Buffy sat on the bedroom floor, a hollow numbness enveloping her.
Her world turned upside down.
Twelve freshly crafted wooden stakes lay in a neat row beside her, their raw pine scent mingling with the floral aroma of her room. Small splinters of wood, like forgotten confetti, decorated her crossed legs as she stared vacantly at the wall. Her hands moved with frenetic energy as she carved out a thirteenth stake to add to her growing arsenal, working mindlessly without needing to watch her movements. Muscle memory serving her best.
Concerned about the raging storm outside, her mom insisted that she stay indoors tonight. This storm was a rare event in California, occurring only once every few decades, or so the weather lady on the T.V downstairs had been saying for the past few days.
Usually, Buffy wouldn't let a storm stop her if she was needed. Opening her bedroom window, she would slip out of her second-story window, scale the roofline, and jump down from the roof over the porch into the front yard. For her, it was second nature to do this once the sunset in the evening and her mom went to bed for the night.
The last few nights, however, had been different.
Her mom now knew that she was the slayer...
It has been nine days since Willow was hospitalized following the vampire attack on the school library. Eight days since Kendra was murdered by Drusilla. Seven days since Willow confided in her mother about being Buffy the Slayer, a revelation that only came about because her mother was forcefully trying to keep her home, preventing Buffy from going out to "save the world." Five days since Principal Snyder attempted to expel and accused her of being involved in Kendra's murder. Four days since Willow managed to restore Angel's soul just before Angelus could fully open the portal to hell with Acathla—saving his life and Buffy the horror of having to kill him. Two days now since the police cleared her name. Just one day ago, since Angel officially ended his relationship with her, he left town filled with guilt for his actions as Angelus. And now, less than only four hours ago, since her mother sat her down to reveal that she and her father, Hank, had adopted her as a baby.
Biologically, she was not a Summers as she had always believed herself to be.
She felt a surge of anger coursing through her, but it wasn't directed at her mom or dad. It was a deeper, more complex rage that bubbled up within her.
Whoever were the powers-that-be, that was who her anger was directed at.
Not only did fate seem to find it amusing to give her an impossible destiny that could get her killed—again, for that matter, and this time permanently—depriving her of any chance for a real future to dream about. But now, to add to her misfortune, her biological parents had given her up, not wanting her at all. It felt incredibly cruel. Sometimes, Buffy swore that they were up there, all cozy in the clouds, shoving popcorn into their chubby, wrinkled faces, laughing as they watched her misfortunes unfold before them—like a twisted horror-comedy show playing out at her expense.
In hindsight, it all made sense as Buffy thought it over.
Setting her thirteenth stake onto the pile beside her, Buffy pulls her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging them tightly as she continued to stare into space. Buffy didn't resemble either of her parents except for having lighter-colored hair. Buffy stood at a petite 5'2", a height that made her feel even smaller when she was surrounded by her family—both her mom and dad towered over her, not excessively, but enough to create a noticeable contrast. Buffy's light gray eyes had always intrigued her; on her mom's side, everyone had brown eyes, while her dad Hank's side had a mix of brown and dark green. She did not resemble her parents in any facial features, such as their nose, smile, or body shape. Buffy had often thought that perhaps she took after a great-grandparent or a distant cousin. However, that clearly wasn't the case.
Earlier that night, her mom handed her a small box. Inside the box were a few items that the adoption agency had given to her parents when her adoption was finalized. Among the items were a tethered onesie, which Buffy had arrived in at the orphanage, and a single baby shoe—the other shoe was apparently missing when she was left on the steps of the Los Angeles orphanage. Despite the damage, Buffy could tell that both the onesie and the shoe were from a high-end boutique. There was also half of a once beautiful silk and lace baby blanket. Her mom said that this was what she had been wrapped in when she was left at the doors of the center. Like the other items, the blanket appeared to come from the same boutique and had several tears and chunks missing, with darkened and crisp edges as if it had been badly burnt.
There was also a beautiful antique necklace featuring a circular pendant about the size of a fifty-cent coin or a golden dollar. It seemed to be pure silver, but Buffy wasn't sure of its origins. On both sides of the pendant, there were a bunch of what looked to be runes of some sort. It looked like a locket, but it was locked. Even with her slayer strength, the clasp on the locket wouldn't budge!
Whatever kind of silver the locket and chain were made of, it was resistant to slayers—something she had never encountered before... So, maybe it wasn't silver after all?
The only thing she was able to open was the clip on the chain. However, since the locket was designed for a one-year-old baby, Buffy wasn't willing to force it to fit her sixteen-year-old frame. So, the locket remained in the box along with the other items, destined to collect dust once more, as it was of no use to her.
