A/N: Thank you so much for all your reviews! You guys are awesome! And thanks to anyanka, buffythevamp, cupquake, deiticlast, kinomakoto, merlyna, and Xelab for the recs!
I've tallied all the feedback re: True Blood vs. Southern Vampire Mysteries, and if you can believe it, it's pretty much dead even between the two. I obviously have some serious thinking to do. I can say that this fic takes place between Season 1/Book 1 and Season 2/Book 2.
Buffy gave an audible sigh of relief as she reached her motel room. Though she was the tiniest bit tempted to test out her enhanced abilities, going Destructo-girl on the unsuspecting public was not the way she wanted to end the night. No, first she'd take a shower and then go straight to bed to sleep this off. Because this couldn't be permanent, right?
Shuddering at the thought of being on constant sensory overload, Buffy closed her eyes and tried to relax under the hot shower spray. After a few wondrous moments of hearing and feeling nothing but the water on her bare skin, she opened her eyes and began washing all the blood and dust off. She also went to inspect the wound on her arm from the throwing star – except that it wasn't there.
To her astonishment, Buffy saw that the gash had not only completely healed but showed no sign of being damaged at all; the skin was smooth and unmarred without a hint of a scar. Not even her Slayer healing could produce results like that. No wonder people wanted vamp blood. Then again, it wasn't doing her any favors beyond that.
No, Buffy soon realized that she was too keyed up to sleep, though that didn't stop her from trying. If only sheer stubbornness were a superpower.
As she lay there staring at the ceiling, she realized that she should've gotten something to eat on her way back. At least that itch would've been scratched. Damn post-slayage urges.
It wasn't until the sun began to rise that Buffy finally managed to fall asleep despite her, er, itchiness. At least, that was the theory she was going with. How else could she be standing in her pajamas at the edge of the crater that was once Sunnydale?
"Yo, B."
Buffy whirled around. "Faith," she said softly.
She felt a sharp pain as she took in the sight of her friend, especially when she saw that Faith looked exactly as she did the day she died, right down to the shade of lipstick; the only thing missing was the fatal stab wound. Then Buffy frowned. Faith's presence in her dreams could only mean one thing.
"Time to make with the cryptic, huh?" she said with resignation.
Buffy didn't mean to sound so unappreciative; she definitely could use the help. It was just that a prophetic dream usually meant something really bad was coming.
Her tone didn't faze Faith in the least. "What? You want that sexy Sheriff here instead?" she grinned.
"No, of course not. And he's not sexy," Buffy replied indignantly. At Faith's pointed look, she relented a little. "Okay, he's a total hottie. He's also a vampire."
"I know. He's just your type," Faith said with a sly look. When Buffy could do nothing but gape at her in shock, she rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't play Miss Priss with me, B. If they got fangs and you're not stakin' them, you're usually screwin' them."
Buffy finally managed to find her voice. "Two vampires! With very special circumstances!" she sputtered. "And- and- this is ridiculous. You're not even real and you're giving me grief about this. Can we just jump to the prophecy part?"
Faith laughed. "Whatever. Denial ain't just a river, B," she teased. Then she grew serious. "You need to study your history more."
"Great. You've gone from sleeping with vampires to doing homework," Buffy grumbled, even as she was trying to figure out what it meant.
"Hey, I'm just the messenger," Faith smirked.
Buffy studied her friend closely. "Are you? Is this really you?" she asked.
She wouldn't have thought it was possible for Faith to enter in her dreams, but it seemed so much like her. And she wouldn't put it past the Powers That Be, either. They could be cruel bastards when they wanted to be, which was usually all the time.
"Don't really know," Faith shrugged. "Does it matter?"
"No, I guess not," Buffy sighed. Then she realized something. "You know, I've never had a slayer dream where I was this… aware or in control. It's usually more like a trailer to a B horror movie."
Faith studied her for a moment before replying. "You're not the same Slayer anymore, B," she said solemnly.
What was that supposed to mean? Before Buffy could ask, however, Faith continued to speak.
"It's kinda peaceful here. Ya know?" she murmured quietly as she looked out at the ruins of Sunnydale.
"That's because everything is dead," Buffy said bluntly, still feeling guilty over Vi's revelation earlier that night.
