Chapter 11: Faith, Hope & Trick
October 12, 1998 – Sunday
Sunnydale Bus Station
The lights of the Sunnydale Bus Terminal gleamed a sickly yellow ahead, casting an eerie glow that seemed to suck the warmth from the air. Faith Lehane sat in the last seat, pressed firmly against the wall, her posture tense and coiled like a spring ready to snap. Her dark eyes flickered restlessly, scanning the dimly lit interior for any hint of danger, any flicker of movement that might signal a threat. Outside, the darkness enveloped everything, transforming the world into a vast, inky shadow where danger lurked at every corner. Sure, there was plenty of evil about when the sun was out, but it was easier to spot then. The daylight revealed the monsters hiding in plain sight, their malevolent intent often masked by friendly smiles. But it was only after dark that the truly nasty creatures—the kind that made her skin crawl—showed their ugly faces, slithering forth from the depths of their lairs.
So, she stayed alert, heart thrumming in her chest like a war drum, every sound magnified in the stillness of the night. The muffled conversations of late-night travelers blended into a low hum, but Faith's focus remained razor-sharp, her instincts honed by years of survival.
Then, as the bus brakes shrieked in protest, grinding the vehicle to a halt in the lot of the terminal, a peculiar sensation washed over her. It felt as if the oppressive weight of the world had momentarily lifted from her shoulders, the anxiety that had clung to her like a shadow dissipating in the sudden stillness. She inhaled deeply, the stale air filling her lungs, reminding her that she was still in a place where she could breathe without fear—at least for the moment.
The bus door hissed open, a mechanical sigh signaling her release, and she waited patiently, her heart racing as nearly everyone filed off before her. It was a practiced ritual—cautious, observant. When at last the bus was nearly empty, she stood, slinging her worn bag over her shoulder with a decisive motion, her muscles taut with readiness.
As she stepped off the bus, her senses ignited. She ignored the lustful gaze of the driver, who had eyed her hungrily when she boarded, his leering appreciation making her skin crawl. She was no stranger to unwanted attention, but she had no time for distractions. Striding away from the bus, she made her way to the front of the station, where the cool night air hit her like a refreshing wave. She paused, looking across the lot at the chain-link fence that separated her from the town beyond, the shadows of the night playing tricks on her vision.
A kind of electricity seemed to hum in the air, vibrating through the ground beneath her feet and pulsing in every corner of her being. The Hellmouth was not far away, she knew; its malevolent energy felt almost palpable. It was like a magnet, drawing demons and other creatures of darkness from around the world, hungry for chaos and destruction. But Sunnydale was also the home of Buffy Summers, the Slayer, and that fact alone kept most of the smart monsters at bay, quaking in fear of the blonde warrior who stood between them and the innocent.
Light and darkness. Good and evil. Chaos and order. Sunnydale was a battlefield, where each night ushered in a new war for the souls of its people, a struggle to preserve the flickering flame of goodness within them. And as she stood there, surveying the familiar landscape, Faith felt a grin tug at the corners of her lips. Which she figured meant a lot of ass-kicking. Her kind of town.
"You look lost," a deep voice drawled behind her.
Faith turned to find a tall, ruggedly handsome guy in leather standing behind her, his imposing figure silhouetted against the dimly lit terminal. His tousled hair caught the glow of the sickly yellow lights, framing a strong jawline that spoke of confidence and adventure. The bus, now a distant memory, was already pulling away to refuel, the rumble of its engine fading as most of the passengers had either been picked up by waiting friends or vanished into the night in their own vehicles.
With a flirty grin, she shifted the bag on her shoulder, her body language exuding a mixture of confidence and playfulness. "I don't know. Looks like you've found me," she quipped, her voice a sultry melody that danced in the air between them.
Mr. Rugged blinked, perhaps a bit taken aback by her boldness, but then his surprise melted into a broad smile that lit up his face, revealing a warmth that contrasted with his tough exterior. "Guess I have. You got a place to stay in town?" he asked, his tone casual but laced with a hint of intrigue.
"Nuh-uh." She shook her head, her eyes widening in a way that was almost inviting, filled with mischief and allure. She wet her lips with her tongue, drawing attention to her full mouth, a coy invitation hanging in the air. "Maybe I could be down with you?"
He actually laughed, the sound rich and genuine, a momentary break in the night's tension. "You know, I meet a lot of girls. But I don't meet a lot of girls like you. Walk with me to my car? I can hook you up. Maybe get you a job, too, if you need money."
"I'll bet you can," she told him, a teasing challenge glimmering in her eyes.
As she followed him toward the car, the cool night air wrapped around them, invigorating and electric. Faith slipped a hand inside her bag, fingers brushing against the familiar weight of a hidden weapon—a comforting reassurance against the unpredictability of the world around her. He strode confidently to the passenger door, a picture of easy charm as he dug into a pocket for his keys.
"What's your name?" he asked, his voice smooth as he turned to face her, curiosity sparkling in his gaze.
"Faith," she replied, the name hanging in the air.
"Pretty," he said, his eyes lingering on her with an appreciation that felt almost predatory.
"Yeah. Sucks, doesn't it? I wish it was something more, I don't know, imposing. Meaner. Like Kali or Shiva or something. Though I think Shiva was a male deity. Still, I like the sound of it. Know what Shiva was called?" Faith said, her voice teasing but laced with an underlying seriousness that danced just below the surface.
He unlocked the door, his fingers fumbling slightly, then turned to face her, an expression of uncertainty flickering across his handsome features. "Can't say I do."
Faith smiled sweetly, a façade of innocence that masked her true intentions. "Destroyer of worlds." In a flash, her left hand lashed out, gripping his throat with a vice-like grip, slamming him backward against the car. The impact shattered a window, the sound sharp and jarring, echoing through the quiet night. His face underwent a savage metamorphosis, a mask of disbelief morphing into something feral and predatory as his fangs protruded, glinting in the dim light. "Vampires," she said, her tone dripping with disdain. "I'm surprised any of you have the guts to hang around this town, what with the Slayer here. I'm guessing you're just stupid. Either that, or you're the bottom of the barrel, and she hasn't had time to get around to you yet. I mean, come on, picking up runaways at the bus station? That's so… what's that friggin' word? Cliché? That's it. You're a cliché."
"But… but…" the vampire sputtered, his bravado crumbling under her fierce gaze. "I've seen her. You're not her! Who the hell are you?"
"I told you," she snapped angrily, her patience wearing thin. Then, in a swift and decisive motion, she head-butted him. The crack of bone against bone echoed through the empty lot, sharp and satisfying.
"I'm Faith."
With a grunt, she thrust the stake through his heart with a swift, practiced motion, and the vampire exploded into a shower of ash and dust, the remnants of his existence scattering into the night like a forgotten dream. Faith moved her head side to side, stretching her neck muscles that had tightened during the long bus ride, a small gesture of relief after the adrenaline-fueled confrontation. She slipped the stake back into her bag, the familiar weight a comfort, and brushed the vampire dust off her pants with a flick of her wrist, as if shaking off the remnants of a bad memory.
Then she turned, the terminal fading behind her, and started to walk away from the station, stepping into the heart of Sunnydale. It was a new start for her, a whole new life brimming with possibility and promise. The streets before her were cloaked in shadows, whispering secrets and adventures waiting to be seized.
But even as she disappeared into the darkness, a gnawing awareness settled in her gut. It was only a matter of time before her old life reared its ugly head, the ghosts of her past lurking just out of sight, ready to remind her that escape was never as simple as walking away.
October 13, 1998 – Monday
Sunnydale High School
"I'm giddy," Willow said, a tiny smirk crinkling the corners of her mouth, her eyes dancing with an excitement she could barely contain. She rocked slightly on her feet, almost bouncing in place at the edge of the curb, as if the anticipation of this newfound freedom was too much for her to stay still. The sunlight caught her hair, making it glow like copper, adding to the overall sense of buoyancy in her demeanor.
