Title:
Memory In Motion
Chapter
Title: A Smashy Hammer Troll Tale
Author:
Restive Nature
Disclaimer:
I do not own the rights
to BtVS. They belong to Whedon & Mutant Enemy. I also do not own
the rights to Supernatural. They belong to Eric Kripke and The CW.
Rating:
PG-15
Genre:
Crossover
Type:
Humor, Angst
Pairing:
DaddyDean/ WeeWillow
Summary:
Through a magical mix-up, Willow ends up in the Impala, disoriented,
terrified, facing the barrel of a gun and somehow... only six years
old.
Spoilers/
Time line: Post series for Buffy and late season one of Supernatural.
Feedback:
Always welcome!
Distribution:
Ask first please.
A/N:
This is a challenge response to pezgirl's The Little Demon Hunting
Challenge at the Twisting the Hellmouth site. Please refer to chapter
one for challenge details.
Memory
In Motion
Chapter
Seven
A Smashy
Hammer Troll Tale
The
scene as they left the motel was one of quiet jubilation. For the
family that they were leaving behind at least. The owner of the motel
had shared with the brother's and Willow that her son Asher had
awoken in the night and was well on his way to mending. They had
wisely kept quiet about the fact that they had been there when
Michael had received that phone call. The woman, now that she didn't
have to worry about her son's precarious health, had noticed the
addition of Willow and had commented on it.
Willow
had smiled brightly at the woman and though obviously still sleepy,
told her that her mommy had a 'mergency and had to drop her off with
Daddy a day early. Dean had quickly picked up on that, explaining
that they lived up in Burrs Oaks, which was not far away and that his
ex, Linda was a doctor. The woman wondered if she had been tapped to
fill in for the now missing Doctor Hydaker. They just shrugged,
knowing that it was better to let the woman make her own
suppositions.
After
receiving a hug each from Michael, as well as some smart ass
comments, they hopped into the Impala and prepared to head towards
South Dakota. Dean was smart enough to check with Willow about her
ability to eat in a car and finding that she wasn't prone to motion
sickness, went ahead and pulled into a drive through.
Luckily
it was only about an eight hour drive on the I-90 without any stops.
After their breakfast, Sam had wanted to discuss the weighty matter
of the orb that was tucked by itself into a bag and sitting at his
feet. But Willow, obviously affected by the late night and the
surprising spell casting, had fallen asleep before she had even
finished her breakfast. That left it to Sam and Dean to discuss what
research Sam had done on the subject.
It
galled Dean that Sam was as tired as the little girl but fighting it
hard. Even though Sam was his younger brother, he couldn't force him
to sleep, or nap. And he knew very well why this was going on and was
powerless to do anything to stop it.
“So
what'd you find out?” Dean wondered as he crumpled the waxy paper
that had held his grease laden breakfast sandwich and stuffed it back
into the paper bag.
“Not
much,” Sam admitted. “The spell she used was in Romanian I
think.”
“Romanian?”
Dean echoed. “Like, gypsies and all that?”
“Could
be,” Sam nodded as he reached for the coffee in his lap. “There's
plenty of lore about gypsy magician's and revering witches in their
bands or tribes.”
“True,
but what the hell are they doing?” Dean wondered. “Playin' around
with dark spirits,” he snorted the last.
“Morals,
ethics,” Sam gave him a half smile. “Not everyone has them.”
“True,”
his brother agreed. He sighed heavily, checking once more in the rear
view mirror on the quietly slumbering girl. “Guess we'll just have
to wait until we get to Bobby's. Get some answers then. Why don't you
call him and let him know we're heading that way.”
“Yeah,”
Sam chuckled. “After Dad's last surprise visit, that's probably a
good idea.”
Dean
scoffed out a laugh as well, remembering the incident clearly, where
Bobby had threatened to shoot their father, for bein' a 'reckless
fool idjit'. Whatever their father had done wrong, it wasn't likely
to be a mistake he'd repeat. Or, knowing his gruff nature, didn't
particularly care, as long as he was getting results.
Willow
woke naturally, shortly before lunch time and Dean pulled in to a gas
station for a potty break for the girl. Sam took her into the
convenience store and while keeping a watchful eye on the back
hallway, down which the toilets were located, he roamed the aisles,
looking for ready made snacks that Willow could have, since neither
he nor Dean felt like stopping at another time consuming restaurant.
He
made it up to the register and placed his purchases on the counter.
The young man working the till glanced up. “Any gas?” he asked.
“Pump
two, but hang on,” he warned and then jerked his thumb over his
shoulder. “My niece is in the bathroom and she might want something
else.”
“Yeah
man,” the guy dismissed, grabbing up the magazine he had been
reading, once more. After a few minutes, with Sam keeping an eye out,
Willow emerged from the hallway. He gestured her up to the front and
leaned over.
“Did
you remember to wash your hands?” he asked with a smile, put on for
the benefit of keeping the guise of normality. Willow responded with
a natural looking smile and held up slightly damp hands.
