Faithless
A/N:
I know two things for sure: I'm not the only Buffy fan left in the world and I'm not the only one who wondered what might've happened to Faith. Faith, the rogue Slayer, the one who saw her path split and took the wrong road only to get back on the right one at a later date. I find her character immensely interesting and the whole Buffyverse even more so. Faith is a seething mass of complexities and contradictions: a dark Slayer, a black-hearted heroine, an angel with a twisted destiny.
What would've happened to Faith if she hadn't come to Sunnydale? What would've happened if she'd never hopped on that bus, if she'd never heard of Buffy, if she had remained in Boston and fought the forces of darkness in her home city? Would she have found her way to her own Scooby Gang? Her own Slayerettes? I've always wondered... and you must've, too, since you're here.
So maybe this is my own sort of spin-off. Maybe this is my own answer to all the questions. Maybe this is me visiting the Buffyverse again, a place where I practically lived when I was in high school. Someone has to keep talking about legends or they get forgotten.
Faith deserved better than to be forgotten. And you do, too.
So enjoy.
Chapter 1: The Girl on the Altar
To win a fight against a vampire, one must be cautious. Cautious, alert, and most of all, strong. Without those traits, you'll lose faster than a turtle that's been tricked into running the 200-meter dash in the Olympics. Without those traits… you'll go from "Slayer" to "blood bag" in about five seconds.
I'm not one to brag. Well, that's a lie, and actually, I'm not one to lie, so I will tell the truth: I'm the picture-perfect combination of all three. This is lucky for me. It's not at all lucky for the vamp whose chest I just tore through with a stake.
The tuxedo-clad vampire exploded into a rain of corpse dust before it could even mutter a single moan of complaint. The girl called Faith puckered her lips and blew him a goodbye kiss as he fell back into the ground and disintegrated. Vampires weren't sexy, but killing them sure was- and what better way to add insult to injury than making their last sight something they knew they could never have?
Another night, another five vamps dusted. She felt the adrenalin rush into her veins like an injection of something potent. It was warm and hot and fuzzy, and she felt it like a junkie felt a high. She let it carry her away into the starry sky above… until her Watcher bought her back down to Earth.
"That performance," said the stone- faced woman nearby, the one with the blazer, skirt, heels, and much-too-professional-for-vampire-slaying bun, "left much to be desired."
"So does that ensemble, but I'm not judging. Much." Faith winked to show she was just kidding, but her Watcher certainly didn't get the memo.
"Vampires don't judge, either. To them, everyone living is food: man, woman, child, it makes no difference. And if you don't learn how to make your slaying more efficient, Boston could be overwhelmed in no more than a fortnight."
Faith scoffed and rolled her eyes at the over-dramatic interpretation of Boston's vamp problem. "Yeah, right, all five of 'em that rose? Guess they don't teach much math at the Watcher's Academy, huh?"
Diane Dormer (stuffy name, huh?) closed her eyes for a second and sighed deeply with disdain at Faith's sarcasm. "Faith… vampires multiply. Five turns to ten. Ten turns to twenty. Before you know it, we're overrun by vampires and the Council will be demanding both of our heads."
"Then why doesn't the Council get off their pompous, tea-sipping assess and send some more help our way? I'm only one gal, Dormie. Can't do it all."
"I do hate it when you call me that. Refer to me only as 'Madame Dormer', please. That is my title."
"And my title right now is 'too tired to have this discussion'. It's almost midnight. If Satan himself rose from his grave, I'd pop out the jello shots and we'd have a ball."
She wasn't lying. When she'd first arrived at St. James Cemetery close to two full hours ago, the place was nearly bumping with vamps, one after the other. Now, it was emptier than the space between Diane Dormer's legs had been for the past century-and-a-half (as Faith thought to herself) and had been for a while. As far as Faith was concerned, her duties were over.
"I suppose you have earned your rest," said Diana as she checked her watch to confirm the time. "Very well, then. I trust you'll report here at ten o'clock sharp, then?"
"Sharp as a needle," said Faith as she turned around and held up two fingers. "Peace, Madame Dormie. Don't let the multiplying vamps get ya."
And then she tossed her auburn curls over her head and made her way out through the cast-iron gates of the cemetery. She didn't know for sure, but she was certain she felt her perplexed Watcher staring at her back as she walked away.
To be perfectly honest, Faith wasn't sure what she'd do without Diane. It'd been two whole months almost to the date since Faith had discovered she was a Slayer and she still felt like a carp out of water. Two months and she still hadn't gotten used to it all. To the vampires, to the strength, to the responsibility…
God, I totally suck at that last part.
And she knew it, too. But at least the first two didn't give her much trouble. Because if there was one thing Faith Lehane was good at, it was fighting. Going from bad-mouthed girls at school to vampires seemed like a natural step up the ladder of bad-assery for her. She'd taken to carrying stakes around like most girls carried purses, tucking them into the leg of her jeans so they could be pulled out as the need required.
She felt to make sure tonight's stake still in her waistband and proceeded out onto the sidewalk. The area of Boston which she called home was an absolute hot mess, and not just because it was the middle of August. South Boston was not the place to be caught dead after dark, even if you were dead. There were things which loved the darkness, and some of them were much worse than vamps.
She pulled up the hood of her t-shirt and bowed her head. She wasn't afraid of much, but she didn't want to risk a surprise attack if someone recognized her for who she really was: she who (alone) was destined to stand against the demons, the vampires, and the forces of darkness.
