Chapter 2: School Hard
September 30, 1997 – Tuesday
Sunnydale High School
"A lot of educators tell students to think of your principal as your pal. I say, think of me as your judge, jury, and executioner," Principal Snyder said, his eyes narrowing with cold satisfaction as he sat behind his oversized desk, glaring at Buffy and Sheila. The two girls sat across from him in the cramped office, the stifling air heavy with the scent of old paper and authority. The fluorescent lights flickered slightly, casting an eerie glow over Snyder's sharp features, making him seem even more reptilian than usual.
Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her chair, knowing exactly where this was headed. Snyder was like a cat toying with his prey, and right now, she and Sheila were the helpless mice. She glanced sideways at Sheila, whose defiant posture matched her own, arms crossed tightly across her chest, chin lifted in a way that screamed rebellion. Snyder's glee was palpable as he tapped his fingers on the desk, drawing out the tension like a twisted game.
"Tell me, who do you think is the most troublesome student in this school?" Snyder's voice was laced with a kind of smug satisfaction that made Buffy want to roll her eyes, which she promptly did.
"Both of us," Buffy replied dryly, giving him exactly what he wanted. She knew Snyder relished pitting students against each other, especially ones he considered 'troublemakers.'
Snyder's thin lips curled into a mocking smile. "It is quite a match between you two," he said as he opened two thick, well-worn file folders on his desk with a flourish, the sound of rustling paper somehow accusatory. The files were filled with their misdeeds, each incident carefully recorded, as if Snyder took personal joy in chronicling their every slip-up.
"On the one hand," he continued, as though narrating a grand battle, "Buffy hasn't stabbed a horticulture teacher with a trowel—yet."
"I never stabbed anyone with a trowel!" Sheila interrupted, her voice sharp, eyes blazing with indignation as she jabbed a finger into the file in front of Snyder. He flinched, just slightly, but recovered quickly, leaning back in his chair.
"It was pruning shears," Sheila clarified. "It should say pruning shears." Her tone dripped with the kind of defiance that only someone who had spent years flouting authority could muster.
Snyder raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with the distinction. "On the other hand, Sheila's never burned down a school building," he added, his gaze flicking toward Buffy with a malicious gleam.
"That was never proven," Buffy shot back, her voice steady but tinged with exasperation. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her rattled. "And if you insinuate I did, I will have my mom file charges for slander."
Snyder's glare hardened, his beady eyes locking onto her with the intensity of someone who had already decided her guilt. He hated being challenged, especially by someone like Buffy. The air between them crackled with unspoken hostility as he glanced back down at the files in front of him, flipping through pages as though searching for more ammunition.
"And the two of you seem to be tied in the class-cutting and fight-starting events," he went on, clearly enjoying this sadistic little performance. "You're really neck and neck here. It's very exciting." His smile widened, and Buffy could almost see the relish in his eyes as he imagined their downfall.
Sheila, ever the rebel, leaned forward, a sarcastic smile playing on her lips. "What does the winner get?"
"Expelled," Snyder said, his voice practically dripping with glee. The word hung in the air like a death sentence.
Buffy shook her head, letting out a small, exasperated sigh. Snyder loved to dangle threats over their heads, but she knew better. She remembered her own expulsion in the other timeline—the endless battle to get back into school after Snyder had wrongfully kicked her out. She'd seen through his bluster then, and she wasn't about to let him scare her now.
"No one gets expelled, Sheila," Buffy said, her voice calm but firm. "He can't do it without grounds. There would be no grounds for expulsion. Suspension, yes. Expulsion, no." Her tone grew sharper, more confident, as memories of the past timeline flooded back. She remembered how Snyder had refused to let her return to school, how her mother had fought tooth and nail to get her reinstated. She remembered standing before the school board, watching as they overruled Snyder's petty authority, forcing him to back down.
"You see," Buffy added, her eyes locking onto Snyder's with a knowing look, "by law, he has to teach us."
Snyder glared at Buffy, his eyes narrowing into slits as he continued, his voice dripping with condescension. "This Thursday is parent-teacher night. Your parents—" he paused deliberately, turning his icy gaze toward Buffy, "—assuming you have any, will meet your teachers—" then he shifted his focus to Sheila, "—assuming you have any left." The disdain in his tone was unmistakable, and Buffy could feel the contempt radiating off him like a thick fog.
Snyder leaned back in his chair, a smug smile playing at the corners of his thin lips. "I have decided to put you two in charge of this event." He spoke as if bestowing a great, unwanted gift. "You have three days to prepare the refreshments, make the banners, and transform the school lounge into a habitable place for adults. This," he said, drawing out the word with a sneer, "will incur my goodwill, and may even affect what I tell your parents when I meet them. Are we clear?"
Buffy felt her stomach churn with irritation but kept her face neutral. She knew the drill with Snyder—he loved lording his authority over them, taking every chance he could to make her life miserable. But she wasn't going to let him rattle her. Not today.
"Crystal," she said, her voice steady, giving him the response he clearly wanted.
Snyder's sneer deepened, his satisfaction palpable. "Good. Because if you mess up this time, your parents will be coming to clean out your lockers," he added with a final, cutting jab, his gaze boring into Buffy as if daring her to fail.
Buffy didn't flinch. She simply gave a curt nod, then stood up, eager to escape the oppressive weight of Snyder's office. As she stepped into the hallway, the heavy door clicked shut behind her, and she breathed a small sigh of relief. Sheila followed closely behind, her posture relaxed but her expression thoughtful.
Xander and Willow appeared almost instantly, as if they'd been lying in wait, their curious faces lighting up as they approached. "You do your own thing. Just try and make an appearance, okay?" Buffy said to Sheila, not wanting to drag the girl into something she clearly had no intention of sticking around for.
