Fiction MIM09- An Intimate Look at MOO

Title: Memory In Motion

Chapter Title: An Intimate Look at MOO

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 Nine

“Okay,” Dean sighed, sitting at one of the table chairs that he had spun around, leaning his forearms on the chair back, as he looked at both Sam and Bobby, elbows deep in research already. “So that was what? Three waters, two pee breaks, check in the closet, under the bed, four stories and how the hell do parents do this?”

Sam smirked and gave his brother a knowing look. “Well, for one, they don't give in to the kid's demand. There's usually a cut off point. I think it's one glass of water, check the closet and one, maybe two stories.”

“Shut up bitch,” Dean snarked and glanced at bobby, who wasn't bothering to hide his amused grin.

“You should know this already Dean,” Bobby commented, still flipping through one of his many collected tomes on magic lore and mythology. “After all, you're the one who dealt with Sam's demands on a regular basis.”

“Don't remind me,” Dean groaned.

“Well, at least you didn't give her a gun and tell her to shoot the next thing that came into her room,” Sam complained.

“I was thinkin' about it,” Dean chuckled. “Then I would have told you it was your turn to check on her.”

“She likes you better,” Sam shrugged. “Face it, you're Daddy, I'm just the incredible, smart, handsome Uncle.”

“Smart alec is more like it,” Dean scoffed. He reached out for one of the pads of paper that Sam had been intermittently scribbling on. “What've you found?”

“In the ten minutes since you last asked?” Bobby scoffed. “Tons.”

“Pretty much that I haven't been able to trace our Willow, or even any Willow Rosenberg from Sunnydale,” Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair, throwing his pen down. He scrubbed at his eyes a moment and then wearily regarded his brother. “Record keeping went out the window months before the town collapsed. From what I understand and Bobby agreed, there was a mass evacuation, so that makes sense. But certain records were still open to the public.”

“What about the medical database?” Dean wondered. Sam nodded, knowing exactly what his brother was getting at.

“I was gonna start those next,” he explained. “I've searched about every birth record I can for California. Which of course, is no guarantee that she was born there, just cause that's where she says she lived.

“So you're gonna look for her mom then?” Dean surmised. Sam nodded and flipped over to another sheet.

“Ten pages of names and I've found six women Dr. Rosenberg's, the rest seem to be male,” Sam recited. “Couple child psychiatrists, one that specializes in ADHD, clinical, one that's had several papers published.”

“Maybe pull that one up first,” Bobby grunted. “They might have printed a picture with the articles.”

“Yeah,” Sam grunted. “Dean grab my charger, will ya? The battery is getting low.”

Dean rose from his seat to find the mentioned cord, familiar with his brother's heavy lap top use and even in his head he knew it sounded much dirtier than Sammy actually got. Oh for wishful thinking that the kid could actually let loose and have some fun. The world might stop rotating on its axis if he did that.

“Whoa!” his brother suddenly breathed out and Dean turned swiftly, even as Bobby lifted his head.

“What?” Dean demanded as Sam leaned forward to read whatever it was he had found, on the screen.

“Just, let me...” Sam muttered as he tapped a few keys. He sat back suddenly and shook his head. “Might have a winner here.” Dean, his interest piquing once more, strode back, cord in hand for his brother. He leaned over, bracing himself on the table and one hand on the back of Sam's chair as his younger brother fiddled with attaching the charger cord and finding a power outlet. Bobby quickly gesture to the appropriate area and Sam disappeared down to floor level for a moment.

“I think you're right Sam,” Dean breathed out, his eyes having picked up the same key words that had drawn Sam's attention. He clapped his brother on the shoulder as Sam slid back into his chair.

“Well, don't keep an old man in suspense,” Bobby snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. His portion of research wasn't forgotten, but he'd have liked anything that would narrow the search field at all.

“Okay,' Sam grunted and cleared his throat, angling his laptop screen slightly. “Dr. Sheila Rosenberg, formerly of Sunnydale California. Mostly research papers and grant requests, but then there's this.” He paused for a moment, switching between the initial page he had found and what he had been clicking on. 'Understanding the Mob Psyche in the Modern Age: An Intimate Look at MOO'.”

