Drabble: Into the Fire ( welcome, Jedi Collins )
“I dunno, Sam,” Buffy’s sunny, these days. Lots of yellow, a re-appearance of spring butterflies here and there in her hair. Like she’s trying to use color to pull herself out of whatever funk she’s been in lately. Shades of morning and summer to offset her gloomy demeanor. Her eyes cast down to her half-eaten yogurt, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with an equally tired, equally glum Caroline who hasn’t taken her eyes off Stefan since he walked into the room. It’s late, somewhere in the midst of twilight that sees these overworked, underpaid Avengers finally up and at ’em. Sitting down to the world’s most depressing breakfast before heading out for nightly patrols.
Buffy sighs without making a sound and doesn’t lift her gaze until she absolutely has to, “I mean, I don’t have context, I’ll grant you — I only faced Katherine once. And I know you guys have history,” which is the nicest way, ever, of saying Sam has a thing about bad girls that gets him into an awful lot of trouble, “It’s just, after everything she’s done. Sam. After everyone she’s hurt…”
Sam half-smiles, flinches, that annoyed little tick that rears it’s ugly head when someone’s listening, but they’re not hearing him. He’s frazzled, has to get his hair out of his face, so he brushes it back with both hands, “You know, I get it. I do, I get why you’ve got reservations and, you should. Katherine’s done a lot of damage but if we’re saying that makes her damaged goods? That she’s not worth saving? I’m sorry, I just don’t accept that.”
That would be catnip to Faith if she hadn’t checked out the minute Katherine’s name was brought up. She’s vaguely aware of what’s going on, and about how much of Sam’s ass will get kicked later on for this weird obsession with a former slice that was, by all accounts, a cheap placeholder for Faith in his life. Right now, though? By the grace of God, it’s none of her business.
She’s sliding in her earpods, intent on ignoring this all in favor of every Smashing Pumpkins song she’s ever heard, when one of them is suddenly yanked out of her ear. She turns her head a bit, just in time to see Damon plop down on the seat between Ric and herself with a smirk and the most wicked eyebrows you’ve ever seen.
He wants something, and it’s distracting to Sam to watch Damon sweep glossy curls off Faith’s neck as a dramatic prelude to whispering something in her ear, cheek to cheek, that tickles her enough to crack a pirate grin across her face — distracting, but not for the reason you’re thinking. Damon’s too touchy-feely. Especially here lately, walking around cocooned in the glow of eternal honeymoon. Pulling a Joe Biden with anyone who doesn’t flinch. It’s just how he is and they all know he doesn’t mean anything by it. Ric doesn’t even look up from his book for anything but a bite of his sandwich. He doesn’t really need to. For all their bullshit, there’s a trust building there that’s a beautiful thing to behold — or, it would be, if anyone noticed. So long as Damon’s not leering at Sam, Ric can deal.
Sam’s still not happy, about to lay the whole situation out because Buffy’s about as wrong as you get without being Bizarro Superman. When someone finally busts in, it’s Dean. Both elbows on the giant table, forehead in his hands. Frustrated by a replay of fluffy-headed nonsense from the original Ruby Apologist, “Alright, alright, alright,” he uses his patented shushing hand to quiet his brother before he can do more damage, eyes still shut for another blissful moment before he’s got to join the conversation, “Look, Dude. I get you have some fond memories there, who wouldn’t? But Buffy’s right. What’s Katherine ever done but go full-on Cujo on us? Huh? No. No, Sammy, we got our own problems now. Long as she doesn’t go floatin’ around, making noise, we got no reason to cross her path, but fat-ass chance of her staying quiet.”
Sam’s complaint catches in his throat and he’s on his feet, pacing away towards the telescope with both fists in his hair. He sighs, turns back to the group and tries not to look like a toddler with his arms folded, “Fine. You’re right, she’s not trustworthy… and I’m not saying she is but she came to me for help. I think. Maybe she just needs to feel like she can come to us if she’s in trouble?”
Caroline sighs, obviously tired. Of the conversation, mostly. She definitely got more sleep when she was human. Her cheek’s resting hard on the edge of her balled-up fist and when she speaks, it’s weakly through a set jaw, “Okay. I don’t love it, but if you think she’s being genuine? We trust your judgement.” she glances around the rest of the group, hoping for some show of support to put an end to a conversation she doesn’t really want to be having, “Don’t we?”
The room falls almost silent at that, no one really wanting to be the first to agree that Katherine Pierce should get the benefit of any doubt. What sounds there are seem nervous. The squeak of the cloth against Giles already clean glasses. Dean loudly clearing his throat. A ‘since when’ look on Castiel’s face that’s almost audible. Sam’s pissy, “Yeah.” is the cherry on top of the silence. He’s not getting anywhere with this group, and he knows it.