“Yes
Uncle Sammy,” she nodded. He straightened up and then gestured at
the food on the counter.
“I've
got snacks,” he told her. “What do you want to drink?” Willow
thought it over quickly and then shrugged.
“Can
I have orange juice?” the girl asked and Sam automatically winced
as he glanced at the cereal bars he'd grabbed. He recalled when he
had been little, that the mix of acidic fruit juice and dairy had
made him car sick, every single time. And once his father and brother
had figured out the connection, had immediately put the kibosh on the
mixing of said ingredients.
“Unh,”
he hesitated and then shook his head. “I don't think so sweetie.
Don't want them to mix wrong in your stomach. Maybe some milk?
They've got strawberry,” he added temptingly and saw as her eyes
lit up, that he had scored a win. She nodded enthusiastically and
asked if she could go get it. Sam agreed and watched as she ran down
the aisle to find the limited dairy supplies. She was back as quickly
as her legs could carry to place the bottle of flavored milk on the
high counter.
“We're
ready now,” Sam announced and with no flicker or bat of an eyelash,
the employee stashed his magazine and began ringing them up. After he
had paid, Sam handed the milk and one of the lighter bags to the girl
and they headed out to the car to get back on the road.
It
was after Sam had passed the snacks back to her that he noticed she
was nervously playing with the label on her milk bottle.
“You
okay, Willow?” he asked, his own bottle of pop raised, poised to be
drunk from. She glanced up quickly, assessing he and Dean each in
their own turn before her eyes quickly dropped again.
“Am
I in trouble?” she asked in a very quiet voice. Sam immediately
protested with a simple noise intended to be a negative indication,
but she didn't seem very convinced. Dean glanced up and caught her
eye in the rear view mirror. When he knew she was paying attention,
he gave her a quick smile.
“You're
not in trouble,” he added to his brother's short exclamation. “It's
just that what you did is troubling to Sammy and I.”
“How
come?” she wanted to know, as she finally took a sip from her milk.
A little dribbled down her chin and Sam wondered if he should've
gotten her a straw. She quickly wiped it away with her hand. “Wasn't
it a good thing?”
“Well
what exactly do you think you did?” Sam wanted to know, turning in
his seat so that he didn't have to crane his neck to talk to her.
“I
put the bad spirit in the ball so it wouldn't make someone else
sick,” she told them easily, though without the level of
conversational savvy that someone older or more versed in the craft
would describe. That was another point of worry. That her level of
magic ability, or conversability on the subject varied so greatly.
That was why possession was still in their minds. Albeit a fairly
passive aggressive form that they hadn't really come across before.
It could always be an avenging thing, rather than the vengeful type
of thing they usually came across.
“So,”
Sam struggled, hoping that he could converse at a level that Willow
would understand, with the context of the matter. “Why did you do
that? Is that the only thing you knew to do?”
“Um,”
Willow bit her lip and then lifted the bottle of milk for another
drink. Once she had swallowed, looking a little guilty, or perhaps it
was uncertain, spoke again. “It just happened. It was... it was...”
she struggled again. But she straightened up and told Sam
importantly, “a version of a soul restoration, with part of it
changed to trap the spirit with the help of the interregnum. Instead
of putting it back into a living vessel, I trapped it within the
Thessulan Orb, which is a vault of the dead.” She blinked and then
seemed a little more pleased with herself. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah,”
Dean chuckled nervously. “That explains what you did, not why. But
that's okay kiddo. I think that's part of what our friend is going to
help us figure out. You just settle back and enjoy the drive.”
Sam
eyed his brother, marveling at his laid back attitude. Normally Dean
could rant about witches, hoodoo priests and magicians until the cows
came home. He despised those that played about with the natural
order. But when Sam continued to stare at Dean, wondering about this,
Dean gave him a disgruntled noise and a flick of his head and Sam
once again noted that Willow was looking back and forth between them
once more.
“What
is it?” Sam finally asked of her and she ducked her chin once more.
“I
was bad,” she confessed in a tiny voice. Sam's eyebrows rose. Here
he had thought that he and Dean, well, mostly Dean had explained that
she hadn't exactly...
“What
did you do that was bad?” Dean asked in a matter of fact manner,
not showing any anger or emotional upset at all. Just... curiosity,
Sam noted.
“I...
I took the orb,” Willow confessed. “Without permission. That's
bad. It's stealing.”
“You
mean when you summoned the orb?” Sam clarified and the girl nodded,
tears already welled up in her eyes. “You mean you took it from one
place and made it come to you?” The girl nodded again. He turned to
his brother and snorted. “Nice to know she didn't just make it out
of thin air.”
“Oh,
that's harder to do,” she complained. “And not as good for the
earth. Summoning something that's already made doesn't take as much
energy as it would take to force the elements to create unnaturally.
Plus if I had made it out of thin air, then I would have had to find
the right priests to bless it before I could use it for that purpose.
But... I still took it.”
Before
Sam could even begin to formulate an answer, his brother was already
spouting one.
