Fool of The Devil II: Buffy I

Fool of The Devil II: Buffy I



– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –


Buffy slouched on the couch in the student lounge, her mind drifting back to her summer in L.A. with her dad. The buzz of students around her faded into a dull hum as she remembered the endless shopping trips, the desperate attempts to fill the fog in her brain with new shoes and cute tops.

God, I miss the mall, she thought, a wistful sigh escaping her lips. At least there, the biggest monster I had to face was my dad's credit card bill.

But even retail therapy couldn't quite shake the annoyance that had been simmering since those stupid little green trolls showed up. Giles and his "training exercises" - more like "how to ruin Buffy's summer in eight inches or less."

Dumb MacGuffins, she grumbled internally, her nose wrinkling at the memory. Who cares if some Irish, Scottish, Welsh, whatever Slayer did it? I did it faster and better.

She could still hear the high-pitched squeals of the little monsters as they tore through her dad's living room, leaving a trail of destruction that took days to clean up. And all because Giles thought it would be a good idea to mail them to her. Like, hello? Ever heard of a phone call?

Note to self: Next time Giles wants to send me a "care package," tell him I'm allergic to anything green and evil.

Buffy's fingers absently traced the edge of her skirt, her mind drifting to the upcoming school dance. Maybe if she batted her eyelashes just right, she could convince her mom to spring for a new outfit. After all, saving the world on a regular basis had to be worth at least one new dress, right?

The chatter of passing students washed over her, snippets of conversation about homework and after-school plans barely registering. Buffy's gaze wandered to the window, watching as a group of cheerleaders practiced on the lawn below. For a moment, she felt a pang of envy. Must be nice, she thought, biggest worry in the world is whether your ponytail is perky enough.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even notice Xander and Willow approaching until Xander's voice cut through her daydream.

"Buffy!"

She blinked, startled, her mind scrambling to catch up with reality. Oh, great. Zoned out again. Way to go, Summers.

"Earth to Buffy, come in Buffy," Xander's voice came again, a hint of amusement coloring his tone.

Buffy's eyes snapped to her friends, taking in their concerned expressions. Quick, act normal. You're fine. Totally fine. Just daydreaming about... normal stuff. Like algebra. Or how to kill a vampire with a protractor.

"Buffy!" Xander tried once more, his voice louder this time.

"Fine! I'm fine," she blurted out, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them. She glanced around, half-expecting to see a demon or vampire lurking behind the vending machine. But nope, just good old Sunnydale High in all its mundane glory.

Xander nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "Good! It's good that you're fine."

Buffy watched as Willow plopped down next to her, the couch cushion sagging under their combined weight. Her eyes flicked to Xander, who, in a display of grace that would make even the clumsiest vampire look coordinated, attempted to hop over the table. He landed with all the finesse of a baby giraffe on roller skates, nearly face-planting into the opposite couch.

And the gold medal for Most Awkward Table Vault goes to...

She bit back a smirk as Xander grabbed the arm of the couch, steadying himself with a sheepish grin. Sometimes, watching him was like witnessing a live-action cartoon – all flailing limbs and improbable physics.

"What were you thinking about?" Willow's voice cut through Buffy's thoughts, tinged with that mix of curiosity and concern that was so quintessentially Willow.

"Nothing," Buffy replied, the word tumbling out of her mouth faster than she could stake a fledgling vamp. Smooth, Summers. Real smooth.

She could practically feel Xander's eyebrow raising, his voice dripping with skepticism as he said, "Really? 'Cause you were looking rather out of it. Thinking 'bout Señor Fangs?"

Buffy's own eyebrow shot up, a reflex honed by months of dealing with Xander's particular brand of... Xander-ness. "What?"

"Y'know, Angel," Xander clarified, his face scrunching up in that way it did when he was about to say something ridiculous. Sure enough: "Angel with a sombrero would look rather funny, actually. All broody and mysterious, but with, like, those little dangly things. What are those called? Tassels?"

Great. Now I've got a mental image of Angel doing the macarena in full mariachi gear. Thanks for that, Xand.

"Xander," Willow chided, her tone carrying that perfect blend of exasperation and fondness that only best friends can truly master.

Buffy watched as her friends performed their well-practiced snack swap, Xander's trail mix bar arcing through the air in exchange for Willow's beef jerky. It was like watching a bizarre, junk food-based mating ritual.

