Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One: Beacon Hills 

The bus was cold. 

A book in freefall. Falling out of your fingertips beyond your reach. Pages flipping so fast that you cannot understand the full story. Maybe words, maybe a picture, it is far from complete. This is what the thoughts felt like in her mind. A word, a sentence, a picture, a feeling but nothing concrete. 

Cold–this was the first word that came to mind. The second word that followed was why. There was no real reason to be cold. The bus she was currently on was not air conditioned–too few people were left on the bus for it to matter. Not to mention the layers upon layers of clothing she had on underneath her oversized sweatshirt and loose cargo pants. She held herself tighter as the book in her mind kept falling. 

No, the California weather hardly warranted this degree of freezing she felt.

Maybe it wasn’t really the bus that was cold.

The book slammed through a sheet of icy into the water below. 

‘If you walk out of this house don’t even think about coming back.”  The sound of breaking glass. 

The pages were no longer in her control as the icy water soaked them through. ‘I love you, now close your eyes.’ She remember the taste of a kiss on her lips. The tears on her cheeks felt like shards of ice, or was it glass . Was she crying? She wasn’t really sure. Her chest tightened as she fought to take calming breaths. The feeling of drowning was one she hated, but it didn’t stop. It never seemed to stop. 

Quite possibly this feeling of drowning had nothing to do with the external factors and instead was all about what had transpired earlier. 

Surrendering to the feeling, she closed her eyes and tried to drift off.

What seemed like minutes later a bright light shining through the small window had her jolting awake. Her senses came back slowly as she realized that it wasn’t daylight but a streetlight. Bile began to fill her mouth as the thoughts that she been pressing down all too quickly came rushing back. While it left her lightheaded it was a good thing that she couldn’t remember her last meal. It had been hours–maybe even days–since she had last eaten. It was a good thing otherwise she wasn’t sure she could have held back from vomiting. In the end though, it didn’t really matter.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Nothing was really all that important. 

The only thing that was important was that she was leaving Sunnydale. Leaving Sunnydale with no plans of ever returning. Where was she headed? It didn’t matter. The only plan was to get as far away from there as she possibly could. Maybe she would head to New York City, somewhere big where she could hide amongst the masses, or New Zealand,  or China, or Russia…or somewhere no one would ever think to look. If they even cared to look. 

With limited funds and no way to get more she would be content with getting as far away as possible from Southern California. 

With this is mind she once again drifted off to sleep. Part of her hoped that when she woke that all this would have been a nightmare. The more rational part knew that she was merely living one. 

“This is our final stop…” the next few words were muffled in her somnolent state–as if she were still underwater “...Hills, Last stop. All passengers please exit.” The scratchy voice of the bus driver blasted through the loud speaker causing the girl to cringe. Opening her eyes only made it worse. Groggily she blinked her eyes in effort to see her surroundings against the blinding night lights of the bus. She covered her face and tried to huddle deeper into the seats. It was to late, her awareness was returning a with that the knowledge of her surroundings.

Buffy was the last person on the bus, Just great she thought. It hadn’t been her intention to sleep for so long. Or to sleep at all. Her body still felt weighed down and sticky. Apparently despite the chill earlier she had begun to sweat in her many layers of clothing. Groaning, she stood up and made her way towards the exit. Turning towards the bus driver she intended to ask where exactly she was, his scowling face disuaded her and she quickly exited. 

Once her foot touched the pavement she changed her mind and looked back at the still scowling driver. It was too late. Without a word, the doors to the bus and drove away far faster than the speed limit permitted.

Now it was her turn to scowl, irritated at the situation she found herself in. Of course it was her fault for not speaking up sooner, her fault for falling asleep, her fault for Ang…she shook her head refusing to let herself spiral further. It was her fault for everything but right now she had to find a solution to her current predicament. Homelessness. Looking around her she let out a loud exhale.The street lights that had seemed to bright in her freshly-awakened state were now dim in comparison. Any street signs, if they existed, were not visible to her. Buffy shuffled to the bus stop bench, her worn sneakers making loud scuffing noises against the cement. Tiredness was a feeling that often plagued her, It was hard to keep the hours she did and not be tired. This though? This exhaustion was something new entirely. Or at least, she had felt this way after her birthday…she shook her head again trying to ignore those thoughts and focus on the problem at hand. Without signs to guide or direct her she was lost. Until daytime, walking around would be pointless. Resigning herself to the inevitable, she tried to make herself comfortable. Her duffle bag turned into a makeshift pillow and her clothes pulled tighter against her body. The perspiration on her body only causing her to shiver. She got ready for a long night. 

—--

Alan Deaton was walking to his car on the other side of the street. It wasn’t often that the vet ventured this far to the perimeter of Beacon Hills, especially at this time of night.

When one of his elderly clients called him to check on their ageing German Shepherd he couldn’t refuse. The dog’s mobility was worsening as the hip dysplasia wrecked havoc on his joints. There wasn’t much Deaton could do other than to provide temporary alievement in the form of medication. 

The vet was nearly to his car when he could have sworn he saw a lump move on the bench near the bus stop and consequently, next to his car. He tensed, as the hairs at the back of his neck stood up. Chills racing down his spine. Hesitantly, he crept forward, ready to run if it turned out to be something supernatural. To his surprise, he was greeted to the site of a young girl–possibly in her early or mid-teens huddled against the corner of the bench. She appeared to be sleeping but the deep furrows on her brow said it couldn’t be a pleasant sleep. 

Beacon Hills was no place for a young girl to be out alone. Especially at night. With his mind made up he approached the sleeping girl. 

“Miss, miss, do you need help?” Deaton had no intention of startling her but after a few minutes of trying to wake her up with just his voice he tried touching her shoulder. Jostling it a few times hoping he wouldn’t have to be out too much longer. With surprising alacrity the girl jumped to her feet. Deaton stepped back, not wishing to frighten her. It was clear she was startled.

He repeated his question from earlier “Miss, are you alright? Do you need any help?”

The girl shook her head. Deaton thought it appeared she was trying to forget something instead of remember. 

“What?” Coming back into awareness for what seemed to be the thousandth time of the day Buffy looked into the face of a stranger. His brown eyes and careful demeanor did not seem threatening. The lack of vampire tinglies was also helpful but she wasn’t in the mood to take many chances. The sooner she could get this conversation over with, the better she thought. 

After a moment of silence the knowledge that someone asked her a question caused her to answer more thoroughly.

“No. No help needed. Just fine.” The shakiness clearly belied the attempt to sound bright and cheery. She still tried to smile anyway but it came out strained.Internally Buffy was screaming at herself to appear normal. 

Deaton nodded but as he stared at the small girl before him he didn’t believe her in the slightest. She appeared a figure of desperation. Dressed in multiple layers of oversized clothing, beanie hat included. It was clear that all was not right. The duffle bag she held to her chest was clutched so tightly her knuckles were turning white. She was most certainly in some form of distress. 

Swallowing, the girl stared into his eyes. He was just about to walk away when she continued “Uh…actually.” She huffed as she turned her head away from him. “Could you tell me where I am? You know.. Because the bus driver never mentioned it.” 

At this Deaton frowned a puzzled look overtaking his face. Not only was it an odd request to ask where one was after sleeping at a bus stop, it only served to increase his suspicion that this girl might indeed be a runaway. In which case she would have nowhere to go. It was not necessarily that unusual for California in general. Lots of kids figured they would be better off without their family only to find themselves in a mess of trouble. In a place like Beacon Hills, trouble would be ten fold. 

“You’re in Beacon Hills. I’m Deaton.”  

The girl nodded as if she had known it all along. “Right. I knew that. I mean Beam Hills, not you’re name. That I didn’t know. Thank you…I.” She paused, not sure how to continue without sounding completely and utterly lost. Not that it mattered. Now she knew she was in Beam Hills, wherever that was. At least it wasn’t Sunnydale. 

“If you don’t mind me asking. Do you have a place to stay?” The question caught her a bit off guard and Buffy narrowed her eyes.

Deaton smiled slightly at her changed in posture. “Only, you are sleeping at a bus stop..” he was trying to get her to admit she needed help. It would be easier that way to convince her to get off the streets if she made the decision herself. 

“Family. I have family.” Buffy interjected quickly. She of course, did not, but at this point she was not past lying.

Deaton only raised his eyebrows. “In Beam Hills?”

“Yes.”

He knew that he had her. “Interesting. Last I checked this is Beacon Hills. So, maybe we can try this again. I’m Deaton, Dr. Alan Deaton, you are?” He held out his hand to introduce himself more thoroughly. 

Without thinking, Buffy grabbed his hand, it was more a reaction than a conscious thought. She shook his hand in response, possibly a bit too firmly as the man winced. His hand was warm. This at least confirmed her theory that he was not a vampire.

Apparently despite the numerous naps she had taken, Buffy was still not really aware of what she was doing or saying. It was possibly all too much. Her impulsive “At least you’re not a vampire.” Earned her an even stranger look.

Deaton was not sure what to make of this strange waif of her girl. In one moment she seemed peppy and bright, the next despondent, and the next a bit crazed. He wondered if she potential on some sort of drugs but her pupils appeared normal and her behavior was not excessively erratic. Although one couldn’t confirm such things without further testing. She continued to go on. 

“You can never be too careful. You know? Creatures of the night and all that. Sorry. That was weird to say…you know, foot in mout Buffy, because that’s me. Buffy. I read vampire books…” she cringed as her words trailed off and he decided to humor her. 

“No. I don’t suppose I am a Vampire. Just a doctor.”

Buffy slapped herself in the forehead, she was starting to wonder if the situation could get any worse. “I hope you’re not a psychiatrist.” 

At these words, Deaton began to chuckle before laughing outright. Buffy was beginning to think that he suspected her being a complete nutcase. She was beginning to believe it herself.

“No. I am a veterinatian.”

The exhale Buffy let out could not be continued as she sighed in relief. “Oh good.” She decided to try again. Nodding firmly she looked him straight in the face and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you Dr. Alan Deaton. I’m Buffy.” This time, Buffy shook his hand much more cautiously and Deaton assumed he imagined the strength of her grip before. 

After releasing hands the two stared at one another. Desperate to leave the increasingly awkward conversation Buffy figured it would be better to find a different bench to sleep on. “Well, I guess I will be going.” She turned to leave but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She flinched. While Buffy was certain that she could easily overpower humans it didn’t change the fact that she was alone with a strange, in a strange town, in the middle of the night. Buffy didn’t have the energy for a fight. 

“Buffy. Do you really have a place to stay tonight?” Buffy really did not like the look of pity clearly showing on Deaton’s face. She struggled once again to swallow back the bile trying to surface. “No.” She practically whispered. Clearing her throat she interuppted the vet before he could say anything “But I’ll be fine, I can take care of myself.” 

Deaton seemed to consider this but ultimately he knew he could not let her leave without offering something. “I’m sure that you can but,” it was his turn to choose his words carefully, trying not to give too much away. “Beacon Hills is not the place to be wandering around in at night–especially for young girls. I don’t know what you are running away from, but whatever it is, you shouldn’t be alone.” 

Buffy blinked. Wondering if there was possibly more to this town than she initially expected–then again it wasn’t too far fetched to tell a young girl not to be out by herself. Deaton didn’t know how much she really could take care of herself.

“My sister is a guidance counselor at Beacon Hill’s High School. She has a lot of experience with runaways and if there was any question as to why an underage teenager was alone in Beacon Hills...”

For the first time a frightened look appeared on Buffy’s face “I can’t go back. I…I…”

Deaton held up his hands to placate the girl, it hadn’t expected such a visceral response. It was clear that whatever she was running away from was something she no longer wanted any part in. While the inquisitive side of him wanted to know more he knew not to pry.

“Not at all. My sister has a spare bedroom. Just a place for you to stay the night until you can figure out where to go or what you are doing.” As she seemed to consider it, Deaton decided to give her another bit of consolation.

“I can call my sister if you’d like. You can talk to her.”

Buffy slowly nodded. It did cross her mind that this could be a trap. Young girls could be lured away into something dangerous. But at this point, what did she have to lose? At least, if she could talk to Deaton’s sister she could maybe have a more comfortable bed compared to the bench.

With another thought Buffy shout out “What makes you think that I’m not eighteen?” She crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

Deaton was growing a bit tired, he had had a long day and now what was seeming to be an even longer night. Still, he didn’t just want to give up. 

“I don’t know your situation Buffy. However, if you are in need of help, my sister will be able to help. Would you accept help? Also, I know you’re not eighteen. You pretty much just confirmed it. 

“Fine you can call your sister.” The defeat in her voice pierced through Deaton like a knife and not for the first time he wondered what this poor girl had been through and hoped his sister would be able to help. 

—

Buffy had been sitting in Deaton’s car for close to an hour now. Marin Morrell, Deaton’s sister, had arrived exactly twenty minutes after he had called her. Now, brother and sister stood outside of the car appearing to have an argument. Buffy strained to hear what they were saying. It was no use. The siblings were talking far too quietly for that to be a possibility. She hadn’t ever taken the time to learn to lip read either.

Just when she thought that Deaton would come to back to tell her that they changed her mind Marin opened her car door.

Her appearance strikingly familiar to one she had known not long before. Her eyes were different. Colder. Kendra’s had been stern, but full of life and an openness that this woman lacked. Somehow this made Buffy feel more comfortable, or maybe just less likely to breakdown entirely. 

Without saying more than a quick hello ush, Marin ushered Buffy into the passenger seat of her black Dodge Charger. The leather was cold, but but it soon became warm as the car heated up. 

Now that the Marin was driving she finally had a chance to look at the girl beside her. She had been in the middle of grading papers when her phone rang. It wasn’t often that her brother called her anymore. Whether he disapproved of her current occupation or if it was just to give her some space she wasn’t sure. That was why Marin Morrel had no idea what to expect when she answered the phone. It certainly wasn’t this. 

He hadn’t said much, he needed her to come and pick up a girl who needed some help. He left out the minor detail that he wanted the help to come from his sister. Needless to say, the lack of communication lead to an argument that had been a long time coming.

Marin couldn’t help but feel slightly bitter as she noticed the girl had fallen fast asleep besides her. With all that she had to do she needed the rest herself. She certainly didn’t have the time, nor the desire, to help a teenage runaway. 

Of course her brother didn’t let up, she remembered his questioning face as he asked “Do you really think it is a good idea to leave a teenage girl alone in Beacon Hills. Especially with Derek around?”

No, Marin didn’t. But that fact didn’t change others “You do understand what is coming? You know my responsibilities Alan, and they don’t include taking care of a runaway.” 

The placating look her brother was well known for did not bode well for Marin. Despite being the younger sister, it seemed Alan was always the one that could get what he wanted “All the more reason to save those that we can is it not?”

She hated to admit it, but he wasn’t wrong.

“Do you know why she is running away?” Alan’s face lit up when he realized she had conceded. He rubbed his chin, “I didn’t ask her. She doesn’t seem very open about it.”

Of course he knew nothing about her.

“You don’t know anything about her, her story?” She was becoming more exasperated, questioning herself as to why she ever answered the phone.

“She seems like a sweet kid.”

Right, it boiled down to her brother’s willingness to take in and care for the defenceless and strays. Something that had often placed their family in precarious positions. It was probably best he had eventually chosen to go into the animal medicine profession. 

“Alan—you couldn’t take her?” In a last ditch attempt to get out of the situation Marin tried to state the obvious solution. 

“I’m a veterinarian. I take stray animals, not people.” Alan Deaton smirked knowing he had won the argument.

“Fine.” Marin began to make her way to her brother’s car to get Buffy, she internally rolled her eyes at the SoCal name. “You’re helping to. When I call you I expect you to step in as needed.” With a final nod from her brother Marin drove off. 

By the time she had run through the events of earlier Marin had arrived home. She checked her watch and nearly groaned. 3am. The girl her brother had forced upon her was still sleeping soundly. Marin could only think about how much extra paperwork this would cause for her. Not only that, but involving a human in her life right now could turn deadly. For the human and herself. It wasn’t the most benevolent of thoughts, but Marin hoped the girl would run away again. If only to get as far away from Beacon Hills as possible.

—---

The first rays of sunlight were streaming in through the large window. The cream colored curtains were open as they had never been closed the night prior. Buffy woke early, feeling more refreshed than she had felt in a long time. Despite the sweat and grime on her unshowered body, the girl couldn’t remember feeling so refreshed. Maybe her birthday…she pushed those thoughts to the side as best she could. THere would be time to deal with them later.

After arriving a Marin’s house, Buffy had barely managed to take of the top layer of clothes and kick off her sneakers before snuggling under the sheets of the guest bedroom.

