Title:
Memory In Motion
Chapter
Title: FUBAR'd
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
Three
FUBAR'd
Sam
had no sooner began typing a text reply to his brother than he heard
the familiar rumble that denoted the family's Impala, outside of the
motel door. Sighing to himself, he frowned down at the cell phone in
his hands. If that wasn't enough, he heard Dean honking the horn
impatiently. Wondering if he was needed to help bring something
inside, Sam pushed out of his chair and moved to pull one drape aside
for just a moment. Sure enough, there was his brother in the Impala,
waiting in the parking space that they had chosen earlier, for it's
closeness to their motel room door.
But
there was someone with him. A small someone in the back seat. And
suddenly, their earlier conversation came back to Sam. Dean had said
that he knew how to trap this shtriga that was going after children.
A hundred desperate, scared thoughts scrambled through Sam's brain as
he whirled and strode to the door. Prevalent among them was that if
Dean had kidnapped a child to act as bait, he was going to strangle
the idiot. Then bring him back from the dead and have another go at
him. It was possible. Even having been out of the game, he knew
people! He heard his phone chirp again, but was too worried to bother
checking it at that point. He yanked the door open just as the back
door of the Impala was pushed open and a bundle of red hair exploded
out, even as he heard his brother's laughter from inside the car.
And
then the next thing he knew, little arms were wrapped around his
waist, his eyes wide as the girl, only discernible by long red hair
and a dress, squealed out, “Uncle Sammy! Daddy didn't tell me you
were here!” Glaring at his brother as a whole new level of his
brother's idiocy speculated through his mind, Sam shook his head
slightly, even as his arms closed reflexively around the girl's
shoulders. His brother climbed out of the driver's seats.
“Go
ahead and use the bathroom, baby girl,” Dean called out as he
emerged. The little girl let loose of Sam and darted around him and
into the motel room as Sam twisted to see her heading straight for
the bathroom and then whirled back to his brother.
“Dean...”
he began, his tone low and warning.
“What's
the matter Sammy?” Dean chuckled, but there was something flashing
in his eyes. “Don't you ever check your phone?”
Sam
shook his head again and held up his hand with his phone in it. “I
just got your message.” Seeing that he had another message from
Dean, he quickly opened it to read 'screw worse. This is FUBAR'd.
Her name is Willow.'
“Okay
then?” Dean remarked in a perky tone as another message chirp
sounded and Sam shrugged one shoulder. He opened the next message and
read 'nosy freak
asses. Kid's got a plan.'
So it wasn't that Dean had kidnapped a
kid, or had a kid with one of his one night stands, well perhaps it
was both. Though that was awfully convenient. “Who is the 'nosy
freak ass'?” he wondered quietly.
“Blue Taurus down the street,”
Dean smiled widely and tilted his head in the direction he meant.
Sam's eyes slid over his brother's shoulder and saw exactly the
vehicle that his brother meant. “Been following me since the
hospital. Some chick at the driver's wheel.”
“Because you took a kid to...?”
Sam prompted, wondering what the hell had happened between now and
the last time they'd talked.
“Dude, don't even go there,” Dean
protested flatly. “Too complicated to get into right now. Get your
gear, we're goin' for food.”
“Typical,” Sam snorted and with a
resigned noise, stepped back into the room to grab his gear, coat,
laptop and wallet. He left the door open and just as he'd scooped up
the items he needed, the inner bathroom door opened and the little
girl, Willow, Dean's text had said, stepped out.
“I washed my hands,” she offered,
holding them up before her and Sam tried to smile encouragingly.
“Good job,” he complimented with
the air of one who had no clue what to say to that.
“Mommy always says that it's the
best way to not spread germs,” the girl announced. “Germs are
yucky organists that like to make my tummy sick. I think,” she
added hesitantly, the corners of her mouth dropping slightly as she
began to blink rapidly.
“Well, she's right about that,”
Sam agreed. “You ready to go?”
The girl nodded then and seemed to
perk back up. “Daddy says that I can have dessert after I eat.
Actually Daddy said I can have dessert for dinner if I behave myself.
I ate marshmallows at my friend's house for dinner. But that's cause
his mom forget to buy food.”
“Oh, that's...” Sam grimaced, “um,
that happens sometimes, huh?”
“I'd rather have my mom forget to
buy me more food than forget me at school,” Willow pronounced
matter of factly as she fell into step beside him. Sam noticed
immediately that she was scurrying to keep up and hastily shortened
his steps some. As they moved back out of the motel, it was to see
Dean swiping out some garbage that had accumulated in the back seat.
“There ya go sweetie,” he grinned.
“That better?”
The girl skipped over to his brother
and grabbed his hand. “Got it. It smells like my science
experiments.” His brother's bark of laughter surprised him.
“Well this time, you can blame Uncle
Sammy,” Dean shook his head, turning to aim the garbage at an
outdoor bin not too far away. “That was his bag of nasty food.”
“It was probably that salad I bought
you, that you refused to eat,” Sam scoffed as he recalled the
suspicious stalker that Dean and the child had picked up. Suddenly he
was eager to go with them and find out exactly what was going on.
“Right,” Dean nodded as he ushered
Willow into the back seat, leaning over to make sure she buckled up.
“Your dime, your dilemma.”
Sam shook his head once more and then
climbed into the front seat. “So where are we heading?” he asked
his brother as Dean climbed into the driver's seat.
“Family diner we saw a few blocks
back,” Dean answered easily. There was an absence of conversation
as the engine started up and then, as Dean maneuvered the car out of
the parking spot, the little girl leaned forward as far as she was
able.
