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Thursday's Child

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Summary: Ever since her resurrection Buffy has been losing herself in dreams of the rebel Angel of Thursday, Castiel, and his mission to save the world. Problem is the stronger the dreams become, the more she begins to change.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Supernatural > Buffy-Centered > Pairing: OtherDoctorsgirlFR1814,747281,32814 Dec 1114 Dec 11No
Intro: Btvs/Spn cross. Ever since her resurrection Buffy has been having the strangest dreams where she was someone else...And yet it’s the most alive she’s ever felt. Soon Buffy finds herself lost in dreams of the rebel Angel of Thursday, Castiel, and his mission to save the world from the Apocalypse with the aid of two human brothers. But as the dreams grow clearer, Buffy finds herself altering in ways neither she nor her friends could have ever possibly imagined.
Disclaimer:Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon and Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke, nothing belongs to me.

‘Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day,
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.’


Start:

She dreams beginnings.

Of far off endings that seem meaningless in the face of The-Full-On-Capitalised-And-Hyphenated-Beginning.

Dreams filled with a warmth that is indescribable in any human words, as it envelops her in its protective cloak, yet crackles with a tang of ozone to continuously remind of its deadly potential.

Creation and destruction combines.

Origin, Continuance, Destruction.

Trinity.

She dreams of sparking solar flares which leave a tang that is almost metallic in the air and the scattering stardust which illuminates everything; filling her with an unknown and bone deep wonder.

She is what she is. An entity of light and energy and power and time, stretching onwards and seemingly limitless, in the face of the vision before her. Ageless in a way that cannot be spoken in any tongue but The Song, and even then it is uncertain that it can be fully expressed.

The ways of her Father are mysterious after all.


And not just to her. After all, only Four of their number have ever truly looked upon their Lord Father.


She can feel the presence of others of her Garrison, teasing on the periphery of her mind with their welcome song of union and belonging. But for that single moment they are eclipsed by the sheer magnitude of the sight before her.

Echoing across the boundaries of…well, everything.

Absolute and unrestrained; even as it is laid out before her.

She dreams of Creation in its purest form, slip-streaming round, through and across her being. Pure, unfettered power that shudders across her senses in a way that leaves her stunned, awed at the mere sight of it. Even as it continues on; accumulating, twisting and turning with each passing moment.

A moment which seemed so very Endless and yet so very sudden against the backdrop of black behind the patterning of stars.


She is filled with images which both made her thrum with the desire to understand, and yet at the same time quiver eagerly with an unknown fear.


It was the start, of what she didn’t know, but it was the beginning of something both wonderful; and terrible. But then, those two went together so very often.

Everything begins with a bang.

But things never were never just that simple.

At least things weren’t in her experience.

She is eternal in that moment; as time flows around her like an unending stream, welcoming her into its embrace. She feels the universe within her and she has never felt so alive.

The inferno burns within her and for the first time she is warm.



She rises for the first time since her abrupt awakening beneath the ground with a hint of the warmth from her dreams echoing through her frame, leaving her somewhat dazed. Her first experience of sleep since her…death, apparently she had not, as she had feared, forgotten how to do so.


Yet now she is awake, she is no longer endless, no longer filled with warmth. She is frozen, empty and yet filled with that sense of ‘not-belonging’ she’d always experienced to some degree even before she became a slayer, and which had in fact encouraged her desire to be ‘normal’; except now it seemed to have been times by a gazillion, she just felt like she ‘wasn’t’.

That was the only way she could describe herself. A ‘wasn’t’ and that was just an entirely new level of pathetic.

Apparently in her own psyche she no longer even rated ‘put-upon-evil-fighter’.

And wasn’t that just peachy-with-a-side-of-keen.

She is torn and she has no idea of how to fix it.

Pulled away screaming from something that is on the tip of her tongue, and yet she knows that this happened before her death and her time in heaven. In fact, when she leaves her dreams her entire life seems to be nothing but a pit-stop, which is kind of dumb. Though she’d never claimed to be all that smart, the book thing was a Wills thing, and from the look of things, it was swiftly becoming a Dawnie thing, no matter how she tried to protect her sister from the realities of slaying.


She clambers from her bed, instinctively knowing that Dawn was still asleep and the other Scoobies were outside in the yard, thinking they could speak without her hearing them. She could, apparently she’d picked up an upgrade, she gave a quiet snort as they began to discuss the state of her mental… state, choosing to block it all out.


“Shower would be good.” She murmured aloud, still unused to her own voice, finding it raspy and her throat dry. Which, she supposed was kinda to have been expected with the whole corpsified and in the ground thing that she’d previously had going on.