Yeah, right. How can I defeat the forces of darkness outside if I can't even tame the demons inside?
Faith kicked a rock and it clanged into a tin can, knocking it straight over. There it was again, that Slayer strength. It had taken quite a bit of adjusting to. In fact, her first night as a Slayer, she'd gotten frustrated because of good old Diane and punched a hole right in her bedroom wall. That was an embarrassment and a half, but luckily her mother was too drunk to notice.
She'd been walking for a little over twenty minutes when she reached her apartment, the Enchanted Arms (or, as Faith called it, the "Cursed Arms"). The walls around it were caked with gang graffiti with which Faith was intimately familiar: the Wulfen were especially big in this side of town, with their own severed-wolf's-head-crossed-with-two-glocks symbol tagged right on the front door.
She ignored the threatening symbol and opened it up. There was single bare light bulb in the hallway, flickering on and off every few seconds, like some scene from a cheesy 80's horror movie. Maybe it was appropriate, she thought. After all, wasn't her life basically one big horror movie? Wasn't her destiny basically the plot of a slasher film with less blondes and more slaying?
Question not rhetorical.
Her destination was at the end, last door on the left, take no prisoners. She reached into her front-right pocket and fished out her key, put it into the lock, and turned.
Upon entering the booze-reeking, two-room apartment, she remembered why she dreaded to come home every night. Her name was Faith, but she had none. Not in herself, not in life, and not in her mother- especially not her mother, who was clearly on her umpteenth beer bottle of the night by the time she walked in the door. There she found her, slumped over the side of the couch in front of the TV, which was on but completely unwatched. There were at least a dozen empty bottles scattered around the bottom of the couch, and even more stains gathering on the carpet.
I would say the only thing my old lady loves more than me is booze, but that wouldn't be true. Honest as sin, remember? The only thing she loves period is booze- and she's proven that time and time again.
"Beautiful, Ma," Faith cried, more horrified at the sight of her blind-drunk mom than at any vampire. "Still in the running for mother of the year, I see?"
"There y'are, Faithy," her mother said, sounding relieved as she picked up her head from the couch and glanced over at her. "Faithy, I'm stuck. Survivor is on and I'm stuck. Can ya help me up please?"
Faith groaned, pinched her nose, and walked over to her mother's side. She didn't relish the thought of touching her filthy mother, but she knew it was something she had to do. If her mother died there on the couch-
"All right, Ma," she said, placing her hands beneath both of her armpits. "On the count of three, I'm going to sit you up on the couch. Ready? One… two…"
She hefted her up with one go, propping the back of her head up against the top of the couch. It wasn't easy, but she got it done. Thank God I got fancy Slayer superpowers now.
"What in the name of Oprah is all this shit?" she demanded once her mother was sitting again, gesturing to all the empty beer containers.
"Your father made me do it," her mother slurred in reply, so that it sounded more like "yourfadamademedoot". "He's a big asshole, ya know that? Nothin' but a big, gaping asshole and I wanna let him know. Can I let him know?"
"No need. I'm sure he gets that plenty enough from his bunkmates, on account of his being stuck in Boston Correctional Center for the next thirty years and all." She walked over to the sink and poured her mother a glass of water. She handed it to her and she accepted it from her with shaky hands. "Drink. Now. If I have to carry your sorry self out to the hospital at four in the morning because you're dehydrated again, I'll be pissed."
Her mother obeyed, pressing the glass up to her lips. "When'd you get that tattoo?"
"What, this?" She held out her right arm and flashed the one in question. "I've had this for a year now. Thanks for paying attention. Really makes a girl feel good."
"You know I love you, Faithy. You know I do." Tears welled up in her eyes, but Faith knew it was only because she was drunk. She never cried or used the L-word when she was sober.
"I'm going to bed. Call me if you're dying." But only then, she added mentally. Luckily, her mother agreed. She was already dozing off mere seconds after she walked away, towards her bedroom.
She walked into the door, ran for her bed, and plopped herself down. She didn't even bother changing- she was that tired.
What a day. What a life. Vampires and a drunk mother.
She closed her eyes for the night and tried to put both out of her mind.
And that's when Faith the vampire slayer had her first prophetic dream.
I knew something was up because I was standing in an old, gothic cathedral, the kind that are a dime-a-dozen downtown. A church, me? The idea would've been hysterical if it wasn't so terrifying. 'Cuz if there's one thing being a Slayer taught me, it was that churches weren't always used in the ways they were supposed to.
And I knew that the vamps sitting in the pews weren't there to pray to Jesus and sing homilies. They were there for the same thing they always were: blood.
If the poor girl chained to the altar was anything to go by, they were about to get it, too. I couldn't tell who she was from my spot in the back, but I could tell one thing: the vampire standing over her was absolutely terrifying.
Just one look at this particular vamp and I could tell he was more than the usual vampire. If ordinary vamps were fours, he was about a nine: hulking, mammoth, and monstrous, like every WWE stereotype all rolled into one buck-toothed motherfucker.
He began to climb onto the altar while the girl squirmed and fought to break free. His mouth twisted into a sinister, too-cocky grin as he lowered his face down to her neck.
I began to race forward, hand reaching for my stake. I had to do something. I had to. Damn it, dream or no dream, I was the Slayer and-oh, no. Oh, no.
I saw something terrible and stopped right dead in my tracks.
The one laying on the altar…
It wasn't just some random stranger.
(holy shit, holy shit, holy SHIT)
It was me.