“I
wouldn't sweat it kid,” he smirked happily. “See, there's this
federal law, called crimes of necessity and-!”
Sam
cleared his throat noisily. Even as much as he wanted an uneventful
car trip and a child on the verge of a break down over doing
something bad, or even thinking she had committed a crime, seemed
like a prime example against that very hoped for situation.
“What?”
Dean demanded.
“There's
no federal law,” Sam began as his brother huffed and he hurriedly
explained his position. “It's common law from the States, that the
Supreme Court recognizes.”
“Thank
you Mr. Lah dee dah Professor,” Dean grunted, rolling his eyes. But
both had to smile when Willow giggled softly from the back seat.
“Anyway,” Dean stressed, “there's a common law,
that says that it's allowable to commit a crime if it's a necessary
act to save someone's life. Since you were saving Michael, me, Sammy
and even yourself, I'm pretty sure that the people or place you took
that orb thingy from, won't be too mad. Can you send it back when
you're done with it?” he wondered. The girl nodded slowly.
“I think so,” she agreed. “But
we hafta get the bad spirit out first or someone might accidentally
let it loose. That's happened before?”
“Really?” Dean asked with
interest. He looked hopeful, as always, on the lookout for a good
story and the girl nodded importantly. “What got loose?”
“A troll,” she offered and then
frowned. “I think. A big, mean troll with a big, mean hammer. A
smashy hammer that he smashed things with.”
“Really?” Dean chuckled, obviously
thinking, as Sam was, that she was telling just a little bit of a
story. “And how big was the troll?”
“Very big,” Willow scoffed.
“Like,” and then she held her arm over her head as far as it
would reach and continued, “that tall. And he had a big red beard
that had braids in it.”
“Braids?” Sam repeated with a
little smile of his own.
“'Cause he was Nor-wee-jan,”
Willow sounded out carefully. “Or from Russia. He didn't like
witches because they cursed him into a necklace for all eternity. But
some naughty witches let him out.”
“Uh oh,” Dean encouraged her with
a deep throated sing song tone. This, to him, was actually very
amusing. “Why'd they do that?”
“They were arguing about the things
to put in the potion,” Willow nodded. “And the really bad witch,
kept interrupting the other witch and she didn't finish her spell
right and... Poof! There was a troll.”
“So what did the witches do with the
troll?” Sam wondered, also enjoying himself.
“They chased him in a car,” Willow
pursed her lips. “But they didn't know how to drive and went too
fast. And then too slow. And then they found the troll, hurting a
nice boy. And then they fought the troll and sent him away.”
“Oh yeah?” Dean smirked. “Where
did they send him too?”
“The land of the trolls,” Willow
said simply. “He can be happy there. With the other trolls. And the
troll ladies. Because he likes ladies. And babies. And ale.”
“Sounds like a trollin' good time,”
Dean joked. Willow, obviously pleased that she had entertained her
hosts, and past the worries of earlier, leaned back in the seat,
adjusting one of the bags of clothes that Dean had bought her to act
as a pillow and replaced the cap on her milk.
“Can I have a story now?” she
wondered. And so, the miles were eaten up in that manner. The tires
to the pavement, stories, heavily edited, some fondly remembered,
some not, as the brother's kept a six year old girl entertained in
the only way they knew how. The story of their life.
When they pulled up to Bobby's house
early that evening, having called him once more to say that they
would stop to pick up dinner, he was ready for them. He knew
logically, standing on his front porch, that they had a little girl
with them, but seeing it for himself was a much different matter.
Because as he watched them pull up and climb out of the vehicle, Sam
with a bag from the chicken place in town and his laptop and Dean
with a pink and purple backpack, he wanted to laugh.
They looked just like a real god damn
family, especially as the little girl shied away from Rumsfeld, his
guard dog that was no good to him at all, spoiled as it was. The dog,
barking and straining against his lead, made the boys eye each other
and then Bobby, over Willow's head as she cringed into Dean's side.
Bobby stepped off the porch and waited until he had Willow's
attention. When she turned her scared, wide eyes upon him, he felt
the lump in his throat, remembering another time when little girls
had looked at him, terrified by an external fear source, hoping he
would save them.
“Don't mind Rumsfeld,” he soothed
as gently was able, which was about half as gruff as he normally was.
“He just wants to meet you. I just keep him tied up so he doesn't
jump on the cars.”
“Okay,” the little girl nodded.
“He's loud.”
“Just like me,” Bobby offered.
“'Cause sometimes these yahoos here,” he gestured to Sam and
Dean, “don't wanna listen. And boy do I have ta yell to get their
attention.” That got a slight smile out of the girl. “Now, why
don't we go inside and get a drink of water. That must have been a
long drive.”
“Yes please,” the girl nodded,
slipping from Dean's side to put her hand in Bobby's and they started
back up the steps. Without even turning around to look at them, he
chastised the boys.
“Well don't just stand there, get
your rears in gear!”
“Yes sir!” was their automatic
echoed response, which made Willow giggle again.
Chapter 08- Ranidaphobic And More
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