“Never fear,” if there’s one thing Xander Harris is good at, it’s putting himself in a situation that might end in a kicking of his ass. It’s a good thing the group in front of him is used to crappy surprises, because in other circumstances? Announcing his presence like a jump scare to a group of tired, jittery superheroes might have ended badly. As it is, the tension and exhaustion is obvious as he makes his way into the middle of the War Room with a clearly unwanted junior Slayer and a pretty little red-headed thing no one’s ever seen before, “Xander’s…” he’s barely acknowledged. He slows, looks around at a crowd that’s definitely not happy to see them, “… here?” then glances back at his posse with an uninspired, sarcastic shrug, “And you guys were worried we were interrupting something.”
Kennedy, who looks less than enthusiastic to be part of an entourage lead by Xander Harris, shoots the room a look and puts one hand on her hip and a friendly arm around the new girl’s shoulders, “See, Jedi? I told you the Men of Letters were total adults,” it’s sarcasm, but at least it’s a chipper sarcasm.
If confusion could manifest as a person, it would be the new girl in the room. With her huge, innocent eyes and miles of ginger mane, Jedi definitely stands out in the crowd of exhausted hunters. She’s taking things in as calmly as she can, but being in the Men of Letters bunker, for someone with a heightened olfactory sense, is like being in a candle shop. A gross, disgusting candle shop that sells trash-scented candles. It’s sensory overload for someone not used to it. The Slayers smell human, mostly. Like a fight, the dirt in a wet cemetery all being masked by expensive perfume and cigarettes. The hunters, more like booze and gunpowder — all familiar to her.
What’s not familiar? There are corpses in this room. They walk, they talk. They spend too much time on their hair. The group’s vampire-to-everyone-else ratio is actually ridiculously high, and if it weren’t for the fact that there were more than one species of vampire in this room, they’d be easy to pick out just from the scent.
And there’s a demon in there. Sulfur, whiskey and fear. At least one, but demons aren’t something Jedi’s run into, much, and pinpointing exactly what that scent is will likely keep her up, tonight. Xander glances back at her, “You okay, Jed?” she nods, and he goes back to addressing the group, “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say this isn’t great timing, but we kinda have a fire to put out, here.”
If Damon smells a werewolf, he’s not saying anything. Just finds a way to sit closer to Ric and gently elbow his ribs to get him into the game. It works, and when Ric looks up he finds that Caroline and Stefan are sharing a concerned glance, one that makes it’s way towards Dalaric. The vampires look to Angel, standing as far off from the group as he physically can manage without technically being in another room. There seems to be a consensus among the undead — vampires and werewolves aren’t a great mix on a good day, but with everything going on with Katherine and the Hellmouth, now’s not really the time for a strange wolf in the mix.
Dean closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose and winces as Sam tosses him a beer from the other side of the table. He catches it in mid-air, twists it open and motions with it to the newbies in the group, “Who the hell gave him a key?” not that Dean has an issue with Xander, besides hating his guts, but lately it’s starting to feel like they’re running a hotel for the Shadow World.
Heavily, Sam takes the empty seat beside Faith and absently drapes an arm across her back, coupling easily in a way that makes Dean’s stomach turn. She’s not even paying attention, reacts by resting comfortably back against him and finally opening her mouth on the subject, “What are you guys even doing here, anyway? Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you’re lookin’ to get a room for the night? We’re all booked up on crazy, here.”
“See? I told you this was a waste of time – ” Kennedy starts, but Xander’s not having it.
“Look,” he interrupts, folding his arms, “I’m getting we walked into a hornet’s nest, here, but we’ve pretty much got bad coming out the wah-zoo. As the Undead Americans probably already figured out, Jedi’s a werewolf. Thing is, she’s trying to outrun a bigger wolf and we need a place to lay low while we figure out how to take him on.”
Jedi’s attention is taken by Kennedy, who’s still leaning on her, arm around her like they’re friends. If Kennedy seems too calm, it’s because she is. This doesn’t affect her like it affects everyone else and, frankly, she thinks she should get brownie points for bothering to show up. Kennedy rolls her eyes, looks from Dean to Sam, “I seem to remember someone telling us if we ever needed help?”
“Yeah,” Dean’s the one who responds, pushing out of his chair and making his way towards Xander’s group. He’s looking down his nose at them, literally. Chest puffed out. Fucking werewolf. He knew he didn’t like the smell of this whole thing, “Well, that means the Slayers, Buddy. Not you, and not just any old rando demon off the street. How do we know this thing’s even house broken?”