While a part of Buffy had been nervous that she was going to be kidnapped, the larger part of her just didn’t care. Another part of her did seem to trust Deaton and Marin–she wasn’t naive enough to believe this was a common occurrence. 

Turning her head, Buffy saw that someone–presumable Marin–had placed an Evian water bottle and a granola bar on the desk. Buffy did check the cap on the watter bottle to insure it had not been tampered with. Figuring that Marin wouldn’t take the time to poison her with a water bottle after watching her sleep, she chugged the water down. It was surprising how dry her throat was. Her stomach was still in no mood for food so she left the granola bar and decided to contemplate her situation.

At this point, it seemed clear that neither Deaton nor Marin had meant her any harm. In fact, she vaguely recalled Marin showing her her school guidance counselor I.D. card. Maybe they really were trying to help her. But why? Buffy acknowledged that it was possible that Beacon Hills did indeed have a high crime rate. Why else would Deaton say it wouldn’t be safe to be alone? At the same time, she had heard of stories that placed teens in foster homes or tried to reunite with family, but that was not something Buffy wanted. Sunnydale was a thing of the past. If it turned out the crime rate was truly high or that the police would try to take her…well, Buffy would just have to create a backup plan. 

The smell of breakfast began to distract her from her thoughts. Her stomach growled in protest despite the fact her mind had no appetite. Sighing to herself Buffy decided her planning would have to wait. She would have to focus on her problems later. First she would have to speak with her host, and maybe, eat a bit of food.

_____

The speaking with her host came sooner than Buffy had wanted. As soon as she walked into the room in fact.

Marin eyed her from head to toe, and Buffy shifted uncomfortably, all too aware of her lacklustre appearance.

“Buffy, good morning. How did you sleep?”

Buffy got the distinct feeling that her host asked more from obligation than out of actual concern. So she simply shrugged.

“Thank you for having me.” She was surprised at how emotionless her voice sounded. 

Marin eyed her more closely. “Of course.” She motioned to the table. “We can talk more over breakfast. I am sure you’re hungry.” Buffy was most certainly not hungry but decided to oblige her host. 

The first few minutes consisted of serving herself from the many breakfast options provided. A slice of toast, some fruit, a hard boiled egg. Her stomach growled in protest at anything too hearty.

After the first few bites of food Marin spoke “I’d like to get to know you more. Tell me about yourself. What brings you to Beacon Hills?”

An automatic “Nothing” was all Buffy managed to croak in response. Her mind whirled with what she could possibly say. What would be a plausible enough storyline to convince her host that she wasn’t a troublemaker–not purposely anyway–and that she couldn’t go back. In attempt to give herself more time she took a large swallow of water, swishing it in her suddenly dry mouth.

“Nothing?” Marin asked. The tone of her voice made clear that it was a statement and not a question. Buffy spluttered, coughing awkwardly as she swallowed the rest of the water. Marin quirked her eyebrows.

The more Buffy stared into Marin’s face the more words left her mind. Kendra, the former slayer, the one that made her not alone anymore. The girl who’s death she felt responsible for. All the deaths—-Ms. Calender, Kendra, and countless others who lost their lives to the monster she released. Lost their lives to Angelus. The others who lost their lives because she was too late. She was always too late. It was quickly overwhelming her, blurring her to the reality at hand.

Marin cleared her throat. Either nor realizing that the teen in front of her was spiraling into a panic attack or not quite caring. It was obvious her patience was wearing thin. 

“Nothing does not generally lead to tears.” Marin handed the girl a tissue from the table, face passive. Not one to cry, Buffy was surprised to find that her cheeks were becoming damp. Soundless tears were escaping her eyes. 

“Not really, no.” The self-depracting chuckle sounded eerie to her own ears. Buffy looked away. It was too late to hide the tears but she didn’t think she could bare to look into Marin’s face much longer.

“If I am to help you. I need you to be honest with me. Why did you come to Beacon Hills?” 

“I am. Honest. I didn’t come hear for anything.” Unable to continue she took another gulp of water. At this point Marin’s patience had truly run out. Not only was she in a precarious situation as an Alpha Pack’s situation, she was also in a precarious situation if she couldn’t prove as to why this girl would need to be placed under her temporary guardianship. On top of that, Marin prided herself on being able to read people easily. To ascertain motive, if they were telling the truth, if they were lying. Throughout the years she had honed the natural talent. She had trained herself so that in most situations, even with limited details, she could create a story of the person’s life that would mimic reality. Marin couldn’t read this teen, this girl currently trying not to cry. It baffled her and frustrated her. 

“Buffy.” The sharpness of the word drew the girl back in. She startled and big green eyes locked with Marin’s own.

“I can’t help you if you don’t work with me. Without more details I cannot provide you with options. You need to help me, help you.” When she nodded, Marin continued, softening her words.

“With more information I can apply for temporary legal custody over you. A guardianship. Typically a parent would need to sign off on this, but I think I can work around it.” Why she was putting such trust in this girl Marin had no clue, she only hoped her brother was right and that she just needed some help to get back on her feet.  

“If we can’t make this work I will have to turn you in to the authorities.”

“No, no..please don’t! I can’t go back. I…” Despair was etched into every muscle on Buffy’s face. Her body tensed in preparation to run, escape, flee. It was the first time Marin was able to read the girl. Whatever had made her decide to runaway had been traumatizing enough for her to active the Fight or Flight response. 

“How about this, I ask some questions and you answer with at least a yes or a no. We can go from there.” 

Buffy nodded in assent.

Marin sighed, it would be another long day. “Alright, good. But first let’s finish breakfast.” 

—---

“Alan, answer your phone.” Marin mumble as she paced back and forth along her porch. The only spot she was sure Buffy would not be able to hear her conversation. Within moments of questioning Marin knew that she had her work cut out for her. While Buffy was being forthright she was also holding back. Often refusing to answer questions in anything other than monosyllables. Realizing she would have to be alone to get the answers she wanted Marin showed Buffy to the bathroom. Instructing her to shower, something the girl desparately needed. It was time for Marin to do some investagative work of her own. With her atypical job she had access to many more resources than a typical guidance counselor. By the time the runaway exited the bathroom Marin only had more concerns and questions. What had this girl gotten herself into. 

So this was how she found herself on her porch muttering explitives in hopes her brother was working, While Alan would still be working, it was only midday, he better take her call or she would march into his veterinary clinic herself. Finally the phone stopped ringing and the bright voice of Scott McCall answered

“Hi! This is Scott at Beacon Hills Animal Clinic, how can I help you?”

“Scott? Scott McCall?”

“Yes, who am I speaking to?” The boy answered cautiously.

“Scott, can you please hand the phone to Alan. Tell him Marin needs to speak with him.” Figuring if someone was on a first name basis with his boss everything was fine.

Within moments the soft tenor of her brother’s voice sounded through her cellphone.

“Marin?”

“Alan. You have a werewolf working for you? Why am I not surprised. Shouldn’t he be in school?” Rambling was not a trait Marin that was known for. Collected and calm, her words were always measured and purposeful. In her agitation however it was hard to stay focused.

“It’s Sunday. Marin, what’s wrong?” The concern in her brother’s voice was evident. She sat down heavily as the exhaustion began to creep in. Rubbing her face she answered her brother.

“Alan, what did you get me into?”

“You spoke with Buffy I presume?” Marin groaned. “It was more so I grilled her and did some research of my own.”

“Well, what did she say?”

“You were right.” Marin could practically hear the grin from her brother “She is a run away. From what I could gather her mother kicked her out and her father has been MIA for a long time. “

“See, I thought so. All she needs is some…”

“Not so fast. She was vague and didn’t answer my questions. So I looked her up?”

The conversation stilled as Marin tried for a dramatic pause

“And?” Her brother was just as impatient as herself sometimes. A trait the siblings had suppressed. When with family they could be more pushy.

“I’m not really sure. I will have to check some things out. Without a last name, which she refused to provide, I couldn’t find as much concrete evidence.” Marin considered her next words.

“There was a Buffy Summers that burned down her High School Gym…it was never proven but she was expelled anyway. There’s more.”

“Enlighten me.” Alan’s voice held a hint of concern. Then again accidents happen and he knew people often made poor choices that they would learn to regret.

“The same Buffy Summers was also wanted in the possible homicide of a man named Ted. The charges were later dropped and it was discovered that this Ted, without a last name, was a serial killer spanning multiple decades. More recently, Buffy Summers is a wanted suspect for the possible murder of Kendra Young. No information exists about Kendra. She may have been in the US illegally.” 

All in all, Buffy’s life seemed strange to Marin, that was saying a lot considering her occupation. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Where did all of this occur?”

“That’s just it Alan, I can’t confirm. Everytime I try to find out the town that this girl lived in before Beacon Hills my laptop shuts down. The only connection I can find is that Ted was from Sunnydale.”She let out a large exhale.

“Sunnydale you say?” Alan’s voice was puzzled. 

“Yes, why?” 

“Nothing.” He answered evasively. “Just, that name sounds familiar.” Marin rolled her eyes, of course her brother would know something she didn’t. 

“Did she say why she was kicked out?”

Marin thought for a moment “Her mother kicked her out, said the police wanted to question her in regards to illicit activity. I thought she meant drugs, not murder! Are you going to enlighten me about Sunnydale?”

Deaton shook his head, knowing his sister wouldn’t see “I don’t think it’s anything. Could be mixing it up with a different California town. I’ll check some things out and let you know. I thought I recall the Hale pack talking about avoiding Sunnydale…but it could have been Southern California in general.”

Marin rolled her eyes “Probably too sunny for them.” Werewolves were not known for being the sunniest of people. “Alan, I didn’t detect anything supernatural about her.”

“How would you know that?” This time it was Marin’s turn to get a bit concerned. “I may have placed a Mountain Ash barrier across her room this morning. She came downstairs no problem.” 

One could never be too careful. At this Marin was certain that whatever her new charge had gotten into it wasn’t supernatural, or at least she didn’t have to worry about the girl having supernatural powers. 

While it was more common in an area such as LA, Marin knew that there were unfortunate kids involved in things that no human should be involved in. Such things without any supernatural influence.

“Alan, if you set me up with some drug-addicted sociopath I will not be pleased.”

“Is she on drugs? Do you think she killed those people?” It was clear that her brother didn’t believe it either. 

“I don’t know what to think. I can’t leave her alone though–I don’t trust her. She will have to go to school and I need her to go somewhere when I have my other responsibilities.”

“Where?” Alan mused. “Your clinic”

This time, is was Deaton’t turn to groan. While he had been considering getting another helper for his animal clinic this girl would not be his first choice. He had hoped for Stiles, while the kid was a spaz he at least knew about the supernatural. Deaton didn’t want another innocent involved in this world if he could help it. Not only that, but she looked a bit small, would she be strong enough to help with the heavy duty required? On second thought, Stiles wasn’t all that strong either.

“Okay.” He conceded. “I’m not sure that is a great idea. My clinic has become quite the metropolis for the supernatural.” 

“Hmm..”Marin replied. “ Yes, and you know who I work with. If you want me to step in and help her you need to help me. I need more eyes on her.” 

“Alright. I understand. Thank you Marin I appreciate it, I do have a good feeling about her.”

Marin rolled her eyes, glad her brother couldn;t see. Him and his feelings. Marin trusted results and evidence. Feelings, not so much. In some way, her intuition was telling her to give the girl a chance. 

____

While her hearing was nowhere near that of a vampire, as a Slayer, Buffy had better than average hearing, As such, as she sat near the open window of the guest bedroom she could hear bits and pieces of Marin’s conversation with Deaton. 

It was obvious that the woman did not trust her, and Buffy couldn’t blame her. Especially considering her first impression.

Finally clean, Buffy couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed at her earlier appearance. The shower had revelaed how much dirt and grime was on her skin, and blood. She hoped that was a detail Marin hadn’t noticed. 

THe clothes her host had let her borrow were excessively soft, Buffy had felt so much tension leave her body as she pulled on the oversize track suit. 

Now though, hearing the same host talk about her, the tension was beginning to come back. 

“If trouble comes, you know who I’m blaming.” The final words of the conversation reverberated in Buffy’s head. She really hoped that trouble had not followed her into this town. 

As footsteps sounded on the stairs, Buffy scrambled to shut the window and throw herself on the bed.

Marin narrowed her eye as if trying to figure out something but decided to leave it.

“I was able to receove temporary guardianship over you.” As the words sunk in Buffy grinned slightly. At least Marin was giving her a chance.

Noticing this seemed to delight the girl Marin decided she needed to set some ground rules.

“But that decision can be repealed.” Buffy swallowed, she felt as if Marin was whacking her over the head–figuratively.

Marin continued “For this to work we need to establish some ground rules. First, I am going to ask that you will refer to me as Ms.Morrell. As I am the guidance counselor at Beacon Hills High, where you will be attending, you will need to refer to me as the other students do. You will also be working with my brother most days after school.”

“School?” It took all of Marin’s self control not to stomp her foot. This was what the girl was stuck on? Though on second thought, considering she very likely burned down a gym of one High School and expelled from two–well, maybe the idea of going to school was not a welcome one. There was no other option. 

“Yes. You should graduate. Unfortunately, I was unable to access your school records. You will have to re-enroll in sophomore year.”

Buffy nodded. It wasn’t a surprise to her. If anything she wondered if this would be a good thing. After becoming a Slayer. her grades had suffered tremendously. Maybe repeating wouldn’t be so bad. 

“Other than cleaning up after yourself that’s about it. Beacon Hills has a history of animal attacks.” Buffy raised her eyebrows wondering if this was why Deaton was so adamant she not be out alone. “I expect to know where you are at all times after dark. If you are not home by nine there will be consequences—of course if I know where you are you could stay out longer. I don’t really care as long as your location is known and you aren’t alone. Do you understand?”

This all seemed more than reasonable to Buffy. It wouldn’t be the first time she would have to makeup a story about her whereabouts and conisdering she was a slayer she had no worries about an animal attack. Just as long it was not a pack of hyenas. Maybe she wouldn;t even have to be the slayer anyway. Someone else was welcome to the callling that destroyed her life. 

Buffy’s quite “Yes ma’am.” Seemed to appease Marin.

“Alright, well, I’m sure your still tired. Tomorrow you start school so why don;t you get some rest so you can wake up early.” 

As Marin began to head back towards the stairs Buffy’s voice called out to her

“Thank you.” It seemed impossible, but somehow those two words were filled with such desparation and longing that Marin’s heart clenched.

“Of course.” She nodded simply. Maybe her brother was right about the girl.

Buffy let out a large exhale as her new guardian exited. She laid back on the bed and let sleep claim her. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Beacon Hills High 

“Come in, come in.” The nasally voice of her new Principal reverberated through the room as Buffy entered. She had barely had time to brush her hair before Marin, Ms. Morrell she corrected herself, was ushering her out of the house. Her outfit, the track suit she had slept in, was not one she was proud of but quite honestly she couldn’t be bothered to care 

Talking with Ms. Morrell had stirred up too many recent memories that she had been working so hard to repress as such, Buffy had slept fitfully and woke up with much less alacrity than the previous morning. Thus her outfit. 

“As you can see I am the recently installed Principal.” The elderly Principal brought her attention back to himself as he flipped the metal nameplate upside down “They didn’t even have a chance to write my name on my desk.” His chuckles sent chills down her spine. 

While he didn’t seem as loathsome as Snyder, Buffy wasn’t really sure anyone could be as loathsome as that rat, she didn’t have the best feeling about this newest Principal either. Buffy vaguely wondered why new principals always seemed to appear wherever she went.

“I’m Gerard Argent. You can call me Principal Gerard. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He attempted a smile but it seemed that he was a man not used to smiling. His bravado set Buffy on edge. She hadn’t told Ms. Morrell much of anything so she knew it was impossible to have heard much about her. The cover story to her enrollment was that she was under temporary guardianship with Marin Morrell due to issues at home. Her grades had suffered due to family issues and so she was going back to sophomore year. 

Wriggling in her seat, she couldn’t wait to get away from Principal Gerard. She didn’t like people who lied. 

“Well Buffy, we look forward to having you at Beacon Hills High School. We expect great things and I hope you don’t disappoint.” Buffy nodded as if she cared.

Gerard Argent bent forward closer to her and Buffy stiffened at the invasion of her personal space. His voice lowered as if her were telling her a great secret “My granddaughter is in your grade. I’d love for you to be friends with her. She needs some new friends. Someone to hang out with as you kids would say.”

Buffy cringed, it was an odd things to say. She had the distinct feeling that the principal wasn’t really saying what he wanted to say. 

“It would be a pleasure to meet her.” What did he expect? Was she supposed to go running off to his granddaughter to be besties. Buffy didn’t think so.

She began to tap her fingers on her chair, trying to give her whirling mind something else to focus on. 

