Author's Note: Just when I think this fic can't get any more fun to write... it does. I love mixing these two disparate universes together, and I hope you're enjoying it too. Please leave reviews!
Submitted for #CastleFanficMonday. Last Monday of hiatus!
Parts Unknown…
"Man, how long is this freak gonna be out for?" Javier Esposito shook his head and his upper lip curled into a sneer before he kicked at Spike's feet. The vampire was still unconscious, a bullet from Esposito's service piece buried in his brain and a small trail of red running from the bullet hole down the side of his nose.
The two women - vampire slayers named Buffy and Faith - had stared at each other in tense silence since leaving the alley in which they had found Spike. There was a past between the blonde and the brunette, that much was certain, and there appeared to be a past between the blonde and the vampire as well.
Not that Esposito cared about any of that. He just wanted to know what prompted the vampire to burst into their police station, kill two uniformed officers, and jab a letter opener into Roy Montgomery's neck. Hell, Esposito had half a mind to take care of all of this himself.
"There better be some answers soon," he warned despite the throbbing in his temples. "Or I'm gonna stake this fucker myself."
With a shrug, Faith Lehane pushed herself off the far wall and shrugged, practiced nonchalance screaming from her every gesture in spite of the fear in her dark eyes. She purposefully avoided everyone's gaze - Buffy's especially.
"You want answers, Javi?" she quipped. "Get in line. There's a lotta fuck-all going on here."
"Spike changed," Detective Ryan said from the far corner, cradling his broken wrist against his chest. "The second he connected Captain Montgomery to Beckett, it became personal for him."
"Spike is an obsessive," Buffy muttered, never once tearing her gaze from the vampire tied to a rusty chair, his head listed to the right. His ankles were tied to the front legs of the chair, his hands tied together behind the back. She kept a stake at the ready on her hip, not unlike the way the detectives wore their guns.
Her stomach churned at the sight of Spike, the weight of so many memories pushing down on her. All those times he tried to kill her, the way he leered over her, obsessed over her like a predator who would not let its prey go. To this day, she couldn't believe she once let him touch her.
To this day, she couldn't believe he survived the destruction of the Hellmouth.
"First time he found out what a Slayer was, he was obsessed," she added. "Killed two of them before we ever met. Lost count of how many times he promised to drink from my vein like it was a tap."
Esposito arched a suspicious brow. "And you never dusted him why?"
"Bit complicated, mate," Spike grumbled, his eyes barely open now that consciousness had returned. He clenched his jaw, sucking in his cheeks and calling more attention to those prominent cheek bones. The searing pain returned to his forehead, even as he felt the wound healing itself. "Untie me and I'll tell you."
Esposito pulled his gun again. "Give me a reason, jackass."
Faith strode toward the vampire before hoisting a leather-clad leg over him and straddling Spike's lap. Grabbing the back of Spike's head with her right hand, Faith grit her teeth and shoved her left index finger into the bullet wound. Spike gasped and writhed in pain as her finger sank deeper into his head before finding the blunt end of the bullet.
"Can a vampire go braindead?" she asked, ignoring the shocked looks of the other Slayer and the two cops. "If I pushed this bullet all the way into your brain, would you turn into a vegetable?"
Spike's hands balled into fists and his wrists tugged on their restraints, his entire body going rigid at the pain. Esposito kept his service piece trained on the vampire, while Ryan and Buffy stood a fair distance back, watching with worried gazes but not particularly eager to act.
"Tell us what we wanna know," Faith ordered, "or I start my little experiment."
Spike grunted in pain, the act of his face shifting to the demonic visage causing even more pain in the bullet wound. His yellow eyes looked like they were on fire, and Faith smirked because she knew that he would do so many unspeakable things to her if he managed to break free. But seeing as how he wasn't getting out of that chair any time soon…
Faith took sick pleasure in Spike's grunt of pain when she added pressure to the bullet. "What's your beef with Detective B?"
Spike snarled, his nostrils flaring. "She fascinates me."
"I don't believe you," Buffy said from behind Faith. "I know you, Spike. Good you, evil you, annoying reluctant sidekick you. You honestly expect me to believe you came back from the dead and your first instinct wasn't to find me?"
Spike's jaw set again, his wound throbbing around Faith's finger. "Maybe I got over you."
"Bullshit," Faith hissed. "So let's start at the top. Who brought you back?"
