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Family Reunion

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This story is No. 1 in the series "Family Reunion". You may wish to read the series introduction first.

Summary: Buffy is almost always related in some way or other to a person in a crossover this is a tale of how Buffy is related to various defenders of the world and what happens when they come to help her take on the First. Nominated Best Multiple Crossover 2010

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > Buffy-CenteredtexaswookieFR1832215,3341715994,67812 Oct 084 Jan 10Yes

Mail Call I

Mail Call I


The mailman casually dropped the stack of bills, mixed in with a couple of letters, into the mailbox. Personally, he wouldn’t have minded talking to the people that lived at this particular place, or managing to grab some of the famous muffins that were made here either. He mainly wanted to talk though, because there had been something seemingly odd about the really thick letter. It had come all the way from some place called Sunnydale in California. He prided himself with knowing things about every place a letter had come from, and a bit of the history, but oddly enough there had been very little information about this place. There had been a snippet here and there, but that was it. From what he had been able to find out, it was supposed to be a few hours away from L.A, had large gang violence, and was older than any other town that he knew of. It might even be the oldest town in the whole U.S., despite its small size.

Well, since no one was here to pick up the mail today, he had best be off, even if his curiosity wasn’t going to be answered today. He was halfway to his mail truck when a gust of wind blew his hat off. He swore he saw something move past him in a blur, but when he turned around all he saw was the kid walking down the driveway to retrieve the mail. Well whatever strangeness that letter brought, the people living here would probably never know what to do. The mailman chuckled at the thought of anyone at this house handling anything weird. These people were the some of the most stereotypical farmers that he had ever seen. The only thing that was really missing, was about 8 different kids hanging around or doing chores. No, these folks were the mold that few people could fit. There was nothing strange about the Kents.


Corporal Springer sighed as he sorted the mail for the base. There were magazines, some letters from various sweet hearts, family, friends, and some memos from D.C, about this and that. As bored as he was, he almost missed noticing the return address on one letter; it was only because it was so thick that he bothered to really look at it. His mouth went dry as he saw the name that was on there. That was impossible though, right? Last he heard, she was dead. They had all lifted their glasses in salute to her on the night they found out. Was he really that far behind on what was going on? And what’s more, how did she know Him? He swallowed nervously as he put the letter in the appropriate pile. After another hour of sorting he went to make a call sure that no one would connect the letter with the call, unless they were tapping the lines of the base. He had hoped, somewhere deep down inside, that he would never need to use this number again, except for the odd vague report of nothing that needed the kind of backup they might want to send.

He placed the call and was hoping that maybe he was wrong, but they couldn’t take that kind of chance, not on this person. He gave the appropriate signs and counter signs at three different spots in the conversation, before he was even allowed to make his report. He finally got a hold of his old C.O., which in itself was a relief. “Sir,” he reported, “Graveyard Girl has just written a letter to one of the commanding officers where I am stationed.“

“What?! “ Was the shouted response, and he heard the sound of a chair scraping the floor in the background, as someone got up fast from their seat.

“Yes, sir,” Springer agreed. “I was just as shocked as you were. I was under the impression that she was deader than a…”

“No,” the voice interrupted distractedly, “not that. We already knew that she was alive and kicking ass again.” Springer bit down on his tongue when he heard that it wasn’t necessary to inform him of this piece of information. There were more important things than just his wounded pride here.

“Who was it sent to, Springer?”

“The Colonel, sir.” There were a lot of colonels at the base, but there was only one person referred to as The Colonel.

“Understood. Go to standby mode. I’ll be leading the secondary team to discuss this with him.”

“Yes, sir,” Springer replied, hanging up. Great, his old C.O. was coming to Cheyenne Mountain to talk with Colonel Jack O’Neill, field leader of SG1.

New York

The mailman was always impressed when he dropped the letters off at this place. The building was farther off in the grounds, so it was useless to wait around to see what it was that went on in there. He casually leafed through the items before dumping them in the box. There were a handful of letters in about four different languages and the rest was mostly magazines. There were biker magazines, the gardening magazines that the white haired lady liked, some science ones, though less than there used to be. There were some new ones as well, some hand to hand combat magazines, and one that looked like it might be about circus stars, but it was in German, so he wasn’t sure.

Whatever it was that the various people here learned, he hoped that this school was making some great people come out, considering the load that he was being forced to carry to this place every day. Mondays were just plain torture. He dropped one of the envelopes and grumbled as he picked it up. What was the guy getting? A book to be published, he thought as he looked at how thick the envelope was. From a Miss B. Summers, Sunneydale, California. Sounded like a nice place to take a vacation. Wonder if they have a very active nightlife, or if it’s just dead? He liked to have a bit of action on his vacations. Maybe he should ask Mr. Scott Summers.