Why did all of her principals have to be so…

“I don’t want to make you late for your first class.” Gerard stood up and motioned towards the door. 

“I would escort you myself but I have some things to finish up here.”

Buffy stood quickly, stepping back away from him “That’s okay, really. I can find it myself.” She had no desire to stay in this man’s presence any longer than necessary. 

Gerard chuckled and the sound once more sent chills down her spine. Buffy decided right there that there was definitely something off about this Principal.

“One moment.” He held up a finger to stop her from leaving. Reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out a prescription container and proceeded to swallow some pills. Without water. Buffy wrinkled her nose–what normal person did that? “Just remember what I said, we greatly value education at Beacon Hills.” He stated as he placed a hand on her shoulder. It took all of her strength not to flinch. Whether it was slayer instinct or something else entirely, Gerard Argent set her on edge. He began to push her towards the door.

“Come dear.” 

She was too tense to even nod, only attempting a smile that turned more into a grimace. Unwilling to let him get completely behind her, Buffy kept her body angled towards Gerard as she side-stepped towards the door. Her attention was so wrapped up in the current situation she didn’t hear the shuffling and scuffling noises outside the door signaling others were waiting to speak with the Principal.

Quite nearly running backwards she collided with a hard object, maintaining her equilibrium by whirling around and stepping forward into another object–not quite as hard as the first. An instantaneous groaning sounded. 

Blinking quickly Buffy was horrified to realize that she hadn’t run into the door and wall as she initially expected. No, instead the hypervigilant girl saw two teenage boys. The first one who she hadn’t impacted nearly as hard was rubbing his chin as he stared at her in bewilderment. The second who she had quite literally bowled over was moaning on the floor clutching his nos and, to her horror, his hand filled with blood. Through watery eyes, the groaning teen stared at her blankly mirroring Buffy’s own blank stare.

Gerard chuckled.

Buffy had momentarily forgotten he was behind her. Not really knowing what else to do she squeaked out a quick “Sorry” and rushed off with her head down. 

Without stopping, Buffy quickly headed down the hallway. She had not been honest when she said she would be fine to get to class on her own. Beacon Hills High School was much larger than any of her previous schools and she was quickly becoming overwhelmed. Keeping her head and and feet moving proved to be a mistake as once again Buffy found herself slamming in to someone. Slayer reflexes did not always activate when she wanted them to.

“Watch it.” She heard a male voice snarl. Her brows wrinkled as she looked up into his snarling face not expecting such a reaction to barely clipping his shoulder. At least she hadn’t tossed him on the floor.

The guy held his shoulder as if in great pain, he was clearly milking the injury, Once he got a better look at who exactly had bumped into him he began to brush himself off as if contaminated.

“Aren’t you going to apologize?” He questioned, a condensing sneer upon his face. 

Buffy narrowed her eyes as she continued to stare at him. Still partially confused by the citation. Who exactly did this guy think he was? She might not be dressed to the nines–her clothes definitely screamed street urchin–but it hadn’t been purposeful. There was no visible damage either–unlike the poor guy from earlier. She grimaced remembering the pain both teens had seemed to be in. They deserved better apologies and Buffy hoped she would be able to rectify that. Or, never see them again. The later option was more appealing. 

“Hello, are you deaf?” Buffy came back to her senses realizing that she had still been staring off into space. He took a step closer, Buffy considered that to be a bit ironic considering he had just been acting as if she was diseased. 

“Jackson.” Buffy turned her head at the sound of the quivering voice. A red-headed girl, mascara covering her face due to recent tears, was tugging at the guy who she now knew to be Jackson.

“I don’t think I’m the one who needs to be apologizing.” It was possibly a step too far as she began to see figurative steam coming from Jackson’s nostrils. He took a step closer in what was an attempt to be menacing. Buffy internally snorted. As if she hadn’t dealt with worse than an egotistical fool. The red-heard whispered Jackson’s name again and this time was more successful in tugging him back.

No longer having the energy nor the desire to get inbetween Jackson and his wailing girlfriend (or so she assumed) Buffy continued to rush off. Jackson continued to shout at her in the background but she ignored it. Opening her mouth would have just made the situation a whole lot worse and she had no intention of being expelled on her first day. At least she made it to her first class, English, without any further issues.

Her first day could have been smoother but considering her track record it could have been a lot worse. Needless to say she was marginally surprised.

However, she knew it wouldn’t last.

In the world of Buffy Summers, the calm never lasted.

______________

“Are they saying he’s a suspect?” There were not many times that Stiles wished he was a werewolf. As great as it would be to have all of that power, agility, speedy healing, and good looks overnight, there were many cons to being a shapeshifter. 

Now, however, now was one of the times Stiles wished he had some of the traits. Such as advanced hearing.  Waiting for Scott to answer was torture to his hyperactive mind.

“I’m not sure why?” 

Without a doubt, Scott was Stiles’s best friend, but sometimes his obliviousness became irksome. 

It was good the two were walking, otherwise Stiles didn’t think he would be able to answer so calmly. Moving always helped him to think more clearly.

Because they can lock him in a holding cell for twenty-four hours.” This was obviously a huge problem but Scott was still not understanding.

“Like, overnight.”

Stiles grew more agitated as he ran his hand through his short hair. Growing his hair out had been a good idea. He shook his head to get his thoughts back into the problem at hand. He couldn’t help the fact his mind immediately filled with his own sarcastic voice ‘Yes Scott, twenty-four hours means overnight!” He at least had the self-control to refrain from stating the obvious.Instead he decided to try to make it even clearer for his friend

“During the full moon…” His voice trailed off as he noticed it was finally starting to click for Scott. The full moon was just another reason for his list of Why you shouldn’t be a werewolf.

“Are these cells good at holding people?”

Stiles waved his hand around “People. Good. Werewolves on the full moon. Not likely.” What was Scott thinking. It was if he completely forgot the power he had. 

Instead of shrugging it off, Scott became contemplatively “Remember when I said I didn’t have the urge to maim and kill?” Stiles stilled, hoping he didn’t know where this was going. Scott’s voice grew ominous “He does.” 

Reason number two not to become a werewolf—uncontrollable urge to maim and kill.

After a few moments Scott asked another question “Doesn’t being a teenager mean your Dad can’t hold him?”
Well, Stiles thought, at least Scott listened to him some of the time.

“Not unless they have solid evidence…or a witness. 

The relief was short-lived. The two friends soon realized that Jackson Whittemore was missing from class. Being he was the very bane of their existence this should have been a good thing–except for the fact that he was the neighbor of Isaac Lahey. This could not be good 

Before Scott could decide on a solution Stiles took matters into his own hand. Thus, they found themselves sitting outside of the Principal’s office. Mr. Harris had been all too willing to grant them detention when a wad of paper had been launched at him. Courtesy of Stiles. 

“What are they saying. Scott, can you hear them, what are they saying?” Scott’s face wore a bothered expression as he glanced at his friend. Stiles’s hand grasped his knee firmly in an effort to keep it from bouncing. His body tense, ready to spring into action at any moment. It wasn’t that there would be action to spring into, it was a result of Stiles’s natural state–motion. 

“No.” Scott replied gruffly as he attempted to filter out the sounds around them. 

Before Stiles could respond the door to an empty classroom opened revealing Sheirff Stilinski. In a pointless attempt at secrecy, Stiles covered his face in a magazine. As the Shieriff walked away both teens jumped up from their chair, hoping to confront Jackson. 

It was a mistake. 

Stiles heard Scott’s muffled yell of shock as the door to the Principal’s office opened and something slammed into them. Stiles, still partially in a forward momentum, was unable to stop himself in time and whatever had hit the werewolf beside him barreled into him as well. 

Stiles groaned as he collapsed to a heap on the cold floor, he was instantly hit was sharp pain across his face. He gently went to prod his nose in hopes that it wasn’t broken. The wetness coating his fingers only confirmed his fears as he realized his nose was bleeding profusely. A sensation of nausea joined the pain. What in the world did this?  

Stiles wondered, nearly allowed. His thoughts immediately went to the assumption that a werewolf, namely Isaac Lahey, had bumped into him. Either that or a person with line-backer proportions. Somehow he managed to open his watery eyes against the pain , he quickly glanced at Scott. The discomfort on his friends face only seemed to confirm his suspicions. 

When he managed to turn his head to the perpertraro, Stiles’s mouth fell open in disbelief and partial horror. It wasn’t Isaac Lahey and it certainly was not a linebacker. It who wasn’t even male.

“What the…” He managed to mutter. 

A petite girl dressed in oversized navy sweats stared at him in apparent horror before she muttered a quick “Sorry” and hurried off. 

Stiles locked eyes with Scott and the two stared at each other in bewilderment. He noticed Scott sniffing the air and he desparately wanted to ask him if he sensed another werwolf but their attention was diverted by more pressing matters. 

“Boys. Come on in.”

Namely, Gerard Argent.

Eyes wide, the strange girl was quickly forgotten as the grandfather hunter greeted them. Since when was he the Principal, Stiles really wanted to know who made this decisions. 

A few minutes later, both boys sat in front of Gerard.  The uncomfortable conversation between his Stiles’s best friend and the hunter– a man who gave Stiles the absolute creeps– had him slamming his head against a wall. Mentally, of course. His nose, which was still dripping blood, wouldn’t have been able to tolerate any more abuse. 

Instead, Stiles tapped his fingers on his leg in a syncopated rhythm. Repeatedly. 

Gerard smiled coldly, the affectation in his voice readily apparent as he spoke “However, this being my first day. I do need to support my teachers. So, unfortunately, someone is going to have to take the fall and stay behind for detention.” 

The meaning of the words went over Stiles’s head as he contemplated their next move. At least they did until both pairs of eyes swiveled to him. Stiles stilled. 

Sighing loudly, his body slumped in defeat wondering why it was always him who always seemed to get blamed. Scott got off “Scott-Free” but Stiles? Of course it was always him taking the fall.

Hours later, Stiles sat at a school desk. He eyed the clock over Mr. Harris’s face. Out of habit he went to rub his face only experience sharp pain from his broken nose. Gingerly he touched it to make sure it had not started to bleed again. Finally his time was up, he was free! 

“Sit.” The monosyllable word nearly caused the teen to be struck speechless, nearly.

“You can’t do that.”

Without looking up, the angry man that was Mr. Harris continued to explain he could keep Stiles as long as he wanted. Not wanting to test that possibility Stiles sat back down grimly. Much to the pleasure of Mr. Harris

__________

“Not cool man, not cool” 

Stiles Stilinski was far from happy as he answered his phone. Not one for patience, it was hard to make it through an entire school day. Add detention with his least favorite teacher while in pain from a smashed nose, it was not his day. Not to mention he was simultaneously missing out on all the werewolf action. 

“Harris just let me out.” His words came out in sharp breaths as he raced through the hallway to get to his jeep. “He took my phone, Scott, he took my phone.” 

The amount of missed calls and texts he found when he finally had access to his phone was staggering.

“And my nose hurts.” 

Even though his friend couldn’t see him, Scott rolled his eyes at Stiles’s antics. His friend could go on tangents like no-one else.

Cutting short what would have likely been another tangent Scott redirected Stiles

“Just get to the police department as soon as you can. We need to get to Isaac first.” 

Without missing a beat Stiles replied gruffly “Yeah, and I need ice.” 

It was a surrealistic feeling that this was their life. Only hours after leaving school as normal teenagers Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, and Allison Argent went from being normal teenagers to werewolves, hunters, and humans-with-supernatural-friends–then back again to trying to be normal teens. 

It was hard to figure out who they were. 

Once again trying to be a normal teen–or in Stiles’s case, a normal teen who knew too much–all three were back in school. 

Stiles stood in the gym contemplating many things as his ADHD whirled. He watched as Scott and Allison climbed the rock wall. It was obvious to anyone who looked at them to know that the two were infatuated with each other–if only they knew they were watching a real life Romeo and Juliet. Stiles rolled his eyes, the not-so-subtle constant flirting was sickening to watch “ Weren’t there more important things to worry about? More important to focus on than a relationship” he wondered. Unfortunately for Stiles, it really wan’t his day. Upon waking that morning, Stiles was surprised–and not–to find his face to be an external rainbow of his pain. Not only was his nose swollen it was macabre painting of blue, purple, and yellow. The bruising continued around his bloodshot eyes. He was doing his best not to touch his face. Scott only laughed at seeing him and Stiles was none to happy. 

His thoughts were interrupted when he caught sight of red-hair, or to be more specific, strawberry blonde hair. More important matters such as Lydia’s strange behavior. Considering last time someone had behaved atypical they turned out to be a werewolf, Stiles figured it was a good idea to be more concerned about Lydia. No one seemed to agree with him. If they did, they preferred other things to think about. 

Stiles would like to be in a relationship…

“STILINSKI!” The loud shout jolted Stiles from his thoughts of strawberry blonde and back into awareness of the present moment. Gym class. 

“What coach?”

Coach Finstock glared at the teenager “Stilinski! Delinquents all of you!” He gestured to another student who was already getting into the harness.

Right. Stiles remembered, he was in school and supposed to participate. 

“You’re up with Summers! Now get in there before I put you in the harness myself.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows “Is that legal?” 

Coach Finstock’s glare only intensified as he gestured angrily towards the rock wall. 

Classmates snickered as Stiles stumbled over to the wall–it was unclear if it was his expense or Coach’s, knowing his classmates, probably both. 

Stiles struggled to get himself into the harness, it was harder than it looked. His struggles gave him time to look at the girl he was partnered with. She was tapping her worn sneakers impatiently as she stared at the rock wall in front of her. Stiles’s eyes narrowed, she looked vaguely familiar but he had no idea why. Dressed in a monochrome gray outfit, the oversized sweatpants and sweatshirt only made her petite frame appear smaller. Dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her appearance seemed to say Don’t look at me, don’t notice me. Stiles couldn’t help but be more interested. 

He finally managed to fumble his way into the harness and made it to the wall.

“Hey, do I know you?” Stiles was not one to have the self control to think before speaking. The girl shrugged in response, basically ignoring him.

“You look familiar.” Despite the fact he had been dismissed so easily, Stiles continued to say whatever came to his mind.

Finally, the girl turned her face towards him. Her eyebrows scrunched together causing her nose to wrinkle. If it wasn’t for the fact that Stiles had so much on his mind–Lydia foremost–he might have thought it rather cute. As it was, he wasn’t always very self aware. 

Pausing briefly as if trying to remember something her face brightened before quickly smiling, chagrined. 

“I think I should apologize, sorry for the other day.” Her words were quickly followed by a grimace as she stared at his face. “That looks painful.”

By this point both teens were midway up the rock wall before it hit Stiles as to why she appeared so familiar. 

“YOU! It was you! How? This hurts!” 

Stiles couldn’t believe that this slight girl was the one that had caused him such pain and mortification. Mortification only increased that it was a girl that had managed to nearly break his face.

Before she could respond Coach Stilinski’s irritated voice interrupted “Stilinski, shut up and keep climbing. Summers, I know that your new here and a girl but try to keep up, who cares if your nails get messed up!” 

Stiles shook his head as the girl beside him grumbled as she began to climb again. He hadn’t even noticed that they had stopped climbing. 

“Sorry about him.” Stiles said. She paused again “Sorry about your face…I ugh, was in a bit of a rush.” 

Stiles shrugged, “Running from the Principal?”

“He gave me the creeps. But if that’s the worse I have to deal with fine by me.” 

Stiles internally smirked at the comment. He was a bit surprised that the girl was intuitive enough to notice that something wasn’t quite right with Gerard Argent. Of course, the man was naturally creepy. At least this girl didn’t have to deal with moonlight monsters he thought. 

The girl began to climb faster and Stiles struggled to keep up. By the time they reached the top he was sweating and breathing a bit faster than usual. Being that he did have to run from moonlight monsters he figured he should start working on his escape skills. 

He narrowed his eyes at the girl beside it, she seemed oddly unaffected.

“You used to climbing?” His mouth hung open as he panted, maybe it was just the throbbing in his face that made the climb so hard.

“You could say that I guess.” Stiles had the distinct feeling he was missing an inside joke. “Either that or your on the boys wrestling team.” He immediately bit his tongue. Stiles figured most girls would not appreciate being compared to guys in that way, his brain and mouth didn’t always compute. He was more than a bit surprised when she snickered before her face took on the faraway apathetic look it had had prior. 

“Cheerleader.” With that she pushed off of the wall and made her way back down to the ground..Stiles followed after vaguely wondering if he had offended her more than he thought. 

Stiles shrugged off the harness and handed it to the next classmate. Before he could say anything else the girl had once again disappeared somewhere into the crowd of students.. He tapped his fingers on his pants in a staccato rhythm hoping to get a sight of her, he hadn’t even gotten her first name. She was interesting, he would give her that much. 