Oz looked at her appreciatively, a slow, fond smile spreading across his face as he took in her energy. "I like you giddy. Always have," he said, his voice soft but filled with a warmth that showed just how much he cherished seeing this side of her. They stood side by side on the sidewalk, a comfortable stillness between them, the sprawling school grounds behind them, a lingering reminder of their past. Yet here they were, on the cusp of something new, the world beyond the curb waiting for them. The moment hung in the air, a brief suspension, as if they were frozen in time or waiting for an invisible cue to move forward. In this case, it was Willow who held the reins, needing just a little nudge to take that first step.
"It's the freedom!" Willow burst out, her voice bright, eyes widening as she turned to Oz with a mixture of excitement and wonder. "As Seniors, we can go off campus now for lunch. It's no longer cutting, it's legal. Heck, it's expected." Her tone became a little more serious as she straightened, as if the weight of the moment was finally sinking in. "But also a big step forward, a Senior Moment. One that has to be savored. You can't just rush into this, y'know?"
Oz gave her a small, understanding nod, glancing over his shoulder just in time to catch Xander strolling up, his usual carefree attitude written all over him, Buffy at his side. In one swift, playful motion, Xander and Oz stepped toward Willow, their hands under her arms before she even had time to react. Together, they lifted her off the sidewalk, her feet dangling in the air, her surprised laugh ringing out.
"Ooh!" Willow squealed, half delighted, half protesting, her limbs flailing a bit in mock resistance. "No! I can't."
"You can," Xander said with exaggerated patience, his tone teasing as they carried her along into the street, their strides unhurried but full of purpose.
"See, you are," Oz pointed out with a calm certainty, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, gesturing toward her feet now brushing the ground despite her earlier resistance.
Willow, however, wasn't entirely convinced. "But what if they changed the rule without telling?" she asked, her voice still full of doubt, her brow furrowing as her overactive imagination ran wild. "What if they're lying in wait to arrest me and throw me in detention and mar my unblemished record?"
"Breathe," Buffy said, her voice a steady anchor in Willow's sea of nerves. "Breathe."
Willow stopped, feet planted firmly in the middle of the street as she obediently followed Buffy's instructions, closing her eyes for a moment to gather herself. She exhaled slowly, visibly calmer now, and as she opened her eyes, a new confidence seemed to settle over her. With a soft smile, she slipped her arm through Oz's, their connection grounding her once more.
Xander threw a casual arm around Buffy's shoulders, and the two couples, now united in both spirit and stride, continued their journey forward, the warm afternoon breeze gently lifting the weight of the school behind them.
"Okay," Willow said, her tone lighter now, a touch of triumph in her voice. "This is good. This is—hey! We're seniors." The realization hit her again, the words sinking in as she looked at her friends, a grin spreading across her face. "Hey, I'm walkin' here!" she declared with a playful laugh, her earlier worries forgotten in the sheer joy of the moment.
Buffy suddenly laughed, a sound that bubbled up unexpectedly, breaking the peaceful quiet of the afternoon. It was a bright, carefree laugh, yet tinged with the weight of a thousand memories that no one else could quite understand, except her.
"What?" Xander asked, glancing over with curiosity. His brow furrowed slightly, and his usual playful smirk softened as he noticed the faraway look in Buffy's eyes, one that hinted at something deeper.
"Memory," Buffy replied simply, her voice steady but carrying the echo of experiences she hadn't shared yet—ones she wasn't sure she ever fully could.
"Do tell," Willow prompted, her tone light but her gaze warm and encouraging, eager to share in whatever Buffy was remembering. She adjusted the strap of her bag as they crossed the tiny park-like common area, the sunlight filtering through the trees in soft patches, making their path dappled with warmth.
Buffy's fingers tightened slightly around the handle of the picnic basket she was carrying, her steps slowing as the memory came into sharper focus. "Well, the first time around, I got kicked out of school by Snyder," she began, her voice casual but laced with the heaviness of old wounds. Her eyes flickered with a touch of bitterness at the mention of the snide, power-hungry principal who had made her life a living hell back then. "And I had yet to be let back in." She cast a glance back at the school behind them, its familiar brick facade now holding a different meaning. "I wasn't dating anyone. Angel had not come back from whatever demon dimension he had been in yet, and I was currently without a boyfriend." She shrugged, as if that part didn't bother her now, though back then it had left her feeling isolated and alone.
Willow, ever the understanding friend, nodded, her eyes softening with empathy. She had always been Buffy's emotional anchor, the one who could sense her heartache without needing an explanation. "I probably suggested we shouldn't be too couply around you," she said, her voice gentle, offering Buffy a small smile.
"Exactly," Buffy confirmed with a slight chuckle, shaking her head at the memory as they reached a spot in the park. The grass was soft beneath their feet, and the trees offered just enough shade to make it feel secluded. She set the picnic basket down and began methodically laying out the contents, the motions slow, deliberate. Her fingers brushed the fabric of the blanket she spread out, grounding herself in the present even as her mind remained partly anchored in the past.
A voice, faint but familiar, whispered in the back of her mind—'Buffy,' Dawn's voice nudging at her consciousness. Buffy paused for a second, her hand hovering over the basket, her lips pressing into a thin line. She knew exactly why Dawn was nagging her. Faith was due to arrive soon. The whole timeline was balancing on a knife's edge, and Buffy could feel it.
"This was also before the whole deal with Faith," she added, her tone quieter now, more contemplative, as if the mere mention of Faith brought a storm of memories crashing into her. Faith—the rogue Slayer who had been both ally and enemy, friend and rival, someone Buffy had failed once before. But this time, she had a chance to change things. Maybe.
"What are you going to do?" Xander asked, cutting through the tension. His question wasn't casual, though. There was an edge of concern in his voice, his eyes searching Buffy's face for any hint of what she was thinking. He knew how complicated Faith was, how deeply her arrival had shaken their world the first time around.
Buffy straightened, drawing in a breath as she considered her answer. She had been thinking about it, more than she wanted to admit. "I was thinking," she began, her voice firm but thoughtful, "if Mom would let her stay with us, give her everything she didn't have the first time around." There was a flicker of hope in her tone, a determination to rewrite the painful chapters of her past.
She could almost see it—the second chance, the possibility of saving Faith from the darkness that had consumed her before. It wouldn't be easy. But Buffy had learned the hard way that sometimes, the hardest fights weren't against demons or monsters—they were for the people you cared about, even when they didn't care about themselves.
Summers Home
Buffy stood in front of her mirror, meticulously fastening a delicate silver necklace around her neck, its soft gleam catching the warm glow of her bedroom lamp. Her movements were quick but deliberate, an eagerness in her preparation as she planned to head out to the Bronze. The music, the dancing, a chance to forget for a few hours the weight of slaying and saving the world. She could already feel the pulse of the club's energy calling her, a brief escape from everything that loomed in her mind.
Just as she grabbed her jacket from the bed, the door creaked open, and her mother, Joyce, stepped in. There was a gentle hesitation in Joyce's movement, her eyes sweeping the room before settling on her daughter, taking in the sight of Buffy's casual but carefully chosen outfit.
"Are you patrolling or…" Joyce began, her voice soft but carrying that motherly curiosity, the kind that wasn't intrusive but was always laced with concern. Her hands rested lightly on the doorframe as if she didn't want to fully invade Buffy's space but couldn't help but check in.
Buffy paused, the jacket halfway on one arm, and gave her mother a small, reassuring smile. "Going to the Bronze," she replied simply, her voice light, but there was a subtle shift in her expression, something that hinted at a deeper thought pressing at the edges of her mind. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking to the floor before she looked back up at Joyce, her features softening, the usual bravado giving way to something more vulnerable. "There is something I need to talk to you about, Mom."
Joyce, sensing the shift in tone, stepped further into the room, her brow knitting with concern. "What is it?" she asked, her voice steady, ready to listen, as she always was when Buffy needed her.
Buffy bit her lip for a moment, considering how to start. She turned fully to face her mother, leaning slightly against her dresser as she spoke, her voice steady but serious. "You remember I mentioned Kendra's replacement, Faith?"
"Yes," Joyce said, her expression unreadable, though Buffy could see the gears turning in her mother's mind.
Buffy exhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts. "She's due in town soon," she continued, her eyes searching her mother's face for any signs of resistance. She knew this was a big ask, and she wasn't sure how Joyce would react. "I would like to offer her to come stay with us."