Sheila glanced at Buffy, clearly surprised. "You're really…?" she asked, her tone laced with disbelief. It was obvious she hadn't expected Buffy to cover for her, let alone be so straightforward about it. "You always seemed like Miss Goody-Two-Shoes."
Buffy smiled, amused at the label. "From what I've heard of you," she began, her tone casual but sharp, "you like to party, and that some of your tardiness is because you had a hangover and overslept." She raised an eyebrow. "I know if I tried to make you work with me, you just wouldn't care and would probably blow it off."
Sheila looked at her, stunned for a second before a slow grin spread across her face. "You're right. I probably would have," she admitted, impressed by Buffy's bluntness. "I'll try and make an appearance. Thanks for covering."
"No problem," Buffy said with a slight nod as Sheila sauntered off, her steps lazy but her promise still lingering in the air. Buffy watched her go, unsure if Sheila would actually show but willing to let it slide either way.
Xander, ever the joker, grinned as he sidled up next to Buffy. "Heard Snyder's got you guys making party favors," he said with mock enthusiasm, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
Buffy rolled her eyes, still feeling the weight of Snyder's ultimatum. "Yeah, his two worst students," she said, sarcasm thick in her voice. She could feel the exhaustion creeping up on her already, and parent-teacher night was only going to add to the stress.
As she watched Sheila walk off, something gnawed at the back of her mind. A decision she'd been putting off for too long. She needed to talk to her mom—tell her the truth, that she was the Slayer. It was a conversation she dreaded, but she knew it couldn't wait forever. If she didn't come clean, her mom would find out eventually, and it would be so much worse if it came out later.
Summers Home
Buffy walked through the front door of her house, her shoulders feeling heavy with the weight of what she was about to say. "Mom! I'm home," she called out, her voice echoing through the quiet house. There was a slight hesitation in her step as she moved further inside, her mind running through a million different scenarios of how this conversation might go.
From the kitchen, Joyce's familiar, warm voice called back, "I'm in the kitchen, Buffy."
The scent of something cooking hung faintly in the air as Buffy made her way down the hall, her heartbeat quickening just a little. She knew she couldn't keep putting this off. Stepping into the bright kitchen, she found her mother moving about, casually preparing dinner as though everything was perfectly normal—oblivious to the storm of information Buffy was about to unload.
"I wanted to let you know that parent-teacher conferences are this Thursday," Buffy said, her voice attempting nonchalance, though her nerves betrayed her in the way her hands fidgeted at her sides.
"I know, I got the mail," Joyce responded, turning slightly to give Buffy a look, her tone light but expectant. "I was wondering when you were going to mention it." There was a hint of playful curiosity, but also the underlying concern that always followed when it came to Buffy's school life.
"I forgot," Buffy said, her tone flat, though inside she was bracing for impact. "Honestly. But I'm telling you now." She took a breath, steadying herself before plunging into the real issue. "And before you go in there, there's one of my teachers you're going to need to talk to in advance before you see the rest of them and Principal Snyder."
Joyce paused, her attention now fully on Buffy, concern creeping into her features. "Why?" she asked, her voice soft but firm. "You're not doing something bad, are you?"
Buffy shook her head, trying to reassure her mom, though she knew that what she was about to reveal would definitely complicate things. "No," she replied. "It's about those late-night study sessions. They weren't exactly study sessions." She could feel the tension rising as she spoke, her pulse quickening. This was it—the moment of truth. "You see, I kind of have a night job. One with no benefits and no pay. One that would explain the fights back in L.A."
Joyce's brow furrowed, confusion and a touch of fear flashing across her face. Buffy could see the wheels turning in her mother's mind, trying to piece together what she was hearing. "What do you mean? What kind of night job?" Joyce's voice was filled with the cautious concern of a mother who feared the worst.
Buffy met her mother's gaze, her voice softening but steady. "Before you see the rest of the teachers, I want you to talk to Giles."
"The librarian?" Joyce asked, her eyebrows raising in surprise. Buffy nodded, her eyes not leaving her mother's as she waited for the reaction she knew was coming.
Joyce let out a long, tired sigh, as if already sensing the complexity of what was to come. "Alright," she said, her voice resigned but willing. "When?"
Buffy's heart raced in relief—her mom hadn't dismissed her outright. She felt a flicker of hope that this might go better than she expected. "How about right now?" she suggested, knowing that delaying this would only make things worse. The truth was bubbling inside her, desperate to be let out before it consumed her completely.
Joyce nodded again, her face now set in determination, though Buffy could see the worry etched in the lines of her forehead. She watched as her mother quietly set aside the food she had been preparing for dinner, tidying up with a calmness that didn't quite match the unease Buffy knew was simmering beneath the surface. Without another word, they grabbed their jackets and headed out the door together.
Sunnydale High School
"Giles!" Buffy yelled, her voice echoing through the quiet library as she and Joyce entered. The scent of old books hung in the air, lending a strange sense of calm to what was about to be anything but.
Giles emerged from his office, wiping his glasses absentmindedly as always. "How was patrol?" he asked, his focus initially on Buffy, before his gaze landed on Joyce. His expression shifted to confusion. "Buffy?" he questioned, clearly surprised by her mother's presence.
"We're telling her," Buffy said, her voice firm but carrying the weight of the moment. "I had a dream that she finds out anyway, and she would've kicked me out of the house if I had to go patrol without her knowing."
Giles took in a sharp breath, then sighed heavily, his concern evident. He nodded solemnly, recognizing that there was no avoiding this any longer. "Why don't you sit down, Mrs. Summers?" he offered, his voice steady but serious. "This is going to be a difficult conversation."
Joyce, her brow furrowed in a mix of confusion and apprehension, looked at Buffy for reassurance. When Buffy gave her a small nod, Joyce moved toward the long library table, her footsteps slow and measured. She sat down, folding her hands in front of her, waiting for an explanation.
