FIC: A Wiccan Gets The Wiggins 5 & 6 (revamped and reposted)

A Wiccan Gets the Wiggins
(and the girl!)

by badbard

(de_badbard@xxxxxxxxx)

See first part for relevant disclaimers and explanations.

* * * * * * * * * *

5.

"Will, wake up. Willow. Please, wake up. I'm scared. Willow?"

My eyes fluttered open. A vision! Buffy, leaning over me, tugging frantically at the collar of my
sleeveless nighty, obviously in a hurry to...wake me up.

She was all rumpled. Her cargo pants were wrinkly and her hair was generating enough static
electricity to light the badly lit Bronze. So how come she made Cordy-out-clubbing look like a cheap tramp? Apart from Cordy dressing like a cheap tramp that is.

As my cob-webby head began to clear, I heard what it was that had my best friend wide awake in the middle of the night.

A tapping at the window.

"Ohmigod!" I screeched, diving between the sheets.

With a yelp of her own, Buffy joined me. "Where's your phone?" she gasped into my ear. "We need to call the police."

"Those blind twits?" I scoffed.

More of that insidious tapping.

"They have guns!" hissed Buffy, sounding as though she positively relished the thought.

"Guns don't do squat against vampires," I reminded her matter-of-factly. Buffy gave a nervous giggle.

"It's not the boogeyman, Will! It's probably a very bad regular man who's been having some very bad thoughts."

I stared at her. I couldn't see her 'cause we were huddled in the dark under the covers but I stared at her anyway. Giles cooking in my kitchen hadn't been a horrible nightmare.

It had been reality at its grimmest.

"You're not the Slayer," I murmured, barely able to believe it.

"No, but I'll bet you the allowance I already spent at the mall, the creep at your window is," whispered Buffy. "Or else he's the Ripper or the Chopper or the Hacker or the escaped psychopath or sweet little Jonathon with a machete instead of a machine gun."

"Rifle," I corrected absently. "Wasn't it a...oh wait, WAIT! You remember that?"

"It's not everyday some wacko tries to kill me," Buffy whispered back. "Scratch that. It is! Gimme the phone."

A hand squirmed into our hidey-hole, offering the requested item.

"Thanks," said Buffy as she took it. "Why can't I ever remember the number for emergency?"

"Want the phonebook?" asked the owner of the hand.

"Good idea..." began Buffy, stumbling to a stop as she finally registered the hand. Then she started screaming her head off. Me, I was too busy watching the world go blurry to make much in the way of begging for my life.

"Check out the ninnies," mocked an unpleasantly familiar voice. "What's the matter, B, too busy
shrieking like a girl to bother with killing me again?"

Buffy's blond head emerged. I fully expected her to be decapitated. Instead she exclaimed less than reassuringly, "Hey, Will, it's only some weird chick," and whipped the covers off us.

"Faith?!" I choked out disbelievingly.

"In what remains of the flesh," confirmed the other Slayer, sensuously sliding one hand along the veined scars knitting her face together.

I felt less like fainting and more like throwing up. Faith lounged against my window-frame, tight brown leather pants practically painted on, dirty white crop-top showing off more of her chest than a wet t-shirt would.

Buffy lounged back on the bed.

"Look, sister, you're robbing the wrong house. Will doesn't have any moola. I know, 'cause I borrowed it all to buy the cutest little dress. It's all slinky...why don'tcha try the posh section of town? One street up. I personally recommend the Chase mansion. If you hurry you might be able to cart off some furniture before it's repossessed by Mr Taxman."

Faith frowned. She looked off-balance.

"How did you get in?" I burst out, trying to keep her off-balance.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer was barely a match for this wannabe. Buffy the...the Buffy, was a mystery.

Faith's dark, dark eyes slid over to take me in, slicking down the length of my somewhat scantily
clad body, leering at my Mickey print and grinning nastily when I folded my arms over my chest defensively.

"Too easy, little toy. I'm not a vampire, y'know. I make my own invitations."

"Guess you have to," I bit back. "Since you've never been wanted."

Faith made an ugly noise in the back of her throat and advanced on me...until Buffy grasped
her forearm and pulled her up short.