There was also a partially damaged birth certificate in the box that her mother had given her. It looked to have survived a fire or explosion. Both parents' names were burned beyond recognition, revealing only "S-I" as the first name of her father and possibly a "C" as the last name if she looked closely. Above this, the word "daughter" was printed, along with her first and middle names—
Lyra Anne.
Unfortunately, the last name was completely burned away. The section of the certificate where her birth mother's name should have been is entirely charred, leaving no letters visible to provide any clues. The date on the certificate is listed as January 19, 1981, but part of the "1" and the lower corner of the "8" were blackened as well. The birthplace was noted as London, England, though the last two letters of "England" were also missing.
Joyce shared while giving the box to her that she and her father had wanted to honor her birth parents by keeping Buffy's middle name as Anne. The name Buffy was given to her in honor of Joyce's grandmother, Elizabeth, who went by Buffy growing up. Joyce had always adored her grandmother's nickname and had hoped, one day, to name her daughter that, if she were to ever have one. So when little Lyra Anne entered their care, Buffy became the only option for Joyce.
Buffy had not yet called Willow or Xander. She was still trying to come to terms with it herself, processing all the information—and the lack of it—that had been given to her.
As she sat lost in thought, her mind wandered to the faces of her birth parents. What did they look like? Did she share her father's strong features, or was she the mirror image of her mother? Perhaps she was a blend of the two, a tapestry woven from their unique traits. The possibilities danced in her imagination, each one stirring a deeper curiosity that she couldn't help but want to explore.
"Buffy?" Buffy slowly turned her head to see her mom standing just outside her bedroom door, looking anxious.
Joyce was clearly going through the motions, just as her daughter was—perhaps even more so.
"I—" Joyce hesitated, her words tangling in her throat like a knot she couldn't untie. Years of preparation flashed through her mind, memories of countless self-help books she had devoured, all filled with advice on how to gently break the news of Buffy's adoption. Yet here she was, faced with a moment she'd rehearsed in her heart, and none of those words seemed to offer any comfort or clarity. Ironically, the very resources meant to guide her felt completely helpless in this emotionally charged moment.
"It's okay, Mom," Buffy reassured gently, her voice steady despite the turmoil they faced. She could see the worry etched on Joyce's face, and she wanted nothing more than to ease her mother's concerns. Looking at the women before her, Buffy couldn't help but feel an overwhelming gratitude for having Joyce as her mom, especially after everything they had been through. Joyce had been an incredible anchor in her life, weathering countless extreme highs and horribly horrid lows with grace and strength. "I'm fine; I just need a day or two to process it all," Buffy added with a soft smile, hoping to bring some comfort to her mother.
With a weary sigh, Joyce leaned her head against the doorframe, feeling a wave of relief wash over her as the tension of the moment began to dissipate. Her daughter had faced so many challenges at such a young age, and this was just adding to that growing pile. "Are you really, though?" She pressed, concern etched on her face.
Buffy shrugged, a frown creasing her brow as she inhaled deeply, uncertainty swirling within her. "I don't know," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "How am I even supposed to feel?" Her leg twitched with each word.
"Oh, honey," Joyce said as she moved forward to sit next to her daughter on the floor. She wrapped her arms around Buffy, reassuring her, "You are allowed to feel whatever you want. Just remember, there are no right or wrong feelings in situations like this." Joyce gently rubbed her hands up and down Buffy's arms, letting her know that her mom was there for her.
"Why didn't they want me?"
Joyce tenderly brushed Buffy's hair back from her face, her fingers gliding through the strands, letting a heavy sigh escape her lips, filled with a mix of love and concern. She knew that no matter what she said, it might not completely satisfy her child. "I'm sure they wanted you, Buffy!" Joyce quickly kissed her head. "Any mother and father would have been crazy not to want you, with those beautiful blond locks and those big, doll-like eyes you had as a baby. No one with a sane mind would have willingly given you up!"
"Then why did they leave me?"
Joyce hummed, tucking Buffy's head under her chin, still holding her close, "From what the agency could gather, your family must have either been on vacation or had recently moved to L.A." She paused, kissing her daughter's head again, trying to take as much comfort as she was equally trying to give to Buffy. "You arrived covered in soot and bits of your clothing torn and singed as if you had been in a fire or some sort of accident," another quick kiss, this time to Buffy's forehead. "At first, when your father and I arrived and saw you, the agency informed us that it may only be a short-term fostering plan. They were hopeful that they would be able to locate your parents and, if not, some other living relative. As the months went by, it became clear that the chances of finding them were becoming less and less. After fostering you for seventeen months, we were able to file for legal adoption, making you officially ours.