His attention was diverted from his search as chaos began to erupt at the rock wall. One of his classmates, Erica Reyes, was having trouble. Is was soon discovered that the poor girl had epilepsy and with her panic was nearing an episode. It was clear that no one really knew what to do. 

As soon as Erica made it safely to the ground, Coach Finstock dismissed everyone from class a few minutes early. Scott and Stiles made there way into the locker rooms to change out of their gym clothes. 

“Dude, your face still looks awful.” Stiles frowned, “I’m well aware. I don’t have werewolf healing like you Scott!” Scott just shrugged, “Still.” Stiles rolled his eyes as he began to talk of other things. Before long he began to realize his friend was no longer paying attention. “Are you even listening to me?” He questioned becoming a bit perturbed how much Scott was in his own little world. It would be nice if he included Stiles , Stiles thought. Stiles took a closer look at his friend only to notice the tremors in his hands that were quickly turning into full blown shaking. 

______________________

Watching someone struggle when she could do something about it was not something that Buffy Summers was comfortable with. It was even worse when she was powerless to do anything.

All the students around her were snickering, mocking the distressed teen who was clearly panicking on the rock wall.

What could she do? 

Maintaining a low profile was her main priority in Beacon Hills. If she needed to slay something she would, but she would do her best not to get anyone else involved. She debated climbing the wall to carry the girl down but that would clearly raise more questions than Buffy had the energy to deal with. 

No friends, no heroics, and as much as she could possibly help it unless absolutely necessary–no slaying.

This had been her plan in Sunnydale, but it clearly hadn’t worked. She had made friends, saved people–saved the world–and what did it do? It nearly destroyed her. Not so much as look I died, in some ways Buffy wondered if that alternative would have been better. This life really wasn’t living. After Angel…she closed her eyes tightly as tears began to form underneath her eyelids. It wasn’t only that but her mother, her friends, how her watcher looked at her. Buffy could only hope that it would be different in Beacon Hills.

Based on the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right in this town she wasn’t so sure if she could stick to the plan. It was a nagging feeling in her body, her slaying senses, that the normality wouldn’t last. Buffy shook off the feeling telling herself she was just too worked up and that Beacon Hills was not a Hellmouth–she wasn’t in Cleveland–and that there was no evidence she had seen of vampires. 

When they were finally dismissed from gym class, Buffy began to make her way to the restroom. She knew that the girls locker rooms were in the opposite direction but she didn’t feel like dealing with more people. The poor kid who’s face she smashed was enough for the day. She couldn’t really even make herself feel bad about dismissing the teen. It was better off for him if he stayed out of her life.

It wasn’t long before the nagging feeling became ten times stronger. Something was telling her to go back to the gym. Torn, Buffy figured it couldn’t hurt. Whirling around she rapidly began to jog back to the gym, Something wasn’t right. 

Catching sight of something in the gym, Buffy picked up her pace. 

Erica was attempting to climb the rock wall. She had no harness on and the safety mat had been pushed off to the side. If she feel she would be severely injured. Buffy watched in horror as the girl began to fall, she was too far away to do anything and she berated herself for ignoring her slayer senses. 

Before Erica hit the floor, a dark haired teen somehow managed to catch the blonde before placing her on the safety mat. 

Buffy narrowed her eyes, it was the other teen she had knocked into the other day. She could see a very slight bruise underneath his chin but otherwise he looked perfectly fine. She must not have hit him as hard as his poor friend. 

Buffy crept closer to the dark-haired teen and the prone Erica as she began to seize. 

More people began to crowd around the gym and Buffy wanted to shout to give her space but she kept silent. He teen who had saved Erica was joined by a dark haired girl, she clutched as his hand and Buffy figured it was probably his girl-friend. The dark-haired girl whispered to the boy  “How did you know?” Buffy narrowed her eyes. He responded in an even more puzzling manner “I just felt it.” 

Feeling eyes on her Buffy turned her head to the kid next to the hero —it would be so much easier if she knew their names–she realized it was the same one who she had climbed the rock wall with. He seemed to know that Buffy had heard what was probably meant to be a private conversation and his eyes narrowed as he eyed her warily. 

That was odd she thought. 

When the commotion finally died down and Erica was rushed to the hospital Buffy noticed that the three teens were shooting her anxious glances. Something was definitely up and a large part of her wanted to know what it was. ‘Nope’ she told herself ‘Stay out of it Buffy, you are not getting involved. Be normal.’ She repeated the words over and over in her head like a mantra.

“...I have searched the world for you! To bring you you’re birthright…there isn’t much time, your destiny awaits!...trained five slayers…i saw them ripped apart…” Trying to suppress everything was too much. Buffy’s thoughts whirled in her head and nothing she could do blocked them out. Sinking to the floor of the gym, Buffy clutched at her head. The mental agony causing near physical pain. It had been so long since she had thought of Merrick, heard his voice, she was not prepared to be assaulted by the memory of her first learning she was the slayer. It didn’t matter what she wanted, it didn’t matter how far she ran. Buffy was The Slayer, the chosen one, there was nothing she could do to change it. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: ENTROPY

“Hey, are you, are you alright?” Buffy’s body jerked violently from her position on the floor as she felt a hand touch her shoulder. Green eyes opening wide, she found herself staring back into a pair of blue ones. Despite hearing a note of concern in the guy’s voice, his face told a different story. Buffy had the distinct feeling she was being assessed–as if he was asking about her well-being out of curiosity instead of concern. Scrambling to sit up right she knocked into his hand which she belatedly realized held a camera. Managing to catch it before it could hit the floor, Buffy handed it back up to him before continuing to stand upright. This school seemed determined to make her appear a horrendous klutz. 

“Sorry” she said sheepishly. The guy stared back at her a moment longer and Buffy shifted from foot to foot

“It’s fine.” The guy shrugged as he placed the camera back into his bag, Buffy’s eyes narrowed at it but he interrupted her thoughts. “You okay?” 

“Hmm? Oh...yeah…just.” It was Buffy’s turn to shrug as she wracked her brain for a plausible explanation as to why she had been huddled on the floor. Saying she had had a breakdown because she was “ The Chosen One™” and her life was a complete and utter mess…or the other idea that she had been hearing voices. Neither option would come across as sane and she had no intention of visiting the psych ward a second time. Noticing the silence had stretched on for a bit too long, Buffy fake stumbled as she held a hand to her head. “Low blood sugar. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” That much was true, the best lies were always the ones closest to the truth. The guy continued to stare at her a moment longer–assessing her. “Do you need the nurse? I can show…”
Buffy shook her head “No, no, all good. I’ll drink some juice and be all energizer Buffy again.” At the resulting grin she received Buffy winced. Apparently her brain was even more haywire than usual. 

“Well Buffy, I’m Matt. You’re new?” 

Buffy shook her head as she shook the hand in front of her, Matt’s hand. “That obvious?” Matt shrugged, “We don’t get many new residents in Beacon Hills. We notice unfamiliar faces.” Buffy nodded, it seemed plausible enough. She briefly wondered why Matt was continuing to stare at her, that was until she realized she still held is hand. Buffy grimaced as Matt winced, she hadn’t meant to grip it quite so hard before letting go and wiping the sweaty hand on her track suit.

“Sorry…again.”

Matt’s eyebrows raised “Strong grip you have.” Buffy had the distinct impression that the statement held a question behind it. However, she had more than had enough of this conversation and the adrenaline was once again building inside of her. If she didn’t leave now she might end up punching some lockers. Of course, her plan was to not fulfill any more slayer duties. Which unfortunately meant she had no way as of yet to get the pent up energy out of her. Unless she wanted to punch some lockers. 

Realizing that they had once again descended into awkward silence. This time Matt took the initiative, “So, I have to get back to class. What class do you have next?” Buffy shrugged, “Ah, homeroom. I think.” Buffy most certainly did not have homeroom, in fact, she was quite certain she had missed the class she was supposed to be in at this point. What did it matter if she missed the next one? “See you later.” Before Matt could protest, Buffy waved a quick good bye and headed out. Hopeful that Marin wouldn’t notice her delinquency. 

______

That evening Marin eyes her warily “How did you enjoy your first day?” The clinking of cutlery was the only sound that could be heard as Buffy contemplated how to respond to the seemingly innocuous question. She shrugged. 

“I heard you skipped class Buffy. That’s not a good way to start out. I expected it, but not on your first day.” 

The accusation stung, for all the benevolence Ms. Morrell showed her, she didn’t know. Couldn’t truly understand how Buffy felt. How could she? Buffy wondered. Knowing monsters are real and that YOU and you ALONE have the power and responsibility to stop them. 

“I’m sorry.” Dull and lifeless Buffy stared at her plate. “A girl in gym class–Erica I think__ had a seizure today in front of nearly the entire school. I think it sort of triggered a panic attack. In my previous school we had some incidents that were similar and it brought too many memories up.” Buffy was a master in half truths and leaving out details that would make the supernatural seem the only possibility. She had to be when she lived with her mother. Of course, she couldn’t keep up the facade for long, she hated the lies and deception but had no other choice. “Anyhow, one of the students found me on the floor.” Buffy smiled wryly at Ms. Morrell’s blank stare. “Didn’t feel up for class after that so I went to the library to study.” She went into the bathroom to study but that would have been far too odd to say. Buffy wasn’t ready for libraries. 

“I see. The student who found you…” Don’t think anyone saw me in the library, I didn’t talk to anyone, I’m new so.” Buffy shrugged “Don’t believe me ask Matt, he’s the one who found me on the floor.”

It was clear that her host was not really believing her story, you would think being a guidance counselor she would have more sympathy. Then again, Buffy vividly remembers people she was always lumped in with Sheila when her reasons were entirely different.

“I guess we will just have to change that. I am sorry that you had to have an experience like that. However, you should have come to my office. I spoke with my brother today, we both agree that it would be good for you to get out a bit, interact with people. Initially I was thinking next week, but I think the sooner the better. Tomorrow you can start working with Alan at his veterinary clinic. It will be an opportunity to feel what it is to have responsibility.” Buffy internally scoffed. 

As Marin observed the clearly frustrated girl she really did not know what to make of her. She knew she was being pushy, she really did not know what trauma Buffy had gone through–if any–and this was not how she would typically handle such a situation but she didn’t think she had an option. Based on what she could find regarding the girl’s sketchy track record Marin could not afford her ward getting into that kind of trouble. Especially in a town like Beacon Hills. At least work would provide the girl with a sense of responsibility and hopefully discourage her from getting into trouble. It was something every teen needed.

She waited a moment and when Buffy did not respond she raised an eyebrow.

“Alright.” Buffy sunk in her chair, worn out and defeated with no energy left to ask for just a few more days to settle. In some ways she supposed working would be better than wallowing. 

Marin nodded, accepting the girl’s acceptance, no matter how reluctant. What Marin didn’t know was that every teen was not Buffy. More responsibility was not something the girl needed. Indeed, it could just get her killed. Unfortunately Marin didn’t know and perhaps if she had would have given the girl a bit more grace.

“Alan has an assistant. He’s about your age. You’ll probably meet him tomorrow.” Buffy nodded, she was starting to feel like a bobble-head doll. “Tomorrow.” 

At this point, all the girl wanted to do was to crawl into bed, tomorrow would come when it did. 

________

“Not good man, not good. She definitely heard you!” Despite the noise in  

the cafeteria, Stiles was doing his best to remain as quiet and as calm as possible so as not to draw more attention to themselves. Despite his supersenses, It was extremely difficult to capture his best friend’s attention when it didn’t revolve around Allison. Or more likely he was too busy staring at the girl to pay Stiles any attention. Stiles continued anyway “She was right there, and you were right there, and whatever you said she heard you. Now she keeps giving you, and me, these odd looks. We have a problem man.” He started waving his hands around “what did you say to Allison?” Based on her reaction, the Summer’s girl definitely seemed to have heard something she shouldn’t have heard. “Allison, where?” Stiles scoffed internally, earlier point proven.  Of course that caught Scott’s attention. Just say the girl’s name and Scott’s super-sonic hearing activated. “Were you even listening to me? Allison is the least of our growing list of problems.” Stiles gestured with his hands to show how large the problem was. As Scott stared away from him and gave no notice of having heard anything further Stiles glanced in the same direction. Expecting to see Allison, Stiles’s eyes grew wide as saw Erica. Lydia slammed her hands down on the table causing both boys to jump. Since when did Lydia come near him and Scott so willingly . “What in the world, is that!”

Both boys immediately raced after the completely transformed teen girl that just screamed Werewolf Vixen. 

By the time they made it outside of the school building it was much too late. There was Erica getting into the shining Camaro of Derek Hale. Stiles ground his teeth in frustration at the smug expression on Derek’s face. He felt ready to knock the shades right of his werewolf face–that was if he had a death wish. Something Stiles, despite his propensity to get into trouble, did not at all have.

As the two boys walked beside each other back into the school building Stiles’s boy twitched with anxiety he was desperately trying to suppress. Scott’s senses were either not yet attuned to stress chemo-signals his friend reeked of, or was too overwhelmed with everything else to notice.

“Scott, remember what I was saying earlier? Now we have another problem.”

Without looking up Scott nodded “I know man, I know. I don’t know what Derek is thinking. First Isaac, now Erica, who next?” He nearly punched another locker in his growing frustration.

“Not Derek dude. I mean yes, that is another problem on this list that keep growing. I mean come on Scott, I told you Derek has issues since day one. I’m talking about the new girl, Summers, first name to be determined. The one that keeps giving us odd looks every time we pass each other in the hallway. What were you and Allison talking about when you caught Erica?”

Scott furrowed his brow, while the two teens were best friends since forever, there were still many a time that Scott could not keep up with how fast Stiles brain and mouth worked. This was certainly one of those times. At this point, Scott wasn’t even sure what they were talking about. So he replied in the most epic way possible “What?”

Stiles head jerked backwards and forwards “Dude, you don’t even know what I’m talking about.” He threw his hands up in the air. “Erica?” 

“No! Not Erica! I mean yes…but no. The new girl, Summers, she definitely heard whatever Allison and you were talking about when Erica had her seizure.” Stiles was exasperated. Did Scott not take this seriously?

“New girl, broke my face…”

Maybe it was his preoccupation with everything werewolf, his concern for Scott’s safety and inattention, or maybe something with Lydia, for whatever reason Stiles had completely tuned out his surroundings. Despite being able to focus on many things at once and hyper focus when needed, his brain did not recognize proprioception as important. 

Before Scott could stop him, Stiles once again found himself on the floor, sharp pain on his nose, after barreling into an object. He couldn’t believe it, his face had only just stopped hurting and it was now once again throbbing. Unlike the last time, Stiles had landed on top of something, or rather, someone. However, the poor kid was in too much pain to register the warm creature underneath him “Ow, ow, ow, ow.” The poor teen repeated over and over again. “Scott help me up!” Eyes closed tightly from the smarting pain in his face, Stiles reached around blindly, limbs flailing still not registering.

“Uh Stiles.” Before he could open his eyes a new voice spoke, one that set the hairs on the back of his neck to full attention.

“Just get him off me. Please. Now.” The feminine voice, gruff with agitation, made him freeze. It couldn’t be. Finally daring to open his eyes, his gaze drifted to the green ones directly in front of him. Those wide green eyes sparkled with mischief before closing off into blankness. Windows firmly shut and shaded.

Stiles scrambled to get up, in his haste, he drove his knee directly into the girl’s stomach. She groaned and he muttered hasty apologies. Scott helped her up just at the same time he managed to stand. Stiles felt like pinching himself as he stared back at the girl he had just been discussing with Scott–Summers.

“I guess I may have deserved that.” She stated wryly as she brushed off the back of her pants. Still in shock, Stiles looked her up and down “Summers?” At the partial question, partial statement, Summers noticeable stiffened, before relaxing and shrugging. “It’s Buffy actually.”

Scot held out his hand. “Scott.” Summer shook it rather timidly before offering her hand to Stiles who was still processing the situation. “Is that a nickname?” He blurted, ignoring the hand held out in front of him.

The girl shook her head, “No, it’s my name.” “What kind of name is Buffy?” Stiles interrupted, apparently unable to put any sort of filter between his brain and his mouth. 

Buffy had known that it seemed her day had been going a bit too well. In an effort to appear more “responsible” she had somehow managed to wrestle her hair into two French braids and make it through the school day without incident. Or at least, up until now she had. Murphy’s law, or what she had now started to think of as Buffy’s Law had started to go into effect

Buffy narrowed her eyes, who did this kid think he is. Granted she had initially knocked him over, but just now he had completely bowled her over and had the gall to mock her name. It was quite possible she had a bit of an anger issue at the moment considering she did not have a suitable outlet. Something she refused to acknowledge. 

