Disclaimer: Neither Buffy nor In Plain Sight belong to me.
Since 1970 the federal witness protection program has relocated thousands of people, some criminal, some innocent. Each of them has one thing separating them from the rest of the population: somebody wants them dead. Looking back I, guess it’s kind of funny just how long I’ve been involved with this sort of thing. First it was my sister, slipped into my life better than the program could ever do. If it hadn’t been for glory we might never have known. Then it was my turn: took a swan dive off a tower to save my sister, even if she wasn’t really mine, and woke up in a bed with two decades of memories that weren’t mine and a new family.
It was nice, for a while, new life, new name. My new family might have been just as screwed up as my last one, a convict father, drunk mother, and a meth-dealing sister, though that bit came later, but still. Normality. It took me two months to start to wonder why I’d ever wanted it. So I decided to do what I do best. Protect people. Even if half of them are the scum of the earth and I was stuck in Albuquerque of all places. It was better than Sunnyhell though, and even as thankless as this could be, it was better than being a slayer. Maybe it really was in my blood, a saving people thing.
Ow, god. I don’t remember it hurting like this last time. Or the first time in that cave with the master. God. This wasn’t how I pictured it ending. Even without the supernatural I thought I’d go out the same way, you know, saving someone. Doing something important. Not bleeding out in a shit-hole neighborhood on the front porch of my asshole witness. I wonder if, this time, it’ll stick?