Giles walked around the table to face Joyce, his demeanor more formal than usual. "Mrs. Summers, Buffy here is the Slayer," he began, his words careful but direct. "She has been chosen to fight vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness."
Joyce blinked, stunned by the sheer absurdity of what she was hearing. "Vampires?" she asked, her tone filled with disbelief and a hint of skepticism as she turned to Buffy, searching her daughter's face for some sign that this was all some bizarre joke.
"Yes, mom, vampires," Buffy confirmed, her voice soft but steady. There was no humor in her eyes—only a quiet acceptance of the truth she had been living for so long.
Giles cleared his throat, sensing the need to explain further. His voice took on the gravitas of a scholar sharing ancient knowledge. "This world is older than you know, and contrary to popular mythology, it did not begin as a paradise," he continued, each word laced with the weight of centuries of hidden history. "For untold eons, demons walked the earth; made it their home—turned it into their Hell. In time, they lost their hold on this reality, and the way was made for the mortal animals. For Man. What remains of the Old Ones are vestiges: certain magicks, certain creatures such as vampires."
He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in before continuing. "The books tell that the last demon to leave this reality fed off a human, mixing their blood. He was a human form possessed—infected—by the demon's soul. He bit another, and another, and so they walk the earth, feeding. Killing some, mixing their blood with others to make more of their kind. Waiting for the animals—humans—to die out, and the Old Ones to return."
Joyce sat there, staring at both Buffy and Giles as though they were speaking in some foreign language she couldn't quite grasp. She blinked, trying to wrap her mind around the fantastical narrative. "Vampires?" she repeated, shaking her head in disbelief. Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the emotions she was trying to contain. "You really expect me to believe this?"
Buffy's heart tightened at the look on her mother's face, the same face that had comforted her through scraped knees and broken hearts, now struggling to understand the impossible. She knew how crazy it sounded, but the truth had always been crazy.
"Mom," Buffy began, her voice soft but urgent, as if trying to gently pull her mother into a reality that was both terrifying and impossible to deny. "What do you think has been going on for the last two years? The fights, the weird occurrences—how many times have you washed blood out of my clothes?" Her eyes searched Joyce's face, pleading for recognition, for understanding.
Joyce stared back at Buffy, her mind racing as she recalled all the moments she had brushed off, moments she had rationalized as just part of life in a strange, dangerous world. The fights in L.A. that she'd chalked up to bad influences, the unexplained injuries, the nights Buffy came home late, claiming exhaustion from "studying." And the blood—how many times had she scrubbed stains from Buffy's clothes without asking too many questions, afraid of the answers?
Buffy could see the wheels turning in her mother's mind, the doubt, the hesitation. But before Joyce could voice her disbelief, before she could say the words Buffy knew were coming, she pressed on. "Before you say it stops now, Mom," she said, her tone firm but tinged with a sadness that came from years of shouldering the burden alone, "I can't stop. In every generation, there is a chosen one, one girl in all the world. That girl is me. The next one is chosen when the current one dies."
She let the weight of those words settle between them, feeling the sting of the truth in her own voice. "If you want proof," she added, her eyes never leaving her mother's, "come with me tonight. You'll get your proof."
Joyce opened her mouth, ready to argue, ready to deny everything that Buffy had said, but something in her daughter's expression—a vulnerability, a steely determination—made her pause. The logical part of her mind screamed that this couldn't be real, but the part of her that had raised this strong, capable girl couldn't dismiss it so easily. What if Buffy wasn't lying? What if all of it—vampires, demons—was the reality her daughter had been living, protecting her from?
"Buffy," Giles interjected cautiously, his brow furrowing as he stepped forward, his voice a mix of concern and practicality. "I'm not sure that's a wise idea. As it is, just your mother knowing about you being the Slayer puts her in danger."
Buffy nodded slightly, understanding the gravity of what Giles was saying. "I know," she admitted, her voice quieter now, filled with both love and frustration. "But she needs to see it for herself before she believes. Just like Willow and Xander did." There was a tenderness in her words, an unspoken plea for Giles to understand that this wasn't just about the fight—it was about trust, about her mother finally knowing the truth that had been hiding in plain sight.
Giles sighed; the weight of his own responsibilities heavy on his shoulders. He looked at Joyce, then back at Buffy, and nodded. He didn't like it, but he knew there was no other way. Buffy's world was dangerous, but keeping her mother in the dark might be even worse.
Restfield Cemetery
Joyce stood beside Giles; her arms crossed tightly across her chest as if trying to shield herself from the cold reality unfolding before her. The cemetery around them was eerily quiet, save for the sounds of the struggle just a few feet away. Ten feet ahead, Buffy was locked in combat with a vampire, her movements swift and powerful. Every hit she landed reverberated through the air, a reminder of just how dangerous this secret life of hers truly was.
Buffy spun into a roundhouse kick with the grace and precision of someone who had been fighting for her life for years. Her foot connected with the vampire's chest, sending him flying backward, crashing into a gravestone with a loud thud. Without missing a beat, she pulled a stake from her jacket and, with the confidence of countless battles, hurled it at the vampire.
But the creature was fast, sidestepping at the last second and catching the stake midair with a sneer. Joyce's breath caught in her throat as the vampire snapped the wooden weapon in half with an unsettling ease, the cracking sound echoing in the stillness of the cemetery. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched the vampire move in on Buffy, her daughter taking a defensive stance, ready for the next onslaught.
With two powerful sidearm blows, the vampire sent Buffy flying across the grass, the impact making Joyce flinch. A hard kick followed, knocking Buffy to the ground. Joyce instinctively took a step forward, her protective instincts kicking in, but Giles gently placed a hand on her arm, holding her back. "She's got this," he whispered, though his voice was filled with tension.