Spike stopped grunting in pain, clamping his mouth shut and giving Faith a smug grin, the taunting in his eyes as evident as the anger had been just moments before. Even when she pushed at the bullet again, the vampire's expression didn't change.
The sound of Esposito's gun cocking filled the otherwise silent room, and the metal pressed into Spike's temple. "What I wouldn't give for wooden bullets right now," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Answer her question."
"It's a complicated question," Spike teased. "But it involves a certain Senator and his pet law firm."
Ryan's brows scrunched in confusion. "Law firm?"
"Wolfram & Hart," Faith guessed with a shake of her head, ignoring Spike's pained whimper when she quickly withdrew her finger. "Should've fuckin' known."
Castle's loft…
Alexis Castle sighed as she peered through the crack in the door to her father's bedroom, where Richard Castle was spooning Detective Beckett as they slept. The bags under Kate's eyes were red and heavy, and the way her shoulders hunched as she slept told the teenager that it was a fitful sleep.
That, on top of the fact that it was now three in the afternoon, told Alexis that something was seriously wrong. She briefly wondered if whatever had driven her father and the detective to a sleepless night and restless sleep was the same thing that brought Rupert Giles to New York, but part of Alexis wasn't so sure she wanted the answers.
Tear streaks were still evident on Kate's face. Her soft, whisper-like snores were far more peaceful than her body language suggested, though the occasional whimper escaped. The first time Alexis heard one such whimper, she could see her father's hand tighten its hold on Kate's shoulder.
"Your tea is ready," a soft British accent whispered in her ear from behind, and Alexis offered a soft smile before following Giles through her father's office, the living room, and into the kitchen. A steaming mug awaited her on the island, and Alexis felt the tension in her shoulders relax after the first sip.
Giles stood across from her, stirring a small spoon in his mug, his glasses low on his nose.
"Unlce Rupert," Alexis began, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and using the term of endearment she had for Giles back when he had first met her father. "You're here because of whatever's upset Detective Beckett, aren't you?"
Setting his spoon down with a sigh, Giles nodded. "Unfortunately. I'm afraid things are progressing far faster than I had anticipated."
"You don't have to hide things from me," Alexis said between sips. "I know Beckett's a Slayer, and I know vampires exist and… it actually helps some things make more sense."
Giles quirked a brow. "How so?"
Alexis cradled her mug with both hands, letting the warmth soak into her palms. It was always soothing, and sometimes she relished the sensation even if she wasn't cold. She watched steam rise from her tea and curl into itself, her eyes narrowing briefly before her gaze finally flickered back up to Giles.
"I've been having dreams," she admitted. "Started a few months ago. Really weird dreams, where I was always fighting. Vampires, demons, all sort of monsters. Sometimes, I'm in the present. Sometimes, I'm in some ancient village wearing a dress that goes all the way to my ankles and I'm wielding a sword that weighs as much as I do."
Giles opened his mouth to speak, but Alexis pressed on. "Like, I'm this kickass Van Helsing and I'm slaying vampires and I'm saving the world, but… sometimes I die. Sometimes, I see the end coming, but there's nothing I can do to stop it."
Giles set down his mug. "Well…"
"At first, I thought it was because I wasn't sleeping enough, or because I was eating too soon before bed, but even after accounting for all of that, the dreams keep coming. And they're so vivid. Like, I can still feel how sharp that sword is. I can still smell the stench of death when a vampire closes in on me."
The teenager huffed a sigh, taking another sip. "I thought I was going mad."
"I can assure you," Giles finally got a word in edgewise, "that you are not."
A rueful smile crossed Alexis' lips. "Well, I know that now. Buffy already explained a little bit to me. About how Slayers used to be all solitary and stuff."
The smile that crept onto Giles' face whenever someone mentioned Buffy Summers was automatic, not unlike the pride with which Castle would talk about his own daughter. Being Buffy's Watcher had turned out far better than Giles could've imagined - even if he only focused on the fact that she was still alive.
Most Slayers were lucky to last a couple months. Buffy had survived well into adulthood.
"Is that what's gonna happen to me?" For the first time since the conversation started, worry etched its way onto Alexis' face. "Am I a Slayer?"
"You very well could be," Giles explained. "Willow's spell turned all of the world's Potentials into Slayers. The fact that you have been experiencing the dreams and the premonitions of the Slayer suggests you are a Potential."
Alexis' shoulders sagged. "Dad is so gonna freak."