"Nuh uh," she purred. "Here outside the Sunnydale Asylum we don't solve our problems with violence. We use counselors and self-help books and if that d oesn't work we listen to country blues, the music of pain and we commit suicide. Because that's what the lyrics say will make it better, besides which, who could live after listening to that crap?"

Faith gaped down at Buffy.

She gaped over at me.

I made my eyes all big and tried shrugging. Inside I was screaming for my Slayer to get away from that nut before another trip to the hospital was in order.

Time to distract Faith with my Willowy Wiles. That of course meant bursting out with the first inane thing to pop into my head.

"I thought you were in a coma?"

"You thought wrong," snapped Faith. "It take's more than B here sticking' a knife into my guts to see the last of me . Just 'cause the great Buffy decides Dead Boy needs a donor, don't mean he's gonna get what I got."

She grabbed Buffy by the chin. "Bad Move, B. If you'd wanted it for yourself, you could've had my
heart."

We both watched in bemusement as Buffy merely rolled her eyes.

"I hope you don't mean that in the gunky literal sense."

"What's your deal, B?" demanded the dark Slayer. "Get conked on the noggin' one time too many? Don't you remember me?"

Hips swaying from side to side, she moved in for the slay. "Are you in denial, B? You can't deny me! Just say the word and we'll be 5 by 5 and rocking for some 1 on 1 action." Another leer.

Desperate times call for suicidal measures. Afterall, the Evil One was in my bedroom, trying to seduce my best friend before I could get up the guts to give it a go myself.

"You SLUT!" I screeched, striding up and slapping Faith across the cheek on Buffy's behalf.

Faith bared her teeth.

Buffy's jaw dropped.

My hand hurt. Something fierce.

Faith's right hand shot out and wrapped around my throat. Ow! My feet were dangling two feet off the floor. If she thought that was gonna shut me up...

"Skanky ho!" I wheezed. "You have to slay something to get a willing lay! Bitch in…outdated fashion…from an op shop! Oh, oh, did you hear your Sugar Daddy died?"

"Willow!" gasped Buffy, even as her own hand shot out to squeeze Faith's offending wrist so hard that the second Slayer's fingers practically popped out of their sockets.

Or at least they did in my fondest imaginings. At any rate, there was a definite cracking sound.

Faith said the F word.

Faith dropped me.

Faith said the F word again.

Buffy was now between me and our enemy, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, assuming fighting position number four in my inner Slayer's handbook.

That is, the Getting Between Willow & Potential Danger/Suitor position, only she hasn't actually used it in a suitor situation.

Faith was rubbing her wrist and saying the F word. I was hiding gratefully behind Buffy, torn between wondering at her Slayer-like behavior and studying her butt.

"You wanna fight me?" husked Faith, "you want another shot at doing me, is that it? Fine by me. Let's see if you have wh at it takes to become me all over again. Forget Red." She sneered in my direction.

"Just you and me, B. Slayer against Slayer."

"I don't know what you're on about, Wacko-woman," growled Buffy, "but let me tell you something. You made a serious mistake, laying a finger on my Willow. Do that again and I'll be shoving your finger where the sun don't shine."

Faith licked her lips.

"Yeah, B, I wish. I'll have some of whatever you're on."

Faster than bottled lightning her uninjured fist shot out, heading straight for Buffy's nose. Faster
than the Flash streaking, Buffy blocked, stepping forward smoothly to end it by kneeing Faith in the stomach.

Faith wheezed out the F word.

She has a limited vocabulary in certain situations. Life for instance. Ooh, I’m bad.

"Are you okay?" asked Buffy, turning to caress the fading finger-marks on my throat.

"I'm fine," I squeaked, trying to ignore the homicidal Slayer on my floor. With Buffy's warm breaths wisping over my neck it was far too easy. I leaned into her touch as my mind raced for the finish line of thought.

Buffy was fighting for me. Oh sure, Buffy's fought for me before, lotsa times, but that was Buffy the Vampire Slayer, defender of the yet-to-be-bitten, protector of the living. This was 100% Buffy.

The very same Buffy who had just called me hers!

The very same Buffy who...whose back Faith was about to drive a knife into.

