Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and BtVS belongs to Joss Wedon. This was written for fun. Please review.
July 24, 1983
Hank Summers watched the clock on his bedroom wall from his bed carefully, waiting. He had been kicking himself for his stupidity and weakness for the past year and now he knew why that demon wanted permission to enter his house. The demon wanted his daughter. His only hope was that it would keep its end of the bargain. As long as it wasn’t interrupted, everyone would be safe.
He looked away from the clock as Joyce walked out of the in-suite bathroom with the baby monitor in her hand. There were cooing and sucking sounds and occasional hisses of the words ‘yes’ and ‘good’ coming from the device in her hand. “If you’re not with Buffy, than who is?” Joyce asked.
Hank didn’t answer as he watched his wife march out of the bedroom and down the hall to the nursery. He pulled back the covers, got out of bed, and tore after her. Hank nearly collided with her when he got to the door of the nursery. Joyce was standing in the doorway, transfixed in horror as she watched whatever was going on in the room.
“Please, let’s go back to bed,” Hank pleaded, tugging lightly on Joyce’s sleeve. Joyce wasn’t listening. She was gaping in horror at the figure standing over her daughter’s crib. The man was tall and dressed entirely in black. Something was extended over the crib, but the darkness in the room and the man’s clothing made it hard to tell what it was.
“What the hell are you doing!” Joyce demanded as she stepped into the room. “Back away from the baby and I won’t call the police!”
The figure turned his head, eyeing Joyce up and down. It was then that Hank saw the eyes of the man. They were the same pale yellow they were when he first made the deal. He could see them across the room. They seemed to glow with power.
Before Joyce could make it half way to the demon, the demon jerked his head. Joyce was flung against the wall and Hank was frozen in place where he was, in the doorway of the nursery. Joyce struggled to push off the wall. “You stay away from my baby!” she shouted as she tried to push off the wall. She only managed a few inches before she was slammed back. Joyce began to cry, tears falling down her face. “Please don’t hurt my baby.”
Hank watched, unable to move as the demon jerked his head again and Joyce began to slide up the wall. “Joyce,” he whispered as tears began to fall down his own face. “Please let her go. Let them both go,” he whimpered. The demon didn’t acknowledge him, but Hank hadn’t really expected him to. He just watched as Joyce made the transition from the wall to the ceiling. “Please.”
“You did this to her, Hank,” the demon said, watching as Joyce slid into place over the crib. “All I asked was that I wasn’t interrupted. No one would’ve gotten hurt.”
Joyce’s tears began to fall into the crib below her as she sobbed, and tried to push off the ceiling with less and less hope of actually getting free.
“Joyce!” Hank shouted, a sob evident in his voice. “Please, let her go!” He began to fight against whatever paralysis the demon had put on him. “Let them go!”
The baby began to cry as the demon turned his gaze from Joyce to Hank. “No.” The figure stretched a hand to Joyce and drew a line in the air as he turned his attention back to the sobbing woman.
A deep cut began on Joyce’s abdomen, staining her pajamas a dark red. Joyce shouted in pain as the cut crossed her belly from left to right. The demon watched, almost uninterested, as Joyce stopped struggling and began screaming in pain, and Hank began shouting denials and pleading for his wife’s safety. With another flick of his wrist, the demon set Joyce on fire. Then he disappeared.
Hank stared at his burning wife for a full five seconds before he realized he could move again. He pushed himself to his feet and ran to the crib. He swept his daughter into his arms and ran out of the house, using his daughter’s blanket to muffle his sobs.
He made it out of the house as a fire truck pulled onto the street. Hank collapsed beside his car and began to cry, clutching his daughter to him. He didn’t remember too much after he got out of the house, but he didn’t let go of the only link he now had to his dead wife. The bundle in his arms was now his world and he would do anything to protect her.
He pulled the blanket off of her face and gazed at the baby. Her eyes were his green, but the almond shape was all Joyce’s, so was the light dusting of freckles across the baby’s nose. Her hair was just starting to turn from the blonde of newborns to a rich honey color. “Buffy,” Hank whispered, “I swear to you I will hunt down this demon and I will kill it, or I will die trying.”
Hank burst into his boss’s office the next morning. Quentin Travers was sitting quietly behind his desk in his usual pressed suit. His hands were clasped around a tea cup as he read a newspaper.