She felt a pair of brown eyes sharply turn toward her, but she steadfastly ignored it. Hey, it was her dream. If Buffy couldn't indulge in a little self-pity in her own sub-conscious, then where could she?
Unfortunately for her, Faith didn't give a damn whose dream it was.
"You're not dead," Faith said pointedly. At Buffy's silence, she scowled. "Fuck, B. I didn't sign up for a therapy session, and I don't have time to hand your ass to you. Storm's coming and you have a lotta work to do, so man up."
This got Buffy's attention. "Storm? What do you mean?" she quickly asked.
Faith shook her head. "Don't know. They weren't big on the details. But I know you gotta be ready," she said, looking at Buffy's pajamas critically. "You can't wear that."
Buffy suddenly found herself and Faith standing in front of her closet on Revello Drive. She immediately noticed that wasn't in her pajamas anymore. Instead she was wearing a navy blue t-shirt and shorts. Both had an NY embroidered on them in a vaguely familiar logo.
"Aw, shit! The Yankees? You couldn't have made it the Mets at least?" Faith grimaced.
"You like baseball?" Buffy asked, mentally patting herself on the back for matching the teams to the correct sport. Of course, it helped that she dated jocks at Hemery.
"Nah, hate the game actually. It's just a Boston thing," Faith explained, grinning at Buffy's baffled expression. She walked to the door. "Anyway, my time's up. I gotta go. Oh, B?"
Suddenly Faith was standing right in front of Buffy again. She leaned over and whispered,"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?" Then she straightened and began to walk away again.
In the past, whenever Buffy heard a foreign language, her mind went to its happy place and firmly stayed there until someone else had figured it out. She didn't have a choice now, though. And here she was without so much as an ancient Codex or a book of prophecies.
Of course, Buffy was getting ahead of herself; first she would have to remember what Faith had said, never mind translating and understanding it.
"Could you write that down?" she called out, half-joking and half-serious, with a dash of desperation. She wasn't ready for her dream to end. Even if it wasn't Faith, it was close enough.
"Not even if I tried," Faith called out over her shoulder. "I don't know what the fuck I just said."
Buffy couldn't help rolling her eyes at this. If this wasn't Faith, then it was a damn good imitation. "You really don't want to make this easy for me, do you?"
Faith turned back one last time and smirked. "Did I ever?"
Buffy awoke with a start. She sat up and looked around the room, half-expecting to see Faith smirking at her. She wasn't, of course. Buffy flopped back onto the bed as she went over her dream. As she lay there, she realized that the overwhelming sensations were gone; now it was just a pleasant power buzz.
Relief flooded through her. If she was going to make nice with Alastair Davies, it would help if she wasn't tweaking. She knew all too well that arrogance was pretty much the gold standard for the Watcher's Council; just like she knew her tolerance level for their attitude was virtually non-existent. It would be a bad start to what was sure to be an uneasy truce if Buffy ripped his arm off or something – accidentally, of course.
Speaking of which, she needed to get in touch with the mysterious and – so far – intact Watcher. Buffy sat up and reached for the phone. As she dialed Information, it occurred to her that it might be too early to call; not that she really cared.
"Hello, passive aggressiveness, my exciting new coping mechanism for the Council," she muttered as she glanced over at the clock. Her eyes widened as she saw the time. "Crap."
It was much later than she had anticipated. In fact, it was almost noon.
Buffy willed the operator to pick up. "St. Charles Hotel, Shreveport," she said promptly.
"Hold, please."
Buffy tapped her foot impatiently as she waited to be connected to the hotel.
"St. Charles Hotel. How may I be of service?"
"Alastair Davies' room, please," she requested.
"One moment."
Buffy took a deep breath and held it. This was it. There was no backing out now. She was going to talk to Uncle Alastair. Was it too much to ask that he not be a complete ass?
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but Mr. Davies checked out this morning."
All the air left Buffy in one big whoosh. She had decidedly mixed feelings, for obvious reasons. It also piqued her curiosity. Why would he leave today of all days?
Oh, well. It doesn't really matter. New York it is, then, Buffy thought as she hung up the phone. At least that part of the dream didn't need a decoder ring.