* * * * * * * * * *

6.

I know I have a tendency to babble when I'm nervous.

As living on a hellmouth isn't exactly relaxing, most of my conversation makes about as much sense as Cordelia being kind. So when Faith drew back the antique dagger her precious Mayor had given to her, my thoughts practically bubbled out of my ears. They ran something like this...

OhmiGOD, she's gonna hurt Buffy, I can't believe it, I thought she had a major jones for Buff but than I guess you must get over it when the object of your obsession let's on she'd rather kill you than get it on, unless this is like a sick mating ritual involving blood, probably like Angel's idea of a romanti c night on the town and in that case, Faith is sicker than I thought, although she looks pretty darn healthy considering she's SUPPOSED to be dead, or in a coma and no competition for me...I can't believe I ever pretended to like her...

The knife came down and down.

Faith's dark eyes blazed with unholy glee.

Somebody said a dirty word.

I realized it was me even as I started chanting a makeshift protection spell, hands waving frantic
circles in the air.

-Ancient gods who ruled the Greeks
May you grant me what I seek-

The knife slashed across Buffy's back, tearing her white t-shirt and staining it scarl et. With a sharp cry of surprise she stumbled forward into me.

Faith let out a manic laugh and raised the knife again. It was like a particularly bad horror movie and Faith was like the F grade ex-porno actress starring. If Buffy hadn't been bleeding on me I might have been able to roll over and go back to sleep.

Reluctantly, I stepped around B uffy, letting her fall, sobbing silently as I heard her crash painfully
to the floor.

This was real. I was weaving my magic circles, faster and faster.

-Though your followers died and you are gone
Lend me your power which grows and goes on-

Faith paused slightly as the power of the lost gods rushed up through my veins and wrapped spidery tendrils around my spread fingers. My insides felt like they were being overcooked. My mind ignored this, eagerly embracing the energy and what I could wield with it. Demanding more.

-Deflect and protect
Buffy from Faith
Bend the knife back
Keep Buffy safe-

My head buzzed like static on that TV channel nobody watches.

My heart skipped wildly towards my destiny.

Iced blue streaks of energy leapt from my outstretched hands and slid along the hungry steel of the dagger Faith still held aloft. With a yell she let it drop.

It never reached the floor. Instead it ricocheted off an invisible wall, rocketing past Faith's visibly
sweating face to embed itself in my bedroom wall, with a most satisfying thunk.

Faith screamed like a wounded animal and fell to the floor, clawing at her back.

I threw back my head and screamed my triumph.

I had done it! I had defeated my enemy! With a spell I had devised out of desperation, I had tapped into a power source that made me so much more than I had ever been as plain old Willow.

I was Wicca.

I was the waves galloping across Poseidon’s ocean and Apollo's golden chariot racing across the sky.

I watched through Aphrodite's dewy eyes as two lovers entwined about each other and I roared for blood along with Ares as two armies collided.

The world was beautiful.

The world would be mine!

I was to be worshipped.

I was...

"Willow," whispered Buffy and my head snapped back into place.

My eyes slid across the telling surface of my bedroom mirror, noting with sudden uncertainty the serious case of static electricity that made my reddish hair poof up to the ceiling.

Mottled blue power throbbed in the veins beneath my skin. I met my eyes in the mirror and they were the wrong shape and color and I heard voices laughing in my head as they said things in a language I couldn't understand.

"Willow," whispered Buffy.

The voices echoed my name amongst themselves. The eyes that weren't mine watched the Slayer in the mirror as she pushed herself up off the floor. She stood facing away from me, swaying slightly, catching her breath. The eyes that weren't mine focused on the tear in the back of her t-shirt. I felt the eyes widen. No wound. Not even a scratch. Nothing but dried blood that didn't belong.

The eyes narrowed as they considered.

Hands reached for the comforting helmet that wasn't there.

Ached to lift aloft the mightiest sword.

Reached to draw back arrows and found only air.

From the floor, Faith moaned and flailed about. The eyes of the strangers fixed on the way she kept reaching for her back, straining to check or perhaps soothe an injury that didn't exist.