Joyce's gaze softened, but her concern deepened. Buffy could see the flicker of hesitation in her eyes, a mother's instinct to protect her own daughter first. Joyce's hands clasped together as she processed the request, the weight of it evident in her stance.
"She's… different, Mom," Buffy added after a beat, her voice quieter now, as if she was trying to explain something more than just a practical arrangement. "She didn't have the same support I did when I became the Slayer. I just… I want to give her the chance she didn't get the first time around. It could make a difference."
Joyce's eyes met Buffy's, and in that moment, Buffy saw the understanding dawn, the compassion that always ran deep in her mother. There was fear there, yes, but also a recognition of Buffy's need to do this, to offer Faith the safety and stability she hadn't had.
Joyce took a deep breath, her eyes searching Buffy's face as if trying to gauge just how much this meant to her daughter. Her brow furrowed, her fingers gently tracing the doorframe in a gesture that betrayed her concern. "I see," she said softly, her voice careful, measured. She took a few steps further into the room, closing the distance between them. "And you're sure this is what you want? That it's the best thing for her—and for you?"
Buffy leaned against the dresser, arms crossing in front of her, a hint of tension in her posture. "Yeah, I do," she said, her tone firmer now, more resolute. "The first time Faith came to Sunnydale... things went wrong. Really wrong. She didn't have anyone looking out for her, not like I had with you, or Giles, or even my friends. She was lost. I don't want that to happen again. If we can give her a place to stay, some stability… maybe things will be different this time. Maybe she won't feel like she has to do it all on her own."
Joyce watched her daughter closely, her heart heavy with a mixture of pride and apprehension. She had seen Buffy carry so much responsibility on her shoulders over the years, and now here she was, asking to take on even more. But Joyce also knew her daughter well enough to see that this wasn't just about responsibility—it was about redemption, both for Faith and for Buffy.
Joyce sighed, taking a seat on the edge of Buffy's bed, smoothing the comforter beneath her hand as she thought it over. "Buffy," she began, her tone gentle but serious, "I know how much you care about helping people. And I admire that, I really do. But having someone like Faith in our home... are you sure you're ready for that kind of challenge? From what you've told me, she's been through a lot. And people who've been hurt sometimes lash out, even at the ones trying to help them."
Buffy nodded, fully aware of the risks. "I know, Mom. But I think that's why it has to be us. I know what she's been through—maybe not exactly, but close enough. And if we don't help her… she might go down the same path again. I just want to give her a chance. A real one."
The room fell into a contemplative silence, the only sound the soft hum of the house around them. Joyce's face softened, and she reached out, placing a hand on Buffy's arm, squeezing gently. "I trust your judgment, Buffy," she said, her voice full of sincerity. "If you think this is the right thing to do, then of course she can stay with us."
Buffy let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, relief flooding her expression as her shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, Mom," she said, her voice quiet but grateful, the words carrying more weight than usual. It wasn't just permission she had been seeking—it was her mother's understanding, her support.
Joyce stood up, smiling softly. "Just promise me you'll keep me in the loop on this one, okay? I want to know what's going on with her. If there's anything I can do to help, I'll do it."
Buffy nodded, her heart swelling with gratitude. "I promise," she said, the tension in her body easing further now that the hardest part was over.
Happy Burger
Night had fallen on Sunnydale by the time the long limousine, its windows blacked out like a shroud of secrecy, rolled into the parking lot of Happy Burger. The fast-food restaurant was a riot of garish colors, its neon signs flickering like demented fireflies, while a plastic mascot—a grotesque hamburger-man sinking sharp, cartoonish teeth into a blood-red burger—leered down at the world. It was an absurd sight, and yet it felt oddly fitting for this town that thrived on chaos and the macabre.
As the near-silent limo cruised up to the hideous mascot, an electronic voice emerged from the menu board behind it, its cheerfulness a stark contrast to the darkness that loomed in the air. "Welcome to Happy Burger, can I take your order, please?"
In the dark recesses of the plush backseat of the limousine, Mr. Trick leaned slightly forward, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and disdain. "Diet soda. Medium," he ordered, his voice smooth and confident, like the polished leather of the seats enveloping him.
"That'll be eighty-nine cents at the window, sir," the mechanical voice replied, cheerfully oblivious to the tension lurking within the vehicle.
Trick hit the button to roll up the tinted window, the glass gliding upwards with a faint hum that felt almost like a whisper of secrets being sealed away. He settled back into the soft embrace of the seat again, but his senses remained keenly aware of the ominous presence beside him. He cast a glance to his right, though he was reluctant to meet Kakistos's gaze for too long. His employer was a terrifying figure, far from easy on the eyes; the very essence of menace radiated from him, suffocating and palpable. Kakistos was a vampire, but he was not just any vampire—he was far older, a being steeped in shadows and power that made Trick seem like a mere boy in a playground.
"Sunnydale," Mr. Trick said, feigning a casualness he didn't feel as he glanced out the window, watching the lights of the fast-food joint spill into the night. His lips curled into a smile, an expression that danced between mischief and mockery. "Town's got quaint, and the people? He called me sir; don't you just miss that? Admittedly, it's not a haven for the brothers—strictly the Caucasian persuasion here in the 'Dale—but you just gotta stand up and salute that death rate. I ran a statistical analysis and Hello Darkness. Makes D.C. look like Mayberry. And ain't nobody sayin' boo about it. We could fit right in here. Have us some fun."
His voice dripped with a mixture of sarcasm and enthusiasm, but Kakistos remained unamused, leaning slightly forward as if to emphasize the seriousness of their mission. The leather seat crinkled beneath his shifting weight, the sound a low, ominous crackle that matched the tension in the air. The bright lights from Happy Burger illuminated the pink scar that ran down the right side of Kakistos's face, a mark of battles long past, tales of bloodshed and survival etched into his very skin. One of his heavy cloven hands, the fingers gnarled and powerful, rested on Trick's knee, a gesture that felt both possessive and threatening.
"We're here for one thing," Kakistos rumbled, his voice a deep growl that reverberated in the confines of the limo, laden with a promise of violence and dark intentions.
Trick swallowed nervously, a lump forming in his throat that seemed to echo his apprehension. "Kill the Slayer, yeah. Still, big picture…" He felt the weight of Kakistos's expectations pressing down on him like a dark cloud, the stakes rising with each passing moment. The shadows of the night seemed to close in around them, thickening with tension and uncertainty.
In the takeout window, the Happy Burger employee was ready with Trick's soda, the cheerful clink of ice against plastic a jarring contrast to the malevolent atmosphere within the limousine. The vampire was glad for the interruption, a brief reprieve from the ominous conversation. He rolled the window down again, letting in a rush of cool air that carried the scent of fried food and grease, mingling with the smell of leather and danger. Reaching out, he took his drink, grateful for the small moment of normalcy.
"Have a nice night, sir," the teenager said, his voice bright and unsuspecting, blissfully ignorant of the dark figures that loomed just beyond the glass.
"Right back atcha," Trick replied, a grin creeping onto his face, still pleased by the manners of the locals, so blissfully unaware of the predatory nature lurking in their midst.
But Kakistos was not yet finished. "The Slayer," he snarled, the words dripping with contempt and rage. His face twisted into a snarl that could curdle blood, his eyes narrowing as if he were envisioning the death of his ancient enemy. "I'm going to rip her spine from her body, and I'm going to eat her heart and suck the marrow from her bones." The promise of brutality hung in the air, dark and heavy, as if the night itself recoiled from his sinister intent.
Trick sighed, unable to suppress a grin at the irony of the situation. "Now I'm hungry."
But in an instant, his jovial demeanor vanished, replaced by the horrid countenance of the vampire. His features contorted into something monstrous, sharp fangs gleaming in the light from the Happy Burger signs, the transformation startling and unsettling.
With a single fluid motion, Trick reached out of the limo, his hand darting through the window like a viper striking its prey. He grabbed hold of the takeout guy's uniform shirt, his grip like iron, and yanked the startled teenager out of the window, dragging him screaming into the backseat.