"Are they dead?"
"I'm not sure, honey." Joyce answered softly, "The agency, as well as the Los Angeles police, searched for them and tried finding any information besides what little your birth certificate gave—even going as far as contacting Scotland Yard in London for further records on you. There was no Lyra Anne entered into the system for the period of your birth in all of the U.K…" She sighed, knowing this wasn't the information Buffy was hoping for. "There was plenty of Anne's and a couple Lyra's here and there, but no combination of the two together." Letting out another small sigh, Joyce continued, "It's as if your birth had been completely erased from the British system – or possibly, had never been entered into their system in the first place?"
Buffy snorted, "Everything about me screams the wiggins, huh?"
"Buffy..." Joyce scolded.
"So, wait—hold on a sec,—let me wrap my head around this," Xander said, leaning against the library banister and exaggeratedly waving his hands. "You, Buffy Anne Summers, the slayer of all things evil, aren't really Buffy Anne Summers? Is that what you're telling me?"
Buffy pressed her lips together and tilted her head as she looked at her animated friend. She was seated in one of the chairs at the main table on the first level of the library. "That would be a yes... I mean, from what I've been told, anyway."
Xander raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, "Trippy much?"
"Wait, so no more Buffy?" Willow exclaimed, her eyes darting between her two best friends, a hint of that familiar Willow panic creeping in. "What do we even call you now? Are we supposed to use the name you were given from your birth parents?"
"No, Wills, I'm still Buffy Summers on paper, and legally speaking, it's just that genetically, that's not the case." She furrowed her brows. "And no, we are definitely sticking with Buffy for now and forever—Lyra is so not me."
Xander relaxed his arms and adopted a more serious tone. "And you have no idea who could be behind the blood rents?"
Buffy's lips curled into a slight frown for just a moment, but she quickly masked it with a facade of indifference, tossing her head dismissively. "Nope, nada.," she replied, her tone giving the illusion of causal and chill.
Willow leaned forward, resting her arms on the table and folding them over one another to curb her nervous habit of drumming her fingers. The redhead's lips curved into an encouraging smile for her best friend. "I'm sure we can conduct some online searches to see if we can find any matches. I can also check databases from London to look for any leads that connect to Los Angeles. Technology has changed a lot since 1981, giving us access to all sorts of information from around the world that we wouldn't have been able to access back then!"
"Thanks, Will," Buffy said with a smile at the redhead. "But I think I'm okay with embracing the unknown. At least for now, I am."
Willow scrunched her nose in disappointment, a pang of empathy washing over her. She desperately wanted to help Buffy find her birth parents. Even though Buffy said she didn't want to know, Willow understood her too well and could tell that the uncertainty was bothering her. "Are you sure?" she asked.
"I might consider your offer later, but for now, I'm fine. I'm still processing and accepting everything."
Willow nodded, "I understand."
"I mean, if they're actually alive and chose to walk away from me, I'm not sure how I'd process that," Buffy admitted, her teeth gripping her lip in thought. "It feels like I've been on an emotional rollercoaster these past few days."
"Sounds like a typical day at Sunnydale High..."
Buffy let out a laugh, the tension breaking a little.
"Ahem," Giles cleared his throat and delicately polished his glasses with his handkerchief at the head of the table. "May I inquire how you are managing with all this information, Buffy?" he asked, finally breaking his silence since Buffy had revealed the news of her adoption. "Have you and your mother talked more over this? He asked as he held the remnants of her original birth certificate in his hands, carefully examining it while everyone else talked. Buffy had handed it to him as she announced the news to the three of them. The damaged paper felt heavier and rougher than he had expected, likely due to the damage and turmoil it had endured.
Buffy shrugged one shoulder, avoiding eye contact with anyone in the room. "I'm feeling a bit wigged out," she admitted, uncrossing her arms and letting them hang motionless at her sides. "But there's not much I can do about it. I think it's been harder for my mom." She frowned, recalling how anxious and jumpy her mom had been over the past few days, almost tiptoeing around her, which Buffy found frustrating. She just wanted things to return to normal and for this news to become old news. "The day after she told me, my mom explained that one of the police precincts in Los Angeles had searched for any possible leads for about two years, keeping an eye out for missing baby reports that matched my description. Apparently, they even contacted Scotland Yard in London, but in the end, it was all a big dead end."
"I still can't believe that Buffy is from the land of Giles!" Xander exclaimed, dramatically clutching his chest. "All that tweed!"
Buffy snorted. She couldn't believe it either.