“She’s not a ‘thing‘.” as if Dean doesn’t infuriate Xander on the regular, as it is, “Hey, she’s innocent, okay? She needs help. We do still help people, right?”
“Right,” it’s back to Dean, standing taller in his boots. Shoulders back, in no mood, “People. We help people, Harris. Oh man, do you ever have bad timing.”
“We just lost people,” Buffy slowly makes her way towards the group, Caroline and Willow not far behind. She crosses her arms stiffly and glances over at Willow before continuing, “A Slayer. A couple of hunters. It was wolves, Xand. We were ambushed. I- I know she had nothing to do with it, but this? It’s just a little hard to take right now.”
“I mean, we wanna help?” when Willow finally speaks, there’s a weakness to it. The weight of that loss on her heart is audible in her voice, “We will help, just…”
Sam takes his time standing, prompting Faith with him. It takes them both a few long moments to crowd around the newcomers, shoulder to shoulder. He sighs, “She’s right, we’ll help if we can but Xand, we’re at war right now. I mean, another Hellmouth went active just three hours from here and KC’s rumbling. Now the Clave is pushing us to put up the Lightwoods for a couple of weeks to learn how to control dimensional disruption because Brooklyn’s a full-blown Hellmouth. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but we’ll do what we can do. We just need to be sure having her here’s not putting everyone else in danger.”
“Dude,” Dean sighs it out, “We’re not set up to deal with a werewolf here, okay? Full moon in three days, Sammy! Use your head. You really wanna risk that thing tearing into somebody, huh? Having to put it down?”
She.” Xander’s about in Dean’s face, now. He knows. He knows what’ll happen to him if he throws a punch, but he’s not thinking straight, “Not ‘it’, she and she’s got a name. Jedi.”
Dean sneers, starts advancing on Xander in a way menacing enough that Jedi finally wrestles herself away from Kennedy and practically lunges at Dean, baring human teeth the way you’d expect a wolf to bare theirs. Surprisingly, it’s Faith who slides between the wolf and her brother-in-law, takes one of Jed’s shoulders and spins her back into Xander so hard it almost topples them both, “Whoa! Watch it, Jojo! Anybody’s gonna tear his throat out? Gonna be me.” Faith starts to step back, cautiously, reclaim her place beside Sam like it’s her birthright or something, “You best leash that dog, Harris. Somebody’s gonna get hurt.”
For Jedi, though, it’s not over and as soon as she gets her balance again, she’s headed for Dean. Slow, angry. Out to protect the man who saved her life. Dean’s calm about it, when he reaches for his gun. It’s almost casual if there is such a thing. Before she’s anywhere near him, he raises the weapon, aims it and squeezes off a round – grazes her cheek, “Warning shot, Mama. Next time I don’t miss.” he up-nods in her direction, “Back off, Bitch.”
When the bullet whizzes by, Jedi’s head turns with it. She snaps back, slow and angry, glaring at Dean. She’s bleeding. Long, thin cut on her cheekbone. And her eyes, usually that pale, grey-blue that nobody seems to notice but Xander? Are steeled, angry wolf eyes glowing an intense punch of blue that startles the group and makes everyone take a step back, “I will rip your testicles off,” and there’s a pause, a long beat before Jedi sneers, echoing Dean, “Bitch.” Her claws are out, and that’s werewolf speak for ‘put up or shut up’.
Except, no one’s listening to that warning. Definitely not heeding it because everyone in the room packing heat has their weapon out, sight trained on the new girl.
Sam reaches out to gently touch the back of Faith’s arm like it might calm her down, gun still aimed in the other. He’s about to say something that’ll probably make this a thousand times worse, when Ric pushes through the group and gets between Dean’s gun and Jedi. He puts his hands up, reality suddenly dawning on him and forcing him to realize that Dean might actually shoot him. As if on cue, Damon slithers in between Ric and Dean with a smirk on his face that’s begging his least favorite Winchester to give him a reason to vamp out. Alaric sighs, rests his hand on Damon’s shoulder in hopes of calming the situation, and addresses the crowd, “Okay! Okay, everybody just calm down. She came to us for help. We’ve got food and we’ve got rooms. If someone pulls their trigger, this won’t end well. No one needs to die tonight.”
It’s tense, though. The standoff drags on for another long few seconds until Dean grunts and lowers his gun, a cue for the rest of the group to do the same. Alaric’s clearly relieved, lets out a breath he’d been holding in as Dean stalks off, angrily exiting the room and hell bound for the kitchen.
While the room cools down, Willow tries to smile at Xander, “Well, at least nobody got shot this time? I mean, that’s progress?
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