The Bronze
The Bronze was packed, a throbbing mass of bodies and energy pulsing to the beat of the music. Darling Violetta cranked out a sultry melody on the stage, her voice wrapping around the crowd like a silky ribbon, seducing everyone into a haze of rhythm and movement. People danced all around, their silhouettes shifting and merging in the dim light, creating a tapestry of youthful exuberance and carefree abandon. Buffy sat at a table with Willow and Oz, who were trading soft kisses, their laughter a warm backdrop to the swirling chaos of the club.
But Buffy's mind wasn't on them; it drifted away from the tender exchanges of her friends, nor was it focused on her boyfriend, Xander, who had yet to arrive. Her eyes scanned the crowded room with a sense of purpose, searching through the blur of faces and flashing lights until they finally landed on the person she had been looking for—Faith.
A small smile tugged at Buffy's lips as she watched Faith, who was dressed in a tight, belly-baring black tank top that hugged her curves and leopard print pants that were even tighter, accentuating her every move. Faith danced the way she dressed, with a wild abandon that felt magnetic, her body flowing to the music like a force of nature, commanding the attention of those around her. She was a whirlwind of energy, her dark hair swaying as she moved, and for a moment, Buffy was captivated, caught in the spell of Faith's fierce presence.
Suddenly, Dawn's voice echoed in the back of Buffy's mind, cutting through her thoughts like a shard of glass. 'You know, I always liked Faith,' she said casually, the memory surfacing unexpectedly.
Buffy's brow furrowed slightly; curiosity piqued by the casual comment as she continued to watch Faith dance. 'In fact, you probably don't know this, but Xander wasn't the only person I crushed on,' Dawn added, her voice bringing a mix of nostalgia and something deeper.
'Faith?' Buffy thought, the realization dawning on her like the first light of dawn as she observed the other Slayer, spinning and laughing amidst the throng.
'Yes,' Dawn admitted, her voice tinged with a sweetness that carried a hint of unspoken longing. 'It was when she came back to Sunnydale. I was questioning my sexuality after the whole deal with R.J.'s jacket. And when Faith showed up, I started wondering… what it would be like to be gay. She kind of led to, um, many a fantasy.'
Buffy's eyes widened in surprise, her grip on the table tightening slightly as she processed what Dawn was saying. 'You didn't?' she asked, glancing around as if half-expecting to see Dawn standing beside her instead of just hearing her voice in her mind.
'No,' Dawn replied with a sigh that resonated with regret. 'I wanted to though. But I didn't know how she'd react. Faith's not exactly the easiest person to read when it comes to that stuff.'
Buffy couldn't help but let out a small laugh, shaking her head at the thought of her little sister being caught up in such feelings. 'Well, this time, you can ask,' she thought, her mental voice teasing but layered with gentle sincerity beneath it.
'I'm not sure I'll get the chance,' Dawn's voice softened, a hint of sadness creeping in that sent a chill through Buffy's heart. 'I think after my body is created, this version of me will cease to exist. The memories won't be transferred over. I'll forget all of this… everything we've talked about.'
Buffy's heart clenched at the thought of losing this version of Dawn, this vibrant, curious spirit who had shared so much with her. She straightened, her tone growing more serious and protective. 'You don't know that. Not for sure. And even if you're right and you do forget… I'll tell you all of it. I was writing letters to you in my journal before you even revealed that the Powers put you in my mind. So, I promise, I'll tell you everything.' There was a fierce determination in her voice, the kind of promise Buffy didn't make lightly. She would hold onto every memory for the both of them, if she had to.
'Thanks,' Dawn said, her voice warm with gratitude, though the sadness lingered like a shadow in her words. 'Now we should see to Faith… and the vampire dancing with her.'
Buffy was about to answer Dawn when Xander arrived to join her, Willow, and Oz at the table, his usual exuberance lighting up the scene. "Check out that girl and the guy she's dancing with," he said as he slid into the seat, his gaze immediately drawn to the dance floor. "What was the last thing that guy danced to, K.C. and the Sunshine Band?"
"That's Faith," Buffy said, her attention drawn away from her friends as her eyes focused intently on the figure on the dance floor.
"The Slayer that replaced Kendra after she died?" Willow asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and concern.
"The very one, and the guy she's dancing with is a vamp," Buffy replied, her expression tightening as her protective instincts kicked in. Without hesitation, she rose from her seat and began walking toward Faith, her steps casual but purposeful. As she neared, she caught Faith's attention, her voice cutting through the music. "Hey, Faith," she called out, her tone playful, but with a hint of meaning beneath it. As she closed the distance, she mouthed 'B,' a silent signal that made Faith blink in brief confusion before her face broke into a slow, mischievous smile, the recognition dawning.
Faith raised a brow, her lips curving into a smirk. "Hey, Buffy," she said. Her eyes darted to the vampire, a glint of amusement flickering across her features as she sized him up. "You don't mind a threesome, do ya? I kind of promised Buffy here. She's never done a threesome."
The vampire's grin widened; his ego clearly bolstered by the suggestion. "Sure," he replied, his voice dripping with arrogance, unaware of what was really happening.
Without missing a beat, Buffy joined them, the three slipping out of the pulsating heat of the club and into the cool night air, the alley behind the Bronze offering the perfect, quiet backdrop for what was about to unfold.
The streetlights cast long shadows, and Buffy tossed a stake toward Faith, the wood spinning in the air before landing neatly in Faith's hand. Before the vampire could react, Buffy surged forward, her body a blur of motion as she grabbed him by the collar and slammed him hard against the brick wall. The force of the impact left the vampire stunned, and in that brief moment, Faith struck.
Her stake plunged cleanly into his chest, and with a faint gasp, he disintegrated into dust, the particles swirling briefly in the dim alley light before vanishing altogether.
"Thanks, B," Faith said, her voice carrying that familiar cocky edge, but beneath it, there was a touch of sincerity—a brief flicker of gratitude that only someone who knew Faith well would catch.
"No problem, Faith," Buffy replied, brushing some dust off her jacket as she gave Faith a quick once-over. It was strange seeing her again after everything that had happened, but there was something comforting in knowing Faith was back. "When did you get into town?" Buffy asked, her tone shifting into something more casual, though her curiosity was genuine.
"Last night," Faith said, her voice dropping slightly, as if trying to keep things light, but Buffy could see the heaviness lurking in her eyes, the shadow of something darker.
Buffy's expression softened, and for a moment, the easy banter between them faded. "I'm sorry to hear about your Watcher," Buffy said gently. It was more than just sympathy—it was the kind of understanding only another Slayer could offer. She knew what it meant to lose someone like that.
Faith's face hardened at the mention, her jaw clenching ever so slightly. The lighthearted air evaporated, leaving behind the weight of grief and guilt, emotions Faith wasn't used to showing. But Buffy had expected this. She stepped in closer, her voice lowering, softer now, as if trying to bridge the gap between them. "Look," Buffy continued, "there's something I need to tell you before you try and bolt. Tomorrow, come home with me for dinner, and I'll explain."
Faith's eyes flickered with suspicion for a moment, her walls coming up instinctively. She wasn't one for trusting easily, especially not after everything she'd been through. Buffy could see the gears turning in her mind, the battle between the impulse to run and the small part of her that wanted to stay, to maybe—just maybe—find a place to belong again.
For a long moment, Faith said nothing, her gaze dropping as she seemed to weigh her options. Then, with a barely perceptible sigh, she nodded, her expression softening just a touch. "Alright," she muttered, her voice low, almost like she was reluctant to agree but couldn't fight it.
"For now, why don't we go back inside, and you can meet my friends?" Buffy suggested, her tone lightening as she reached out, gently guiding Faith back toward the entrance of the Bronze.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
The entire gang was gathered around, the warm glow of the Bronze's lights illuminating their eager faces as they listened to Faith ramble about her exploits, hanging on her every word. "The whole summer, it was like the worst heat wave," Faith was saying, her voice animated and full of life. "So, it's about a hundred and eighteen degrees, and I'm sleeping without a stitch on. And all of a sudden, I hear this screaming from outside. So, I go tearin' out—stark nude—and this church bus has broken down, and there's these three vamps feasting on half the Baptists in South Boston. So, I waste the vamps, and the preacher comes up and he's hugging me like there's no tomorrow when all of a sudden, the cops pull up. They arrested us both."