“Hi,” she greeted again and Sam
twisted his head around to see her holding out her hand. “My name
is Willow Rosenberg and you're not my Uncle Sammy. But Dean who's not
really my Daddy said we could pretend for now.”
Sam, slightly taken aback,
automatically reached to shake her hand. “Uh, nice to meet you
Willow.” He threw her a grin that was more of a grimace and then
asked of his brother, “and why precisely are we pretending, rather
than taking Willow home?”
“Because I'm from Sunnydale,
California,” the girl began and took a deep breath, but Dean
hastily cut her off.
“And
she's not just visiting someone or just moved here,” Dean told him,
his eyes dark. as the little girl continued a
whispered litany of the ever widening world and Sam's eyes squinted
at his brother.
“What...?” he began to ask as
Willow's directions of where she lived came to an end. It occurred to
him immediately that this was a hoax. Oh, not one where Dean was
trying to yank his chain, with a kid no less, but that something had
hoodwinked his brother. Because Sam knew very well that Sunnydale,
California no longer existed. As in the town. Location yes, but a
natural disaster that he'd had his suspicions about, but kept mum at
the time, had reared their head. He and his friends at college had
watched in amazement, the news reports pouring in about the sudden
collapse of the town into a series of ever increasingly unstable
underground caverns, back in '03. Luckily, it hadn't been so
unexpected by the townspeople and the news reporters were
(disappointed) able to report in their vulturelike fashion that for a
town with such a large population, the evacuations were early and
there had been no fatalities reported in the destruction.
“Dean,” he tried again, “Sunnydale
is-!” But his brother smoothly cut him off.
“A long way away, and not a drive we
can make tonight,” Dean nodded rapidly, giving his brother a
meaningful glance and then lifting his eyes to the rear view mirror.
Sam glanced at Willow, who seemed calm enough to patiently listen
quietly. He could see Dean's point immediately. If something strange
were truly going on here, and with their lives, could it be any less?
But if this Willow were just a little girl, news that her home had
been destroyed...
“Christo,” he muttered under his
breath and startled a little when Willow piped up from the back seat.
“Yahweh!” she countered brightly
and Dean chuckled again.
“She's Jewish dude,” he chided.
“And I already tried.”
“I didn't blow up,” Willow
announced and then Sam had to laugh as well. “And I drinked lotsa
water. So I had to pee.” Sam saw a slight flush appear on the
girl's face when she said that, but it cleared up quickly as she
turned to Dean. “Does Uncle Sammy hafta drink the water now?”
“Probably wouldn't hurt,” Dean
shrugged as he steered the car down the road, checking once more, his
mirrors. “Though I haven't found anything yet to colonic his bad
mood right out of him.”
“Dean!” Sam protested and then
shook his head as Willow asked what a colonic was.
“It's a special treatment at the
hospital they use to clean the yuckies out of your tummy,” his
brother explained and Sam was surprised that Dean was able to explain
so easily without grossing the child, or him, out. But then, that was
probably all Dean understood about the procedure either.
“Oh,” Willow nodded. “Did that
lady go away yet?” she wondered and Sam turned back to his brother,
wondering the same himself.
“Haven't seen her,” Dean grunted.
“But we'll keep pretending so she doesn't just call the police,
okay?”
“Okay,” Willow nodded and sat
back.
“Why exactly are we pretending?”
Sam wondered and now it was his brother's turn to sigh.
“Dude, she showed up, I mean, just
flashed into the car, outta nowhere,” Dean explained, trying to
remain calm, though Sam could see it was visibly affecting his
brother. He just didn't know why yet. “She's not evil, far as I can
see. Just a kid. Taken from...” he paused, his eyes flickering to
glance at the girl again. “Sam, we'll have to deal with her and...
get her home, but this case we're on, it's more immediate. I mean, I
feel bad for her parents, since she's disappeared, but there are kids
that need help now.”
“Okay,” Sam nodded, satisfied for
the moment. They could take Willow's situation as it came, do the
research, but his brother was right. They were staring at a problem
where kids were dying, not just disappearing to show up elsewhere.
“Maybe we could ask someone to start looking into this though?”
he suggested, waving one hand minutely in Willow's direction.
Dean nodded. 'Who'd you have in mind?”
he asked and then snorted softly to himself. “Not like Dad'll pick
up the phone for this,” he muttered.
“I was actually thinking Bobby,
maybe,” Sam offered, referring to another grizzled old hunter. He
was one of those that had been hunting long enough that if it
happened, he'd seen it himself before or at least knew a bit more
about it. “Maybe we can call Pastor Jim about getting her home.
He's got contacts through his church.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Dean agreed.
“Let's have a nice “family dinner” first though. Blue car at
bitch o'clock and yes I know I said the B word Willow.” Sam
grinned, realizing that the girl was opening her mouth even as Dean
made that complaint. She shut her mouth gently and looked amused and
a little smug. Sam leaned his arm over the seat and held his palm
flat out to the girl.
“High five for hating potty mouths,”
he teased and then smiled widely when she carefully slapped her hand
down on his.
“Miss
Tattersall washes your mouth out with soap if
you say bad words,” she told him. “My friend likes the taste of
Ivory.”
“So did Dean when he was your age,”
Sam joked.
“Hey, hey,” Dean defended himself.
“I said I was familiar with the taste. Not that I liked it.”
“That's not how our Dad tells it,”
Sam scoffed and was pleased when the little girl, she was
surprisingly endearing, giggled along with him.
Chapter Four- The D Word
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