[FIC] Temperament of a Slayer, PG-13, Buffy/Supernatural

[lilly-pilly.livejournal.com]

Title: Temperament of a Slayer
Author: lilly_pilly
Fandoms: Buffy/Supernatural
Rating: PG-13, for now. It most likely won’t go much higher.
Warnings: Some non-graphic violence and swearing. Oh, and also a demonic ritual if you find that disturbing (but honestly, with these two fandoms, how can you not have a demonic ritual or three?)
Pairings: some reference to Jo/Dean.
Character(s): This will center on Jo, but Sam, Dean, and Ellen will probably have cameos.
Disclaimer: I don’t own either Buffy or Supernatural. That honour goes to Joss Whedon and Eric Kripke respectively.
Summary: Jo knew it wasn’t going to be good day when she woke up chained to an alter with three British jerks offering her up to something named ‘Sineya’…

 

 

Jo woke up chained to an alter.

 

She had a moment of cognotive dissonance, of ‘what kind of crazy dream is this’, then the chains clinked and dragged across the ground when she moved, and she knew that oh god this is real.

 

She tried to sit up, and found that her limbs were having trouble obeying her. It was like those stupid prize machines, where you had to direct the claw to grab the prize, and maybe once in a hundred goes you’d get lucky, but for the most part you were hitting the button frantically and watching the claw fumble and the prize slip out from between it’s pincers.

 

There was the sound of footsteps, and she went still. Her clothes were still in place, so maybe they hadn’t bothered to search her. If only she could feel if she still had her knives…

 

A face appeared above hers. Male, late forties or fifties, and vaguely familiar.

 

“She’s awake,” he said.

 

There was the sound of more footsteps, and another man about the same age joined him. Jo’s heart sank. Even drugged and chained, she could probably have taken down one of the bastards, but two…? Doesn’t matter, not important. Just focus, just do what you gotta do.

 

She forced a smile, and tried to inject it with all the cocky arrogance of one Dean Winchestor.

 

“Hey guys,” she said. “I was just thinking I should be going now. You know how dangerous those satanic rituals can be…”

 

The first man gave a snort of laughter.

 

“She has the temperament of a slayer anyhow.”

 

The second man was studying her, and she had to fight to maintain the smile. She has seen men choose cars or guns with that same expression. It was one of avarice without any acknowledgement that the things they lusted after had a mind.

 

“It’s not a fitting attitude,” he said, and the other man ducked his head at the rebuke. “Not for one beholden to the Watcher’s Council.” He knelt and grabbed a handful of Jo’s hair. “But since there’s no Council in this reality, I guess that mouth of yours won’t be a problem, eh?”

 

Jo gritted her teeth and refused to scream. The man made a sound of approval and released her. Her head smacked against the ground and she saw stars for an instant. Distantly she heard the second man tell the other:

 

“Make the preperations.”

 

Those words sent a cold chill of fear up her spine, but she also realized something. Their accent was British. They’d been in the bar last night, them and one other guy. She’d seen them looking at her, but assumed it was the usual look given to a pretty young bartender before the customer learned the pretty young bartender had a collection of knives and her very own shotgun.

 

Stupid, Jo. Stupid. You survive a murderous ghost and a pissed off demon, and get grabbed by these losers?

 

“You know,” she said to the ceiling. “You’re going to regret this.”

 

She strived to make her voice matter-of-fact. They didn’t seem to take any notice. The first guy was lighting candles, and there was a clunk as the other put down something. She turned her head but couldn’t quite make it out. A box?

 

“I mean, aside from the demonic ritual, and all – nice devil’s trap by the way – ” the man lighting candles jerked slightly, as if in surprise “you just chose possibly the worst girl in the world to kidnap. Ever heard of hunters?”

 

No reaction this time, so she kept talking, keeping her voice level and conversational.

 

“I grew up around them. They’re the people that deal with ghosts, demons, shapeshifters – you know, the kind of shit you’re trying to invoke. My dad was one. My mother still hunts part-time, though she thinks I don’t know about it…”

 

She slipped her hand under her shirt, trying to muffle the tell-tale clink of the chains.