Xander gaped at her in undisguised admiration, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and excitement. "Wow! They should film that story and show it every Christmas." The idea tickled him, and he began to imagine the hilariously absurd holiday special: "The Naked Slayer Saves Christmas!" starring Faith and a busload of Baptists.
Faith picked up a roll from the table, breaking it apart with her hands as she started nibbling at it, her appetite voracious. "God, I could eat a horse! Isn't it crazy how slaying just always makes you hungry and horny?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and she glanced around the table, daring anyone to challenge her boldness.
Buffy felt her friends staring at her, waiting for her response to Faith's unfiltered declaration. A wave of warmth crept up her cheeks as she remembered that in the other timeline, this kind of declaration was usually referred to only as H and H. "Yeah, I noticed that too," she admitted, her voice steady, though her heart raced with embarrassment.
'You get horny when you slay?' Dawn piped up from the back of Buffy's mind, her voice innocent yet tinged with curiosity. Buffy couldn't help but nod silently in response, the heat in her cheeks intensifying.
"So, what was the story about that alligator?" Xander said, eager to keep the momentum of the conversation going. "You said something before."
"Oh, there's this big daddy vampire out of Missouri who used to keep 'em as pets. So he's got me rasslin' one of 'em, the thing must've been twelve feet long—" Faith said, her voice dripping with excitement as she recalled the wild encounter.
Enthralled, Xander gazed at Faith, hanging onto her every word as if she were recounting the greatest adventure of all time. "Now, was this also naked?" he asked, his tone teasing and playful.
Obviously pleased with the attention, Faith smiled flirtatiously at him, leaning slightly forward as if sharing a delicious secret. "Well, the alligator was…" she trailed off, enjoying the reaction she was eliciting from the group.
Beside Xander, Buffy had her arms crossed, glaring daggers at her boyfriend with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Xander, find a new theme," she told him, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips despite her mock annoyance.
For her part, though, Faith wasn't paying attention to the reactions of Buffy's friends. Her mind was still swirling with the remnants of the story she had begun to tell, the thrill of that wild summer still echoing in her thoughts. "I'll tell ya, I never had more trouble than that damn vamp," she said idly, her voice casual, almost dismissive, as she tossed a roll into the air, catching it deftly. The bravado in her tone hinted at the adventures she had faced, and for a moment, it seemed like the air around them pulsed with the untamed energy of her exploits.
Then her attention shifted back to Buffy, a glint of curiosity igniting in her eyes. "So, what about you? What was your toughest kill?" she asked, her tone playful yet probing, eager to know the tales that lay behind Buffy's composed exterior.
Buffy smiled, a hint of mischief dancing on her lips. "You will learn all about that and other things tomorrow at dinner," she told Faith, reminding the other Slayer that there would be a long conversation about her life then, including the monumental fact that she was from the future.
"Something occurring," Oz drawled, his voice low and smooth as he cut in, his eyes reflecting a quiet wisdom that often came with his unassuming demeanor. "Now, you both kill vamps, and who could blame you, but I'm wondering about your position on werewolves." His casual observation shifted the focus, like a gentle breeze that changes the direction of a conversation.
Faith raised her eyebrows, intrigued. She was accustomed to confronting the strange and the supernatural, but this was new territory. The edges of her smile hinted at her playful curiosity.
"Oz is a werewolf," Willow added, her voice laced with warmth, as if sharing a cherished secret before Faith could respond. She glanced affectionately at Oz, who sat beside her, radiating a calm aura despite the revelation.
Oz gave a tiny nod, a hint of pride in his admission. "Got bit," he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing the weather rather than a life-altering condition.
Faith seemed unperturbed; her confidence unwavering. "Hey, as long as you don't go scratching at me or humpin' my leg, we're five by five, y'know?" she shot back, her expression a mix of humor and defiance, as if daring Oz to challenge her.
"Fair enough," Oz replied, his voice steady, acknowledging the unspoken rules of their supernatural lives.
October 14, 1998 – Tuesday
Sunnydale High School
"Have you told her that you're from the future yet?" Giles whispered to Buffy the next morning in the library, his brows knitted in concern. His glasses glinted under the warm glow of the overhead lights, reflecting the seriousness of the moment. Buffy could see him glancing occasionally toward Faith, who stood across the library, her demeanor casual yet somehow electric as she played with a stake, twirling it between her fingers like a baton. The wood glinted ominously in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows, highlighting the playful confidence she exuded.
"Not yet," Buffy replied, keeping her voice low, though the weight of her revelation felt heavier with each passing moment. Her gaze drifted over to Faith, who had a mischievous smile tugging at her lips, her dark hair framing her face in wild, tousled waves. "I am going to do that tonight. I invited her over for dinner."
Giles studied her, the concern in his eyes softening slightly. "I trust your judgment, Buffy, but you must be cautious. Such knowledge can be both a gift and a burden."
"I know that, Giles," Buffy said, reminding him that Faith was not the first person she had told. Memories flickered through her mind like a slideshow—the moment she'd sat down with her mom, Willow and Xander, their eyes wide with disbelief and wonder. "And like with Mom, Willow, and Xander. She deserves to know. Or would you rather I lie to her about why I do some things? Why I'm trying to make the world a better place than the one I came from?"
Giles opened his mouth, perhaps to argue further, but paused, his expression shifting. He understood her resolve. After a moment of silence, he nodded, his demeanor a mix of acceptance and residual concern. "Very well. Just… be mindful of her reaction."
Summers Home
In the dining room, the soft clinking of dishes accompanied the quiet tension lingering in the air. Joyce moved with practiced ease around the table, serving dinner to her daughter and Faith. The golden glow of the overhead light illuminated the modest but welcoming space, casting a soft glow over the table set with simple, home-cooked dishes. The savory aroma of roasted squash and fresh broccoli mingled with the subtle undercurrent of something unspoken between the Slayers.
Joyce glanced at Faith as she placed a generous helping of squash onto her plate. "So, you're Kendra's replacement," she said, her voice warm but laced with a note of cautious curiosity. The memory of Buffy's earlier conversation about the new Slayer was fresh in her mind, but seeing Faith in person—sitting here, part of their world now—made the reality settle in more deeply.
"I am," Faith responded, her voice steady yet guarded, as if she was still feeling out her place at this table. She shifted her gaze to Buffy, the curiosity now tinged with something more personal. "I heard you spoke at her funeral," she added, her words dipping slightly, as though testing the emotional waters.
Buffy's expression faltered for a moment, her eyes dropping to the plate in front of her. "Yeah," she said quietly, the weight of the memory hanging in her voice. The loss of Kendra, while not the deepest bond, was still a mark on her journey—a reminder of the dangers they all faced.
Sensing the subtle shift in the mood, Joyce stepped in, gently placing some broccoli onto Faith's plate. "They weren't close," she explained, offering Faith a soft smile. "But Buffy said some very moving things."
Faith gave a slight nod, her lips twitching as though she was about to offer a comment, but she held back. Instead, she focused on the reason she was here. She wasn't one for dancing around subjects. The intensity in her eyes sharpened as she locked onto Buffy. "So," Faith began, her tone firm and direct, "you wanted to talk?"
Buffy met Faith's gaze, her expression serious, the weight of what she was about to reveal bearing down on her. She knew this conversation would change everything, but it had to be done. She took a steadying breath, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of her plate as if grounding herself. "A little under five years from now," she began, "there will be a major battle. We won, but I didn't get out in time."
The room seemed to grow quieter as Faith leaned forward slightly, her brows furrowing. The easy bravado she often carried slipped just a little as she tried to make sense of what Buffy was saying. "How do you know this?" Faith asked, her voice low, but with a sharp edge of suspicion.
Buffy's eyes didn't waver, her voice steady but filled with the weight of her truth. "I fell into the Hellmouth," she said, the words heavy in the space between them. "And the next thing I knew, I was back in the Master's cave. I'm from the future—or I got the memories of future me, or something like that."
Faith stared at her, processing the enormity of what Buffy was saying. Time travel? Visions of the future? It all sounded impossible, but there was something in Buffy's eyes that made it hard to dismiss.
