Title: Sunnydale Heroes – Part 3 of 7

Author: Wicked Raygun

Summary: AU. Superpowers change everything in this reinterpretation of "Welcome to the Hellmouth" and "The Harvest". Mild B/A, B/X and W/X.

Disclaimer: Based on characters created by Joss Whedon. I am merely borrowing them to put on a puppet show. Watch them dance.

Notes: This is not a crossover with the show 'Heroes.' This is merely me borrowing a concept I find intriguing and adding it to characters I love.

Also I have very little desire to do a word-for-word rewrite of the first two episodes of BTVS. Those kinds of stories seem a little pointless to me. Anyways, any inaccuracies that come up between my story and the actual episodes have to do with either a deliberate choice on my part, or me just not caring that much. Part 1 will have the most in common with the script, since it's slightly inevitable. After that the story really does become mine.

Also, thanks go out to my beta readers, Grey Wizard and Alun Lewis.

Distribution: Ask and you shall receive. Just email me and I'll get back to you quickly using new-fangled technology. See, I get email on my phone now. Surely jet packs and flying cars are just around the corner.

Xander stood up on shaky legs and laughed.

Amazingly, he didn't feel much pain from his rough landing, but his heart was thumping in his chest like a crazed bongo, so he was pretty sure that was just the adrenaline flowing through his veins like an open faucet. Likely his body was going to be just one big aching, bruise tomorrow, but he didn't care.

Because he could fly!

He threw his hands in the air and whooped in victory. And just for the hell of it, he started spinning around yelling like a maniac. After a particularly loud exclamation, he stopped spinning, opened his eyes – and came face-to-face with the High School librarian.

"Uh, hi," he said lamely as he lowered his arms.

Giles nodded to himself, coming to some sort of decision and reached into the inner folds of his tweed jacket. He pulled out something small, square and black and then pressed it to Xander's chest.

Xander was aware of an intense pain before he fell to his knees, barely conscious. Then Giles reared back his fist and knocked him out with a solid punch.

Giles sighed, put away his stun gun and grabbed Xander by his ankle, dragging him into the High School.

This was all he needed, he thought to himself in a sarcastic sneer.

A couple hours later, Giles was parking outside Xander's house. The young man had been remarkably forthcoming, once he woke up. And he was very thankful for that. It had been years since he had cast any magic, and the only spell he knew that would compel someone to tell the truth wasn't exactly something he was capable of doing on a mere whim even when he had been at his most depravedly powerful. As it was, the simple spell he used to merely confirm that Xander was, indeed, human had been more than enough to leave him with a faint headache. He was very out of practice, after all.

Of course, he supposed the lingering ache could also very well stem from the fact that the Slayer had barely been on the Hellmouth for less than a week and had already completely blown her secret identity. The girl had barely finished matriculating! But then again, that had been as much his fault, as well. Giles made a mental note to put a bloody bell by the library doors to signal when someone came in – someone like, say, a boy who could fly, and for some reason was tasked to help the Slayer.

And then combine the drawings Xander gave him with the other more traditional portents he had been documenting and the outcome could not possibly be good. And truth be told, this Angel fellow sounded dubious to him as well – a mysterious benefactor who claimed he could see – correction – draw the future. Prophecy in a pencil sketch, indeed! The Watcher in him couldn't help but find the whole concept unseemly. Regardless, he needed to contact this Angel and see if he had anything else on this Harvest he had warned them about.

Xander, meanwhile, had been simply staring at his house, showing no sign of leaving.

"Mr. Harris?"

"Yeah?" Xander asked quietly.

"I feel it necessary to remind you once again that Buffy's identity must remain a secret. You cannot tell anyone else about this."

"Right. Because then the bad guys will know where Buffy lives and go after her family." Xander turned to Giles, with a small smirk. "That's pretty much Superhero SOP."

"I'm sorry?"

"Standard Operating Procedure. You don't watch a lot of TV, do you?"

"Not if it can possibly be avoided."

"I won't spill the beans on Buffy. I mean, I'm supposed to help her, right?"

"I suppose so. Your grand entrance, as it were, was remarkably well-timed. One could take that as a portent that you are needed in some way. Or that you simply haven't learned to steer yet."

Xander smirked at the idea of his "grand entrance" but frowned when Giles criticized his flying.

"Well, okay then, Mr. Critical. Next time, you can fly, and I'll sit back and make snide comments."