Buffy, undeterred, sprang to her feet with a ferocity that left Joyce both awed and terrified. She landed a brutal uppercut, her fist connecting with the vampire's chin, followed by a flying kick that sent the creature staggering back. With a flash of movement, Buffy headbutted the vampire, and as he reeled from the impact, she swiftly produced another stake, her second hidden weapon.
Before the vampire could recover, Buffy drove the stake into his chest with practiced precision. In an instant, the creature exploded into a cloud of dust, the remnants of his existence scattering into the night air.
Buffy turned, her breathing steady despite the intense fight, and walked toward Joyce and Giles with an expression that was a mix of determination and concern. "Well?" she asked, her voice steady, though her eyes searched her mother's face for any sign of understanding.
Joyce stared at the empty spot where the vampire had stood just moments before, the dust still settling in the air like an echo of the impossible. Her eyes slowly lifted to meet Buffy's, wide with disbelief. For a long moment, she said nothing, her mind struggling to reconcile the fantastical sight she had just witnessed with the reality she had known her entire life.
Finally, Joyce nodded, though it was slow and hesitant, as if the action itself was difficult. "I—" she started, but words seemed to fail her. Instead, she simply nodded again, her mouth slightly open as she tried to process the impossible truth. Her hands trembled at her sides, and though she stood upright, Buffy could see the deep shock that had settled over her mother like a heavy, invisible weight.
Despite Joyce's nod of acceptance, Buffy could tell that her mother was in a state of shock. The reality of vampires, demons, and her daughter's role in this dark, hidden world was overwhelming. Joyce's face remained pale, her lips pressed tightly together as if holding back the flood of questions and emotions that threatened to spill out. Buffy wanted to reach out, to say something reassuring, but she knew that her mother needed time—time to absorb this new, terrifying reality that Buffy had been living alone for so long.
October 1, 1997 – Wednesday
Sunnydale High School
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the school windows, casting warm beams across the student lounge as Buffy bent over a long table, carefully painting bold letters onto a large banner. The vibrant colors contrasted with her expression—concentrated, but tired. Willow sat nearby, helping with the finishing touches, her usual upbeat energy slightly subdued as she glanced at her friend.
"So, how did your mom take it?" Willow asked, her voice soft with concern as she dipped a brush into the paint.
Buffy paused, her brush hovering over the banner for a moment. "She's still in a state of shock," she admitted, her tone reflecting the weight of the previous night. "She didn't say much this morning as I left the house. I think she's... processing. I'm giving it time; hopefully tonight she'll be better."
Willow nodded in understanding, biting her lip before offering a small smile of encouragement. "Don't worry," came Xander's voice as he appeared beside them, leaning casually against the table. "Remember how Willow and I were when we first found out?" His expression softened as he caught Buffy's eye. "That's the way it is with your mom. She just needs time to process it."
Buffy gave a weak smile in return, appreciating the reassurance, but the worry lingered behind her eyes. She knew her mother was resilient, but this was different—this was a whole new world Joyce had been forced into overnight.
As if on cue, Giles and Ms. Calendar approached, their conversation picking up mid-sentence. Giles's brow was furrowed with that familiar look of scholarly frustration, while Ms. Calendar carried her usual blend of sharp wit and insight.
"There's nothing in the Chronicles about an extraneous lunar cycle," Giles was saying, flipping through a weathered text with a frown.
Ms. Calendar shook her head in exasperation. "The Order never accurately calculated the Mesopotamian calendar! Rupert, you have to read something that was published after 1066."
Xander, sensing the rising academic tension, interjected with his signature humor. "What's the up, guys?" he asked, eyebrows raised, as if hoping for a topic less doom-and-gloom.
Buffy looked up from her work, exhaustion creeping into her voice as she half-joked, "I don't suppose this is something about happy squirrels? Mom is still processing. And I'd like to be home tonight."
Giles sighed; the weight of the news already heavy on his shoulders. "Vampires," he said simply, his tone filled with reluctant inevitability.
Buffy dropped her head slightly, letting out a small groan. "That was my next guess," she muttered.
"Ms. Calendar has been researching—surfing on her computer," Giles said, a hint of reluctance in his voice as he still hadn't fully embraced modern technology. He adjusted his glasses, glancing at the others before continuing. "According to her calculations, this Saturday is the Night of Saint Vigeous."
Buffy nodded, casually leaning against the table. "I know he led this crusade deal with a lot of vampires," she said, as if she had just mentioned a regular school event. But behind her words was a sense of familiarity with the danger that loomed, a weariness from having to face such things time and time again.
Giles raised an eyebrow, clearly curious about how Buffy had come across that bit of information. "Correct," he acknowledged, surprised but impressed by her awareness. "They swept through Edessa, Harran, and points east."
Ms. Calendar chimed in, her voice steady, yet carrying the weight of dark history. "They didn't leave much behind," she said grimly, her tone underscoring the devastation left in the wake of Saint Vigeous and his followers.
Xander, ever the one to break tension, added with a wry smile, "So Saturday's kind of a big doo for bloodsuckers."
Ms. Calendar nodded solemnly. "It's a Holy Night of Attack. They'll come in numbers." Her words hung in the air, ominous and heavy, as if the weight of the upcoming battle had already settled on the group's shoulders.
Buffy, though, seemed unfazed by the thought of the impending threat. She brushed a strand of hair out of her face, her focus already elsewhere. "Once I make sure Mom is okay with me being the Slayer," she said, her voice resolute. "Then I'll start training and preparing."
Giles, sensing the concern she tried to mask, softened his tone. "Of course," he said, his gaze full of understanding. "How is she taking it?"
Buffy sighed, not wanting to reveal just how hard it had been to see her mother's world unravel the night before. "She was still processing it when I left," she admitted. "I'm hoping she'll be okay tonight." The vulnerability in her voice was subtle, but it was there—a rare glimpse into the emotional toll this life took on her.
