Disclaimer: BtVS, Stargate & The Simpsons are owned by complicated corporate entities that completely fail to be me. Aladdin isn't owned by a complicated corporate entity (as much as Disney would like it to be) but still fails on the being owned by me count. My good friend, Mr. Smirnoff, may have also contributed to this story.
Willow’s scream would have woken the entire house, if weren’t for the fact that they were already awake, and sat around the kitchen table glaring at one another. She stormed down the stairs and into the room.
“I’m yellow!” she ranted, “Bright yellow! And where did the 3rd dimension go? And why does everything look drawn...” Realisation as to where she was began to set in, and her eyes focused on the most likely culprit. “Ok General, what have you done to us?”
The head of Homeworld Security had been up until the early hours discussing with Willow how his department and the newly reformed Watchers Council could work together, and had stayed the night in one of the rooms at the slayer training campus. He squirmed under her gaze – it may have been a crudely drawn approximation of her normal resolve face, but it was still just as effective.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Jack replied, “Dawn was the one playing with the magic lamp.”
Dawn glared at him for ratting her out so quickly.
“It is so not my fault – everything was perfectly under control until you blundered in without paying attention to what I was doing, and anyway Xander’s the one that brought it home with him – if anyone’s to blame it’s him.”
“Hey, don’t go trying to pin this on me,” said carpenter responded. “All I did was bring home my winnings from last night’s poker game. I was going to take it down the pawn shop as soon as they opened, but you just had to go rubbing...”
“Enough!” yelled Willow. “Will one of you please tell me from the start exactly what you have done.”
“Well Wills, it kinda goes like this”, Xander answered, the use of the nickname not softening her gaze one iota. “Last night I was having a friendly game of cards with Spike and some of his demon buddies--” seeing that Willow was about to interrupt he pre-empted her “--for good old-fashioned U.S. dollars, not kittens or any other form of wildlife. Anyway, one of them ran a little low on cash so offered this ‘magic lamp’ to see me. I had no idea whether it really was magic or not, but there was no way he was going to beat four queens and there was plenty in the pot already, so I agreed. Then this morning, Dawn comes down to breakfast, sees it on the table and asks me where I got it. I tell her about the demon and the card game, and before I can stop her she’s rubbing it to see if a genie would appear.”
“As if you haven’t already had enough problems in your life with wishes.”
“Right on cue,” Xander continued, “Genie pops up and asks her what she wishes for, but before she could answer the General here walked in and turned on the TV to watch a re-run of The Simpsons, just in time for Bart to say ‘I wanna go back to Springfield’, and well, it appears we did.”
Willow took a few deep breaths in attempt to calm down, but it didn’t work.
“So you’re telling me we’ve been sucked into a cartoon world because Bart Simpson wished it upon us?”
The three of them nodded.
“So why are we still here? Don’t these genies traditionally offer three wishes?”
Dawn looked sheepish; the two men smirked and turned to her. Gallantry only went so far, even if you were a General in the armed forces, and there was no way either one of them was going to answer that question for the angry witch.
“Well,” Dawn said, “when we first arrived they drew me in this pink skirt and halter, and made my legs way too thin – I looked like a flamingo. So I might have accidentally sorta wished for a change of outfit and better thighs?”
Willow paused for a moment, then reached out, grabbed the cartoon Dawn around her neck and began to throttle her: “Why you...”