“Moo?” Bobby repeated. “What the hell is Moo?”

Sam paused, a slight smirk on his face as he eyed Dean and then replied. “Mother's Opposing the Occult.”

Dean nodded, like he had suspected this very thing while Bobby simply scoffed. So Sam continued, reading and relating, his eyes darting and fingers tapping on the keyboard as he did so.

“There's a reference here to an article published in the Sunnydale paper that was the jumping off point,” Sam concentrated, bringing up several pages of related material. “Some kids were slain in a local park, discovered by two women, names withheld, out for a walk. The coroner's office wouldn't release the official cause of death but rumors sparked immediately after the incident that because of a ritualistic nature of the killing and marks on the hands of the dead children were found, that cultists and/or witches were involved. This led to a candlelight vigil for the dead children. And one Joyce Summers called for more stringent action by the adults of Sunnydale. This led to the formation of Mothers Opposing the Occult, or MOO.”

“Yeah, sounds like the moralistic crusader crap the norms pull out of their asses when they get scared,” Dean grimaced, then snorted. “What'd they do? Picket city hall. Paper the town with flyers.”

“Uh no,” Sam whispered as he leaned in closer to his computer again. “Looks like it went a lot further than that Dean. Says here they had a crackdown on any occult paraphernalia, the town's magic shop owner was blacklisted and pretty much run out of business. Any children caught with banned paraphernalia were immediately placed under house arrest for the parents to deal with and-! Jeeze! They had a book burning at city hall.”

Dean's eyes widened as he craned his head to look at the screen. That was almost like sacrilege to Sam's way of thinking. Sounded pretty dark age to him as well. “Bet that didn't end well,” he scoffed. Sam was shaking his head and then grunted.

“Weird,” he muttered and when nudged by his elder brother, glanced up and then explained himself. “Dr. Rosenberg claims that the shock of realizing that they were burning up the books led the group to disbanding and within a matter of days, the entire incident was forgotten and never mentioned again. She's got episodes of student's turning on one another, extreme fanaticism, man, even parent's willing to sacrifice their kids to keep them from defiling themselves with satan worship.”

“Sounds like that would've been right up our alley,” Dean nodded.

“It actually sounds precisely like a form of a Karakoncolos,” Bobby declared. When both boys looked at him blankly he rolled his eyes at them. “German bogeyman. They're mostly harmless, but some of them can manifest enough malevolence from preying on the masses that they can turn an entire city against itself. It's been suggested that it was one of these bastards that touched off the Salem Witch trials.”

“Really?” Dean seemed... bemused. “So how was that bad?”

“Dean,” Sam protested in his tired tone of protestation at his sibling's narrow minded world view. “The Salem Witch trials were anything but. There were no witches, at least not that could be historically proven. If Bobby's right, a demon was acting on people's insecurities, turning them against one another.”

“I know, I know,” Dean grunted, waving his hand in his brother's face to try and forestall the lecture. “Damned if we don't see it all the time ourselves.”

“True,” Sam acceded, breaking off another argument before it built up much steam.

He continued to look through several articles, but his eyes kept being drawn back to the article on the mob psyche. Something about it was striking a chord within him. Ignoring his brother's huffs and Bobby's quiet page turning, he started at the beginning of the article and read it through to completion. It wasn't so much a rant against cultists, or satanists or even witchcraft, as it seemed to read like a justification. That the children or even adults that identified with the mythology or dark arts were simply crying out for attention and discipline.

The woman seemed to be trying too hard to convince her readers that it was all down to biology and nature, survival of the fittest trying to weed out those too weak to be part of society. The mob mentality of the mass joining to bully the weak or the different. And it left a bad taste in Sam's mouth when he realized that the paper wasn't so much an informative research effort as it was one woman's fear that her actions were dangerous, probably illegal and could be taken in one of the worst way possible.