Giles chuckled, ignoring Xander's mock indignation. "You should get some sleep. We'll meet tomorrow."

When Xander had climbed out of the car, Giles stopped him.

"Mr. Harris?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"What did it feel like?"

"You mean flying?"

"Yes."

Xander thought about his answer for a long moment. "It felt like freedom. Like there was nothing I couldn't do. It was amazing. Hands down, the greatest thing, I've ever felt. I'm sure that's a dumb way to put it, but – Yeah, it felt like freedom."

Giles was silent for a moment, before he said, "Actually, I think that sounds almost poetic."

He gave Xander a small smile and drove off.

The next morning, Buffy had convinced her mom to let her walk to school. It really wasn't that far, she told her, and she really wanted to get some exercise, anyways. Or at least that had been the excuse. In reality, she just wanted a little time to digest what had happened to her yesterday.

Namely, that she had told someone that she was the Slayer. And, so far, the world hadn't exploded into apocalyptic goo. Maybe this time things would be different.

It helped, of course, that Willow had her own secret to keep. She may not be able to understand everything that Buffy had gone through, but they did at least have a common ground to build off of. This was all a new experience for Buffy. She finally met someone who didn't doubt her sanity when it came to the darker aspects of her life. And on top of that, Willow could help her catch up so that she might actually manage to somehow graduate from High School.

Buffy smiled. Yeah, it was going to be a good day.

And that's when she saw him.

It was one of Willow's friends from yesterday, one of the guys who came to the girl's defense when they thought she had insulted her. It was the same guy, in fact, who had been nice enough to help her with her bag, a guy who may or may not have been hitting on her at the time. It was kind of hard to tell.

Oh, God, what was his name? Uh, Xander? That was it, wasn't it?

Xander was just there, sitting on some stairs that led to the High School. He finally noted her, and stood up quickly. He jogged his way over to her as if they had known each other for years. His face had a small, friendly smile on it. Not like that threatening scowl from yesterday that made her feel like some sort of lowly bacteria.

Maybe Willow had told him to be nice?

"Hi, my name's Xander," he said with no actual attempt to ease into a conversation. "We met yesterday. Twice. Both under very awkward and possibly offensive circumstances. Anyways, uh, the bottom line – I know that you're the Slayer. And I'm here to help you."

Buffy stared at him for a long moment.

"I'm going to kill Willow," she said in deadpan voice.

"What? Why?"

"She told you," she answered incredulously. "She promised she'd keep it a secret."

"Hey, Willow didn't tell me anything. I found out on my own – Wait! Willow knows?"

Just then, they heard Willow calling out to them. They both turned around to see her jogging up to them, waving excitedly and with a happy look on her face. When she finally made it over, they simply continued staring blankly at her.

"Oh, God. Is there something on my face?" she asked as she started desperately pawing around her nose.

"What did you do? Take out an ad in the local newspaper?"

"Hey, Watcher Boy! You blabbed, too!"

"That is completely different. Xander discovered your identity on his own, due to our carelessness. Meanwhile, you've told her completely of your own volition. Honestly, what on Earth would possess you to tell a complete stranger your darkest secret?"

At this, Buffy tensed up and spared an awkward glance to Willow. "Uh, well, no reason really. She just seemed like a nice person," she said unconvincingly.

Willow stood up from the table she and Xander had been sitting at since they entered the library.

She quietly cleared her throat to get their attention, which she did. When they turned toward her, she fought past a near-crippling need to run away. "Because she found out my secret," she said meekly.

"What secret?" Xander asked, feeling confused and a little hurt. Willow told him everything, didn't she?

Willow turned to Xander, looking apologetic. "This secret."

And then she turned her head toward an errant book left on the table.

The book shook for a moment and then unsteadily began to lift into the air. It wobbled a little more and then came back down. It was then that Willow breathed a sigh of relief.

"I've been practicing that since last night. It doesn't always work. And it sometimes gives me a small headache. But I am getting better."

They all stared in stunned amazement. The silent awe was finally broken by Xander.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked hurt.

Willow opened her mouth, but said nothing. There was so much to say, but she had no idea where to start.

Giles cleared his throat. "Well then, I suppose I can understand now why Buffy spoke to you, Ms. Rosenberg. Mr. Harris, if you would be so kind as to repeat what you told me last night." He looked thoughtfully at Xander. "I suggest you tell them everything."

Xander nodded.