Her gaze fell on Mr Gordo, staring at her with near bemused piggy-eyes, clearly wondering why she was talking aloud when the only one to hear her was a stuffed pig, which, though greatly loved, wasn’t exactly the best of conversationalists.

And apparently now she was projecting.

With a quiet, almost dislocated sigh, she headed into the bathroom, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, realising she hadn’t been all that thorough the night before.

There was still gravedirt in her hair.

Wasn’t that just the kicker.

She tilted her head thoughtfully as she stared intensely at herself in the mirror. She looked…drained, her long hair shiny yes, but lacking volume, lift…enthusiasm. Kind of like the rest of her really. Her eyes were huge, like the rest of her had been starved or something, and the raccoon wide dark-circles about said eyes did nothing to remove the image of starving waif. The green eyes threaded through with brilliant blue, like the sky, stared back at her in the mirror, wide and startlingly bright considering the rest of her seemed so tired and worn; as if all the life she had left was concentrated in the blue.

She reached out tentatively with her finger, tapping against the mirrored glass with a wrecked fingernail that, like the others, not even Dawn’s hasty emergency manicure had been unable to solve. Luckily her hands had already healed, one upside to the Slayer package she supposed.

Her finger made a soft tick-tick-tick sound, almost like a clock, as it rapped against the mirror; proving it to be real.

And yet, there was something wrong, she knew deep down. Something off about the image of herself.
Shaking her head at her own thoughts, probably some residual-emotional-trauma…thingie, she turned her attention to turning on the shower and ignoring her little break with reality. The others were already treating her as though she needed to be wrapped in bubblewrap and surrounded by as many protection charms Willow, Tara and Anya could create combined.

Whatever happened to her being Slayer comma The. She who hung out at all times in cemeteries, waiting to kick the collective asses of any big bads that were out to attack Sunnyhell?

She stepped under the stream of heated water with a groan, admitting mentally that this was something she could fully get behind about rejoining the land of the living. Letting the cleansing spray to remove the last commemorative traces of her own grave.

It was only then that she became aware of the fact she was still wearing her pyjamas…so much for being fine.

They hung on her frame, soaked and vaguely pathetic, but she really couldn’t bring herself to care. It was as though they weren’t really hers, no attachment to them whatsoever even as she began mechanically removing them, stepping from the shower and draping them over the side of the bath to dry.

Steeling herself, she pulled a towel about herself, knowing full well she would have to face them.

And yet what else could she do?

They were her family.


‘Loyalty … such a nice quality to see this day and age.’


The words thrummed in the back of her mind, serpentine, almost like the memory of a nightmare as they flickered across her soul, temptation personified.

And yet she couldn’t for the life of her remember where the hell she’d heard them before.



She sipped cautiously at the coffee, wrinkling her nose at the taste, so very strong after her time of nothingness that it made her stomach roil, no matter how much sugar and creamer she poured in.

It occurred to her that her taste buds had been damaged during her time…away. She’d heard Spike talking about it when he yelled at Xander in the yard. Both thinking no-one in the house would hear.


She had.

Apparently getting resurrected had its power-boosts.

Zipa-dee-doo-dah...


She’d heard Spike’s angered yell that magic always had consequences, and it had left her wondering, unsure.

But not worried. If anything she felt…numb.

Maybe that was the consequence?

Hundred and forty seven days in the other place…And now everything else seemed so pointless. But her friends needed her, and if there was anything left of Buffy Summers it was the need to be there for her friends.

They were all she had.

Coming to a silent decision, she slipped out to join them out in the garden, so busy in their group-huddle they didn’t notice her quiet-as-a-cat approach. In all honesty she didn’t see the need to be all noisy and stuff, if anything it would just give her a headache.

Sound and Buffy were kind of non-mixy things these past few hours, since clambering out of the ground actually. And hearing the worms in the earth had been freaksome as all hell, and really hadn’t helped her panic at waking up trapped in an enclosed wooden box underground.


“What’s the what?” She queried softly, as though she hadn’t heard their entire conversation about mysterious visions they were having of her throwing things.

She watched them start in surprise, and tentatively reveal the situation; apparently not wanting to push her straight into the whole slaying gig, especially when it came to her…wake up call from the long perma-nap.

Exactly the opposite of what she wanted to do.

She needed normality around her, if only for a while.

She just needed to forget the other place. Even if only for a little while...



She dreams of fire, death and war.