“What kind of name is Stiles?” She dragged out the name slowly, testing.

“It’s a nickname.” Stiles fired back. Two could play the game he thought. 

Eyebrows raised, Buffy stared at him as she tried to figure out what kind of name would have Stiles as a nickname. She couldn’t think of any.

“So, what’s your name then?” She crossed her arms over her chest. Still aware that the kid who was named Scott was gaping at her and his friend.

Stiles huffed. “Fair point. Nice to meet you Buffy.” This time, he managed to shake the girl’s hand. He had to keep from wincing as he inconspicuously shook out his fingers at her surprisingly strong grip. Buffy may have purposely put a little extra strength to her handshake than she did with Scott. As innocuous as she wished to remain, Buffy also did not want to appear to be a pushover and she certainly didn’t take too kindly to those who mocked her name. 

“So you’re new in Beacon Hills?” Scott questioned, already knowing the answer. Buffy nodded, but before she could reply Stiles jumped in “So what you think? Anything seem unusual or you know..” Buffy’s eyes grew wide, not quite certain where the conversation was going. Before he could dig himself an even bigger whole, Scott placed his hand firmly on his friends shoulder “What Stiles means is what brings you here?”

Buffy eyed them warily, “Nothing specific.” She stiffened and closed off once more before shaking herself as if chilled. Answering the question are you new? Was easy, as to why she was there. That question became exponentially more difficult to answer “Look I have to get back to class. Nice meeting you.” Without another word she turned around and sped down the hallway. Arms hugging herself tightly and head down.

“Well, that was odd.” Stiles remarked as he watched her walk away trying to figure out why she had made such a quick exit. It made him suspicious. Scott just rolled his eyes “So, about Derek..” he tried, Just like that, Stiles’s brain shut off Buffy Summers and moved on to a different topic.

As if he was just recognizing it had been discussed Scott turned towards his friend. “Stiles, what is your actual name?” Stiles didn’t answer right away. When he finally did, he shifted the conversation away and towards Derek Hale.

___________

Buffy Summers was not happy. As soon as Ms. Morrell picked her up from school she was told that they would be heading to the veterinary clinic for Buffy’s first day of work. “How many days a week will I be at the vet clinic?” She inquired as nonchalantly as possible. Marin wasn’t fooled. She knew that the girl did not seem at all thrilled when they had previously discussed the requirements of her stay in Beacon Hills. For whatever reason, Marin was going against every thought that she should just call some social workers and have Buffy shipped back home. The only thing stopping her was her brother and his feelings. That, and a deep buried instinct inside Marin told her to give the girl a chance. 

“This isn’t up for discussion.” Marin stated. “I have things, work, to get done, and I need you to be accounted for. I believe we talked about this.” There was no way Marin was going to allow the girl to stay at her house doing who knows what when she had emissary duties. Duties she needed to keep Buffy away from. 

Buffy let out a breath “I understand.” She stated in a way that said she really didn’t. Buffy knew that Ms. Morrell had no reason to trust her. No reason to take her in at all. Still, it stung that they was sent to practically do community service when she had already served the community. Just secretly and at great personal cost. 

She guessed it couldn’t be helped. Looking down Buffy saw the worn sneakers on her feet. If anything, she hoped that she would be paid for working, she could desperately use some new clothes. 

_______

Mindlessly, he dropped the jar he was holding. The jar landed on the floor with a startling crack, glass shattering into a million shards upon impact. Scott let out a weary sigh.

At the noise, Deaton looked up from the paperwork he was filling out. It wasn’t like Scott to be so careless. Deaton’s eyebrows furrowed, the boy was clearly troubled by something and he needed to know what it was. 

“Seems like you have a lot on his mind.” He said, a bit cautiously, aware that Scott would not want to open up, especially if his concerns were at all to do about the supernatural. 

Scott glanced at his boss before looking away. He seemed to struggle for a minute, debating with himself how to answer “It seems like everything is just slipping through my fingers.” He stated dramatically as he started to pick up the multiple pieces of glass. Both Deaton and Scott knew that the effort would be futile. 

Growing concerned, Deaton continued to eye his young employee “Now that seems like too much of a world weary thing for a teenager to say.” What went unstated was that teenagers often threw things out of proportion. In Scott’s case however, Deaton was quite certain he may not even be fully aware of how world weary the world truly was.

Scott simply shrugged in reply. What would his boss, a veterinarian, know about werewolves and everything else that went along with it. 

As this seemed to be going nowhere, at least not in the direction it needed to, Deaton decided to try a different approach.

“You might want to try a different perspective.” He stated calmly, catching the boys attention almost immediately “This is just entropy at work.” At Scott’s blank look, Deaton continued as he gestured toward the fallen jar “This is more the natural way of the universe.” This time Scott’s face changed to one of near agony, before he could start wallowing Deaton hurried on “But it doesn’t necessarily mean it is falling apart. It’s just–changing shape.”

“For better or worse?” Scott asked, now more confused than ever. How would it help him if things changed consistently for the worse?

“Exactly.” Deaton replied rather mysteriously, a slight smile on his face. It wouldn’t do to go to much more in depth with the conversation. Although the two needed to talk amongst themselves, there wasn’t time. Not when Deaton’s sister started meddling with his affairs.

At the seeming end of the conversation Scott wasn’t quite sure what to think. He supposed it was not the most peppy of pep talks, but maybe it helped a small margin. As he attempted to question his boss further, Deaton shut him down.

At least the kid got a raise. 

After a few more moments of dithering, Deaton changed the subject completely “Ready to start cleaning some cat cages?”

Scott’s only response was a nod. 

“And Scott…” Scott turned his head away from the glass shards he was scooping up. He saw a look on the boss’s face he didn’t often see. Deaton’s face appeared as if he didn’t quite know how to say what he wanted to say. Scott waited until he finally came to a decision.

“I have a new, assistant of sorts. Really a favor to my sister.” That was news to Scott, he never knew that his boss had a sister, then again, he didn’t know all too much of his personal life. “They’re expected here soon so you should have some help with cleaning the cages.” Scott nodded to show he understood. He was secretly grateful that someone would be assisting him with the cat cages. Ever since becoming a werewolf, those of the feline persuasion were much less friendly with him. While he healed nearly immediately, he still didn’t like the feeling of scratches and bites. Another hand would be much appreciated.

A soft bling was heard and Deaton glanced at his phone. “Well, she’s in the back.” 

For the first time, the teen werewolf looked completely started

 “She?”  

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: ELECTRIC

Derek looked at the three teens surrounding him. 

Never in his wildest imagination did he think he’d be here— babysitting teenagers . Not. Even. Once. 

There had been a time that Derek had been popular with his peers. A time when he had a family. A time that he belonged to something. That was another life. A better one. You don’t truly know what you have until you lose it. Now he had this: peeling industrial walls, flickering fluorescent lights, and three emotionally unstable werewolves who looked to him like he had answers. Like he had a plan.

He grunted. In some ways he felt like he had more than he deserved. 

Derek looked at those he was surrounded with. 

Erica was rolling her eyes with all the dramatic flair of someone who was not only confident in her own skin but believed everyone else thought she was too. She popped a green grape into her mouth as she lounged back across the arm of the couch like she owned the world. Isaac lingered near the far wall, posture defensive, face closed off—like one loud noise would send him bolting. Boyd stood closest to the door, arms folded, steady and silent. Always watching. Like he was still deciding if this was where he wanted to be.

The loft buzzed with unspoken tension.

“I’m not doing this to play savior,” Derek said at last. His voice was low, but it cut clean. “This isn’t charity.” 

“No one said it was,” Erica replied, arching a brow as she chewed–slowly, her smirk unapologetically smug. She shook her head, blonde hair cascading over her leather clas shoulders. 

Boyd shot her a look, the bite had seemingly changed his best friend’s personality and he wasn’t quite sure if he like it. He turned back towards Derek. “Doesn’t mean we don’t wonder.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “Wonder what?”

“If you regret it,” Boyd said simply. “Turning them. Will you regret turning me?” 

Isaac flinched—not visibly, but enough that Derek noticed. The kid was still raw. Still hiding bruises that no longer existed. Out of the three before him, Isaac was the one he was most happy he had decided to give the choice of the bite. No one should ever be in the position he had been in. 

Derek exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp, as he considered Boyd’s words.  Everyone always asked the wrong questions. He didn’t regret giving them the bite. He regretted a hundred other things—Laura, Kate, the fire—but never the bite.

“I don’t regret it,” he said gruffly. Then, sharper: “But I didn’t pick you because I felt sorry for you.” This was only partially true. If these three had had a wonderful perfect existence he would never have offered. “I offered it to you because you needed it. Not everyone needs it.” 

The silence that followed wasn’t relieved. If anything, it thickened. Derek wondered if he possibly went too far but shoved the thought away. He had to mean what he said. 

Erica stretched again. “Besides,” she said, just a tad too casually as if she was afraid of upsetting a delicate balance “you might have more options soon.”

Derek’s head snapped toward her. “What do you mean?” He was still undecided on expanding the pack. More members meant more strength. But also more risk. More people to train. To lose. Still, it would help to have options. 

“New girl,” Erica said, twirling the stem of the grape between her fingers like it was a blade. “A tiny blonde, she’s a bit mangy, like a lost puppy. Could use a bit of firing up.” 

Derek’s jaw tightened. They’d noticed her. That was dangerous. He needed control—not teenage wolves recruiting on instinct. Especially if they were choosing weak kids who could turn into omega’s. That wouldn’t help his pack. He had made sure all three of those he had chosen had something that spoke to internal fire. 

Boyd gave a small nod. “She’s not scared. Doesn’t talk much. Watches everything.”

Now that was interesting , Derek thought but his words said something else. “You don’t know anything about her,” he said, clipped. He needed to keep control. 

“We didn’t know anything about each other either,” Erica countered, cool and unconcerned. Only partially true, Derek knew a lot more than people thought he did. There was a lot you could learn from heartbeats and chemosignals. 

“She’s probably just new,” Derek snapped. “Not everyone’s looking to be saved.”

“She didn’t look like someone who needed saving,” Boyd muttered, low but sure.

That gave Derek pause.

Boyd was careful with his words. Deliberate. If he said the girl didn’t look like prey, then she wasn’t.  But Derek shook it off. Too many unknowns already. 

“Forget her,” he ordered calmly. “Focus on yourselves. Power without control is a liability. I’m not turning anyone else until I know you’re all in control.”

The finality in his voice left no room for argument.

Boyd didn’t push it. Erica popped another grape like she was swallowing her boredom. Isaac kept his gaze on the floor, chewing at his thumbnail.

Derek turned to the window, hands braced against the steel frame. The streetlights glared back at him through the glass, harsh and lonely.

He didn’t need another complication.

He already had three.

________

Just how she wanted to spend her evenings in Beacon Hills. Just because the girl was used to dealing with unusual creatures as her duty did not mean it was in anyway pleasurable. Especially when said creatures were fuzzy and fragile. No frustration could be taken out on little kittens. 

Buffy eyes the foul smelling cages warily, she didn’t want to touch them with a ten foot pole let alone her hands. Fumbling through her pockets, she almost sighed with delight when she felt a hair tie. There was no way her hair was getting anywhere near this stuff. 

Ms. Morrell had dropped Buffy at the back of the clinic, telling her she would text Dr. Deaton and let her know she had arrived. It had only been a few minutes of waiting when Buffy heard the front door bell. Figuring Deaton had been distracted with a patient, Buffy was going to make her presence know. It would at least give her an excuse to get away from the cages. However, at the sound of a familiar voice Buffy paused. She had no idea that the kid from school, Scott she thought his name was had come to the clinic on her first day. Not meaning to be nosy but unable to help it due to enhanced hearing. She gathered that Scott would be working with her as an employee and that Deaton obviously had no idea how to handle teenagers. I mean, honestly, what trouble could Scott be going through? That, and Deaton didn’t seem all too forthcoming based on the fact he waited until the end to let Scott know that someone else had probably heard the entire conversation. Then again, neither probably expected Buffy to have heard anything considering most people wouldn’t. Still, she hated to appear nosy. 

“Buffy?” Scott’s eyes went wide when he spotted the girl standing just behind the animal cages. To say he was surprised would have been an understatement. The teen wasn’t really clear on who the new employee of Deaton’s would be. Considering he had just received a raise and the clinic wasn’t that busy. Well, he didn’t even think his boss was considering hiring someone else. 

“Hi Scott.” The girl in question responded rather weakly. She gave a slight wave before glancing towards Deaton and back to the floor. It was clear she was a bit uncomfortable with the current situation. 

Scott was still staring at her with open brown eyes. 

When the quietness seemed like it would go on forever Deaton finally intervened. Clearing his throat he eyed the two teens. “I see you two have already met.” If Deaton was surprised by this he didn’t show it. “Scott, Buffy will be helping us out in the clinic a few evenings a week, mainly with clean up for now until she gets some experience.

Buffy returned the statement with a single nod, still majorly unhappy with the situation but unable to show it. 

“Well, I’m out for the night. Scott will show you what to do.” With that, Deaton left the two teens once again to an awkward silence.

“So, you like animals?” Scott’s attempt at congeniality fell a bit flat. Buffy shrugged before scowling. “Cute fuzzy kittens? Yes. Cleaning cages…I’m not particularly in to.” Scott was beginning to wonder why someone with so much contempt for dirty animal cages would choose to work in a vet clinic but he didn’t comment on it. Trying for levity he rubbed the back of his neck “It’s not so bad. This way.” He gestured towards the cleaning supplies.

“You say that now, wait until one of them throws up all over you.” Buffy snapped on the gloves with practiced ease, clearly not thrilled by the task. She eyed the crates with distaste. Demon guts were bad enough. “It usually happens right after you think, ‘Oh good, the worst is over.’ But nope. The worst just keeps on giving…”

Scott winced. “Yeah, that definitely happens more often than I’d like.” He motioned toward a hissing cat in a corner crate. “Any plans?”

“Pro tip—don’t open it slowly. You want to move fast.” Buffy stepped closer to the cage, then glanced sideways at him. “Be ready to duck, grab, or st—stay put.” She fumbled the word, irritation flickering in her eyes at the near slip. Stake wasn’t exactly casual vocabulary here.

Scott gave her a look. “I thought you didn’t have much experience with animals?”

“I don’t,” Buffy shrugged, she didn’t not unless you considered demons animals. She crouched down like she was preparing for a strike. “But I’ve cleaned up after things that hiss and bleed acid, so I’ve picked up a few tricks.”

“…Bleed acid?”

She didn’t answer. Just gave him a vague, one-shouldered shrug like that wasn’t even the weirdest part.

Trying to divert attention, Buffy tossed a grimy towel into the laundry bin. “And always check under the blankets,” she added grimly. Nose furrowed in distaste. 

Scott blinked. “What?”

“One time, I thought I was done with cleanup, turned around, and stepped in a pile of goo that moved. So. Blanket checks. Always.” 

Scott raised his eyebrows. “You’ve had some weird jobs.”

“You have no idea,” Buffy muttered, but her voice was lighter this time. Almost amused. Still, Scott had a talent for missing red flags when people smiled at him. So he let it go, chalking it up to another quirk.

After a bit, Buffy fell quiet.
Only the sound of animals and spray bottles could be heard. Somewhere in the back, a dog gave a soft, restless bark, and the faint hum of the fridge blended into the sterile hush of the clinic.

Scott continued to watch her. Her shoulders had dropped slightly, and her eyes—bright and wary earlier—had grown tired and drawn. Like something heavy was pressing behind them. He wasn’t sure if he should say something or remain quiet. He grinned internally when he thought of his experience with his other friends. Namely Stiles, who just couldn’t seem to stop talking, ever. The silence here felt unfamiliar—but not bad, necessarily. Just… different.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally clearing his throat.

Buffy didn’t miss it. Her gaze flicked toward him, and she narrowed her eyes, catching the way he fidgeted. It was clear he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. He was not very subtle.

“Yes?” she inquired, disturbing the stillness of the room.

“Are you okay?” Scott finally asked.

Buffy grinned, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She turned her head away from his watchful gaze, refusing to meet his eyes directly.

“I’m fine,” she said nonchalantly. The words were smooth, practiced. But despite the carefree tone and casual shrug of her shoulders, Scott picked up on the slightest blip in her heartbeat—a subtle stutter. Just enough to make him pause. She wasn’t entirely fine. But who was he to judge when his life looked the way it did?

“Hey, uh,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, uncertain if what he was about to say was smart or not. “Do you have any plans tonight? Only, a few of my friends and I are hanging out later. You want to come hang out with me? It should be better than this.” He gestured vaguely at the mess of towels, cat hair, and antiseptic around them.