Before anyone could respond, Buffy's eyes narrowed slightly as she spotted Giles and Ms. Calendar abruptly heading in the other direction, clearly trying to avoid something. Without missing a beat, she turned to Willow and Xander, quickly snatching their paintbrushes and hiding them behind her back.
"Hello, Principal Snyder," she said smoothly, just as the man in question appeared, his eyes already narrowing in suspicion. "No, Willow and Xander aren't helping me," she added quickly, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "They're hindering. Before you ask, I sent Sheila to get some more paint. She should be back in a few minutes."
Snyder glared at Buffy, clearly not convinced but unable to prove anything. His eyes scanned the room, lingering on each of them before he finally, begrudgingly, moved on down the hall.
Buffy let out a small sigh of relief, though her posture remained casual. Just then, a voice came from the doorway.
"Thanks for covering. Guy's a serious rodent," Sheila said as she sauntered in, her usual defiant smirk in place.
Buffy turned to her with a half-smile, the tension from moments before already fading. "No problem," she replied.
The Fish Tank
Buffy stood in front of the dimly lit bar known as the Fish Tank, her senses sharp as the neon sign flickered above her, casting an eerie glow over the grimy street. Her eyes tracked Sheila as she stumbled out of the bar with two men—both of them oozing with the kind of sleazy confidence that only came from bad intentions. Buffy's instincts screamed trouble as Sheila, laughing, led the men into a nearby alley, the shadows swallowing them whole.
"All right, which one is Dwayne and which one is Dell—don't tell me, Dell's the one with the tattoo!" Sheila's voice echoed in the narrow alley, carefree and oblivious to the danger she was in. Her laugh, loud and unguarded, seemed almost too innocent for the situation, like she didn't sense the predators she had befriended.
As Sheila sauntered ahead with Dell, Buffy silently swooped in, grabbing Dwayne with a swift, practiced movement. The stake was out and in his chest before he could even hiss a warning, his body crumbling into dust in the blink of an eye.
"You guys weren't lying about havin' a Cadillac, were ya'? 'Cause I'm crazy about a cad," Sheila continued, blissfully unaware, still caught in her flirtatious banter. "Just the feel of the leather makes me wanna..." She trailed off, suddenly noticing something was off. She turned around, her brow furrowing in confusion when she only saw Dell standing there. "What happened to your friend?" she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.
Before Dell could respond, Buffy was already on him, moving with deadly precision. Her stake found its mark, and Dell's body disintegrated into a cloud of ash, scattering into the night air.
Sheila blinked, wide-eyed and trying to process what had just happened. "Hey, illustrated man, over here," she muttered, still trying to put the pieces together. Her gaze shifted and finally landed on Buffy, realization slowly dawning on her. "What's going on?"
Buffy stepped forward, her face a mix of concern and frustration. "Sheila, you need to go home," she said, her voice firm but not unkind. "Those two were vampires, and you almost became their next meal."
Before Sheila could fully grasp the gravity of what Buffy was saying, a slow clap broke the uneasy silence. Both girls spun around, their eyes locking onto a figure emerging from the thick darkness, his presence oozing menace. Spike stepped into the faint light, a twisted grin playing on his lips as his hands came together in a mock round of applause.
"Nice work, baby," Spike drawled, his voice laced with sinister amusement.
Buffy tensed, her grip tightening on the stake in her hand. "Hello, Spike," she said, her voice steady, though her mind raced, calculating her next move. She cast a quick glance at Sheila, who was frozen in place, her bravado completely drained. "Run," Buffy commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Sheila, her eyes wide with fear, didn't hesitate this time. Without a word, she turned and bolted down the alley, her footsteps fading quickly into the night.
Spike chuckled as he watched Sheila flee, his gaze slowly shifting back to Buffy, sizing her up. "So you know me," he said, his voice dripping with casual menace.
"Yeah, I know you," Buffy replied, her eyes narrowing as she readied herself for a fight. The air between them was charged, crackling with unspoken threats. "I also know you think you're going to kill me. Not happening."
Spike's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a mix of admiration and predatory hunger. "We'll see about that," he said, his voice a dangerous purr. "See you Saturday."
With that, he melted back into the shadows, his presence lingering like a dark promise.
Summers Home
Buffy sat beside her mother on the living room couch, the soft lamplight casting a warm, muted glow over the space. The tension of the previous night still lingered between them, an unspoken weight neither had quite shed. Buffy glanced at Joyce, who sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and quiet resignation.
"How are you doing, Mom?" Buffy asked gently, her voice low, as if she feared shattering the fragile calm that had settled between them.
Joyce took a slow, steadying breath, her eyes still clouded with lingering disbelief. "It's been a lot to take in," she admitted, her voice tinged with the same awe and confusion that had gripped her since the night before. "But coupled with what I saw last night—and what you and Mr. Giles told me—I think I've come to accept that there are vampires and demons, and that you have to fight them." Her gaze flickered over to Buffy, searching her daughter's face for reassurance. "You are being careful, I hope? You're not... taking unnecessary risks?"
Buffy managed a small, reassuring smile, though there was a depth of weariness in her eyes she couldn't quite hide. "I'm being careful," she promised softly, her tone layered with both truth and the weight of responsibility. "I'm not dying for a good long time to come."
Joyce nodded, though the worry that tightened her features didn't fully dissipate. The image of Buffy, fierce and capable, staking vampires and standing against forces Joyce had never imagined, was still fresh in her mind. But it was the vulnerability of knowing her daughter was walking into danger every night that gnawed at her.
"That's good," Joyce murmured, her voice softening as she felt Buffy's arms gently wrap around her. The warmth of her daughter's embrace was grounding, anchoring her in this new, strange reality.