 

“… plus the rest of that time she spends pouring drinks for full-time hunters. There are a lot of hunters out there who think of me like their favourite niece. Suffice to say, when they find out what you’ve done, killing is the least of what they’re going to do to you.”

 

She tucked the knife close to her side as the second man came over and knelt beside her, a small wooden bowl in hand.

 

“Don’t believe me?” Jo said, mustering up all the bravado she could. “Just wait and see. You’ll believe me when they’re beating you to death.”

 

“Oh I believe you,” the man said casually, dipping his fingers in the bowl. They came out red with some kind of dust – henna? “Fortunately we won’t be here for them to beat to death.”

 

He began making some kind of mark on her forehead. Jo chose that moment to strike, pulling out her knife and stabbing him in the thigh. If her coordination had been right, it would have sliced open his artery and he’d have bled to death within minutes. As it was, it went into the muscle.

 

He made a sound of pain, grabbing her wrist and doing some kind of twist. Pain shot up her arm and her fingers went numb, slipping away from the knife hilt.

 

“Nice try,” the man said, pulling out the knife. He was panting, sweat beading on his forehead. “You’ll make a good slayer – if you can stick to killing demons, that is.”

 

He threw the knife away – Jo heard the clatter as it landed in a corner – and finished the mark, long angry swipes of his fingers against he forehead.  When he was done, he backhanded her. Her head snapped to the side, and she tasted blood. The man leaned in.

 

“If I could stay,” he said. “I’d teach you the proper attitude for a slayer. Unfortunately, the portal will open in a couple of hours, so count yourself lucky.”

 

He rose and limped out of the circle. He picked up a book and flicked through it till he found what he wanted. He was flanked by the first man Jo had seen, and by another one Jo hadn’t seen until that moment. They were each holding a piece of paper, and there was an air of nervousness, of anticipation about them.

 

Jo tugged at her chains. 

 

“Listen, guys,” she said, and the desperation in her voice was apparent even to her. “This is really not a good idea. These rituals never go the way you expect…”

 

The guy who’d hit her started chanting in latin. 

 

“…to Sineya, we make this humble offering… to Sineya, we make this pure offering…”

 

“Sineya?” She said. “Is that who you’re worshipping?”

 

They ignored her.

 

“…to Sineya, the lone one…to Sineya, the blood-cry…”

 

Her skin prickled. Whatever vanishingly small hope she’d had that the being they were invoking was benign, or at the very least, neutral, vanished.

 

 “Look,” she said, trying to sit up. “Whatever it’s offered you – whatever you think you’re going to get – it’s a lie.”

 

“… to Sineya, the penetrating wound…to Sineya, destruction…”

 

Jo tried crawling out of the circle. At the very least, she figured moving out of target range would screw up their sick little ritual. The chain on her ankle stopped her, at least a handspan short of the red line. The three British guys were still chanting, but her latin was a little shaky and she couldn’t translate it all the way, just that they were imploring Sineya to do something.

 

 Was she about to get possessed by a demon? If so, she hoped that these three bastards were her first victims, and not some innocent bystander who happened to walk in here and disturb the circle. It was probably too much to hope that the hunters didn’t kill her in the process of killing the demon, so she settled for hoping that she didn’t hurt anyone she knew.

 

“You guys are going to regret this,” she said over the chanting, trying to convince herself as much as them. “Sam and Dean? They’ve dealt with bigger and badder demons than this Sineya all the time, and they’re going to kick it’s ass. And Bobby? There’s no demon he doesn’t know how to vanquish.”

 

The second man broke off his chanting long enough to smile at her.

 

“Then you’d best not tell them anything, hadn’t you?”

 

She opened her mouth to retort ‘why not’ when he finished the last part of the incantation:

 

“…to Sineya, we make this offering… Sineya!”

 

The box at their feet flew open and a black mist unfurled. Jo didn’t bother not trying to scream. The men didn’t seem impressed either way. She scrambled back from it, as far as the chains would allow her, heels scrabbling desperately at the concrete floor. The mist slithered forward like a living thing. It touched her ankle, and it was icy cold. She kicked, shrieking ‘christos’ at the top of her lungs.