Buffy watched him carefully. There was a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes—surprise, maybe, or caution. Her mouth gaped slightly, her brows furrowed.

“Not like that,” Scott said quickly, panic flickering in his voice. “I mean, uh, I’m sure you’re fun to hang out with. But I have a girlfriend already, and… uh.”

He trailed off, already regretting how many words were falling out of his mouth.

She laughed. It lasted only for a moment but it was a real, honest, and true laugh. It caught him off guard.

“I didn’t think you were trying to ask me out,” Buffy stated, glee surrounding her eyes. Scott vaguely wondered if she were playing with him.

“I’m just surprised you’d want to hang out. You’ve known me what… all of one day?”

Scott shrugged, slightly relieved. “So who is going?” Buffy asked hesitantly, knowing full well she didn’t really know anyone in Beacon Hills yet.

“Yeah… myself—” Scott started.

“Figured that,” Buffy interrupted, dryly.

Scott snorted. “Myself,” he repeated with a grin, “and Allison, and Stiles, and Lydia.”

Buffy gave a small nod, then hesitated again. “So, fifth wheel?”

“What? No!” Scott’s eyes widened. “I mean… Stiles and Lydia aren’t together.”

He paused, considering how complicated this was to explain.

“Lydia is only going so Allison’s dad doesn’t think we’re going together, because I’m not supposed to be with Allison but we are together, and Stiles…”

He stopped himself, face flushing a little. “I am way oversharing.”

Buffy shrugged. “It’s alright. So if I come, it makes things easier for you and Allison, right? Keeps it from looking like a double date?”

Scott blinked, then smiled, a little impressed. “Yeah. I guess it does.”

Then he frowned, suddenly aware of how that might sound. “Not that I’m using you or anything—I mean—”

“Well,” Buffy cut him off lightly, “Okay.” Realizing she had stayed frozen too long, Buffy gave a small nod to herself.

“Okay. Thanks. I can do that,” she murmured, more to the air than anyone.

Scott had visibly brightened when she agreed, and part of her had warmed at that. There was something about people who meant well—it could be disarming in the right dose.

“Great! Do you need a ride? We can pick you up around seven?” he’d offered.

The kindness was appreciated, but Buffy wasn’t sure she was ready to be alone in a car again with anyone. “It’s fine. I can walk.”

That had earned her a sharp look.

Scott’s eyes had gone round with concern. “Walk? At night? Beacon Hills isn’t exactly… you know. Great for that.”

She gave a half-smirk. “I can handle myself.”

“Still,” he said, a little more firmly. “It’s on the edge of town. You don’t want to walk that far. I insist.”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy relented. “Okay. I suppose if you insist.”

Scott had smiled wide, relieved. “Cool! See you tonight, then.”

Now, standing alone in the clinic, Buffy turned slowly back to the crate where the angry tabby was still glaring at her from behind the bars.

She leaned down and sighed, muttering, “Guess I’ll need real clothes.”

The cat hissed, ears flattening.

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re not the only one trapped in a box.”

As soon as she had finished her conversation, or lack thereof, with the cat, Buffy made her way back to Ms. Morrell’s house. Thankfully, the guidance counselor was absent, and she didn’t have to deal with more probing questions on top of everything else. The kind of questions that made her feel as if she were being quietly decoded and assessed. Something she definitely did not need.

Buffy groaned out loud when she realized she only had an hour before Scott would be picking her up. Of course it made sense that with everything going on in her life, she would still agree to go out with people. Because that was a completely sane decision. She rolled her eyes.

Quickly, she stepped into the shower to rid herself of all the dirt and grime, the water washing over her, cleansing her skin.

What had she just agreed to? What in the world possessed her to go out with people tonight? Buffy desperately wanted to know. Whenever she made friends, bad things happened. That was the pattern of her life. You wanted a puzzle? Just fit the pieces in a way that went: Buffy + People = No Good.

She swallowed thickly. It wasn’t the time to dwell on such things. She wanted those thoughts to be washed away, cleansed. Alas, water could only do so much. Still, she let the water grow cold, trying to drown out the noise before it drowned her.

Unfortunately, while we can get lost for hours in daydreams, those hours still pass, and Buffy was unaware of how much time had slipped by. As she wrapped herself in a towel, she happened to glance at the clock.

“Crap,” she exhaled sharply.

6:45. Fifteen minutes to get ready.

Scrambling as fast as she could, she looked despondently over the clothes. She had made the decision to look more presentable at Deaton’s, meaning her best sweatshirt was now covered in grime. If it wasn’t demon guts, it was something else.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’m cursed,” she muttered.

She sifted through the pile Marin had left for her—a mix of plain jeans and blouses that all screamed “I gave up,” just in different ways. 

“Cool,” Buffy muttered. “So do I want to look like ‘Lost puppy’ or ‘Angry kitten’?” Apparently the animal metaphors were still going strong in her head. She tugged at a wrinkled drap-grey cardigan, half-hoping it would magically shapeshift into a black leather jacket. When she wanted things to happen like magic it didn’t. 

No matter what she picked, it didn’t feel like her . Not the Slayer, not the girl she used to be. Just some blurry in-between version, a stray animal that you don’t know if it will be friendly or might bite.

Then came the honking.

Buffy froze.

“Oh, come on ,” she groaned, already reaching for whatever clothes offended her the least and didn’t actively smell like despair. Or the animal clinic. The horn kept blaring. Really, who honked the horn that much. Glancing at the clock it read 7:05pm. She wasn’t even that late. Five seconds later and Slayer reflexes, her Wet hair  was plaited, clothes were on, and…no make-up. Just great. 

“Okay, okay, I’m coming, don’t die of overexertion,” she muttered at the window as she grabbed her bag and bolted down the stairs. She practically slammed the front door behind her, hair still damp, nerves still prickling—

—and came to a full stop on the porch.

That was not Scott’s car.

That was not even a normal car.

It was bright. Obnoxiously bright. The kind of loud, ridiculous Jeep that demanded attention like a neon sign in a desert—and sitting behind the wheel, practically drumming on the horn like it owed him money, was the kid I knocked over. 

Buffy blinked. Once. Twice.

Of course.

Because why wouldn’t it be him?

The horn blared again, even more insistent now.

She flinched.

This was happening.

This was her life now.

With the grace of someone heading to a firing squad, or The Master. Buffy squared her shoulders, took a breath, and descended the stairs—each step feeling like a countdown to social combustion.

She didn’t meet his eyes.

She didn’t have to.

She could already feel the awkward radiating from the Jeep like heat off asphalt.

Just get in the car, Summers, she told herself. Don’t trip, don’t run, and under no circumstances try to make conversation.

She yanked the door open and slid into the seat like it might bite her.

The Jeep lurched forward.

And thus began the longest car ride in recorded human history.

Chapter Text

Stiles shoved the door open with a flourish. Glad to be out of the tense silence of the Jeep at last. The silence had been suffocating . Eight minutes of pure Stiles-monologue, and not a single response from the girl sitting beside him like a silent force of nature. Even Scott had been He couldn’t even remember half the stuff he said—just that it had filled the air. Stiles couldn’t believe the human steam roller was behind him and she hadn’t even cracked a smile. She also didn’t seem to appreciate Roscoe and her many glitches.

 “Welcome, my frosty friends, to tonight’s epic surprise. Ta-da!” He gestured wildly to the run-down shack of a structure with peeling paint, a half-lit neon sign.

Buffy remained silent as she stood by Scott’s side. Now more than ever questioning why she had decided to come. The building, whatever it was, definitely looked like it could collapse at any moment. Before she could get too deep, the sound of car doors slamming echoed behind her. She turned her head. 

“Hey!” Scott’s voice called out as he jogged over, two girls trailing a few steps behind him. They were bundled in fashionably sleek jackets and scarves. “You made it.” He said just as the taller brunette leaned up to give him a kiss. Buffy catalogued her quickly as Allison considering what Scott had told her about his not-girlfriend, girlfriend.

“This is Buffy,” Scott said with an easy smile. “She’s…my new coworker at the vet clinic?” There was a question in his voice Buffy didn't want to dwell on. She knew her appearance at the clinic was a bit unusual but let Scott wonder. She wasn’t giving up her secrets. 

Allison stepped forward first. “Nice to meet you—Scott mentioned he would have a co-worker coming. I’m Allison.” She smiled brightly before leaning back into Scott.

Buffy gave a small nod and slight smile. “Hello.” Allison seemed friendly enough. She certainly didn’t seem to mind that her boyfriend brought another girl. Which was a good sign in Buffy’s book. Not too possessive or clingy, Buffy had had enough of those types. 

Then Lydia made her entrance, flicking her gaze from Buffy’s scuffed sneakers to her clearly still wet hair, dark roots starting to show, to the oversized jacket she was wearing like armor. Her red lips curved, but not quite into a smile. It was decidedly feline, ready to show who owned the show. 

“Buffy,” she repeated, like she was trying out the name and wasn’t impressed. “That’s…unique.” It was clear but the tone her voice that Lydia did not think the name at all unique. 

Buffy’s eyebrow arched. “So people say.” Really, that was mild compared to Cordelia. That, and Buffy was by now nearly immune to people questioning her name. 

Scott cleared his throat, trying to redirect the conversation before it could spiral any further.. “Uh, she’s been a huge help at the clinic. Deaton’s really impressed.” 

“I thought today was her first day.” Lydia interjected. The unstated how could she be a help if she only worked one day went unstated. 

“Nice, glad Scott has some extra help” Allison said quickly, glancing between the girls. “Looking forward to skating?” 

“I’ll survive,” Buffy said, her voice dry. For whatever reason, Buffy realized that Lydia had something against her. For the life of her she had no idea what it would be. She had never even met the girl and here she was throwing out nasty remarks. Was she just a Queen Bee with issues? Or was something else going on? She really didn’t care and couldn’t be bothered with teenage drama.

Stiles, was still wrestling with the rusty key ring, hoping Boyd gave him the right one. Absently he wondered if it would have been less expensive just to buy passes to the ice rink like everyone else. But no they always had to do things the hard way. The risk made it all the more fun at least. He finally managed to pop the lock. “Victory!” he announced, holding the door open like a game show host on its last season. “Your icy kingdom awaits!” 

Buffy stepped inside, the chill hitting her before her eyes adjusted.

Ice. 

Cold. 

Breath. 

Breathe. 

It was an ice rink. A chill that had nothing to do with temperature caused goosebumps to raise across her neck. Breath stuck as if prepping for danger. Allison’s words from before finally hit her. If she had known it was going to be an ice rink Buffy would most definitely of stayed home. Being normal wasn’t worth this. Unfortunately it was too late to change her mind. 

Her feet slowed as the realization settled in. A soft whistle of air escaped her lips. Memories of what seemed like years ago flashed before her eyes. A young Buffy spending time with her parents, the Dorothy Hamill haircut, Angel taking her to the ice rink, skating with her, order of Taraka, Angel, Angel’s lips… close your eyes. Invisible memories flashed before her eyes and her face grew pale

“Skating,” she said, as she contemplated the word, chewing on it like something bitter. It was a comment meant for herself but everyone looked at her anyway. 

Allison glanced her way “Are you okay with that?” 

“It just brings along some memories with it.” Buffy replied vaguely. Hoping no one would probe further. It would only hurt more and she wanted to shove it away. 

The group went still. Curious. Waiting. Realizing she couldn’t get out of it, Buffy decided to go as close to the truth as possible. The best lies were always coated in truth. 

“Ang… my boy—ex-boyfriend, he… well.” She started with an awful stutter. That wouldn’t do for first impressions. Tensing her jaw she exhaled through her nose before continuing “I explained to him that when I was little, ice-skating became my safe space. I absolutely adored Dorothy Hamill. My room was basically a shrine. Posters, VHS tapes, sparkly costumes in my dreams. I even had the haircut. So he brought me ice skating as a surprise.” 

She gave a short laugh at the memories of a young Buffy. Back when times seemed simpler and the weight of the world wasn’t on her shoulders–literally. 

Allison and Lydia grimaced. “Yikes,” Allison said gently as she chuckled a bit. 

Lydia wrinkled her nose like she’d smelled something foul. “God, no wonder he’s your ex, That haircut was a crime.”

Buffy gave a stiff smile, then closed her eyes for a second. She would give Lydia that. That haircut was awful; 

“He brought me to an ice rink for one of our first dates. It was private. Just the two of us. It was…sweet>”

A pause.

“And now it’s not?” Stiles probed. As per usual, his insatiable curiosity driving him as he fluttered about trying to tie his skates. As much as he didn’t want Buffy Summers knowing any pack secrets he was awfully anxious to learn more about her. Or any mystery really. It was impersonal. He wasn’t thinking of the emotional repercussions of talking about her ex. His mind to far away on other things.

Buffy answered with a slight shrug. She wasn’t sure how much she could say. How does one simply explain her relationship with Angel. How does one even start to explain, my boyfriend who was a 300 hundred year old vampire… Stiles voice brought her out of her thoughts. Thankfully 

“So, you broke up? That ruins ice skating now?” Stiles tilted his head with a clear intent to hear more “Is that, like… a thing?” He glanced at Scott like maybe he'd know the answer. Lydia had just broken up with Jackson. Did he do the wrong thing in bringing her here? Would he lose his chance with Lydia? “Girls are weird.” He finalized.  

“Oh please,” Lydia chided. “Boys come along all the time.” She waved her hand around as if it meant nothing. “You broke up, whatever. You don’t have to be such a downer about it.” Her voice dripped with irritation, like Buffy’s grief was inconvenient. The others tensed, eyes shifting toward Lydia with subtle wariness.

They knew she was still unraveling over Jackson. Any dismissiveness was an attempt to say that she was alright, still the queen. Not completely broken that the guy she loved dumped her over text. 

But that didn’t make it okay.

Buffy’s face turned away. Her shoulders rose slightly, defensively. Who was Lydia to think she knew everything about her? Buffy didn’t ask to come, she didn’t ask to go to an ice rink, she didn’t even offer personal information, it was grilled out of her. She didn’t want to destroy the mood but Lydia’s cruel comment irked her. In short, Buffy didn’t ask for this life but here she was. 

“He’s dead,” she said shortly. 

The words dropped like icicles. Her voice didn’t shake. It was calm, cool, emotionless. Her face though, there was nothing she could do to hide the utter agony she felt through the utterance of those two simple words.

“Excuse me?” Lydia’s tone lost its sharpness, just for a second. Not quite certain she heard was she really did. 

Buffy turned her face back, eyes darker now. She cleared her throat.

“My boyfriend. Angel. I… he’s dead. Happy?” 

Stiles sucked in a breath so fast it stuck in his throat. The depressed vibe Buffy had going on now made a lot more sense. He, out of anyone, knew how hard it was dealing with the death of a loved one.

The others stared at her blankly, expressions caught between shock and not knowing what to say. What does one say to a person they barely know when they are confronted with the fact that nothing they do or say could truly help. 

Both Scott and Allison stepped toward her instinctively. The one wanting to soothe pain at any cost, the other understanding the pain of losing an estranged love one. 

But before anyone could say anything, Buffy stepped out onto the ice. If she let them in now she would break and broken slayer was a dead slayer. She couldn’t do it.

Mask set back in place, Buffy pressed her shoulders back and stood up straight “Sorry to be so morbid, guys,” She called back over her shoulder, voice breezy but thin. “I’m fine, really. Let’s skate.”

And she was gone—pushing off, carving the ice in swift, practiced movements. Like maybe is she could skate fast enough she could outright the feeling that would swallow her whole.

The others stood there in silence.

Lydia scoffed under her breath. “Right. Because we needed that guilt trip.” If she was feeling guilty she didn’t show it. Her tone betrayed the inconvenience of someone dealing with something that had no desire to deal with. 

Scott frowned at her.

“Seriously, Lydia?” Allison chided softly. 

“What?” Lydia snapped. “We all have problems. You don’t see me monologuing every time someone mentions Lacrosse.” She flipped her head back, quite down with the conversation. 

Stiles blinked. “I’m just saying… I’m never mocking the Dorothy Hamill haircut again.”

Allison glared at him.

He held up his hands. “What?! Too soon?”

They watched Buffy disappear into the distance—graceful and alone.

The ice rink echoed with every scrape of her blade against the frozen ground. The only other noise permeating her thoughts were the frequent thuds every time Scott went down again. He was awkward on ice and it almost brought a smile to Buffy’s face as she watched Allison try to help him. There was no music, no crowd—just the low hum of the lights and the occasional grunt of pain.

Scott wiped out for the tenth time in five minutes.

“Oof,” he groaned, splayed out like a snow angel with none of the joy. 