"In the meanwhile, I need to contact someone who might know something about this Harvest."

As Xander started telling his story, Giles made his way to a small office. He closed the door and picked up a telephone. He dialed a number and waited for someone to pick up.

"Yes, hello, this is Rupert Giles calling from Sunnydale, California. I need to speak to Quinton Travers, please." There was a pause as the person on the phone spoke to him. "Yes, I understand what time it is over there. But I assure you, this is urgent."

There was an even longer pause this time. "Tell him, I've found another one. Trust me. He'll want to get back to me."

For as long as Willow could remember, she had been a good student who always paid attention in class. She wasn't the sort of person to get distracted from learning – at least, not until today. But she figured that at least she had a good reason.

She had a superpower. And Xander had a superpower. Her new friend Buffy had several superpowers. They were superpowered people. She frowned. That couldn't possibly be a word. Were they mutants? That sounded vaguely prejudiced, didn't it? Oh! Didn't the DC Universe use another word? Metahumans?

Willow smiled. Metahumans. She kind of liked the sound of that. It had more of a modern politically-correct kind of feel to it. It even felt kind of empowering. She bounced the word in her head a few more times, finding that she liked it more and more. She would run it by Xander and Buffy later to see what they thought of it.

Jesse would vote it down of, course. He was a bigger Marvel freak than even Xander was and would only refer to DC comics as "the other guys", while making disparaging remarks about Superman's virility.

Willow felt suddenly ill. Jesse didn't have a power. Did that mean that they would have to lie to him about vampires and demons? Would that mean they couldn't hang out with him, anymore?

A look crossed Willow's features. It wasn't something seen on her very often. Xander and Jesse lovingly referred to it as her "Resolve Face".

No, she thought. Jesse was their friend. They could trust him with anything. Buffy and Giles would simply have to deal with that. For their lunch break, she was supposed to meet them in the library to see if Giles had found anything on the Harvest. She would find Jesse herself, and made sure he was there, too.

It was then that a voice came over the P.A. system.

"Mrs. Epstein?" it said with a crackle of static in the background.

"Yes?"

"Could you have Willow Rosenberg please report to the Principal's Office?"

"Yes, of course."

The teacher spared a look to Willow and then motioned her to the door. As she stood, Willow then gave a look to Buffy, and then proceeded to gather up her things and leave the classroom.

While walking along the halls, she wondered briefly why she had been called out of class. She hoped it wasn't because of something bad that she did. She turned a corner and came upon the outside of the school offices. There was Xander, talking to a police officer, his face pale and stricken. She made her way over to him, concern flooding her system.

"It's Jesse," he told her. "He didn't come home last night."

Far beneath the High School, directly below the library, in fact, there was a chamber. It was the remnants of an old church that had been buried underground by an earthquake. It had not been the result of a natural event. An ancient evil being, so old that he no longer even remembered his own name, had been reawakened. And there he sat, amidst the skeletal remains of the church, seething and plotting. His very presence was a mockery to the walls that once were part of this house of worship.

The ancient evil frowned. He felt hungry.

"Darla," he called out.

"Yes, Master."

Master was the only thing anyone ever referred to him as, anymore. Sometimes they would switch it up with a "My" or a "Great". He liked that. It added variety and showed that they cared.

Back in the days of the Black Plague, when he had been running around the Spanish countryside, many of his servants referred to him as "Maestro," which was the same word used for "Teacher". He didn't enjoy that as much. It didn't quite imply the same level of subservience that he looked for in his minions. He eventually instituted an English-only policy, after that.

Of course, that had all been before he crossed the pond, as it was said, before he began his search for the true Mouth of Hell, before he found his favorite child, his Darling One. He could never begrudge her anything for long, even her ill-advised dalliance with that so-called artist who broke her heart. Children often made mistakes.

Darla, meanwhile had been standing there patiently for him to give her an order. He smiled at her.

"I apologize, my dear. I've been feeling a bit nostalgic lately. It's been distracting me. What I wanted to ask was, could you bring me a snack? I'm feeling hungry again."

Darla stiffened. "Of course, Master. I'll bring the boy we found, only—" she said, trailing off.

"Only what?"

"Well, I," she paused. "You see, I was a bit hungry earlier, and I—"

"Tasted him," he finished for her, a note of tension in his voice. She nodded fearfully. "I see. I'm your faithful dog. You bring me scraps." He leaned forward and said quietly, "You disappoint me, child."