Before Faith could respond, Joyce, who had been quietly listening, stepped in with a soft but firm tone. "She's telling the truth," Joyce said, her calm and steady voice offering a reassuring anchor amidst the surreal conversation. "When I found out, she told me that I would be diagnosed with a brain tumor during her second year of college. Over this last summer, I had it checked out." Joyce paused, the memory clearly weighing on her as she recalled the moment that had shifted her own understanding of what Buffy had revealed. "The doctors found that I had the beginnings of a tumor that, in another two years, would have become almost inoperable."
Faith's eyes flicked from Joyce back to Buffy, her skepticism crumbling just a little. There was no denying the gravity of what Joyce had just shared. The woman sitting across from her—Buffy's mother—wasn't someone who would lie about something like this. Faith's mind raced as she tried to wrap her head around it all. Buffy, from the future. A battle that could change everything.
The room seemed to still, the weight of this new reality settling over them like a thick fog. Faith, always quick to jump to action, found herself for once at a loss for words. She wasn't sure what to think, let alone what to feel. She had come to Sunnydale expecting the usual—a fight, a new mission, a place to crash—but this? This was a whole new level of responsibility, of stakes.
But one thing was certain—Buffy wasn't lying. Not about this. And Faith, despite everything, couldn't help but respect the Slayer in front of her for laying it all out, for trusting her with the truth of what was coming.
After a long moment, Faith nodded slowly, her posture relaxing just a fraction. "Alright," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "So that's how you knew about my Watcher?"
"Yes," Buffy said, her voice steady but carrying the weight of the truth she was about to unfold. "Giles doesn't know yet. The Watcher's Council does, though. In the timeline I come from, I found out not long after you arrived that a vampire known as Kakistos killed her. That you came here trying to get away from him."
Faith's expression hardened as Buffy's words hit home. She didn't need to be reminded of that. The memory of Diana, her Watcher, flashed through her mind—a painful image seared into her consciousness that she couldn't shake, no matter how hard she tried. "Yes," she murmured, the grief mixed with fury evident in her tone, as she remembered that horrible night, the weight of her Watcher's death pressing on her chest like it had just happened yesterday.
Sensing the shift in the air, Joyce glanced at Faith with concern, her maternal instincts kicking in. She didn't know the whole story but could see the toll it had taken on the young Slayer. "What did he do?" Joyce asked gently, her voice laced with compassion as she took a seat, her eyes soft and understanding, not judging.
"They don't have a word for what he did to her," Faith said with a sigh, her voice low and haunted, as though even uttering the words would give the horrors more power. The room felt suddenly heavier, like the air had thickened with unspoken pain. Faith rarely opened up about her past, and the scars from that night ran deeper than most would ever know. Diana's screams, the torment, the helplessness—it was all still fresh, festering inside her like an old wound that never truly healed.
Buffy, watching Faith's expression darken, interjected before the weight of the memory could suffocate them both. "Later, much, much later," she said softly, as if she were speaking more to Faith than to anyone else. "A few years from now, you told me what he did. While you put it behind you when you slayed him, it still haunted you." She turned to her mother, her voice tinged with sadness as she explained. "Faith told me that it was bad—very bad. He tortured Faith's Watcher, made Faith watch as he did it, too."
As she spoke, the gravity of the situation wrapped around the room like a heavy fog. Joyce, wide-eyed and horrified, reached out as though she wanted to offer some kind of comfort, but she knew this was beyond what a comforting touch could fix. This was something that had scarred Faith in a way no one could truly heal.
Buffy turned back to Faith, her eyes filled with empathy, recalling the raw moment when Faith had finally confided in her. "You told me you never knew how you managed to escape," Buffy continued softly, her words drawing Faith back from the brink of her memories. "You were sure you were dead."
Faith nodded, swallowing hard, her throat tight with emotion she refused to show. "And I would have been too, if I hadn't got out of there when I did," she muttered, her voice quieter now, her mind replaying that fateful night—Diana's broken body, the smell of blood and death, the feeling of being utterly powerless. It had taken everything in her not to break down completely, to shove it all down and survive. "So I end up slaying him?"
Buffy's lips curved into a soft smile, her tone brightening, offering a spark of hope. "With, if memory serves me correctly, a support beam from the building we're in," she said, the memory of Faith's ultimate triumph a source of strength in the bleakness of the tale.
Faith snorted, her trademark smirk making a brief appearance despite the dark memories they were dredging up. It was the kind of badass thing she'd do—taking down a nightmare like Kakistos with nothing more than brute strength and a chunk of wood. "Isn't that overkill?" Joyce asked, her brow furrowing in a mixture of disbelief and awe at the sheer audacity of it.
Buffy shook her head, her smile fading as she grew serious once more. "Not for Kakistos," she said, her voice firm with conviction. "He's a very old vampire. Giles put it that he was so old his hands and feet were cloven. And they were," she added, her tone laced with a chill as she remembered the grotesque creature.
Faith's jaw tightened at the mention of Kakistos's appearance, the grotesque image of the ancient vampire's twisted form etched in her mind. His cloven hands, the way he had towered over her like a living nightmare—it had haunted her since she had fled Boston.
Buffy met Faith's gaze, determination radiating from her. "We can get him," she said, her voice steady with the certainty of someone who had already lived through it once. "The two of us. We just do it like we did before. While he thinks he's steering us into a trap, we lure him into one instead. One where you get to slay him."
October 14, 1998 – Tuesday
Sunspot Motel
Faith had laid the bait, getting a room at a seedy local motel, the kind where the paint was peeling and the neon sign flickered ominously. It was a calculated risk, but one she was willing to take. She spread the word about her whereabouts, her confidence masked by the simmering tension coursing through her veins. The news had reached Kakistos's ears exactly as intended, and now, the deadly game was in motion.
Kakistos stood outside with several of his vampire lackeys, the night air thick with menace. He loomed tall and imposing, a grotesque silhouette against the dimly lit parking lot. In one powerful hand, he held the motel manager by the back of the neck, his grip a chilling reminder of the darkness that loomed over them. The manager struggled weakly, his face a mask of terror, and in that moment, the harsh reality of the situation sunk deep into Faith's gut.
Standing next to Buffy, Faith stared at him, eyes wide with horror. This was the moment she had orchestrated, the culmination of her daring plan to lure Kakistos, the vampire who had haunted her nightmares for far too long. But as she stood there, the weight of fear gnawed at her insides like a ravenous beast, threatening to swallow her whole. The manager slumped to the ground, dead, a lifeless puppet cut from its strings, and with that, the reality of their situation grew stark and grim.
Then Kakistos spoke her name, a guttural growl that reverberated through the air like a death knell.
Faith felt frozen, an icy grip of dread wrapping around her heart. Maybe she still thought Kakistos couldn't come in. Maybe she was just afraid. But when the scarred vampire reached in and gripped her by the throat, choking her with a vice-like hold, crushing her windpipe, Faith barely fought back. It was as if her body had betrayed her, locked in a battle between instinct and fear, her strength sapped by the very presence of the monster before her.
Buffy, ever the fierce protector, lunged for the door, her muscles coiling with extraordinary strength as she shoved it open, desperate to save her friend. The sound of splintering wood echoed in the room as Faith beat at Kakistos's grip, feeling the world darken around the edges. With a surge of adrenaline, she finally broke free, gasping for air, but the relief was short-lived. Kakistos, infuriated, slammed his fist against the door frame, and Buffy retaliated by slamming the door on his arm. He withdrew, but the danger was far from over.
Buffy turned the flimsy lock and slid the chain across the door with a sharp click, the sound ringing like a promise in the chaotic atmosphere. "Remember, this is all part of the plan," she said, her voice steady, even as the adrenaline coursed through her. She moved across the room with purpose, her eyes scanning for anything that could help them escape this nightmare. Spotting a rickety chair, she picked it up and hurled it through the window, the glass shattering like a thousand tiny stars raining down into the alley below. The cacophony of breaking glass mixed with the growl of Kakistos as he kicked the door off its hinges, a primal roar of rage and power.
Without a second thought, Faith leaped out the window, adrenaline fueling her every movement. The cold night air rushed past her, invigorating yet terrifying, as she landed on the hard ground below. Buffy followed an eyeblink later, their bodies moving in sync as they escaped into the darkness, united in their fight against the terror that had been unleashed.