Buffy glided past, arms slightly too stiff, legs bent more than necessary. It was a calculated position. She could’ve been much more free if she let herself. Instead, she made herself hold back to escape unusual detection—occasionally she would get too caught up in her thoughts and take a turn too tight, or make a stop that shouldn’t be possible.

At one point, Scott tried to copy her arabesque and immediately spun out, crashing into the ice. 

“How?” he muttered, flat on his back. “How am I this bad?” 

“Balance doesn’t mean much when the ground hates you,” Buffy offered, skating backward with a smirk before catching herself and faltering, just enough to seem human. “Try… flailing less.” She paused her motion and eyed the teen. With his friendly and slightly goofy demeanor he reminded her a bit too much of Xander. And it hurt. 

“I’m not flailing,” he insisted.

“You’re flail-adjacent,” Allison called, skating over with a grin. She crouched and pulled Scott up by the arm. “Come on. You’ve survived worse.” Scott rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. 

Buffy smiled faintly and peeled off toward the edge of the rink. Despite how freeing skating was she couldn’t be completely free with everyone else around. If she stayed on the ice any longer she might give away a little too much. 

Lydia was already on the bench, legs crossed at the ankle like a queen, her posture perfectly effortless. Her coat was definitely some sort of designer brand and her lipstick the perfect shade for her skin tone. Perfectly manicured nails tapped a silent rhythm on her phone screen—she wasn’t texting. Just waiting for someone to notice her. 

Buffy sat a few feet away, not too close, not too far. The red-head was already on her avoid list but apparently sitting where she was was not enough of a clue for the persistent Queen. 

“You skate like someone who trained for nationals and then forgot how knees work halfway through,” Lydia said coolly, still not looking at her. She moved to put more lipstick on her lips  “It’s either an identity crisis or the world’s weirdest performance.”

Buffy blinked, turned just enough to see her profile. Apparently she hadn’t been subtle enough “Sorry?”

Lydia finally looked at her, lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You heard me.” The lipstick was thrown back in her purse with a soft clink. 

Before Buffy could respond, Stiles coasted up in a barely-controlled stop, cheeks flushed from cold and effort. His orange hoodie flared out like a flag as he tried to catch his balance.

“Oh my god, I have no toes left,” he groaned, flopping beside them. “My toes are gone. Evaporated. Tell my dad I loved him.”

He shivered and immediately shrugged off his hoodie, holding it out to Lydia like a peace offering. By this point, Lydia was holding her arms across her body and fighting off fake shivers. Buffy narrowed her eyes at the quick change she displayed. 

“Here. For the queen of frost. So you don’t die of terminal fashion hypothermia.”

Lydia gave him a flat look. “Stiles, that’s orange.” 

He blinked. “Right. So?”

“So it clashes with blue. I’m wearing blue. Blue and orange don’t go together.” Buffy bit her tongue. While she might agree with the girls’ assessment of color she didn’t have to be quite so sharp especially since she was clearly faking a chill. 

Stiles paused, wounded. “It’s the color of the Mets.” Lydia gave him a death stare “It’s for warmth.” At the continued stare of death Stiles angrily shoved the offending garment back in his bag. 

“And I’d rather freeze to death in style than commit visual assault. But thanks.”

She turned to Buffy, eyes narrowing. “Though maybe you should take it. If you’re going for that whole ‘casual drifter’ look, it might complete the ensemble.” 

Stiles tried not to wince. Okay. So this was happening now. He could feel the storm brewing. 

Buffy’s eyes sharpened as she grit her teeth. She was well-aware her outfit choice was a fashion faux-pas but there was nothing she could do about it. “I’ll pass.”

Lydia smiled, sweet and mean. “Suit yourself. Just thought you might want to keep Scott from noticing how much better you are at this than him.”

Buffy tilted her head. “Why would I care what Scott notices?” It was an odd turn in the conversation and she had no idea where Lydia was headed but Buffy didn’t think it would be anywhere good. Lydia was playing a game only she knew the rules to and Buffy wasn’t in the mood for it. 

“I’m not here for anyone to ‘eat up’ anything.” Buffy's tone had cooled, sharpened. Whatever pain she carried behind that calm exterior had turned steel-edged.The slayer noticed that Stiles, who didn’t seem all that great with subtlety–didn’t seem to appreciate the insinuation his red-headed friend was trying to make. 

Either Lydia was oblivious… or she was trying to draw blood.

“Sure you’re not.” Lydia tucked her hair behind one ear, gaze still fixed like a dagger. “Just saying—mystery only works when people believe it’s not an act.” She grinned a slight show of teeth. A challenge. 

Buffy opened her mouth to reply, but Stiles jumped in attempting to diffuse the mounting explosion.

“And once again, I proudly present… frostbite and friction, starring Lydia Martin and Girl Who Moves Suspiciously Well.” It was a valiant effort but unfortunately if there was one thing that Buffy wouldn’t back down to it was a challenge. Her slayer nature couldn’t allow it. 

He forced a grin, but it felt brittle. Tension was cracking around them like a pane of glass under pressure. God, he hated this. He hated being in the middle. Between fire and sharper fire. Between loyalty and curiosity. Lydia was Lydia — glittering and venom-laced, the sun he’d been orbiting since he could spell her name. But Buffy was—he hadn’t ever met someone quite like her. 

He didn’t even know how to explain it. Not yet. He didn’t know her well enough. Most people cowed down to Lydia, especially when she went on the hunt. He had witnessed it even in himself. Everyone gave Lydia what she wanted without a blink of the eye. Not this girl, she almost seemed push back all the more due to Lydia’s abrassivness.

Buffy ignored him. “Are you always this generous with advice, or am I special?”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Oh, everyone’s special. Until they’re not.” 

Buffy didn’t blink. “Special is overrated.” It took all of her willpower to stay seated and not start shouting at Lydia. 

Stiles’s smile faltered. Something in the way she said that made his stomach twist. Like maybe she had been special, once — and it wasn’t all that great. He never knew what it felt like to be someone. He wanted to. But something in the way Buffy’s face darkened made him wonder if it was worth it. He thought of Scott before coming back to the conversation.

Lydia didn’t miss a beat. “Only people who are special would know.”

Buffy’s jaw tensed and she nearly lost it. “Being special sounds nice—until it means you're the only one standing when everyone else gets to run. After a while, it just means you're alone. That’s what special is. Alone.” 

And just like that, it was quiet.

Too quiet.

Stiles felt like he’d just been dropped into a different room without moving an inch. That kind of quiet. Cold and deep and a little dangerous. It was worse than being in the jeep earlier that day.

Buffy shrugged, like she hadn’t just carved open the air. “Not like I’d know. Since I’ve never been special.” Her tone was filled with self-loathing but had just a hint of mockery to seem nearly cruel.

Lydia stood, movements sharp and deliberate, flicking her hair over one shoulder. It was clear the words had touched a nerve. “I’m going back out. The ice is less slippery than this conversation.”

She pushed off and glided away, spine straight, eyes forward — the very image of graceful dismissal.

Buffy watched her go, mouth set. Not smirking. Not smug. Just... tight.

“She always like that?” she asked, not looking at him.

He sighed, dragging the hoodie back over his head even though it didn’t help. “Only when she’s cold, mad, bored, or breathing.”

Buffy turned slightly, studying him in a way that made him feel like she was reading something on his face he hadn’t meant to show.

“You like her.”

Stiles froze. It wasn’t the accusation — people always thought that. It was the way Buffy said it. Quiet. Matter-of-fact. Not judging. Just... observing. Considering how nasty the object of his affection towards the girl, Stiles would have figure that the blonde would have reacted differently. 

He looked away. “Wha—no. I mean—okay, look, it’s complicated.” How to even explain what he felt for Lydia

“Doesn’t seem that complicated from here.” Buffy said it with the air of someone who believed love wasn’t all that complicated, but everything else surrounding it. 

“She’s Lydia,” he said helplessly. “She’s always been Lydia.” It was probably the stupid-est response he could possibly give. It just was that there wasn’t much else to say. He’d spent years falling into the orbit of a girl who barely thought of him anything more than a benchwarmer. 

Buffy didn’t respond. Her gaze returned to the ice, where Lydia spun once, perfectly balanced, her hair flying out behind her like a flame. It seemed she wasn’t the only one hiding her abilities. 

“That girl will eat you alive,” Buffy muttered.

Stiles didn’t deny it. How could he when it already felt like Lydia had swallowed him whole and spit him out. Multiple times.

He watched the girl of his dreams cut a perfect arc across the ice, her hair waving in the wind. Even he knew she had gone too far with the new-girl, he could only defend her so much. Sometimes he wondered if they were really meant to be or if the actual Lydia was someone he would really be able to do forever until death do us part.

There was a beat of silence before he said, more casual than he felt, “So… how’d Roscoe treat you? Survive the death trap?” It wouldn’t do the have another lull in the conversation so he had to think of something to say. 

Buffy arched a brow, arms loosely folded. “Roscoe?” Her tone was somewhere between skeptical and you’ve got to be kidding me. She had a vague notion of what he was referring to but needed verbal confirmation. 

Stiles smirked, “My Jeep. Her name is Roscoe.” 

“Oh, that? An actual test of courage. I’m shocked it didn’t shake itself into another dimension. And also, you named your Jeep?” 

Stiles clutched his heart. Scandalized “First, yes I did. Second, Wow. Harsh. That ‘death trap’ is a classic. She’s got soul. She would help you survive that non-existent interdimensional travel.” 

Also she possibly caught on fire once but Stiles wouldn’t tell Buffy that. 

“She’s got rust in the soul ,” Buffy said flatly, a bit amused at the direction of the conversation. She had no idea what to expect this night. A conversation about someone’s pet jeep was definitely not on her radar. “And possibly tetanus in the cupholder. Seriously, I think something tried to bite me.” 

He smirked. “You say that now, but once you drive it, you’ll understand.” His glee showed through every word. He really loved that car. 

“I don’t drive,” she said quickly, almost before he finished. It came out before she could stop it. She grit her teeth in annoyance. This night was a near disaster in how much she revealed about herself. There were a million things she could have said, but instead she blurted the first thing that came into her head. 

Stiles blinked. “Like… at all?” His tone was full of disbelief. 

Buffy shrugged, eyes on the ice. “Didn’t get around to it.” 

“Didn’t get around to driving or..” He paused before it clicked “No license?” Buffy shook her head as he continued “Not even a permit? Learner’s test?”

She hesitated. “Failed the written once. Quite possibly…Maybe twice.” she muttered, cheeks flushing red in embarrassment. It was not something she was proud of. 

He turned to her, in mock serious. “I don’t know what’s more tragic—that you don’t drive, or that you admit to failing a test eighth graders pass after a sugar crash.”

Buffy shot him a look. Her voice let out a huff “I was busy.” Her arms pulled tighter against her body in a defensive posture. 

“Busy like,streaming vampire dramas? Or busy like ‘dark past I’m avoiding talking about’ busy?” The joke slipped out before he could stop it. Stiles smirked thinking he was being funny. It most circumstances it would have a been a perfectly normal thing to say. 

Buffy stiffened. He definitely just said something that irked her but for the life of him Stiles didn’t know what. Most teens seemed to jump at the chance to drive. Buffy was definitely unusual, he’d give her that. 

“Let’s just go with ‘not into cars.’” She eventually replied evasively.

But Stiles didn’t back off. “So you’ve never wanted to drive?”

She exhaled, not quite a sigh. “Wanting something and having time for it aren’t the same.” She shrugged “Also they wouldn’t let me take the road test…”

That shut him up for a second. Even he got to take the road test. That might have had something to do with his father being the Sheriff…but still. 

Then, lighter: “Well, if you ever decide you do want to, I offer my services. Expert instructor. Cheap rates. Possibly illegal insurance coverage.” He said it as if the offer wasn’t out of left field and completely weird to be offering someone he just met driving lessons. It was really more of a joke than anything. 

Buffy looked at him. “Are you seriously offering to teach someone who insulted your rust-bucket?” Part of her wanted to dismiss the guy’s offer immediately. The other part, the part that just wanted to be a normal teen. Well, you couldn’t say she was necessarily opposed to the idea of getting her license. 

“Hey,” he said, holding up a hand, “my Jeep’s been insulted by the best. You barely cracked the top ten. Derek once called her ‘an affront to internal combustion.’”

That pulled the tiniest smirk from her, quick and involuntary. “Sounds like a smart guy.” Really, his car was worse than Giles’s car and that was saying something. 

“Debatable,” He responded, a bit chagrined, Buffy narrowed her eyes. She suspected that whoever this Derek was, Stiles wasn’t a fan. 

“But hey—imagine the street cred. ‘Taught by Stilinski.’ It’s got a ring to it. Like a curse. Or a gas station urban legend.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Facts,” he said, without missing a beat. “But imagine the look on people’s faces when you pull up in Roscoe, wheels squealing, radio playing Bohemian Rhapsody, your hair doing that dramatic windblown thing—”

“Wow,” she cut in. “You’ve really thought this through. You got storyboards?”

Stiles grinned. “Just a vivid imagination.”

Buffy gave him a long look. Before rolling her eyes. The kid was absurd. 

“What’s in it for you?” she asked.

He paused, then shrugged, a crooked smile spreading across his face. “Risking life and limb to teach a mysterious girl with killer sarcasm and a haunted stare? What isn’t in it for me?”

She snorted. “You have a weird idea of fun.” 

“You’re not wrong,” he said brightly. 

And just as Buffy opened her mouth to reply—

A scream split the air like a siren and Buffy flinched. 

It was unnatural and other-worldly. In a moment, she went from trying to be the normal girl, attempting to blend in to the creature that demons have nightmares about. The cost of being special she thought bitterly. Barely caring who saw, in crisis people paid less attention anyway, Buffy ran towards the strawberry-blonde girl, the same girl who had looked Buffy up and down earlier like she was a stray dog someone had forgotten to shoo off the lawn. 

Some part of Buffy wanted to roll her eyes. Maybe even mutter a sarcastic serves you right under her breath. But she couldn’t. Not when someone was hurting. Not when someone was in this kind of pain. 

As Buffy zero’ed in on the scene she noticed that crying and wailing were not the only thing Lydia was doing. Her flawlessly manicured nails clawed desperately at the ice and they were breaking from the pressure. The scene would have been gut-wrenching if Buffy were not so immune to it. Even still, horror never got easier, it just kept scraping at her insides until she just felt more hollow. 

“Lydia!” Stiles’s cry of desperation rang out. Somehow he had managed to stay close to the Slayer in his pursuit of Lydia. He crouched down low towards the wailing girl and Buffy followed.  “Lydia, hey, it’s okay—come on, it’s me, it’s Stiles—look at me, just look at me—” He frantically tried to get through to her but it wasn’t working.  “Scott! Allison—get over here!” Stiles shouted, not even glancing back. He needed back up. 

Buffy didn’t wait for anyone else. She moved fast, catching Lydia’s wrists with firm but careful hands, trying not to startle her more than necessary. 

“Hey. You’re okay,” Buffy said, voice low but steady. “You’re safe—you’re not alone, okay?”

Behind them, Allison and Scott hovered, undecided on a course of action, frozen in place. Their eyes were wide, pale, afraid—not of Lydia, but of not knowing what to do . 

Buffy clenched her jaw. Amateurs. There was a time when a crisis would have left her shaken. But now? This was nothing. Assess. Act. Slay. Those were the words Buffy’s life lived by. Even when she tried not to be who destiny chose her to be, she couldn’t separate the girl from the slayer. 

“Don’t just stand there,” Buffy snapped, voice clipped. “Blankets. Hot water. Something warm. She is freezing on ice. Do something. Go.” Allison flinched like she'd been slapped. But she moved. Scott followed a beat later, expression twisted with concern and uncertainty.

Stiles looked at her gratefully as Allison and Scott rushed off, presumably to get some help as Lydia continued to thrash around. Normally he was the one caring for others but at this moment he couldn’t, too concerned with whatever was happening to Lydia.

“Let me go!” Lydia cried, struggling for half a second—but she didn’t really fight. Her strength had already drained, leaving nothing but trembling. Buffy shook her head, Lydia seemed too tired to be embarrassed but the girl knew it was only a matter of time before her shell cracked. “Can you lift her?” Buffy asked Stiles, he stared back blankly. 

“Lift. Her,” Buffy repeated slowly, like she wasn’t sure he spoke English. “She can’t stay here like this, and I’m pretty sure I can’t carry her and keep her from panicking at the same time.” Of course the Slayer could carry her but at what cost to secret identity? 

Stiles swallowed hard. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I can. I think.” His words weren’t very comforting. He didn’t seem certain but it would have to do. 