She got out of bed and got dressed. She needed to go to the bus depot and buy a ticket to New York. Sometimes it was a real pain traveling with a bag full of weapons.
As Buffy walked by the mirror, she caught a glimpse of her reflection; she was shocked by what she saw. Apparently vamp blood affected physical appearances as well.
When Vi had said that Buffy looked terrible, she was right. The sad thing was that it was a vast improvement from a few weeks ago. The missing Potentials had given her a new fire, a purpose, and she felt more like herself every day. It was still a far cry from the old Buffy, though; until now.
The girl looking back at her now had a healthy glow, complete with bright eyes and shining hair, though she was still on the thin side because evidently vamp blood was calorie-free. Still, she looked a lot better.
First it was Vi, then Faith, and now this. The universe was obviously trying to send her a message, and Buffy heard it loud and clear.
She wasn't ready to listen, though. Not yet. She wasn't ready to deal with her pain; it was the only thing she had left of her family and friends. If there wasn't any pain, she'd have nothing else. It would mean that she'd have to say goodbye. Most of all it would mean she would have to start living instead of just being alive.
At that moment, her stomach growled, demanding attention.
Buffy scowled. "Not you, too," she said to her traitorous body. "Can we say 'overkill'?"
Buffy stepped out of the café with a satisfied smile. She had her bus ticket for tomorrow morning, she had e-mailed Xander to tell him that she was coming to New York, and she just had eaten her weight's worth in food.
Now if only the prophecy would translate itself, Buffy wistfully thought to herself as she headed toward the public library.
She stopped short, however, as a huge sign caught her eye.
Fellowship of the Sun Church
Special event at 3pm today
Come share in the love with the Newlins
Cookies and refreshments to follow
This was the anti-vampire group Elvira spoke of? A church that gave out cookies and love? Interesting. And kind of weird.
Buffy hesitated for a moment; it was a little after 3 o'clock right now. This seemed like a rare opportunity to learn about the Fellowship; kind of like due diligence for a slayer. And there would still be time for the library afterward…
Her curiosity getting the better of her, Buffy walked toward the entrance. She would just stand in the back and observe. Worst case scenario? It would really suck, she would cut out early, and she would get some cookies.
Once inside, she immediately noticed all the windows. In fact, the front and back of the church were nothing but glass. Judging by the way the sunlight was streaming in, the building itself must have been aligned on the east-west axis.
Buffy took a look around at the people inside the church. It was crowded; there must've been at least 100 people inside, all jumbled together in a sea of polo shirts, Sunday dresses, and bland smiles. It was kind of eerie.
Then she saw the men walking around the perimeter of the church. Buffy frowned. Though their weapons were well hidden, her trained eye spotted them immediately. Guns in church? They didn't mention that on the sign outside. The Fellowship was becoming more interesting by the minute.
Finally, she turned her attention to the two men and a woman standing in front of the altar. One man was tall and blonde; he was speaking to the other man, who was a little shorter and had dark hair. The woman, a pretty blonde, stood next to them but did not join in the conversation.
Buffy looked for a place to sit, but to her chagrin, the only seats still available were up front. As she tried to decide whether to stay or not, one of the men in front of the altar – the blonde – saw her and motioned for her to sit in one of the empty seats. Reluctantly, she took a seat a few rows back from the altar.
After a few more minutes, the man who waved her in held his hands up to the crowd, and everyone immediately fell silent.
"Thank you all for coming. I'm Reverend Barnes, the pastor here at the Fellowship of the Sun," he greeted. "We are very fortunate today, for we have the founders of our church, Reverend Steve Newlin and his lovely wife Sarah, visiting from Dallas."
There was loud applause as Reverend Newlin stepped forward. Buffy was surprised by how young he was.
"Welcome, and thank you for coming today. Gosh, Sarah and I are just thrilled to see all these smiling faces here," he said in a soft, Southern drawl as he reached for his wife's hand. He looked out over the assembled crowd and smiled. "We are even happier to know that by coming here, you are choosing the way of light."
A small bubble of laughter escaped from Buffy's lips, and she had to cover it quickly with a cough. She didn't mean to, but hearing a grown man use the word 'gosh' had that effect. And the 'way of light'?