"I wasn't thinking about Angel, or anything," Buffy insisted, even as she felt a telltale warmth creeping up her neck. Liar, liar, pants on hellfire.

Xander's smirk was practically audible as he quipped, "Why not? I'm thinking of him."

Buffy's eyes widened in sync with Willow's, both of them turning to stare at Xander like he'd just announced he was running for Prom King of the Underworld.

"What?" Willow squeaked, her voice hitting a pitch usually reserved for dog whistles.

"What she said," Buffy echoed, her eyebrow climbing so high it threatened to merge with her hairline.

Xander shrugged, tearing into the beef jerky with the enthusiasm of a starving hyena. "What? He had a really cool jacket. Am I not allowed to appreciate a man's cool jacket?"

Oh, Xander. Never change. Buffy shared a look with Willow, both of them rolling their eyes in perfect synchronization before turning away from Xander. It was a move they'd perfected over months of friendship, a silent agreement to ignore his weirdness for the sake of their collective sanity.

"I wasn't thinking anything, really," Buffy insisted, though even she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice. Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England. With a side gig as a rodeo clown.

"What'd you do last night?" Willow asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation into less Xander-y waters.

"Mm. Slept," Buffy replied, her mind drifting back to the jumble of images that had haunted her dreams. "I had weird dreams."

She felt more than saw Xander perk up at this, his attention zeroing in on her like a vamp catching the scent of blood. Or, you know, a teenage boy catching the scent of potential gossip.

"Dreams are meaningful," he declared, waving his jerky like a meaty professor's pointer. "I mean, last night I dreamed I was being chased by a giant Twinkie. Pretty sure that means I'm destined for greatness. Or diabetes. One of the two."

Only Xander could turn Freudian dream analysis into a junk food commercial, Buffy thought, fighting back a smile.

"Tsh!" Willow shook her head, her expression a perfect mix of amusement and mild disgust. "Tell me about it. The other night I dreamt Xander..."

Buffy watched as Willow's face suddenly went from pale to tomato red in about half a second flat. The redhead's eyes darted to Xander, then away just as quickly, like she was afraid looking at him might set her hair on fire.

"Uh, I-it wasn't Xander," Willow backpedaled, words tumbling out faster than a vampire running from a tanning salon. "I-in fact it wasn't me. It was a friend's dream, and she doesn't remember it."

Smooth, Will. Real smooth. Buffy bit back a smirk, watching as Xander's eyebrows climbed towards his hairline, curiosity practically radiating off him in waves. She could almost see the gears turning in his head, probably cooking up some wildly inappropriate theory about Willow's mysterious "friend" and her conveniently forgotten dream.

Before Xander could open his mouth and turn this already awkward moment into a full-blown cringe fest, Buffy jumped in, her tone drier than the Sahara in a heat wave.

"I bet she doesn't."

Xander grinned, bright white teeth tearing through the jerky in his hand. “You sure about that?” 

Buffy's eyes flicked back to Xander, her brow furrowing slightly. There was something... off about him. A weird vibe she couldn't quite put her finger on, like trying to grab smoke. "What?"

Xander's lips quirked into that lopsided grin of his, the one that usually preceded some form of verbal diarrhea. "I'm just saying," he chuckled, leaning forward conspiratorially. "You're not very perceptive these days."

Oh, that's rich coming from Mr. Oblivious 1997, Buffy thought, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she snorted, "Yeah, I'm sure you're one to talk."

"I mean, I've already killed you once, right?"

The words hit Buffy like a sucker punch to the gut, knocking the air from her lungs. "What?"

Before she could process what was happening, Xander was on his feet, eyes blazing an unholy red. Oh God, no, not again, not-

His hand came at her face faster than she could blink, a backhand that felt like it was powered by a freight train. Pain exploded across her cheek as she went flying, the world spinning in a nauseating blur before her back slammed into the wall with bone-jarring force.

Buffy hit the floor, dazed, her vision swimming. Get up, get up, GET UP! But her limbs felt like lead, refusing to cooperate as Xander's weight suddenly pressed down on her, pinning her to the cold linoleum.

His hands were around her throat, squeezing, crushing. Buffy clawed at his arms, her fingers scrabbling desperately for purchase. Can't breathe, can't- oh God, Xander, please!