Abandoned Firehouse
Together they ran, side by side, their feet pounding against the pavement as adrenaline surged through their veins. The cool night air whipped around them, sharp and invigorating, as they dashed down the narrow alley toward a T-junction. Shadows loomed ominously in every direction, the hulking shapes of warehouses and other businesses forming a labyrinth of potential hiding places. But there was no time for second-guessing or hesitation. Buffy didn't falter; she turned left at the junction, her instincts guiding her toward the abandoned firehouse that had become their battlefield.
Behind them, the guttural growl of Kakistos echoed through the night, his heavy footsteps thundering like a war drum. He was hot on their heels, the scent of blood and vengeance fueling his pursuit, accompanied by at least four other vampires who moved with predatory grace. Faith's heart raced as they sprinted, each stride fueled by the fear of what lay behind them.
Off to her left, Buffy spotted the broken window—the same one she had shattered the night before when she came to prepare for this very confrontation. Memories flooded her mind as she recalled breaking the support beam that would become Faith's weapon in this deadly game. "Here," she whispered urgently, urgency lacing her voice. Without a moment's pause, she jumped through the jagged opening, rolling onto the dusty floor below, the rough surface scraping her skin but invigorating her resolve.
Faith followed closely behind, her Slayer reflexes kicking in with instinctual precision. As she sprang to her feet, she caught a glimpse of Kakistos racing by outside the window, a monstrous silhouette against the night. She instinctively knew he wouldn't waste time; he would find another way in. The threat was imminent.
"Wait till he comes," Buffy instructed, her voice low but urgent, cutting through the heavy tension in the air. She pointed toward the beam lying on the ground, its surface splintered but still sturdy. "Then use the beam."
"What the—?" Faith started, but her words were cut off as her gaze locked onto a horrific sight just over Buffy's shoulder. In the corner lay the corpses of three delivery men, their lifeless bodies a chilling testament to the horrors that unfolded within these walls. "You brought me to his place," she gasped, her voice shaky, the horror of the scene crashing over her like a wave. Fear and nausea churned in her stomach as she desperately tried to block out the gruesome sight.
"Yes," Buffy said firmly, stepping closer to her friend, grounding her with her unwavering presence. "It has to be here. You can do this." Buffy's determination radiated around them, a lifeline amidst the chaos.
Without warning, a long-haired female vampire leaped through the window they had just entered, her eyes glinting with malice. Moments later, two more vampires erupted from the shadows, lunging toward them with predatory intent. With a single, swift motion, Buffy kicked an enormous plastic bucket at one of the attackers, the clattering sound echoing in the room as it crashed against the vampire's legs.
The other two converged on her, and Buffy's instincts kicked into overdrive. She leaped into action, her movements fluid and fierce; she kicked the one in front of her with precision, feeling the satisfying impact as he staggered back, then spun to deliver a brutal kick to the other's face, sending him crashing to the ground.
But Faith stood immobile, her heart pounding in her chest, her body frozen in a paralyzing mix of fear and memories. The sight of Kakistos emerging from the shadows, stalking across the firehouse toward her like a predator closing in on its prey, triggered a primal response deep within her. Distantly, she heard Buffy shout, "Faith, now!" but the sound felt muffled, as if she were underwater, while the horrific memory of Kakistos's cruelty loomed large in her mind, more powerful than the instinct to protect herself.
"Don't die!" Buffy shouted, her voice urgent and fierce, snapping Faith back to reality. In a split second, Buffy tossed a tire iron her way. Faith's reflexes kicked in; she snatched it from the air, the cool metal solid in her grip, a spark of defiance igniting within her.
At last, instinct took over, pushing her into action, fueled by Buffy's desperate plea. Don't die! Terror danced in her eyes as she swung the tire iron at Kakistos, her heart pounding with the knowledge of what was at stake. But the vampire was quick; he struck her in the face with a brutal punch, the force driving her back and sending a shockwave of pain through her body.
Buffy tried to go to Faith's aid, but she was grabbed from behind. She heard Faith's whimpers of pain as Kakistos beat her but Buffy could not help her. Then, a wild idea sparked in Buffy's mind. Dawn. She needed Dawn.
"Dawn," Buffy whispered under her breath, as if speaking to the air. "I don't know if it's possible. But I need you to try and see if you can get inside Faith's mind."
From deep within her subconscious, Dawn's voice echoed back, hesitant and unsure. 'Buffy, I'm not sure that's possible,' Dawn responded, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
Buffy didn't care about the odds. Faith needed help, and if anyone could break through the mental barrier that was holding her back, it was Dawn. She had to try, for Faith's sake.
"You have to try," Buffy urged, her voice almost pleading. "She's stuck—she needs someone to help her see past the fear. I can't reach her, but maybe you can." Buffy's eyes stayed fixed on Faith, watching as her friend struggled to keep Kakistos at bay.
'I'll try,' Dawn's voice echoed in Buffy's mind, quiet but resolute, as though she too felt the weight of the moment. Faith, still frozen in place, her grip on the tire iron shaky, seemed unaware of the struggle happening within her mind. Dawn didn't know how to bridge the gap between their consciousnesses, but she concentrated, focusing on the raw intensity of Faith's emotions—fear, pain, rage—all of it swirling in a storm that had paralyzed her.
'Faith?' Dawn's voice was soft yet firm, calling out from the back of Faith's mind like a distant bell cutting through the fog. For a moment, Faith faltered, her attention shifting as if she had heard her name from a place deep within her. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she looked around, trying to pinpoint the source.
'My name is Dawn,' Dawn continued, her presence in Faith's mind becoming more tangible. 'In two years' time, I become Buffy's sister. When she got sent to the past, I came along. But since I don't have a body yet, the Powers That Be put me into hers. Buffy thought, since you both are Slayers, I might be able to reach you. The only way to do that was to get inside your head.'
Faith blinked, trying to make sense of what was happening. "You're in my head?" she asked, her voice low, strained, as if unsure whether she was losing her mind or truly hearing someone.
'Right now, yeah,' Dawn said gently, her tone warm, soothing. 'I know this is weird, but I'm here to help you. You've been through a lot. But you can get through this too. You've faced him before, and you'll face him again. Now I need you to focus. Pick up the beam.'
Something in Dawn's voice—her calm assurance, her empathy—broke through the paralyzing fear that had held Faith captive. Slowly, she shifted her gaze toward the large wooden beam Buffy had prepped earlier. With trembling hands, Faith reached for it, her fingers brushing against the rough surface as she summoned every ounce of strength she had left. Her muscles strained as she hefted the beam onto her shoulder, the weight of it grounding her, making her feel more present in the moment.
With a deep breath, Faith lunged at Kakistos, the beam leading the charge like a weapon of retribution. The sharp end of the broken wood pierced his chest with a sickening crunch. Kakistos grunted, his grotesque, cloven hands clawing uselessly at the air as he stared down at the beam, confusion and pain flashing across his twisted face. For a second, everything seemed to slow, the world suspended in the tension of the moment. Then, in an explosion of cinder and ash, Kakistos was gone.
Faith stood there, breathing heavily, the beam still gripped tightly in her hands as the ashes of her tormentor floated to the ground. The firehouse was eerily quiet now, the sense of danger evaporating along with Kakistos's remains. She slowly lowered the beam, her body still shaking with adrenaline, and turned to Buffy.
"Who's Dawn?" Faith asked, her voice quieter now, a hint of curiosity mixed with the lingering tremor of fear.
Buffy smiled, the tension that had gripped her moments ago now replaced with relief and affection. "My sister. Or she will be in a couple years. She's complicated." Buffy's smile widened slightly as she thought of the peculiar circumstances of Dawn's existence. "It'll take a while to explain, but we can talk about it after we get your stuff moved into my room."
"Your room?" Faith's eyes widened in surprise, her brow knitting as if she couldn't quite believe what Buffy was offering.
Buffy nodded, her smile soft but sure. "Yes. You're not staying in that filthy motel. You're going to get something you didn't have the first time around."
Faith looked at Buffy, unsure of what she meant. "What?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as though afraid to hope.