Reverend Newlin looked ruefully at the congregation. "Now, I know, it isn't always easy following the path of the righteous. There's a lot of temptation out there. Why, right here in Shreveport, there's a bar that draws dozens of people into its den of sin every day," he said as he shook his head in disbelief. "It may seem like the hip thing to do; but don't be fooled. There's nothing sexy or cool or fun about being an abomination in God's eyes, and that's what vampires are: an abomination."
"The Bible explicitly says that we shall not drink blood, and anyone who partakes in it must be cut off. That's right. We must cut. Them. Off," the reverend emphasized before pausing for dramatic effect. "Just what does that mean, though? Do we simply ignore the vampires and those humans that accept them? Live side by side with them in our communities? No. No, we must not."
Buffy's interest/amusement quickly faded away as alarm bells began ringing in her head; she saw the reverend's eyes become hard for a brief second before he masked it with a humble, unassuming look. She studied him closely as he continued to speak.
"Their very existence threatens our families, our values, and our society," he continued. "They can't have children, which you know of course is a crime against nature itself. So how will they replenish their numbers? They will take your mother, your father, your son, and your daughter. I'm sure some of you know people, good Christian folk, who have already been abducted or bewitched by vampires."
The reverend shook his head in dismay. "We cannot accept this. We, as His children, must fight to preserve the way of the Lord. As it says in the Book of Job, we will break the fangs of the unrighteous and make him drop his prey from his teeth."
Murmurs of agreement reverberated around the church. Buffy's alarm bells turned into a full-on air raid siren. At best, this was irresponsible; at worst, extremely dangerous. He was going to get people killed. Buffy could've sworn her spidey sense was tingling.
"Now, I know some of you are probably saying that God is merciful; God wants us to turn the other cheek, and He does," Reverend Newlin said with a reassuring smile. "But only for His children. Vampires are not God's children, any more than homosexuals are. No, they are both unnatural and evil, hating God's natural order and in doing so hating God Himself."
At that moment, Buffy knew that there wasn't a cookie big enough that could make up for this; and for the first time ever, musty old library books were looking pretty good. The reverend still wasn't done, either.
"It is our duty to protect humanity… by any means necessary. Now I know this may sound scary, just like it was scary for Samson when he was blinded and strung between two pillars. But what did he do? He asked God to grant him the strength to kill the Philistines, even though it would kill him as well. And do you know what? God did it. He gave Samson the strength to push those pillars over," Reverend Newlin said, beaming at the crowd.
"That's what we must do. Our church is growing every day, but we need you. We need to use our combined strength and push over those pillars of evil for it is God's will. Because of this, we cannot falter," he finished. The reverend took a deep breath and smiled. "Now, Sarah has baked some cookies for you all. I hope you'll join us for some refreshments. Thank you, and may you walk in His holy light."
Buffy tried to make a break for it as soon as the applause started. It was impossible, however, as people soon crowded into the aisles. She then tried to cut around the front, but that plan backfired; instead she found herself face to face with the Newlins, who were blocking her escape route.
"Hello there," the reverend said cheerfully.
Buffy smiled politely. "Reverend Newlin, Mrs. Newlin."
"Please, call me Steve," the reverend replied, as he held out his hand. "And this is Sarah."
"Anne," Buffy said, shaking both of their outstretched hands.
Steve's eyes widened in surprise. "That's quite a grip you got there, Anne," he said with a curious look.
Oops, Buffy thought. Stupid vamp blood.
"I, uh, take self-defense classes. You never can be too careful," she said, plastering a fake smile on her face.
Steve nodded in approval. "Amen to that. Now that's what I like to here," he said.
Sarah nodded enthusiastically and smiled at Buffy. "You're not from around here. What brings you to these parts?" she asked, obviously noticing Buffy's accent.
"I'm just here visiting a friend," Buffy replied, smile still firmly in place.
"A young lady like yourself shouldn't be traveling alone unescorted, self-defense classes or not," Steve said pleasantly, though Buffy could practically feel the judgment emanating from him.
Sarah laughed. "Oh honey. Leave her alone. A pretty little thing like her, I'm sure she's got some nice young man to look out for her," she said as she winked at Buffy.