The words, that there were even parents willing to sacrifice their children, rang in his head. Was Sheila Rosenberg one of those parent's? Was the book burning that she claimed the penultimate event that brought them back to reason? Or had the parent's been intent on burning something else.

“Sam!” Dean snapped, bringing his younger brother out of his disturbing revelation.

“What?” he asked. Dean pursed his lips and then shook his head.

“You find a picture or anything else on that woman?” his brother wondered. Sam shook his head.

“Looking now,” he replied tersely. This was easier than searching for Willow. He quickly found her listed as a contributing member of an online medical panel, along with another Dr. Rosenberg, this by the name of Ira. “Huh. Got her husband too,” he muttered, reading the credits as he waited for some pictures to load. “Looks like he's a psychiatrist too. Though Sheila's original degree was in child sociological development.”

“What's his name?” Bobby wondered, pen poised to add it to one of his many lists, for whatever reason that he probably wouldn't share.

“Ira Rosenberg,” Sam supplied. Dean leaned over to watch as the photos were loading and waited just a moment.

“Anything about kids?” he asked. Sam shook his head in the negative.

“You'd think they'd keep that stuff private,” Sam offered as way of explanation. “This is for medical purposes, office hours and stuff, not a tell all of their lives.” He glanced back at the screen and straightened up. “Here we go.” He turned the laptop slightly so that his brother could easily see as well. He frowned and enlarged first the image of Sheila and then or Ira. “I don't know. What do you think?”

“She's got the red hair,” Dean nodded. “And I can see some of her features in Willow. Good thing she seems to take after her mom, huh?”

Sam nodded and then shrugged. “Looks like if they are Willow's parents, they had her later in life, huh?”

“It happens,” Dean shrugged the thought off.

“Now wait a minute,” Sam realized then, another piece of the puzzle that he had been missing. “This doesn't... this paper was published in '99.”

“So?” Dean wondered at the import of that tidbit.

“The year Willow probably was born, if she's six years old now?”

“I don't see the problem?” Bobby added, also unsure as to where Sam's concern lay. “Explain,” he demanded tersely.

“This article that she wrote?” Sam pointed out, which was the only article the others were familiar with and they nodded. “It doesn't sound like research. It sounds more like a justification. A- a deposition or something, maybe like why she and all the others that were under this mob mentality shouldn't be held responsible. What if she wasn't just a casual observer? She wrote in the paper about some parents willing to go further.”

“Probably a good chance she was very involved,” Bobby agreed.

“What if she was one of the ones willing to sacrifice her kid?” Sam then asked quietly. There was silence and he turned to his brother. “Has Willow mentioned any siblings or close friends?”

“Uh... just her mom, her teacher and her babysitter,” he recalled. And then snapped his fingers, “and her friend that likes the taste of Ivory soap.”

“Yeah,” Sam scoffed. “Maybe she had one.” He rolled his eyes at his brother's suddenly furrowed brows. “A sibling,” he clarified. “Maybe this whole thing went further than anyone knew.”

“It's an interesting theory Sam,” Bobby commented. “But that's all it is. A theory. A lot of crap like this was gonna go down. Sunnydale was a Hellmouth boy. Not anything like you're used to. Things like this? More regular occurrence than every small town deal you've hit in the last ten years.”

“Really?” Dean seemed impressed and then smirked. “Don't know whether to be relieved the place is gone or disappointed I didn't get a chance to get my hunt on there.”

“Moron,” Bobby snorted and then turned back to Sam. “Try to keep the insanity to a minimum Sam. We've got enough real crap to deal with.”

“All right,” Sam accepted the chastisement easily enough, because he recognized that Bobby was right and he should have known that before blurting out suspicions with no facts to back it up. Because in this group, his gut instinct was treated more like a momentary muscle cramp than the real thing.

“Hey,” Dean interrupted, his hands reaching for the computer. “Let me see something.”

“Don't,” Sam grouched almost slapping at his brother's hands for getting grabby but managed to restrain himself.