“Good. On my count,” Buffy said, and then more gently, to Lydia, “We’re gonna help you, okay? Just hold on.” Lydia had quieted but she was still pale and trembling. Her lips were growing blue and Buffy was beginning to become more concerned. They needed to warm Lydia up, and fast. 

“Okay,” Buffy said. “One… two… three.”

Together, they lifted her—Stiles supporting her upper body, Buffy steadying her legs and holding most of her weight. The slayer couldn’t help but watch Stiles closely, assessing him. She flicked her eyes back and forth as they moved. Stiles looked like he was seconds away from unraveling, his jaw clenched so tight it had to hurt, eyes locked on Lydia like she might disappear if he blinked. Desperation. 

Buffy had seen that expression before. On friends. On people too young to be carrying so much. On herself. 

She needed to keep him focused. If he spiraled, she’d be carrying both of them. Not something she would like to explain. 

“Has this happened before?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral.

Stiles shook his head. “No. Not like this.” That was interesting, Buffy couldn’t help but think. 

He paused, then added, “She was attacked. A while ago.”

Buffy’s eyes flicked toward him, sharp. “By what?” It was perhaps an unusual question. One formed out of habit. 

“A wild animal,” Stiles said quickly—too quickly. “It happens sometimes in Beacon Hills.”

“Oh.” That was all Buffy’s brain could supply in the moment. It didn’t sound normal. Not really. She’d heard excuses like that before. In Sunnydale, they called vampire attacks ‘death by BBQ fork’ or blamed demons on gang activity and PCP, unusual wild animal attacks happening in residential neighborhoods. The cover stories were always ridiculous—and people always bought them.

PCP. Cults. Barbecue skewers. Whatever worked. Whatever you had to tell yourself to sleep at night. 

And here she was again. Pretending not to notice the cracks in the story. Pretending she didn’t see too much. Pretending she wasn’t the girl trained to recognize what everyone else was trying to ignore. Not everywhere was Sunnydale, but everywhere had secrets.

She hated the pretending. The lies. The half-truths you tell yourself to make it feel better. So you can live. She hated it but did it anyway. What had the truth ever gotten her? 

You’re not here to fight, she reminded herself. You’re here to lay low. 

But even as she focused on Lydia, on keeping the girl steady and safe, that guilt settled like lead in her chest. If something was happening here—something wrong —and she missed it, if someone got hurt because she held back?

Then what was the point of any of it? 

These were questions she asked long into the night. 

Chapter Text

It had been a whirlwind a week ending in a weekend that was all too introspective. For the first time in a long time, Buffy was glad that it was a Monday. That she had something to occupy her time so she wasn’t left with thinking of her past. Marin was noticeably absent through the weekend, other than dinner together she barely saw her host. It was hard to sleep at night, it had always been difficult for her to sleep. Most likely a result of the slayer inside of her. Primed for a fight at all times, a burst of energy that resulted in awful insomnia if she didn’t. It was better that way. Sleeping meant dreams and dreaming in this state meant nightmares. Although, could it truly be considered a nightmare if it was her reality? Buffy wasn’t sure. 

So instead, her weekend was spent as close to a normal teen as it had been pre-slayer days. Studying, completing homework, and utilizing Marin’s exercise equipment. For a guidance counsellor, the woman had a surprisingly extensive gym room. Elliptical, pull up bar, rowing machine, weight set and a variety of other odds and ends. While it might have helped pass the time to talk with someone, the slayer was glad that her host wasn’t home, it would have been very hard to explain how she could use the elliptical for hours and not break a sweat, complete 50 pull ups with a single arm without tiring, or bench press triple her own body weight easily. Maybe it wasn’t quite so normal but it kept her busy. It kept her sane. It was when night fell that her thoughts spiraled. It was possibly time to rethink her rule of no slaying hunting at night. If she didn’t bend she would break.

Thus, while glad would have been too strong of a word, Buffy was relieved that she would be going to school. A bit worse for wear due to agonizingly sleepless nights she managed to make it through 1st period. The hustle and bustle of a High School kept her thoughts at bay–mostly–anytime a memory came it she squashed it back down as deep as possible until she felt empty. Smell was the worst, she never thought the smell of a cafeteria would bring back so many memories. A smile almost landed on her face until she remembered the last time she had seen her friends. Of Willow, pale and listless. A broken ragdoll on a hospital bed. It was too much as she swallowed thickly. 

Her thoughts turned to the odd occurrence on Friday night. The catty red-head who screamed bloody murder while the spectators looked on as if were somewhat normal. She supposed that being attacked did leave scars. Not just physical scars. But at the same time maybe knowing too much made her wary. That maybe things were not as normal as they appeared. Allison’s “ How did you know” still rung in her head but she had promised herself not to get involved. Names didn’t always mean everything–sure, but the name Beacon Hills didn’t exactly inspire a sense of the warm and fuzzies considering, as the slayer, she was already a prepackaged supernatural demon magnet. Here’s to hoping dramatic irony really isn’t a thing she thought bitterly. 

Maybe that’s why she was not paying attention to where she was heading.  “Ow, ow, ow, ow” The frantic yelps, yanked her out of her spiraling thoughts and brought her back to reality. “Sorry, sorry!” Buffy’s voice grew high pitched as she realized that she had, once again, managed to find herself barreling into the same student. Stiles flailed about nearly falling to the floor before he managed to catch himself on the lockers behind him. 

“That’s the third time! I’m starting to think—you know, this is officially a pattern,” the boy exclaimed warily, eyeing her like she might attempt to crash into him again. 

“Oops,” Buffy managed to say rather weakly. She really hadn’t meant to—it was just Buffy physics. Buffy in motion stayed in motion..until she crashed into an something. Or in this case, someone. Slayer reflexes or not, she was a klutz. At least this time he wasn’t face-down on the floor. You had to at least consider that progress. Right? She really wasn’t sure. If it wasn’t one thing happening in her life it was something else. She would have to add professional students assailant to her resume she thought wryly. 

“If this happens again, I’m filing a restraining order,” he added, rubbing at his shoulder with dramatic flair and a not-so-subtle grin. “Or hazard pay.” He added as an afterthought. Buffy squinted at him. Was he serious or was that a joke? Normally she was good at reading people but this kid was a bit off the walls. She had only hit his shoulder. It was light compared to the previous time he had ended up with a black eye. She still felt a bit guilty for that. There had been many times she had tried to seek comfort and accidentally ended up hugged someone a bit too hard, or stepped on a foot–without meaning to–and applied too much pressure for someone of her size. Humans were breakable and Buffy was beginning to think that Stiles wasn’t too far off to call her a hazard, 

“I barely touched you.” Of course, she had to act like she was completely normal.

“You body-checked me into a locker,” he said, voice pitching up as if recounting a near-death experience. “Now I’m beginning to see why they don’t want you driving.” He murmured.

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, finally catching the amusement twitching at the corners of his mouth. Okay, yeah—he was definitely joking. Probably. Hopefully. She didn’t need more drama in her life. “Oh please, that was a gentle nudge. If I wanted you on the floor you’d be crawling about now.” Also, who was he to question her driving. That went too far, Buffy smiled to lighten the mood. “And hey! No taking-backsies, you said you’d teach me driving one day.” 

Stiles blinked back at her and Buffy’s grin started to fall. She remembered how Giles would always tell her that she butchered the English language . Her creative interpretations of English probably didn’t always translate well. Buffy flipped her hair over her shoulder–trying to brush off the embarrassment which led her to start thinking that she would probably have to get her hair done soon. Her highlights were beginning to fade and the dark blonde roots were not an attractive look. She shook her head to redirect her thoughts, opening her mouth to reply Stiles beat her to it.

With a furrowed brow he opened his mouth and closed it again. As if to say one thing and completely deciding to say something entirely different.

“Wait, did you say crawling?” Buffy’s nose wrinkled trying to remember exactly what she had said. That did sound like something in her vocabulary. Clearly Stiles had the same problem as she did with organizing the train of thought. Or really, lack of any sort of organization. 

“Remind me never to get on your bad side. Or play laser tag, or just, exist in line of your trajectory.  She gave a wry smile in return “Wise decision, I’d crush you.” The grin turned into a smirk at the look of disbelief on Stiles’s face. Most people underestimated her. It was hard not to. Her blonde hair, being small, cheerleading personality, that fact she was a girl. There were so many reasons people underestimated her but Buffy knew she could take this kid down–easily. It nearly scared her but she shook the morbid thought away.

Stiles gave an exaggerated sigh. “Well, in any case. You have to start carrying around a neon sign. Or at least a bell. Something.”

At that, Buffy laughed. Not just a chuckle, but a full, unfiltered laugh that bubbled out of her chest until her stomach clenched and her eyes stung. It wasn’t even that funny—but something about the moment cracked her open. Maybe it was the absurdity, maybe it was the way he said it, or maybe it was just that she hadn’t laughed like that in… ages.

She probably looked unhinged, like a maniac, but she didn’t care. It was at that moment that Buffy realized that something about this kid helped her to lighten up just a bit. He had that same goofy charm Xander did but wasn’t afraid to bite back. He seemed to understand her need for sarcasm as well. It wasn’t an instantaneous connection or anything serious. Just the ability to not feel so–alone. 

“Sorry, sorry.” She wheezed out amidst her laughter. “Lack of sleep makes me a bit loopy.” In most people that probably would have gotten a comment of same or some odd mention about caffeine. But Stiles didn’t say anything. Instead he continued to look at her with an expression that made her shut her eyes tightly in case he saw too much. Too much pain she wasn’t ready to handle. His gaze wasn’t quite calculating and wasn’t quite pity. 

Thinking quickly she redirected the question “How’s Lydia?” Her voice was light but even she could hear the shakiness behind the question. Buffy wasn’t quite sure why she was asking about the girl. Yes, a significant amount of her thoughts of late had turned towards the odd occurrence but still. She had no reason to really care. If anything, inquiring might seem–nosy, If Stiles heard any hesitation in her voice he didn’t mention it. 

“Lydia?” The high pitch tone in his voice had Buffy narrowing her eyes.. “She’s fine, just fine.” “Fine?” Buffy had a hard time believing it. Stiles nodded vigorously before letting out a nervous chuckle. The mildly neurotic energy that always seemed to be around him intensified. If Buffy were anyone else she would possibly have taken a step back as it was she leaned in a bit closer. 

“Yeah.” He scratched at his head. It was an odd reaction to have and Buffy wasn’t quite sure what to think of it. He was being evasive, she knew it. The question was why? Why avoid if Lydia was okay. If he had replied She’s okay or Doing better or any of the other false positives people say even when things are far from okay, Buffy wouldn’t have given it a second thought. It really wasn’t his business. But to go with Fine coupled with the deer in headlights look —something was definitely a bit off. 

“Okay.” Buffy shrugged. The tightness in her chest was creeping back in. Her own foot started to tap in response. Maybe it was her desire to remove the thoughts constantly plaguing her mind, or the fact she was a naturally curious person, or in all reality, maybe a deeper slayer sense was telling her something wasn’t right. Buffy really really wanted to dig deeper. 

“Stiles!” The shout from down the hallway interrupted the uncomfortable lull in the conversation. Maybe it was a good thing that Buffy couldn’t press the issue of Lydia and Stiles’s non-answer. “Stiles” Scott repeated more loudly now. The imperative tone of his voice seemingly startled Stiles to attention. He jerked his head quickly towards the other teen with such force Buffy was surprised his neck didn’t snap. She vaguely wondered if that movement was the reason the guy was always rubbing his hand against his neck–sore muscles. Either that, or was extremely annoying habit. 

“Scott.” Stiles turned his head back towards Buffy, the look on his face wasn’t one Buffy could interpret easily. Had he intended to continue the conversation with her? Or was he was glad that Scott had interrupted them? Maybe she was wrong, but she could have sworn she saw a shadow of fear appear on Stiles’s face. It was gone so fast it was hard to tell if it had been there at all. His facial expressions made Buffy even more determined to figure out if there was something worth figuring out. 

“Stiles, it’s Boyd.” By now, Scott had caught up with the two teens and nearly crashed into Buffy. She narrowed her eyes at him, he was quite oblivious to her presence and she wasn’t too keen on landing on the floor like Stiles had. “Derek’s after Boyd.” If the peculiar sentence hadn’t captured Buffy’s attention, the name certainly did. She recalled how Stiles had talked about someone named Derek, the way he spoke about the guy led her to believe that Stiles was not a fan. If he was after someone, maybe there was more to the story.

“Who’s Boyd?” Buffy couldn’t help it. It wasn’t like she wasn’t standing right there. Scott hadn’t been whispering, in fact, Buffy was pretty sure the whole hallway would have heard him if they were paying attention. If he intended to be discreet he failed by a mile. “Bu-Buffy.” Scott jumped and whirled around towards her. The hair on Buffy’s neck bristled as the dark haired teen towered over her. It was clear Scott truly had been oblivious to her presence. All the same, it took all her self-control to not push him out of her face.

“Hi.” Buffy gave a sheepish wave. “Hi.” Scott responded in a monotone voice. “Uh Stiles?” He glanced back towards his friend and Buffy nearly frowned at the quick dismissal. “What?” Stiles stuttered. “Derek. Boyd. Right, right, yeah. We got to go.” The frantic head jerking continued as he pieced random words together. By now, Buffy’s face had truly turned into a frown as she tried to figure out what was happening. The two started whispering while casting furtive glances over their shoulders as they traveled down the hallway. Before they disappeared completely Scott managed to yell out a quick “ See you later Buffy .” The girl in question huffed loudly. Way to be dismissed.

—-

She was a bit late. Really, she had no idea how it had happened. When Buffy arrived home from school she saw a notecard on the table. Writing with flawless cursive penmanship, Ms. Morrell simply stated that she would not be home until much later that evening. Grumbling to herself, Buffy snatched a non-fat strawberry yogurt from the fridge and plopped down on the couch. That was how it happened. While contemplating the idea of calling Scott so she wouldn’t have to walk to the animal clinic–an idea that was quickly dismissed due to the fact that she didn’t have his number and the entire situation earlier that day still felt a bit off–she managed to fall asleep. Jolting awake to the loud chime of the clock Buffy scrambled up. “Shoot, shoot, shoot!” She exclaimed loudly to no-one in particular. She was due to be at the animal clinic at 5pm and it was already–5pm. Not caring all that much about her appearance of bed head and wrinkled clothes she raced out of the door. By the time she reached her destination she was nearly out of breath. Having only been there once, and that by car ride, she had taken a couple of wrong turns but finally made it. It was a quarter after by the time she reached the door.
To her surprise, the door to the clinic was locked. She peered inside only to see that the shades were drawn and it appeared to be completely dark inside. Frowning, she knocked on the door. She could have sworn she heard noises inside but after what seemed like forever the door was still locked. 

Buffy was just about to break the handle from jiggling it so much when a harrowed Deaton cracked the door open. “Buffy. Hello.” His body still blocked the door so she couldn’t enter. “Hi. Sorry I’m late…” she started before she was interrupted “Now is really not a great time. We can talk tomorrow.” She edged closer placing her hand on the door. “Is Scott inside?” She was nearly certain she had heard his voice. Deaton continued to move in front of her as she tried to peer inside. “No. I have to close early today. Goodbye Buffy.” The door shut in her face.

“That wasn’t at all suspicious.” She mumbled to herself. Buffy wasn’t all too keen on walking all the way back to Marin’s after she had run all the way to the clinic. It was beginning to grow dark but she didn’t care. Creeping around to the other side of the clinic, Buffy tried to see inside through the blinds. Based on the shadows, two people were definitely inside but she was unable to make it exactly who. One shape was suspiciously similar to Scott. It lead to the question, Why would Deaton lie? Was he annoyed she was late? It was hard to believe that being late was why she had been dismissed. 

Hearing car tires squeal on the pavement outside the slayer whirled around to see a group of men exiting a car. Not wanting to get caught spying she hid behind a bush. Glancing quickly, she noticed two of the men carried guns while another had a noticeable bulge in his jacket. Her eyes narrowed as she spied the Beacon Hills High principal was also in the group. She knew there was something suspicious about that man. As far as Buffy knew, entering an animal clinic with weapons was not a customary practice. The thought it was a robbery or drug deal crossed her mind but something wasn’t adding up. At this point, Buffy had two choices. She could be the slayer. Get involved, figure out what was happening. Or, she swallowed nervously, only get involved if it became absolutely necessary. Was she truly ready to be the slayer again? Be the centerpiece of destruction? Buffy didn’t know if she could handle it. Not yet. 

She left.

She left but not before deciding she would figure out what was going on this town. Nothing was adding up and she had a feeling that the two guys she had manage to partially befriend knew more than they were letting on. 

That's what Slayers did.