Hank had joined the American branch of the International Watcher’s Council three years after he had his encounter with the man with the yellow eyes. After a year, he had told Quentin about the meeting and Quentin promised protection. A team from the Council purified and warded the house over the course of a week after Hank confessed while Hank took Joyce on dates to get her out of the house. Apparently, the protection hadn’t been enough.
Quentin looked up when the door to the office banged against the wall, revealing a very angry Hank. “I thought you said those wards and protections would work!” Hank shouted.
“Those were the strongest wards we could give you,” Quentin replied in a calm tone. “Take a seat and have some tea.” Quentin nodded his head to the second steaming cup of tea on his desk.
Hank breathed harshly for a few seconds before collapsing into the chair in front of Quentin’s desk. “It appears that your creature is more powerful than we thought it was,” Quentin continued as Hank dumped sugar and milk into his tea.
“It killed Joyce,” Hank said brokenly.
“I am sorry.”
“Do you know what it did to Buffy? There was blood on her mouth,” Hank asked.
Quentin sat up a little straighter and put away his paper. “Do you know how long or often the demon bled into your daughter’s mouth?”
Hank paused, tea cup half way to his mouth. “No, why? Is that important?”
Quentin closed his eyes and sighed. “Since you told us what you did in 1973, the Council has been researching the incident. You weren’t the only one to make a deal with that particular demon. As of now, Buffy is the fifth child with a parent who made a deal with this demon. But the blood is important. Ingesting demon blood has the potential to give a human special abilities.”
“Are you saying she could be a Slayer?”
“You know we tested her when she was born, at your request. Buffy has the Potential, but with the ingestion of the blood, it is less likely that she will be Called. It is uncertain what kind of abilities the blood will give her, if she indeed gets something out of it,” Quentin explained.
“How many of these kids are there?” Hank asked.
“At least 150, that we know about,” Quentin responded. “Since you brought this demon to our attention, we have done our best to track where he’s been and where he’s going. We don’t know as much as I’d like.”
“Do we know what he wants with Buffy and the other children?” Hank asked.
“No, not for sure.”
“What can I do to protect my daughter?”
“There are a couple things we could do,” Quentin began. “We could train her similar to a Slayer. She would have the care and support of the Council behind her. We would be able to help her with any abilities she could develop from exposure to the blood.
“Or we could use a spell to activate her Potential. She would then technically become a Slayer, but wouldn’t be a part of the true Slayer line. Her abilities would come from the blood your demon gave her instead. If we do activate her, it would most likely negate any other power she would gain. She would learn to control her power, and it wouldn’t control her.”
Hank stared in confusion. “How do you know that you can control the power the blood will give her?”
Quentin gave him a small smile. “The Slayer line began in a similar way. The spell used then allowed the power to be passed on. The spell I’m talking about is a modified version and the line will begin and end with your daughter.”
Hank leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. What Quentin was suggesting weren’t horrible ideas. He had been scheduled to begin Watcher training shortly before the demon’s attack.
If he accepted either one of these options, he could stay with his daughter and both would learn how to protect themselves about the creatures in the dark. After they learned, both of them could go out and hunt, and eventually kill, the demon who got Joyce.
He didn’t want Buffy to grow up with abilities that she couldn’t control. Hank liked the idea that Buffy would be able to control what happened to her if she were activated.
“I want to have the last word on Buffy’s training,” Hank said.
Quentin’s smile widened. “That can be arranged.”
“I also what to be her watcher. Where she goes, I go, and I get veto power over any assignment I don’t think we’re ready for.”
Quentin shook his head. “You can’t be her Watcher. You have no experience. However, I can grant you the rest of your request.”
“Then I request Jennifer Calendar.”
“Very well, she’s yours. So, which of our options are you choosing?”
Hank looked into the grey eyes of Quentin Travers. He hoped he was making the right decision. “Activate her.”
“Very well,” Quentin said with a broad grin. “A contract will be drawn up and on your desk by the end of the day. Read it carefully and make any changes you like. As soon as the contract is approved by both you and me and signed, your daughter will be activated.”
Hank stood up and shook hands with Quentin, knowing he had just been dismissed. He walked out of the office with trepidation, hoping he hadn’t just sold his soul, or worse, Buffy’s.
Quentin watched Hank leave. He knew that Buffy would be getting the support that no other Slayer would get. He had been arguing for more supports for the Slayers for decades, but the traditionalists on the board of the Council were against it. They claimed that any help for the Slayer would simply end up in dead bodies and a distracted Slayer. Quentin was hoping that Buffy would prove him right, and knowing Hank Summers, he was sure that Buffy wouldn’t disappoint.
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