Buffy stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Faith's shoulders with a warmth and tenderness that felt foreign to the other Slayer. "A family," Buffy said simply, the sincerity in her voice unmistakable. "In the other timeline, you and I—we had our differences. But I saw who you really are. You're someone who just wants to be loved. And I know just the person who can show you that love."
Faith blinked, her eyes glistening with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. For so long, she had been alone, hardened by loss, mistrust, and betrayal. The idea of belonging somewhere, of being part of something as simple and powerful as a family, felt almost too good to be true.
'Thanks, Buffy,' Dawn's voice echoed softly in the back of Buffy's mind, filled with gratitude and affection.
Summers Home
The air inside the Summers' house was thick with the rich aroma of Joyce's cooking as Faith stood in the living room, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and anxiety. It was a cozy space, filled with soft lighting, comfortable furniture, and the scent of something delicious bubbling away in the kitchen. The familiarity of it all felt foreign to her, like stepping into a world she'd only ever glimpsed in dreams.
Buffy had given her a quick tour after they arrived, her voice bright and animated as she pointed out little details—a family photo on the mantle, the worn couch with its faded throw blanket, and the small, colorful paintings that adorned the walls. Each piece seemed to hold a story, a memory of laughter and love, and Faith couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the life she'd missed.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the windows, Joyce emerged from the kitchen with a steaming pot of pasta. Her smile was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to the cold, impersonal places Faith had grown accustomed to. "Dinner's ready!" she announced cheerfully, as if inviting Faith to be a part of something special.
Faith hesitated, the weight of her past heavy on her shoulders. She had spent so long fighting, always on guard, always alone. But as she sat down at the dinner table, the flickering candlelight and the delicious spread laid out before her felt like an unexpected gift. Buffy sat across from her, her expression eager, filled with encouragement.
As they served themselves, Faith watched Joyce and Buffy exchange playful banter, a comfortable rhythm that felt both comforting and foreign. They joked about school, about friends, and the chaos that always seemed to swirl around them in Sunnydale. With each laugh, Faith felt a little more at ease, as if the walls she had built around herself were slowly beginning to crumble.
"Faith," Buffy said, breaking through her thoughts, "do you want to tell us about your favorite food? Or maybe share something weird about yourself?" Her grin was infectious, and Faith couldn't help but smile back.
"Well," Faith started, her voice a bit hesitant but gaining strength as she went on. "I really like pizza, but it has to have pineapple on it. Most people think that's gross, but I think it's the perfect combo."
Joyce laughed lightly, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "I think you just won my heart, Faith. Pineapple pizza it is!"
Buffy rolled her eyes playfully. "Ugh, I can't believe you're one of those people."
The conversation flowed easily, with each of them sharing bits and pieces of their lives. They talked about school, their experiences as Slayers, and the strange and terrifying things they had encountered. For Faith, it was surreal to share these moments, the mundane mixing seamlessly with the extraordinary. Here, she was not just the girl with a troubled past but a Slayer, part of a family that accepted her, flaws and all.
After dinner, Joyce insisted on making dessert, leaving the two Slayers in the living room. Buffy leaned back on the couch, propping her feet up. "So, what do you think? Crazy, right?"
Faith took a deep breath, her heart swelling with a sense of belonging she hadn't known she needed. "It's… different. But in a good way," she admitted, her voice softening as she looked around the cozy space. "I've never really had a home like this."
Buffy's expression turned serious for a moment, her eyes searching Faith's. "You're safe here, Faith. I promise."
Just then, Joyce returned, holding a tray with three bowls of ice cream. "I hope you like chocolate fudge, Faith. It's my specialty!" she announced, her voice bright and cheerful.
As they dug into the ice cream, laughter filled the room, the weight of the world outside fading into the background. Faith couldn't help but smile as she watched Buffy tease her mother about the amount of fudge she had loaded into her bowl.
As the night wore on, they moved to the living room floor, settling into a comfortable pile of pillows and blankets. Joyce shared stories from her own youth, and Buffy chimed in with funny anecdotes from her childhood. For the first time in a long time, Faith felt a sense of peace wash over her, the warmth of their shared laughter wrapping around her like a soft blanket.
As the evening turned into night, Faith glanced around at the homey space, her heart swelling with gratitude. She might not have known it before, but this—this was what it felt like to belong, to be part of something greater than herself.
"Hey, Buffy," Faith said, a soft smile breaking across her face. "Thanks for everything. Really."
Buffy nudged her playfully. "You don't have to thank me. Just don't make it weird."
October 15, 1998 – Tuesday
Summers Home
The sunlight poured through the windows of the Summers' living room, casting a warm glow on the worn couch where Faith sat, the TV flickering in front of her. She had flipped through the channels absentmindedly, her mind still racing from the whirlwind of the previous day. The vibrant energy of the Mustang that had sped away just hours ago lingered in her thoughts—its bright red exterior gleaming like a beacon of freedom. It was so different from the dark, grimy world she was used to. Buffy's car, she mused, her lips curving into a small smile. The very idea of Buffy driving something so iconic felt right somehow, like a reflection of her fierce spirit.
As she sat there, she could still feel the echo of laughter from the night before. The easy camaraderie between Buffy and her mother was a stark contrast to the chaos of her past. For a girl who had grown accustomed to solitude, it was a revelation—a taste of the normal life she had never quite managed to grasp.
"Faith," Joyce called out as she entered the room, her voice breaking through Faith's reverie. She carried a stack of papers in one hand and wore an expression that mingled determination with a hint of excitement. "I've made an appointment with the principal of Buffy's school. I'm going to see about getting you enrolled."
Faith turned her head toward Joyce, her heart quickening at the mention of school. The idea of attending Sunnydale High felt both exhilarating and daunting. She had always been the outcast, the girl on the fringes of society, never quite fitting in. But this time, she sensed a change in the air—a possibility, a second chance to rewrite her story.
"Thanks, Joyce," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, the gratitude bubbling up inside her like a wellspring. The thought of Joyce taking the initiative to help her settle in felt surreal, yet comforting.
Joyce smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's no trouble at all! I know it's a big adjustment for you, but I think it'll be good for you. You'll have friends, and you'll be able to experience a normal high school life."
Faith couldn't help but chuckle softly at that last part. Normal. What even was that? But as she watched Joyce bustling about the kitchen, preparing breakfast with an ease that spoke of years of practice, she felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a slice of normalcy amidst the chaos of being a Slayer.
"I know it might be a little scary," Joyce continued, her voice gentle yet firm. "But I want you to know that you have us. You're part of this family now, and we're here to support you."
Faith swallowed hard, her emotions swirling. The warmth in Joyce's voice wrapped around her like a comforting blanket, easing the tension that had become so familiar to her. Part of this family, she thought, feeling the weight of that statement sink in. It was a concept that both thrilled and terrified her.
As Joyce moved to the fridge, pulling out ingredients for breakfast, Faith glanced at the clock on the wall. Time was slipping away, and she knew she needed to prepare for whatever lay ahead.
"What about the school? Are they cool with… you know, my history?" Faith asked, her voice a mixture of concern and curiosity.
Joyce paused, glancing over her shoulder with an encouraging smile. "They just need to know you want to be there. I'll talk to the principal about everything. They'll understand that everyone deserves a chance to start fresh."
Faith nodded, absorbing the reassurance. The thought of leaving her past behind was both liberating and daunting. Could she really reinvent herself?
"Breakfast is almost ready," Joyce called out, breaking Faith's thoughts again. "Do you want pancakes or toast?"
"Pancakes sound good," Faith replied, her stomach rumbling in response.
"Great! I'll whip up a batch. And don't worry, you'll be just fine at school. Just be yourself."
As Faith listened to the clattering of pans and the sweet sizzle of batter hitting the griddle, she felt a sense of anticipation bubbling within her. She was on the brink of something new, a chapter she had never dared to imagine.
The faint aroma of vanilla wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of coffee brewing nearby. In that moment, as she prepared for the day ahead, Faith realized she was ready to embrace the chaos, the uncertainty, and everything that lay beyond. She was ready to step into her new life, no longer as an outcast but as a member of a family that believed in her potential.
With newfound determination, she stood up and headed toward the kitchen. Maybe it was time to put the past behind her and carve out a future that was truly hers.