But then, as if jolted by a sudden thought, Joyce pulled back slightly to look into Buffy's eyes. "That said, I am going to get you a cell phone," she declared, the determination in her voice a stark contrast to the vulnerability of just moments before. The thought of Buffy out there, facing monsters without a way to call for help, was unacceptable.
Buffy's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "A cell phone?" she echoed, the corners of her mouth twitching upward in a mixture of amusement and disbelief. It was a surprisingly normal response amid the chaos that surrounded them, and for a brief moment, the weight of the world seemed to lighten.
Joyce nodded firmly, her maternal instincts kicking into high gear. "Yes, a cell phone. You need a way to reach me or someone else if you ever find yourself in trouble. I want to know you're safe, and that I can help if things go sideways." Her resolve was palpable, the protective mother instinct flaring brightly in her chest.
Buffy considered this, a smile breaking through her earlier concerns. The idea of having a direct line to her mother felt reassuring, like a safety net woven from love and concern. "Okay, sounds good," she said, her voice warm with affection.
Joyce's heart swelled with relief as she embraced her daughter once more, the weight of uncertainty easing just a bit. In a world filled with vampires and demons, it was these small gestures—like getting a cell phone for her daughter—that offered a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos. In that moment, Joyce felt a renewed sense of purpose; she would protect her daughter, not just from the monsters lurking in the shadows, but also from the fears that threatened to engulf them both.
October 2, 1997 – Thursday
Sunnydale High School
The next morning, Buffy walked into the school's computer classroom, the scent of fresh paper and slightly stale coffee filling the air, mingling with the sound of fingers tapping away at keyboards. "Ms. Calendar?"
Ms. Calendar looked up from her computer, her dark hair framing her face like a soft halo against the bright glow of the screen. "Buffy, is there something I can help you with?"
"Actually, there are two things, Janna Kalderash," Buffy said, her tone firm yet friendly.
"How do you know that name?" Ms. Calendar replied, surprise flashing in her eyes at the fact that Buffy even knew her real name.
Buffy smiled, a flicker of warmth breaking through the tension in the room. "I had a Slayer dream. In it, your people cursed Angel. I learned that you had been sent here to watch him."
"That's right," Ms. Calendar said, her expression shifting to one of contemplation, as if she were revisiting the weight of her mission. The air grew thick with unspoken history and responsibility.
"I need two favors from you, Ms. Calendar. The first is Willow. In another Slayer dream, I saw that she learned magic and became addicted to it. I'd like you to teach her," Buffy said, her eyes earnest and pleading. She could feel the stakes rising, the future of her friends hanging in the balance. Willow's potential was vast, but so were the dangers that came with it.
Ms. Calendar nodded; her demeanor serious. "I can do that." The determination in her voice signified a commitment to guiding Willow on the right path, and Buffy felt a wave of relief wash over her. She trusted Ms. Calendar, knowing that her knowledge of magic would help keep Willow safe.
"That will also keep you in Sunnydale, now that Angel is no longer here," Buffy continued, her gaze unwavering. "And I know you want to stay because of Giles."
"Angel's not in Sunnydale anymore?" Ms. Calendar asked, a hint of concern creeping into her voice.
Buffy shook her head, her expression resolute. "No," she said. "He's not. In the Slayer dream, I learned of the catch for his curse. One moment of true happiness. If I slept with Angel, he would lose his soul. So I broke up with him. And he decided to leave town. He called a couple of days ago and said he was in L.A."
Ms. Calendar nodded thoughtfully, her mind racing with the implications. Angel was still close enough for her to keep an eye out if needed, a subtle relief washing over her. The knowledge of the curse's catch weighed heavily on her, but now that she understood it, she felt empowered to assist him, to help him find a path that would lead to redemption and keep others safe.
"What was the other thing?" Ms. Calendar asked, shifting her focus back to Buffy, her curiosity piqued.
"I need you and Willow to cast the curse to restore a vampire's soul. Before you say that magic has been lost, I know you can find it," Buffy replied, her tone urgent yet hopeful. The gravity of her request settled in the air between them, a shared sense of destiny sparking in the dimly lit room. "Oh, and you'll need an Orb of Thesu something or other."
"Thesulah?" Ms. Calendar asked, her brow furrowing as she sifted through her extensive knowledge of the mystical. The name resonated with her, conjuring visions of ancient texts and long-forgotten spells hidden within the library's depths.
"Yeah, that's it," Buffy affirmed, a flicker of excitement igniting in her chest. "According to a Slayer dream, this vampire Spike will do a lot of good. A lot of that will be without a soul, though. He eventually will get one through a set of trials."
Ms. Calendar nodded, the pieces of the puzzle coming together in her mind. "The demon trials. I've heard of them," she said, her resolve hardening. The thought of Spike, a vampire with the potential to change, thrilled her. "Alright, I'll see what I can find."
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
That afternoon in the student lounge, the air buzzed with the chatter and laughter of students milling about. Buffy stood at the refreshment table, her hands busy pouring lemonade into bright plastic cups. The sun streamed through the large windows, illuminating the room and casting a warm glow on her work. She smiled to herself, proud of the vibrant yellow drink she had created. Unlike in her original timeline, where she had forgotten the most crucial ingredient, Buffy had actually remembered to add sugar this time.
"What kind of punch did you make?" Willow asked, her eyes bright with curiosity as she approached the table.
"Lemonade," Buffy replied, her enthusiasm palpable as she handed Willow a cup. "I made it fresh and everything." The tangy scent wafted through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of baked goods from a nearby table.
"How much sugar did you use?" Willow inquired, her expression shifting to one of concern.
"Don't worry," Buffy assured her, waving a hand dismissively. "I added sugar. Not too much to make it too sweet and just enough so it wasn't completely sour." She watched as Willow took a sip, her face lighting up with approval.
