mind.
After all, with all the deaths and barbecue-forkings in Sunnydale insane seemed the safer option.
"Daniel, are you still up, babe?"
Cursing under his breath the young boy finished making the line of salt, hidden just within the shadows of the bunk bed, and stuffed the stolen container between his sheets. His mother's shadow was visible from the crack beneath the door as she tried to turn the knob.
"Daniel." She sighed when confronted with the obstacle. She stood in the hallway of their small trailer and pressed her forehead tiredly against the door. "Daniel. Hun. It's just me."
The boy glanced up toward the bed, saw his brother roll over in agitation and mutter something about 'Jess', before shuffling to the door. He tilted the chair to move it out of the way and slowly opened the door. His mother's hair was loose and wild, her make-up asque, and her clothing rumpled. Looking at her, he could tell she'd been in another fight with his father.
He wanted to shoot the bastard.
"I'm fine, mom. Sa- err. Shawn was just having a nightmare. I got him to sleep, though." Daniel whispered with clenched fists. Images overlapped as he looked at her, with her warm caring expression, and he saw someone he recalled to be dead. Burned.
"Oh hun. That's so sweet of you to look after your brother like that." She leaned over and gave the ten-year-old and affectionate pat on the head. "I'm just a little worried about the other night... all those gangs running around... I feel terrible..."
He launched himself at her, gripping her middle tightly, and closed his eyes. He wouldn't let anything hurt her again. He didn't care if she was Mary, or Shawn was Sammy. Maybe God had finally decided to give him a break, or some trickster felt pity for him.
This was his life now, his family. Dean Winchester, or Daniel Forester, wouldn't let anything take them away from him.
He danced in the other realm. It was outside time, outside all worlds, and he was a part of them all. Once upon a time they banished him, one-by-one, until only a handful of universes permitted his influence. But he was eternal. He was a god. He could bide his time, and doorways were his domain.
Janus danced as the muses sang. He danced and laughed, power swirling. His form shifted. Ethan was such a nice boy, such a good son, to make way for his power to effect so many of the forbidden realms. With one little spell he opened the door and let Janus in.
Janus made sure those doors stayed open, and the Chaos would reign. Beautiful. Wonderful. Chaos. Janus danced, his body moving between male and female, dark and light. Chunky and creamy.
END.
Next Time: You don't do it because you want to, you do it because you have to: Late Night Walks
A/N- I was thinking of doing a spin-off story about Harmony. Any thoughts? And the next chapter will be more on teh Scooby gang than everyone else in town.