Of a battle so brutal that it seems like the end of it all, as the scent of ozone crackled about the star-light, and as crystalline swords, glimmering with unnatural light, are swung through creation by beings that hummed with power and effervescence. Clashing in unthinkable tremors.

It is not the end, it is only the Beginning.

She dreams of flames and darkness.

Of thunderstorms that rumble on around her, lightning echoing attack after attack, as if trying to express the pain of her Father as blade meets blade and Graces clash.

Brother against Brother among the hordes of Heaven and Hell and it is all she can do not to cry with the sorrow of such a thing. She holds it back, knowing her place as one of many.

She is after all, a soldier, and she has her orders, besides she does not want to be too close when it occurs.


The it that has been building for so long that even She, a low leveled Seraph has felt it humming within the choir. Though she has yet to understand what this intangible event shall be.

The lights of the two main fighters are not simply blinding but breaking, shattering and reforming parts of reality in an instant, and already there are hints of how it will end, how they all know Rebellion will end but none dare speak it aloud.

That’s just how it goes.

She sees the fall from the sidelines, even as she uses all her cunning to cast down a being she once knew as Sister, but will now be ‘traitor’.

Her eyes take in all as she Watches; Sees the light flare like never before, even as it is cast to the depths, to be hidden away amongst flame and sulphur, its Grace sundered.


The Morningstar has fallen.



“Buff? Buffy!”


She woke suddenly at the call of her name, starting in surprise and nearly putting her fist through the table in the Magic Box at which she was sat, supposedly ‘researching’, though she couldn’t for the life of her remember what she’d been researching.


‘Way to avoid drawing attention there Summers’, she mentally groaned as the others clustered around to all demand if she needed anything in varying pitches.

Her head spun as though she were riding a tilt-n-whirl; making her all not of the fun, plus you know, added possible unfunness of being sick. She covered her quiet groan with a stretch.


“I’m fine guys. Guess I just needed to get back into things. Besides, research? So not my gig. I mean really, what am I gonna know about…” She peered at the musty book in from of her with an arched eyebrow. “Rituals to encourage female independence of men?”


There was an awkward pause as the Scoobies took that it, before as one they turned to look silently at an utterly unembarrassed female former-vengeance demon.

“What?” Anya shrugged her shoulders.

“Ahn, we talked about this.” Xander groaned at his girlfriend, though like most of them he seemed thankful she wasn’t out and out selling ‘how to wreak ironic and pain-filled vengeance on your cheating significant other in ten easy steps.’


They’d nipped that one in the bud when they’d found the rough draft by the account book.

The world was a safer place for it.


“Honestly Xander, I can’t believe you aren’t supporting me in this. Just because I’m no longer bringing brutal and bloody torment to the slime of masculinity, who definitely deserved it, doesn’t mean I can’t encourage women to stand up for themselves.”

“She is woman, hear her roar.” Dawn grinned, nudging Tara lightly, making the white wiccan smile.
Buffy sighed inwardly in relief at her success in the whole diversion thing.

“Guys, I’m gonna head out. It’s getting kind of dark and I should probably focus on getting back into the swing of things.” She fixed a smile on her face, as she attracted their attention, and most of them seemed to perk up on her interest.

She had been kind of distant, though they weren’t really sure why.

But this was good. Patrol was normal right?

She could see the cogs spinning in their minds.


“Totally, we’ll hold down the fort here.” Willow smiled, nodding, even as Tara gave her a reassuring smile, Xander and Anya bickering in the background.

She walks through the darkness, feeling physically nauseous at the Hellmouth, which she can feel in the air stronger than ever before as it presses down on her.

This is Hell....



She enters the room that she once considered hers on edge, feeling the hum of an indescribably familiar something, that she knows well but cannot name; which seems to expand. Filling the air with power and leaving the tang of burnt morning across her tongue.


"You don't belong here."


The voice comes from behind, cutting into her like claws of iron, thrumming with an untamed hatred. Hatred for her, she knows that much. But she does not understand why.

She turns as swiftly on her heels as her limited form allows. To face it, tilting her head to take in the sight before her.

He blue eyes blown wide even as she takes ii in, all that remained of the green of her eyes were small flecks about the edges. Forced to the periphery by the seriousness of hr situation.


She drops into a defensive stance, reaching into her coat sleeve for a blade that was not there, leaving her grasping at nothing even as she takes in the being before her, all light, power, teeth and wings?


She stares in bemusement, and deep down she knows this inexplicable being was not demon despite the rather prominent head of a lion it seemed to sport.