The farm looked like it always did when the people that lived on it weren’t being unfairly persecuted for helping people, and doing the right thing. The mail was dropped off at the peaceful farm without having to worry about any of the various methods that these people could think of to knock a person off the road. The mailman smiled as he looked over the spread. There were days that he wished that he had a spread as nice as this one, but he also knew that they had to fight all the time to keep this spread. He wasn’t sure he had the inner strength to fight the corrupt legal system that was used out here. He began filling up the mailbox; it was full of the usual car magazines, some catalogs on farm equipment, and a couple of playboy magazines, usually with the girl on top of some car. He had almost made it back to his car when he heard the familiar sound of revving engines and the wail of a patrol car. As two vehicles shot past, one had the nerve to come close enough to scratching his paint job, the other actually went tumbling off the road for a moment. The two cars went on and the mailman smiled as he saw them reach a spot where the bridge was supposed to be, but it just kept going out. The car that was being chased actually seemed to go faster for a moment and it stopped making the jerky turns it had been earlier. He watched as the first car flew over the river where the bridge should have been; the patrol car tried to copy the maneuver, but ended up only making it halfway before it started to lose air and sink its nose right into the lake, with its back wheels sticking up into the air. The mailman sighed, some days it seemed that the Dukes were just never going to grow up and act their age


Two overly concerned parents were currently reading a letter that told the story of love, hatred, and war, which a bunch of children had been drawn into. The two would stop and shake their heads in sadness whenever they came across a particularly bad piece of information. “Almost makes you ashamed to be English,” the father commented as he read about certain tests that this girl had been put through by some of his own countrymen, because of tradition set down a few hundred years ago.

“The poor dear,” The woman said, dabbing at her face as she read a part about how the girl had drowned.

“You know who we need to show this to, don’t you?” The man asked.

“Yes, but what if she shows it to her teachers, or worse yet, her friends? They might think its up to them to help.”

“It might also let them know that they aren’t alone,” the man said as he held his wife, “and this is family. If it’s one thing that we’ve always wanted, it’s a family that will stand up for each other. If that means that they get into deadly fights for each other, then we’ll deal with it the best we can and do whatever we can to support them, right?”

The woman nodded her head as she thought of her own baby going through these sorts of things. Could a person’s life be more desperate, for a group of friends that had to mold itself into a family, like the one that they had spent nearly an entire night reading about?

“Look on the bright side though, we now know what to look for,” the man said, trying to sound optimistic.

“Yes, I suppose so,” the woman admitted, “it can just be a tad overwhelming at times is all.”

“I understand,” the man replied as he gripped her hand tightly to reassure her. “I plan on using the copy machine, then sending the originals to a place where I know that they’ll be put to good use.

“Do it now,” the woman said as she nodded toward the small copy machine that they had bought last week to help them, and their only child, with paper work throughout the year.

Nodding, the man copied each page and then put them all together; he put the copied pages in an envelope and addressed it. Now they just had to wait for an owl. If anyone could make heads or tales of all that information, then it would be his kid. After all, there was no one better than his little girl, Hermione Granger, when it came to understanding these kinds of things.


The mailman cautiously approached the antique shop. This place was weird; on one day, the man who lived here would meet him with a smile and a grin, and on another, he might meet him with his hand hidden behind his back, as if he was expecting a sneak attack. The man was a bit odd, a guy as young looking as him being an art dealer just seemed off for some reason, but he wasn’t going to pry. After all, it could be something simple like he was a fence, and he got jumpy when people came by because he was protecting his interests. It wasn’t really his business, and he didn’t think anything of handing the heavy envelope to the man. The man received letters like that all the time, although they usually came from England or Paris, rather than places in California. But hey, this was Conner McCloud, as long as the guy was nice, he wasn’t going to say anything about him.

San Francisco

The mailman smiled at one of the beautiful girls that lived in the big house. One of these days he was going to ask the youngest one out, but for now, he would just enjoy watching the girls as they rushed out of the house right before lunch, occasionally in some rather revealing outfits. His personal favorites were: the purple top with the short skirt that the red head wore, the hip hugging dress that the middle one wore, and the slightly too small outfit that the eldest one wore that showed off her assets. Watching the Halliwells was definitely the best part about delivering the mail.

The man smiled as he and the youngest sister nearly collided. Another step and… he found himself stumbling past her, his collision somehow thwarted. Muttering an apology, he handed over the mail noticing that the eldest had something from Sunnydale. He would just have to ask about it next time, since he didn’t think that they were fooled right now by his innocent act.
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