“Hang on,” Dean grumped as he quickly began pulling up a new search engine. “Lemme see something,” he reiterated, his haste making him slur slightly.

“What are you looking for Dean?” Sam demanded trying to see what his brother was typing.

“You said that there was a magic shop in town,” Dean explained as he swiftly typed. “If we're looking for information on witches, specifically witches in Sunnydale that might have done something to Willow, let's bypass them, since the town is gone, and see who their supplier might have been.”

“That's...” Sam hesitated as he mulled it over, “not actually a bad idea.”

There were a few minutes to wait as the search took place. Dean rose from the table and snagged a few more beers and lingered at the entrance to listen to see if there were any more problems with Willow to deal with. She seemed to have settled for the night and he returned to the table, passing out the beers as he sat.

“Here we go,” he announced cheerfully, popping the tab on his can while Sam made a noise of protest. Dean wisely held the beer away from the computer to sip the resulting foam away, before settling it on the table and wiped his hands on his jeans. Sam's bitch face was a little much at nearly midnight. Unless it was directed at something else, but he had the feeling that his little brother liked to save it specifically for him.

“The Magic Box,” he read. “5124 Maple Court Sunnydale. Your one stop spot to shop for all your occult needs. Damn. Bit of a tongue twister,” he flicked his tongue over his lips and then raised his eyebrows. “Bit surprised the website is still up if the place got destroyed.”

“Look,” Sam gestured to the screen. “They've got a mail order system. So they might still be doing business.”

“Yeah, but the website hasn't been updated since early two thousands,” Dean countered.

“Which might be a good thing for us,” Sam noted. “Click there.” he instructed, pointing at the 'About Us' button in the lower portion of the screen. Dean obliged and waited for a new screen to pop up.

“About Us,' he read. “Originally opened as Uncle Bob's Magic Cabinet, The Magic Box has been a Sunnydale staple for supplies ranging from candles to seeing stones and our ever popular chicken's feet. We boast excellent selection and a friendly and knowledgeable staff ready to serve anyone who walks in our doors!” He paused for a moment to smirk again. “Sounds more like a desperate cry to start clicking on their shopping cart.”

“Just read Dean,” Bobby sighed. With an unaffected one shouldered shrug, Dean continued.

“Though the Magic Box changed hands over the years, our dedication to excellence has grown, as did the building in 1997. With the name change and new ownership, the Magic Box continued to garner success as a local haven for practitioners, dabblers and the curious.

In 2000, the Magic Box was taken over by former librarian of Sunnydale High School, Rupert Giles.' Hey, there's a link on his name. How do you right click on this thing?” he demanded. Sam simply reached over his brother to perform the function. Dean watched closely to catch it. “Okay, anyway, 'With a background in occult and mythological studies, as well as Curatorship of the British Museum in London, England, Rupert, more commonly known by his surname only, stepped into the position of owner/ operator of the Magic Box after the unfortunate demise of the local high school due to improper care and maintenance of gas lines running to and under the school.' What the hell does that have to do with a magic shop?” Dean wondered with a chuckle.

“Check out the next part,” Sam guffawed, pointing at the screen and then moving the cursor arrow to click on another link. Dean leaned forward with a smile and read aloud the part that had tickled his brother.

“Wisely realizing that as an aging Brit in the land of opportunity with only a shaky work Visa to back him up, Giles quickly looked beyond those he normally associated with to hire on the sensationally vivacious young Anya Jenkins who quickly rose to the top of the various sales associates hired on as “help” with her can do attitude and sharp business acumen. Her wide knowledge of the occult and ability to negotiate wholesale producers to bring the best merchandise and prices to the heart of Sunnydale's magical community have elevated this incarnation of the Magic Box to not just a business, but the reality of the American Dream!” Dean finished and then burst out laughing.

“I guess we know who built the website, huh?” Sam grinned. “Or at least wrote the content.”

“Sensationally vivacious,” Dean snorted as Sam reclaimed his computer. He switched to the other page he had clicked on and shaking his head the whole while, read over the profile of Anya Jenkins.