It hovers in the air before her, twisting and reforming in a forceful instant and yet seeming…lesser than it should be.

Its wing-like appendages twitch and flutter with scarcely restrained anger, even as its light illuminates even the darkened air of the Hellmouth-tainted room.


“You can still see us of course. Despite your little…downgrade.” It speaks without opening the jaws of it's supposed 'mouth', a voice both terrible and wonderful.


Us, the words pierce through her confusion to the crux of the matter. There were more than one of this being?

Her eyes dart around the room worriedly, her hand lashing out at the being, but simply falling through it. Accomplishing little other than setting the tiny hairs on her arms upright with static charge.

Whatever it was, it was as mass-less and formless as it looked, and trying to hit it was doing nothing but making her feel foolish for swinging her arms at thin air trying to catch shadows.

As if she was a mere bug, it throws out a part of itself and sends her flying.

The blow sent her crashing into the wall behind her. Fear settled into her. How could she fight something she couldn't hit but could do what it liked to her?

Which acts like a blow that has left her rattled and reeling, is a mere finger-flick in its perception of events.

She suddenly feels herself lifted once again, thrashing in the being’s grasp as it hurled her through the door, feeling it splinter around her, raining pieces of broken wood down on her dazed form even as she tried to stumble to her feet, spitting out the blood which had collected in her mouth.


"Did they tell you that you belonged here?" The disembodied voice came again and she couldn’t get rid of the feeling that she had heard it before, even as it echoed upon itself like discordant bells.


"Did they say this was your home again you pathetic traitor?"


She spun, looking for an opening if such a being could have one, not understanding how this being knew her.

Traitor? How was she a traitor?


"Did they offer you pretty human lies?" An almost hand-like appendage encircle her throat as the amused words escaped it, lifting her from the ground and leaving her choking on her lack of air, feet kicking impotently at a creature made of light and air. “Or did they even give you a choice as they ripped you from the host once more?"


She went limp in the thing's grasp.


"I…I don’t…?" She choked out, even as the grip loosened slightly.


A patronising laugh, which was only describable by the word ‘nasal’ echoed through the air, not really fitting with the ethereally cruel image before her, making the room itself shudder.


"Oh yes that's right.” The being snorted, loosening its grip on her windpipe to allow some precious air into her lungs, which she gulped greedily. Apparently it liked to monologue. She could work with that. “You forgot everything little brother, or should I call you sister now? What you've come to after all those misdeeds for your pathetic little human worm that couldn’t even play the goddamned role destiny laid out for him!”

The creature grew more and more erratic as it spoke, and she had a feeling that had it been human it would literally be spitting its frustration as it spoke, as it was, it’s lion head snarled brutally.

My Grandma, what big teeth you have… The words rang in her head in a moment of sheer hysteria at the situation.


“I used to be the go-to guy. Not a single failure on my account, but then you and those pathetic mortals have to go and have your little tantrums and I’m a laughing stock. After all, that was all they really gave a damn about upstairs ain’t it? Results, results, results. They had no idea, they were never on the ground like us, were they. Noses in the mud with those monkeys, and look how they warped you. You used to be such a good soldier, and then one mud-monkey pats you on the head and you’re turning on your own family. For what? Humans? Where’s the loyalty in that? Oh we helped start the Apocalypse? Boo-fucking-hoo, it’s not like humanity’s treated our father’s gift well. But you see ‘Cass’ you made one hell of a mistake when you crossed me, and I’ll tell you why. I might not be as strong as Michael, but I’m a hell of a lot more petty.” The being smirked, she didn’t know how she knew, as far as she knew smirking wasn’t exactly a lion thing to do. But the guy was definitely smirking.

And she really didn't like it.

But all the same, 'Cass' that was important. Somehow. It was just beyond her as to why, she couldn’t remember where she’d heard it.

A flash of green eyes, an amulet and a leather jacket flashed in her mind, confused and utterly unknown.

‘Your frat brothers’ are even bigger douches than we thought.’ The words gruff and unbending in their tone. Reflecting the speaker's nature. But he was...


“Or maybe you don't want to remember your shame?" The cunning in the creature’s voice ripped her from her thoughts and the mysterious voice, even as it dropped her heavily to the floor.


"What the hell are you talking about?" she yelled, struggling to her feet, trying to get a grip on the floor as she stumbled away from the being which was so far out of her league right now that it wasn’t even funny.


“Come on kid, you can run, but well, you can't actually run.” It scoffed, playing with her, like a cat with a mouse. “I mean you’re all squishy and human now.”