Willow's smile widened. "It's very good." She looked over Buffy's shoulder and her expression shifted to one of excitement. "Hi, Mrs. Summers!"
"Hi, Willow," Joyce said cheerfully as Buffy turned to face her. The sight of her mother filled her with warmth, a reminder of the normalcy they were trying to cling to amidst the chaos of their lives. "Hi honey. Did you do all this?"
"I did," Buffy replied with a proud grin, beaming at the spread before them. "How 'bout some lemonade?" She offered her mother a cup, the chilled drink glistening in the light.
Joyce took the cup and lifted it to her lips, taking a sip. "It's quite good," she said, savoring the refreshing taste. Buffy felt a swell of joy at her mother's approval, a small victory in the midst of their turbulent world.
But then, her smile faded as she spotted Principal Snyder approaching from across the room, his demeanor as rigid and imposing as ever. She leaned in closer to whisper to Joyce, her voice low and urgent. "Mom, Principal Snyder is coming over here. He's going to want to talk to you about my absenteeism. All my tardies were Slayer related, promise."
Joyce nodded firmly as she turned to Principal Snyder, extending her hand to him with a polite but determined smile. "Hello. I'm Joyce Summers, Buffy's mother." The warmth of her greeting contrasted sharply with the coldness she sensed emanating from Snyder.
"Principal Snyder," he replied, his voice clipped. "I'm afraid we need to talk. My office is down here." A smirk crept onto his face, a knowing expression that set Joyce's teeth on edge as he turned to lead the way.
Joyce felt a spark of defiance rise within her. "I don't think we need to go to your office. If you want to talk about the supposed fights, I see nothing wrong with my daughter defending herself," she said, her tone steady as Snyder turned back to face her. The smirk vanished from his face, replaced by a flicker of annoyance. "And about the absenteeism, she had parental consent. I would be more than welcome to submit that in writing for your files if you like."
Buffy stood to the side, a smirk creeping onto her lips as she thought to herself, Go, mom. She could feel the tension in the air shifting, her mother's unwavering stance radiating confidence.
Snyder glared at Joyce, his expression a mixture of surprise and irritation. "That would be most appreciated." With a curt nod, he turned and walked away, his demeanor deflated.
"Wow, Mrs. Summers," Willow exclaimed, eyes wide with admiration. She had been witnessing a side of Joyce she hadn't seen before—a fierce protectiveness that was both inspiring and comforting.
Joyce looked at Willow, her smile brightening as she felt a surge of pride. "I couldn't let that rodent of a man walk all over my daughter, who has been trying to make the world safer for everyone else, now could I?" Her words were laced with the conviction of a mother unwilling to let anyone belittle her child.
"Do you know how much I love you, mom?" Buffy asked, her heart swelling with gratitude as she stepped closer to her mother.
Joyce's smile widened, a warm light in her eyes. "I'm fairly certain I already know," she said, a hint of teasing in her voice.
"Since I'm more or less hostess tonight, Willow will take you to see my teachers," Buffy explained, her tone shifting to a more serious note. "Just remember, some of the low grades are due to not having time to study because of being the Slayer. I do intend to rectify that though, I promise."
"You better be," Joyce replied, a mock-seriousness in her voice as she shot a knowing glance at her daughter. She felt a mix of emotions—pride, concern, and an unwavering love. With that, Willow led Joyce away, and Buffy watched them go, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. In that moment, she knew she could face whatever challenges lay ahead, secure in the knowledge that her mother had her back.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Later that night, as laughter and chatter filled the air, Buffy stood near the refreshments table, a vigilant guardian amidst the festive chaos. Her heart raced with anticipation as she kept a wary eye out for Spike, her instincts tingling with the threat he posed. Just as her mother, Joyce, and Willow approached from around the corner, a sharp sound shattered the atmosphere—a crash of breaking glass reverberated behind her.
Buffy turned sharply, her gaze darting to the clock on the wall. The time read eight-thirty, and a frown creased her brow. Spike was fifteen minutes early, a sign that trouble was imminent. Panic surged within her as she scanned the room, catching a glimpse of Willow and her mom. She quickly motioned toward the library, urgency fueling her movements before pivoting back to face the impending threat.
"What can I say? I couldn't wait," Spike's voice slithered through the chaos, and he made a beeline for Buffy, his smirk revealing his intentions. In a flash, she grabbed a nearby chair, her muscles coiling with adrenaline. She swung it in a full circle, letting it fly with all her strength. The chair connected solidly with Spike's head, knocking him back a step and momentarily stunning him.
"Run!" Buffy yelled, her voice cutting through the din as she turned on her heel, sprinting after Willow and Joyce, who were already racing toward the safety of the library. As she glanced over her shoulder, she noticed Snyder and several parents entering the room across the hall, oblivious to the danger that lurked in the shadows.
With a surge of determination, Buffy and her companions dove into the library, the heavy doors slamming shut behind them. She turned, adrenaline pumping, and called out urgently, "Giles!"
Giles and Ms. Calendar wasted no time, quickly moving the card catalog to barricade the door. The sound of wood scraping against wood was reassuring amidst the chaos, but Buffy's heart still pounded in her chest.
"Make sure my mom is safe," she instructed, her voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. "I'll take the vamps in the hall. Snyder and a few parents ran into the room across the hall."
"We'll get them and—" Giles began, but his words were cut short.
"No," Joyce interjected, her voice firm as she locked eyes with her daughter. "I'm staying. I'm not leaving Buffy to face them alone." Her resolve radiated through the library, a protective aura that fortified Buffy's spirit.
"Mrs. Summers," Giles replied, his tone laden with concern. "You are not a Slayer. You could very well die if you go out there."
"Please, mom," Buffy pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice. "I'll be fine. Besides, I have the cell phone you got me. If I get into trouble, I will call." The promise hung in the air between them, a fragile assurance against the chaos outside.