Then familiar fingers cupped my cheek. Buffy was at my side.

Somebody else whipped my head around, insisting that they get a good look at a power of this age. At a Slayer.

"I remember when your predecessor drove a dryad bone through the unbeating heart of my favorite bacchae," I hissed to her.

Buffy had barely started looking confused before she seemed to have arrived at her latest slay plan. Assuming a defensive position she thrust her jaw forward almost petulantly and demanded,

"Who do I have the pleasure of booting out of my best friend's body?"

I growled my fur y and pulled my vocal chords in the process.

"I am Dionysus and I will see you desecrated at my altar for what was done to me and mine by a Slayer."

There was a tiny fraction of my mind locked away from the gibbering voices. This was where tiny Willow sat at a tiny computer which hummed into life as she started typing away at her keyboard busily. File after file was pulled up. A search on Dionysus revealed one of the beasts in my head to be the Greek god of wine and revelry. Also the master of the blood-sucking bacchae who were to vampires, what black coffee is to dec af.

"Jeepers Creepers," said tiny Willow, deciding her only course of action was to play computer solitaire. She actually had a chance of winning that. As opposed to the no chance she had with the demon-god who was using her as his avatar. She was in tr ouble with a capital TNT.

"I will repay the debt in kind," snarled the god in my voice. I just didn't sound like me anymore. "I will taste the blood of the Slayer and I will be avenged."

"Oh, get over it," snapped Buffy, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "That happened like what, a gazillion years ago? Get yourself a life. Oh wait, I guess you're dead so you can't. Too bad. And while we're at it, I'm not the Slayer. Whatever that is. Check with the homicidal nut humping Will's floor. I'm pretty sure she can fit you in...she seemed pretty desperate tonight. She might even mount you...on her wall."

We all turned to watch Faith's gyrations. For a moment I thought I saw blood on the back of her skanky piece of t- shirt but when I blinked it was gone.

"You will not lay a claw on the Chosen One," lilted my voice.

Great, more personalities. For the girl who has everything!

This voice proclaimed:

"In her I sense the legacy of my Amazon Nation and with her progeny I will guide a new age of Amazons to guard the forests that linger yet."

Tiny Willow did a search on Amazons and concluded the new voice belonged to Artemis, virgin goddess of the hunt and patron to Amazonia of old.< SPAN lang=EN-US style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial">

Buffy snorted. “Progeny? That’s gonna take some time, Miss Hippy. And personally, I have something against you using Willow for sex and uh, environmentalism. Do your own tree-hugging!”

Tiny Willow giggled at Buffy. This punning was better than solitaire. Heck, anything was better than solitaire.

"The blood debt must be paid in full," hissed back Dionysus. "I will see this insolent girl fed in
dripping pieces to my children's kin."

Okay. I was confused. Tiny Willow was getting a major headache.

"Not while she is under my divine protection," asserted Artemis. "Not while I claim her as my new
Chosen One."

I heard the blood bubble in my veins.

It made me want to be sick but I didn't have the luxury. No, I had to watch my hands rise of their own accord, the left withering up even as it sprouted curving claws, the right glowing with a forest-green aura.

"Freak city, here we go again," sighed Buffy, taking a cautious step ba ckwards. "It's a good thing we get free therapy at school. Oh wait. The guidance counselor had his eyes ripped out. Plus I actually graduated. Major downer. Except for the unexpected living through Graduation Day part. I really got into the Mayor's boring speech being cut short."

Tiny Willow nodded wholeheartedly.

Gasping with pain and rage, Faith finally made it to her feet and moved in, scar knotting as she glowered at me.

Then she caught sight of my morphing hands and quite possibly got a glimpse of my disturbing hairdo too. She swore. She started backing up.

She dived out the window, muttering threats.

A couple thumps as she fell off the roof later, we heard her fading footsteps as she ran away down the road, displaying finely-honed survival instincts.

"Yes, Veronica, there is a Slayer," quipped Buffy, staring at my wayward hands with growing apprehension. "Yes, Veronica, that's a glimpse of her fabled butt we just caught as she sprinted out of sight. No, Veronica, we won't be living through Christmas this year."

TBC in 7.