She looked up, searching for some sign of her friend in those burning red eyes. Instead, she found only cold, alien malice staring back at her. This isn't happening, this can't be real!

Panic surged through her veins like liquid fire. With a strangled cry, Buffy lashed out, her hands flying to Xander's face. She pushed, clawed, desperate to get him off. Her fingers caught on something, and she pulled with all her might.

To her horror, Xander's face came away like a rubber mask, revealing the nightmarish visage beneath. Buffy's eyes went wide, a scream lodged in her closing throat as she stared up at the Master's twisted, demonic features.

Those yellow eyes bored into her, filled with cruel amusement as her vision began to darken at the edges. No, no, no, not again, I can't die again, I can't-

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Buffy jolted awake with a strangled gasp, her heart pounding like it was trying to break free from her ribcage. Her eyes darted wildly around the room, half-expecting to see the Master's leering face looming over her. But there was only the familiar landscape of her bedroom, bathed in the eerie glow of moonlight.

She sat up, rubbing her face with trembling hands. Just a dream. Just another stupid, terrifying, way-too-real dream. Her gaze fell on the alarm clock, its red digits glowing accusingly. Midnight. The witching hour. How fitting.

A cool breeze whispered through the room, drawing her attention to the open window. Buffy frowned, certain she'd closed it before bed. But before she could dwell on it, a familiar figure materialized from the shadows.

Angel. Of course. Because what this night really needed was a brooding vampire Romeo to complete the whole twisted fairy tale vibe.

"Hello," Buffy said, her voice steadier than she felt. No need to let on that she'd just been battling dream demons. Again.

Angel hesitated at the window, ever the poster boy for vampiric etiquette. "Mind if I come in?"

Oh, sure, why not? It's not like I need sleep or anything. "Be my guest," Buffy replied, gesturing vaguely.

"How are you?" Angel asked, his dark eyes searching her face with that intensity that used to make her knees weak. Now it just made her tired.

"Peachy," Buffy quipped, forcing a lightness into her tone she didn't feel. "So, this a social call? It is kinda late. Or, well, it is for me, anyway. What is it for you, lunch hour?"

Angel's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "It's not a social call."

Of course it isn't. Buffy sighed internally, bracing herself for whatever apocalypse-of-the-week was about to be dumped in her lap. "Lemme guess. That means grave danger. Gosh, it's good to be home."

"I wish I had better news," Angel replied, his voice heavy with that patented vampire guilt.

Buffy couldn't help herself. The sarcasm bubbled up like a defense mechanism, sharp and biting. "So, some of your cousins are in town for a family barbecue, and we're all on the menu!"

Angel's brow furrowed, clearly thrown by her flippancy. "No. The opposite actually."

Wait, what? Buffy blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Oh?"

"The Anointed One," Angel explained, a frown creasing his eternally youthful features. "He's... he's left town. Vanished. I'm not sure why."

Buffy shrugged, trying to ignore the twinge of unease in her gut. "With the Master dead, why wouldn't he?"

Angel's eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't sound too concerned."

"Less vampires in town is always better," Buffy countered, aiming for nonchalant and probably missing by a mile.

"Don't underestimate the Anointed One just because he looks like a child," Angel warned, his voice taking on that lecturing tone that never failed to grate on her nerves. "He has power over the rest of them. They'll do anything for him."

Great. A pint-sized vampire cult leader. Just what my life needed. Buffy felt the weight of it all pressing down on her, threatening to suffocate her like the Master's hands in her dream. She needed Angel gone, needed space to breathe, to process.

"Is that it? That everything?" she asked, injecting as much dismissal into her tone as she could muster. "Y'know, 'cause you woke me up from a really good dream."

It was a lie, of course, but Angel didn't need to know that. Buffy turned away, lying back down and praying he'd take the hint.

"Sorry," Angel murmured, and she could hear the reluctance in his voice. "I'll go."

Buffy listened to his footsteps, relief washing over her as he moved towards the window. But then he paused, and her heart sank.

"I missed you," Angel said softly, his voice filled with a yearning that made her chest ache.

Buffy turned, the words "I missed you too" rising unbidden to her lips. But Angel was already gone, the window closed as if he'd never been there at all.

She fell back onto her pillow with a frustrated groan. "Well, damn."