Even if Buffy wasn't the Slayer, she would've been offended. She needed to extricate herself as quickly and painlessly as possible. Short of pushing the Newlins out of the way, however, that was impossible; not to mention that it would definitely draw the attention of the armed men.
Steve gave his wife a sheepish look. "You're right. Besides, you look like you have a good head on your shoulders. After all, you came here, right?" he laughed.
Oh, gag me, Buffy thought. She was beginning to not care whether she made a scene or not.
"Where are you from, Anne?" Sarah asked.
"California," Buffy replied tersely, hoping they would get the hint. They didn't.
Steve's eyes lit up with interest. "Ah, California. We don't have a branch out there yet, do we?" he said, turning to his wife, who shook her head almost mournfully. Steve sighed. "It's a shame, too, because that state is just full of homosexuals and fornicators, which we all know just draws vampires like white on rice."
What amazed Buffy was the way he kept that soft, non-threatening tone to his voice. He did the same thing throughout his little sermon, no matter what he was saying. It was very effective, often masking the sexist, homophobic, vigilante rhetoric.
Give her evil straight up, horns and all, because this Stepford church group was way creepier.
The Reverend Steve Newlin obviously felt uniform hatred toward all vampires, even those who didn't drink from humans. Buffy had a feeling he would feel the same about werewolves, witches, and, hell, maybe even Slayers. She did have the essence of a demon in her, after all.
No, there was no grey in Reverend Newlin's world, but there was plenty of hatred and violence. He was dangerous, plain and simple.
Thankfully, Buffy heard someone calling to the Newlins, and from the tone, it sounded urgent.
"I'm sorry, but you must excuse us. We hope to see you here again," Steve said. "May His holy light shine upon you."
"Yeah, may you be, er, shiny, too," Buffy said, feeling that her face would crack if she smiled any more.
Buffy beat a hasty retreat. She wasn't able to make it out of the church totally unscathed, however; somehow she managed to get saddled with several brochures for the Fellowship, each one with a donation form inside. She sighed with relief when she finally exited the church.
That was an experience, one she'd never like to have ever again.
Eric sat in his usual chair in Fangtasia, looking over the crowd in the bar. The Slayer had yet to show, but he didn't doubt she would come. And he was looking forward to it.
After the battle last night, he knew for certain that she was not one to let go. He wanted her allegiance, something that would not be easily won – or manipulated, as he had already discovered. It was worth it, however.
An alliance with her would be the coup de grace to this war with the half-breeds – not that he wanted to be particularly merciful. The symbolic victory over the Fellowship was not lost on him, either. And the impact it would have on the supernatural community… Eric hadn't felt this kind of joy in years.
In addition to that, there was Buffy Summers, the person behind the Slayer. Eric was quickly discovering that getting under her skin was a joy unto itself. And, after feeling her emotions all night, he wanted to get under more than just her skin.
Of course, he'd have to tell her about the blood bond first, that he could sense her and her emotions. From what Eric had already observed, she wouldn't take it well. There wasn't any real danger, though, as they were in a stalemate of sorts over Violet. She did seem to get cranky very easily, however. That alone made him almost look forward to telling her that the blood bond could make the human feel an attraction to the vampire. Almost.
Eric knew that he would have to tell her about this as well, but the timing would have to be right. While it would be dangerous to withhold this information for too long and have her find out on her own, it would be equally dangerous to tell her now before he had something to tie her to him. That could be remedied tonight, however.
Just then, the Slayer walked into the bar. Eric felt a rush at seeing her again. Pam would be sighing in exasperation if she knew.
He watched as she surveyed the room, taking stock of the customers, escape routes, and potential weapons, all within the span of a minute or so. Then her eyes flitted to his, and her expression went from predator to wry amusement.
He made no indication that he felt her flutter of excitement at seeing him. He kept his face blank as she rolled her eyes at him before walking over to the bar where Violet was sitting.
Eric watched as the two girls chatted and laughed. He heard her talk about meeting some human friend named Xander; he felt her nervousness. This piqued Eric's curiosity. The Slayer could face him without so much as a flinch, but meeting this human made her nervous. Suddenly this Xander became of interest to him.
A few more minutes passed by. Then he caught Violet's eye. It was time to have a little chat with the Slayer.