 

It flinched backwards, and she shouted ‘christos’ again. Maybe if she held it off for long enough it would get bored, or turn it’s attention on the bastards who’d summoned it.

 

Then it lunged forward as she took a breath to shout again, and was sucked deep into her lungs. She tried to scream again, but it was inside her now, and it wasn’t stopping. The cold chill was sliding through her chest, her belly, through her limbs, and deep into her very bones. There wasn’t a cell of her that wasn’t invaded.

 

She screamed and threw herself about, vaguely surprised she had this much control left. She shouted ‘christos’ again, then recited holy verses. No effect. It was still burrowing away within her, worming it’s way within her flesh, working to some purpose. She could feel it’s intent, and the knowledge sent a fresh wave of panic through her.

 

About her, the candles flared, wax bubbling and popping as it melted, and abruptly went out. The room sank into darkness.

 

…a vast desert, dry as a bone…

 

…a creature – no a woman, but so dirty and ragged it was hard to tell the difference – turned to regard her with feral eyes…

 

…white teeth bared in a smile like a knife, and hissed a single word…

 

“Slayer.”

 

---

 

“…Slayer, slayer!”

 

Someone was shouting and slapping her face. She realized her eyes were closed and opened them. The man was kneeling next to her. She tried to reach up to strangle him and realized she had even less coordination than before. Bastards had drugged her again.

 

She lay back and lifted her upper lip away from her teeth. It took her a moment to realize she was baring her teeth at him like an animal. She let her mouth relax and licked her lips.

 

“What did you do to me?” Her voice was hoarse from screaming.

 

“For the greater good,” he said. He touched her forehead and she realized he was tracing the mark he’d made with the henna. “You are the Chosen One. You alone will fight against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. You are the Slayer.”

 

She wanted to spit in his face, but didn’t think it would work with her lips so rubbery and numb, so settled for whispering:

 

“Fuck you.”

 

He grabbed her hair and lifted her head from the ground.

 

“This is important, girl.” He gave her a little shake to get her attention. “Come sunrise we will be gone and you will never see us again.”

 

“Wanna bet?” She glared at him through watering eyes. “What did you do to me?!” Her voice came out a hoarse scream of frustration and rage. He released her, but this time had the curtesy to lay her head on the ground rather than just dropping it.

 

“Do?” He said. “I made you faster, better, stronger. I made you able to sense those demons you want to hunt. All things considered, you should be thanking me.”

 

“Great.” She snarled. “I’ll be sure to thank you whilst I’m ripping out your spleen.”

 

“I also imbued you with the essence of a demon.”

 

Jo’s mouth went dry and the knowledge shuddered through her like an impact. The man watched her with knowing eyes. 

 

“So ask yourself,” he said conversationally. “Do you really want to tell your hunter friends what went on here? Not that I or my colleagues particularly care – like I said, come sunrise we’ll be gone – but you might want to give some thought as to what they’d do to a demon hiding in a girl’s body.” 

 

“I’m not –”

 

“No? How can they tell the difference? How will they know that it’s you talking, and not the demon? After all, demons lie all the time. Who will listen to your story when the culprits are nowhere to be found?”

 

Jo’s fingers twitched and curled. He looked down at her clenched fist and rose to his feet.

 

“It’s been a pleasure, slayer, but we really must go now.”

 

“Be seeing you,” she said to his departing back.

 

“Oh I think not.”

 

As he walked out, she suddenly remembered she was still chained there.

 

“You’re just going to leave me here?” She shouted to his back. Her only answer was the click of the closing door.

 

She looked up at the darkened ceiling, and breathed in the smoke of the melted candles.

 

“Great.”

 

---

 

Comments

[serendu.livejournal.com]

Excellent beginning. I do look forward to seeing where you go with this!

Just one tiny thing - a sacrificial altar doesn't have an 'e' in it - but I'm sure you knew that anyway...

serendu