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Hank Summers, Dark-Hunter?

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This story is No. 1 in the series "Resurrected 'Verse". You may wish to read the series introduction first.

Summary: Hank Summers isn’t the world’s greatest parent, but just maybe he had a really good reason for running off to Spain…

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Literature > Dark Hunter SeriesJmariaFR1876,68922111,36611 Sep 0815 May 10Yes

Into: Time Well Wasted

Title: Hank Summers, Dark-Hunter?
Author: Jmaria
Rating: FR-18 for imagery.
Disclaimer: Joss owns the dubious Mr. Summers, Kenyon owns all things Dark-Hunter
Summary: Hank Summers isn’t the world’s greatest parent, but just maybe he had a really good reason for running off to Spain…
A/N: Set at the end of season two, because that’s the last we saw of Mr. Summers for three seasons! Inspired by a challenge focused on the semi-negligent parents of the Buffyverse (Ira & Shelia Rosenburg, Mr. & Mrs. Osbourne, Mr. & Mrs. Chase and Hank) in a more positive light. I picked Hank because, well, I did.

Hank Summers, Dark-Hunter?

Into: Time Well Wasted

Hank Summers was never going to win Father of the Year. Or Husband of the year either. He’d wanted to commit his daughter, had divorced his wife, and had taken the house. To be fair, they’d actually sold the house and spilt the proceeds, but in his daughter’s eyes he’d taken her childhood home away.

His job - a job he’d hated taking in the first place, out of necessity to feed his young family - kept him in L.A. and nowhere near his troubled teenaged daughter. He’d spent only a few weekends with her and the three months of summer vacation had seemed like too little, far too late. He didn’t know his family any more, and everything he’d tried to do to keep them together only seemed to drive them further apart.

No one would mourn him when he was gone. He was fairly sure no one would even note his absence, and that was entirely his fault. He smiled sadly at his captors, knowing the joke was on both of them.

“Go ahead, you might as well kill me. The slayer will never come for me,” Hank laughed miserably.

They were ugly scabbed mottled gray demons, over-anxious to kill his daughter. He might not be a considered good dad in his daughter’s eyes, but he’d be damned if he let anything hurt his little girl who’d once wanted to a figure skater. Blood trickled down from a gash in his forehead, another on his abdomen, back and chest. Six of his fingers had been broken, and he couldn’t hear out of his left ear anymore.

“Sire! We’ve found her!” One of the demons gave a low grating yell of success.

“Where is the little bitch?” the head torturer demanded.

“The Boca del Inferno. Sunnydale.”

Hank fought not to let any recognition cross his face. They could be just guessing, and watching for his reaction. There was no way in hell that he was going to let her down now that she really needed him. The head torture slid his gaze toward Hank.

“Who gave you this information?”

“A bloodsucker.”

A resounding crack rent the air as the messenger went sprawling at the feet of the head torturer. He raised his bloodied whip again and slashed heavily against the messenger’s stomach.

“You damn fool! No vampire is reliable!”

“The slayer killed the Master, bested both William the Bloody and Angelus time and time again! Everyone speaks of it!”

“And the Anointed One?”

“Well, the Bloody one claims that as his own kill, but it was the Slayer who weakened his following so greatly and left him open for attack.”

The head torturer grinned maliciously at Hank’s tensed form before nodding to the messenger. The slavering horde behind them cackled and howled with malevolent delight.

“She’s not there! She’s in Torrance!” Hank yelled, glaring at the messenger. “He just doesn’t want to be beat anymore!”

“And you said you’d never spill your guts to us and to just kill you!” The monster snarled, his long wicked dagger tore through the slight paunch of Hank’s stomach, his intestines and blood slipping from him and curdling around his knees.

Hank blinked in confusion, his mind not registering the pain and blood loss. What it did register was the head torturer’s final words to him.

“Don’t worry, we won’t kill little Buffy … not until we’re done playing with her. She’ll beg for death just like you did, and we’ll tell her you told us her secret with a song in your heart.”

Hank’s scream gurgled from his lips and he wanted nothing more than to kill them all. He needed to save his girls - Joyce and Buffy. His wife that he still cared for and the daughter he’d once sung to sleep as an infant. His little girl.

“You sure are a screamer. Huh. You’re a corporate fool. You’re kind aren’t supposed to have any fight in you.”

Hank blinked up at the woman that none of the others seemed to notice. She was a stunningly gorgeous red-haired woman dressed in a long flowing white gown. Her manicured fingers tapped her blood-red lips.

“Help…” Hank murmured, trying to focus on the woman.

“Help you do what, exactly? Bleed more?”

“Have to … save my … little girl,” His whole body was getting limp and heavy, and he couldn’t feel anything but a biting cold.

“From what?”

“Demons…kill her…have to…save Buffy and…Joyce. Not strong enough.”

“Not alive enough,” the woman sneered. “Certainly not fit enough, even if you weren’t already dead.”

“Have to…save Buffy. All…my…fault.”

“Technically? I’m not allowed to interfere, and you’re really not a warrior. But even I heard your death knell. If I give you the power and the strength to save your child, what would you offer me in return?”

“My life.”

“Already cashed in.”


“Including your soul and your new lease on life?”


“Acheron won’t be pleased…but he never seems to be pleased with me anyway.”

Her fingers brushed through the gaping wound at his stomach, the skin stitching itself up, and the burn of a double bow tattoo formed on the slight bulge of his belly. He gasped in pain as life coursed back through his body. He blinked up dumbly at the woman - strike that, the Goddess Artemis who now owned his soul. Information swamped his senses before he could really take in her next words.

“You get to kill that particular troupe of demons, thus saving your daughter from that threat. But you will never see her or her mother again. You’re my Dark-Hunter now. I own your soul, your allegiance and your body. After you’ve killed them, I will send you to your commander, Acheron. Is that understood, Henry James Summers?”

“Yes, Goddess?”

When Hank blinked his eyes again, he stood before the demons. They looked shocked at seeing the dead man before them. They didn’t have time to be anything else. Hank Summers vengeance was swift and painful. And the Slayer got to evade the one troupe of demons that could have attacked her when she was reeling from the loss of her entire world.
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