Joyce's eyes softened; the weight of the moment palpable. After a long, tense moment of silence, she sighed and nodded, her decision made. Buffy felt a surge of gratitude mixed with trepidation.
Buffy grabbed several weapons from the makeshift armory, her heart racing as she wished fervently that her scythe was with her. Once this was over, she decided she would retrieve it from the vineyard early.
A couple of minutes later, she crawled through the ceiling rafters, her pack of weapons making soft scraping sounds against the wooden beams above. The air was thick with tension, each breath amplifying her urgency. As she carefully maneuvered, she felt a familiar thrill of anticipation. She was ready for the fight that lay ahead.
Suddenly, she dropped down from the ceiling, landing silently just outside the library door. A vampire stood guard, and the unexpected sight of her caused him to drop his axe in surprise. Quick as a flash, she whipped out her stake, driving it through the vampire's heart before he could comprehend the danger, he was in. He crumbled to dust in an instant, leaving only a memory of his threat behind.
Peeking through the doorway, Buffy frowned. Inside the room, three parents huddled together, but Snyder and one of the others were conspicuously absent. A cold shiver ran down her spine; she was sure they were likely dead. "Run into the library. There's a back way out through the stacks," she instructed as the three remaining parents bolted toward safety, their faces pale with fear.
Buffy turned toward the corner, her instincts honed, and peered around it. Another vampire was waiting, its predatory gaze scanning the area. She glanced back, relieved to see that Sheila wasn't there. A fleeting thought of concern crossed her mind, but she quickly brushed it aside. She snuck around the corner, her heart racing with adrenaline, and spotted the vampire with his back to her. With a determined thrust, she raised her stake and hurled it, the wood finding its mark in the vampire's back, piercing his heart. "Two down. One to go," she declared, feeling a rush of triumph as he disintegrated into dust.
Buffy made her way into the lounge, her senses alert, and found Spike facing away from her. A grin spread across his face as he turned to confront her.
"Fe fi fo fum. I smell the blood of a nice ripe girl," Spike taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.
"Do we really need weapons for this?" Buffy countered, an edge of determination in her voice. She didn't want to kill Spike—not yet. She needed Ms. Calendar to have a chance at finding the ensoulment spell, a chance to give him his soul four years earlier than fate intended.
"I just like 'em. Makes me feel all manly," Spike replied, his bravado unwavering as he casually dropped his weapon to the floor, the clatter echoing in the tense silence. "The last Slayer I killed, she begged for her life. I don't see you as the begging kind."
Buffy smirked, her resolve hardening. "You're not killing me. Not tonight, not ever. Nikki Wood was the last Slayer you will ever kill." The conviction in her words was a shield, fortifying her against the looming threat.
"We'll see about that," Spike sneered, a flash of fury igniting in his eyes. Without warning, he hurled himself at her, a whirlwind of violence. His punches came at her in a furious combination, a flurry of fists and kicks aimed with deadly precision.
Buffy smirked inwardly, her pulse quickening as she pretended the last punch Spike threw hurt more than it actually did. She could see the glint of determination in his eyes as he sought the big knockout blow, but she had other plans. With a sudden burst of energy, she perked up, spinning her body with a roundhouse kick that sent Spike crashing away from the wall. "No two-by-four to use against me," she taunted, relishing the moment.
Her gaze shifted to her mother, Joyce, standing just a few feet away. Despite her best efforts to stay composed, Buffy watched as the events of the other timeline replayed themselves. She watched as Joyce swing an ax, striking Spike with the blunt edge.
Caught completely off guard, Spike crumbled to the ground, his bravado shattered. Joyce moved swiftly, stepping around to stand beside Buffy, her stance firm and unyielding.
"I thought I asked you to get out," Buffy said, concern lacing her voice.
"I know you had your cell phone and that you promised you would call. But I wasn't about to let you take them on by yourself," Joyce replied, her tone resolute.
Spike glanced back and forth between the two women, his expression shifting from shock to annoyance. "Women," he spat bitterly, his voice tinged with frustration as he turned and dove out the window, disappearing into the night like a shadow fleeing the light.
Joyce dropped the ax with a heavy thud, her heart racing as she felt the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Buffy, momentarily overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, fell into her mother's arms, the embrace grounding her. "I'm proud of you," Joyce said, her voice thick with emotion.
Buffy smiled, warmth spreading through her chest at the compliment. "Thanks. But I think from now on, you need to learn how to wield a few weapons, get in on some of my training sessions with Giles. That way, you can at least defend yourself. Not that I probably need to worry about you dying at the hands of a vampire."
Joyce pulled back slightly; her gaze steady as she met Buffy's eyes. "I don't intend to die at the hands of a vampire," she stated firmly, a spark of determination igniting within her. "But what you're suggesting does make sense. Better to be forewarned than to be clueless."
"Right," Buffy agreed, a newfound respect blossoming between them.
Summers Home
Buffy sat at her desk in her bedroom, the soft glow of her lamp illuminating the pages of her journal. The faint scent of vanilla from a nearby candle filled the room, creating a comforting atmosphere as she took a moment to reflect on her past.
Dawn,
I am sorry for everything leading up to the battle with the First Evil. You had matured so much, blossoming into a fierce young woman with strength I often overlooked, and I just didn't see it. And I am sorry for that. If I had it to do all over again, you would have fought at my side.
As far as I am concerned, you were a Potential, even if the Powers or whoever or whatever that calls Slayers didn't say so. You always had that spark, that inner strength that lit up the shadows. I see it now, and I should have trusted you, believed in you, when it mattered most.
Your loving sister,
Buffy
With a deep breath, Buffy set her pen down, the weight of her words settling into the quiet of her room. The journal lay open before her, and she hoped that somehow, through her writing, Dawn would understand how truly proud she was of her.