Giles chuckled in spite of himself, removing his glasses. "Yes, I imagine he will. But here's where you and most of the Slayers of the past are different," Giles interjected, crossing to the other side of the island so that he was sitting next to Alexis. "You have a choice. Alexis, there are thousands of Slayers in the world. But by my estimate, most of them either don't realize the power they have or they've decided not to use it."
Alexis frowned in confusion. "Why?"
"Because Buffy's idea gave the world's Potentials the one thing she never had: a choice. Alexis, you can be a Slayer if you so choose. I would guide you, if you wanted, and you already know three Slayers who could train you."
Alexis blanched at that before taking another sip. "I don't know if fighting's my thing."
"Then perhaps you can use your knowledge for other purposes," Giles offered. "When I was in the Academy, a lot of Potentials traveled to London to study and train. And most who never became Slayers turned into Watchers instead."
"Watchers," Alexis repeated with an arched brow.
"We… guide the Slayer," Giles explained. "We train her, we serve as her mentor, for lack of a better word. I was once Buffy's Watcher; I would provide the intel and the research and she would be the one to go out there and fight the monsters."
Alexis shook her head, partly to take in the fact that Giles was far more than some random expert her father had called upon while doing research for a Derrick Storm novel when she was younger. Giles had been friendly to her back then, hence her name for him, happy to read to her or play with her while Castle was writing.
"Men sitting back while teenage girls did all the fighting?" Alexis asked in an accusatory tone.
"It was an archaic system, I agree. But like I said, thanks to Buffy, you now have a choice that she and so many other Slayers never had."
"I'm a sophomore in high school," Alexis lamented. "I don't even know what college I want to go to yet."
"Nobody is forcing you to decide today, Alexis. You might even decide that you want nothing to do with a life that involves demons and end-of-the-world prophecies. And that would certainly be your prerogative."
"Will you help me?"
"Of course I will," Giles answered with a warm smile. "However far you decide to take this."
Underneath Wolfram & Hart…
William Bracken stood in the center of a cavernous basement, shirtless and scowling at the floor. A large circle surrounded him, and his feet stood in the center of the Mark of Ky-laag. He sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself before bringing a ceremonial dagger to the palm of his right hand and slicing it open.
Blood poured onto the floor, even as Bracken never expressed any pain he might be feeling. As soon as his blood hit the floor, the circle encasing him erupted in a wall of blue flame. The heat was almost enough to singe his skin off - were he still wearing the flesh of a mere mortal who was destined to wither and die in seventy years or so.
Instead, the heat was but a nuisance, though the flames reached for the ceiling as the blood continued to pour. Bracken squeezed his hand into a tight fist, even more blood oozing from the cut.
The flames danced around Bracken and a high-pitched snarl pierced his ears.
"Hear me, O Great Ky-laag!" Bracken shouted in a tongue no one on Earth could decipher. "I call thee to me! I call your power to me! I beseech you, Ky-laag, to do my bidding! Use me as your Earthly vessel!"
The shrieks turned into blood-curdling screams and snarls of terror, echoing through the spacious chamber. Aside from the flames, the space was pitch black. Bracken stared skyward, his arms out on either side of him. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, a smile spreading across his face when he felt the warmth against his skin.
Time drew ever closer. He could see the proverbial finish line after all these years.
In just a few more weeks, nothing on this world would be able to stop him.
Who DARES summon me?!
Bracken's eyes opened, pure black. "I do! I call upon thee, Ky-laag! I shall be the one to bring you back to this dimension, so you can take your rightful place as ruler once more!"
What makes you think you are worthy, mortal?
"I have completed the trials! I have devoted the last seventy years to you! I have devoured your offspring and I can feel them fusing my organs together!"
No human is worthy of my power. NONE!
Before Bracken could react, the flames closed in on him. They engulfed the Senator until he screamed in agony, falling to his knees and cradling his arms over the back of his head. His flesh did not burn easily, but the flames were still leaving their mark, growing in heat and intensity as they devoured William Bracken's human form.
But after that first scream, Bracken went silent. He uncurled himself, closing his eyes and seeming to relish in the pain. He let the flames do what they had to do, scarring his chest and his back and slicing through the side of his neck.
Then, the flames disappeared. Bracken fell to his back, panting from exhaustion. His skin was charred. His eyes had returned to their human color. He stared at the ceiling, gasping for air yet unable to keep the smile off his face.
"I," he wheezed, "I am worthy."
Perhaps. You have passed the first trial. But be forewarned, no one has survived the second.
Bracken clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists. "Bring it."