“I am so gonna kick your ass.” She snarled.


"Oh come on, don’t get all whiney. It's not like you don’t deserve to die, and hey, who knows, maybe it’ll stick this time? Though personally I liked the one with Raphael, what was it that the prophet said… Oh yes, like chunky soup. Those were the days.” The being laughed, talking about her death as easily as talking about the weather, “I mean, it’s not like you want to be here anyway…Why not just hop gracefully off the mortal coil this time, it would make things so much easier. The paperwork for one thing would be considerably lighter.”

“Oh go neuter yourself Sylvester.” She snarked dryly.

Let it never be said that a slayer couldn’t pun in the face of near certain death.


“Ah, the feeble banter portion of the fight. Apparently Winchester has been rubbing off on you…you should probably get shots for that. Father knows where he’s been.” The words mimicking one of her first annual 'the-world-is-ending' fights in an attempt to throw her.

But Buffy wasn’t listening anymore.


Winchester.

She knew that name, it was important, but where had she…

Dean…


The images began to flash through her head, as if on a looping reel. She knew that Dean Winchester was her friend. She knew that she had helped him escape…escape from somewhere important. She remembered green eyes, a black car and an amulet.

A Search for God despite her Brothers and Sisters.

Brother…

Her head snapped up and the name came to her lips unbidden.


“Zachariah!”


“Well it’s about time," Snorted the figure, puffed up with its own importance, even as her mind overlaid his form with that of a balding, overweight man dressed like some sort of corporate tool, right down to the Board-Of-Executives paunch he seemed to sport. “And here was me thinking you’d been permanently damaged by being stuffed in the new meat suit, I mean you’re unbelievably pathetic right now. Scarcely above human. It would be so very easy to kill you. Like scraping an ant off my boot.”

“Why don’t you.” She snapped, instantly regretting it.

Seriously, what was with her and taunting bad guys into killing her? Her current record had pretty much proven that as a tactic, it really wasn't the best way to go.


“Oh, I’m not the ‘bad guy’ in all this Sister.” Zachariah sniffed, and she knew he was reading her mind. She swiftly though off pulling out its ribcage and stomping on it…repeatedly but the being, clearly picking up Buffy radio simply gave a put-upon sigh. “Cute. But the point being is, as much as I really want to kill you. I not that I can’t. But I don’t want to, at least not yet. Because thanks to those little Winchesters of yours we’re stuck here…wherever ‘here’ is. Can you believe that they had the nerve to try to kill me?”


“Can’t imagine why they’d want to do that what with you being a cuddly, upstanding member of the community; Simba.” Buffy snarked, dusting herself down even as she edged closer to her weapons trunk.

“Oh don’t even bother. Those won’t hurt me and you’re too fucked up to even remember how. The point is we’re both stuck here and the way I see it is that we should call a truce to get back to the real world where the real host exists. After all, I’ve got an Apocalypse to organise, you’ve got your futile little rebellion to help out. Everybody wins.” 'Zachariah' brushed aside the idea of her fighting back as laughable, and it filled her with a low bubbling rage that had often accompanied the numerous height jokes of her more younger years. You know, before she could all but bench-press a truck.

“Exactly how many pills have you been popping? I’m Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I belong here.” She huffed, allowing more than a little of her annoyance to shine through.

“Oh they’ve really done a number on you haven’t they. Really have to find out who does their work. When you’re ready to admit the truth and come play with the big leagues let me know…”

And with a flutter of wings on the air it was gone, leaving her alone in the darkness once more.

Alone and confused.



She drifts shapeless and yet at the same time not.

She flits through imagining after imagining of Heaven, unique to each human and yet separated, unlike when her Father preferred for humanity to walk amongst the Heavens unhindered. But things have changed now, and instead she travels through the routes known only to her kind, thumming with a worried sort of anticipation as she prepares for battle, sword thrumming in hand.

A storm has begun.

Or started again maybe.

The Righteous Man has sold his soul, her garrison chosen to pull him from the Abyss. Why she is unsure, knowing only that they are her orders.

Draw up the Righteous One, for only he who breaks the first seal can end it. Though silently she hopes the seal will not break, that the human DeanWinchester will not break.

And yet she already knows he will.

Lilith has planned this all too well.

Dean Winchester will fall, and soon her most terrifying of Brother's will attempt to rise.



A/N: End Chapter, reviews are as ever appreciated for my latest endevour.

The End?

You have reached the end of "Thursday's Child" – so far. This story is incomplete and the last chapter was posted on 14 Dec 11.

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