Darla said nothing, as she shook.

"Well," he said jovially, the previous tension in his voice gone. "Waste not, want not. I only wanted a light snack after all. Bring him in."

Darla practically tripped over herself as she hurried out of the chamber.

"Oh, Darla," he called again.

"Yes, Master."

"Don't disappoint me again."

Darla said nothing. She only nodded gravely, and then quietly left the chamber.

The Master smiled wistfully.

Oh, yes, children often made mistakes and that was understandable. Still, spare the rod and spoil the child, as they say. It was a bible verse about discipline that he rather enjoyed, and he was a big believer in discipline. He would think up a suitable punishment for her later.

Or perhaps not. She was after all, his favorite child. And he could forgive her anything.

What else was a father supposed to do?

Darla fumed as she walked to the pantry. The "pantry" was a bit of a misnomer – a bad pun, to be more precise. "Dungeon" would really be more accurate. But let it never be said that vampires didn't have a sense of humor.

She sneered as she walked past Luke, the Master's most loyal lieutenant. Darla was favored, but Luke was distinctly more trusted. This, of course, sparked a bit of a rivalry between the two of them that neither would ever admit to the other. So when Darla caught Luke smirking at her with an I-told-you-so look on his face, she knew he had heard her minor dressing-down by the Master. Of course, a dressing-down from the Master to anyone but her often ended in maiming, at the very least. The Master was particularly fond of gouging out eyes. It was his thing, he told her once.

She stomped past Luke, doing everything in her power to ignore him and not appear petulant, both of which she failed at. She couldn't help it much. If the Master was her father, than Luke was her annoying older brother.

As she came to the cell that held Jesse captive, she could distinctly hear some ragged breathing and moaning coming from him. That was good. If he had died from the minor blood loss he suffered, the Master might very well take one of her eyes – favorite child, or not.

Darla grabbed a key off a peg on the wall, and opened his cell. When she entered, she noticed that he was more or less in the same position she had left him in, face-down in the middle of the cell. She strode over to him, placed her foot under his shoulder and flipped him onto his back.

Jesse's glazed eyes tried to focus on her. He couldn't make out all the details, everything was still fuzzy to him, but he recognized her blonde hair.

"Y-y-you bit me."

"Y-y-yes, I did," she said, mocking him. "Up and at 'em, lover boy. The Master is hungry."

"What?"

"Not so bright, are we? Or maybe it's just the blood-loss?" She shrugged. "Well, whatever. Come on."

Jesse's eyesight had cleared enough at this point to finally see the demonic visage that was her face. So when she came toward him, he tried to back away. But Darla was quicker. She grabbed him and hefted him up to his unsteady feet, and began to drag him along.

"Stop. Please," he begged in a quiet voice. When she ignored his plea, he started to fight back by grabbing her arm. Darla responded by throwing him up against the bars of the cell.

If she was surprised when he slipped out of her grasp, she was absolutely shocked when he seemed to just fall through the cell to the outside.

They stared at each other, surprised. Jesse recovered first and tried to make a run for it. Darla was on him a moment later, grabbing him by his shirt. One moment she had him, and the next he was simply no more tangible than air it seemed. And he took off again at a weak, clumsy run.

"Stop him!"

Jesse continued to run for his life. His steps were awkward, forced and lumbering, only to get worse every time Darla would grab him. Then he'd stumble, somehow get her to let go, stumble some more and keep going. It was a very slow pace he was setting. He didn't understand what was going on with him, but he didn't care, either. He just wanted to escape.

And then a giant man, with a hideous face blocked his way forward. The horrible man snarled at him. Without thinking, Jesse tried to pick up his pace, hoping to plow right through him, hoping that adrenaline and desperation would take over where physics and logic demanded he stop.

Jesse closed his eyes and ran right through him as if he was nothing. He didn't stop to contemplate this, he just kept going.

There were twists, there were turns and there were hands, so many hands, grabbing him from everywhere imaginable. But somehow, he was able to keep going forward.

He passed through a closed door to come into a chamber of some sort. And then he saw them: two yellow swirling eyes. He looked into them, and through them. There was nothing else in the world left but those eyes.

"Stop," a voice said.

He did. Jesse suddenly felt a little sleepy.

"That's an interesting trick. How did you do that?" the voice asked.

"I don't know," he said in a slow, sleepy voice.

Jesse never saw the blow that knocked him unconscious.

End of Part 3