This is an idea that popped into my head after consuming scary amounts of caffeine. I'm going to go through season five and maybe six, but under the premise that Dawn ain't so special after all.
Worth continuing? Take a look.
Tabula Rasa (working title, i'll come up with something original eventually)
Deep in the wilds of Eastern Europe a medieval Gothic monastery sat, not at all conspicuously, next to a large industrial plant owned by the largest plywood company in the Czech Republic. Inside, the vigorous and slightly desperate sound of chanting was not quite enough to cover the noise of the motorway construction going on half a mile away. Before an elaborate, ornate, and (truth be told) slightly kitsch altar, a group of monks were convened.
“The Beast has learned of the Key,” intoned one. The dramatic effect of this was spoiled slightly, by the faint but still audible sound of industrial machinery. The monk screwed his face into what he hoped was an even more piously dignified expression.
“She will come for it. It must be protected.”
Outside, a whistle blew and the machinery wound down into silence. It was lunchtime. The monks gave a sigh of relief.
“The Key must have a new guardian. It is no longer safe with us.”
The robed figures around him nodded sagely.
“Here is what we shall do.”
Three weeks later.
Trevor, newly initiated into his order, was excited beyond belief. The entire monastery was gathered to hear the plan. He was getting used to tuning out the noise from beyond the monastery walls, so well in fact that he could hear at least two out of every three sentences. On arrival as a novice, he had asked one of the brothers why there was such noise around the building. The reply had come with an embarrassed half shrug.
“This is a sacred place, Initiate. The Key has been guarded here time out of mind. Unfortunately, we’re also sitting on some prime real estate. It was hard enough getting the building listed so they couldn’t tear it down.”
The brothers met with their usual solemnity. The plan was explained, and sage nods exchanged all round.
Trevor, or Brother Gillus, as he was now known, frowned. Slowly, tentatively, he raised a hand.
“Yes, Brother Gillus, what is it?” Intoned the head priest.
Trevor gave an internal eye roll. These people could never just speak. They had to intone, declaim or even (on one extremely memorable occasion) ejaculate.
“Um, excuse me, brothers, but can I ask, the Beast needs to drain the Key’s energy, yes?”
“Correct, Brother.”
“So, why are we making it human, exactly? Human energy would be far too easy to drain. Why not, I don’t know, say a piece of lint in a tumble dryer in Finland?”
“Because, Brother,” the priest intoned, with perhaps just a hint of irritation, “we must be sure that the Slayer will protect it with her life!”
“Um,” Trevor said, feeling the disapproving eyes of his compatriots boring into him, “Isn’t that a little obvious? Won’t the Beast notice if the Slayer makes a new friend and suddenly goes all hyper-protective?”
“No! For you see, we shall mould the Key not only into human form, but into memory!” This time the intonation carried joyful triumph, which is to say it wouldn’t have sounded out of place at a fairly upbeat funeral.
“We shall form the Key from the blood of the Slayer herself! She shall become…her sister!”
“Look, Father, I’m sure you know better than me, it just seems-“
“Silence!” The head priest declaimed. “Insolence! You, who are so young that you must shave your head! You know nothing!”
They had him there, he had to admit it. Every monk in the order had the requisite bald, shiny pate, however his brown hair was thick and shiny and unbearably beautiful. It had torn his heart to throw away his conditioner and take a razor to his pride and joy. But that’s the religious life for you, he mused. Vanity is a sin, after all.
However, his doubts plagued him like…well, he couldn’t think of an analogy, but he was worried. So, the night before the ritual was due to take place, he snuck into the Holy Rooms, trusting the sound of diggers and dump trucks to cover his footfalls, and pulled the Holy Scrolls from their Holy Vessel. Laying them on the Holy Reading Desk, he switched on the Holy Lamp and began to read.
“Yeah,” he muttered, then looked around him and rephrased.
“Verily, forsooth and truly!” He exclaimed, trying not to snigger. “This shall come to pass indeed, but, yea, not as my revered if buffoonish brothers intend!”
He opened one of the Holy Drawers of the Holy Reading Desk, finding the Holy Pronunciation Guide that had so aided him an a novice, and began to intone the Holy Words.
Halfway through, the Holy Doors burst open and monks poured in.
“Shit!” Exclaimed Trevor, “you’ve made me lose my place! Great, now we’ve made a pig’s ear of everything! This is even worse than your stupid sister idea! I can’t believe I gave my hair up for this!”
Far away, in the distant land of California, the Slayer slept soundly. A gust of wind blew threw her open window, accompanied by some dramatic chords that would have indicated, had she been awake to hear them, that this was no ordinary breeze. Indeed, it carried on it the faintest echo of a voice.
“Pig’s ear...pig’s ear…stupid sister…stupid sister…my hair…my hair…” The voice faded, with a metaphorical significant look, into nothing
Satisfied that its task was done, the dramatic wind swept out of the room. The portentous chords, however, missed their ride, so they stuck around to make sure everyone was aware of the Plot Development going on.
Buffy mumbled in her sleep, rolled over and grabbed Mr. Gordo from his traditional spot on her bedside table for some sleepy snuggles. Not that kind though.
The next morning, Buffy came down for breakfast and was greeted by the sight of her mother and sister chowing down on some pancakes. Round ones. Completely normal, round pancakes.
Dawn turned her head to greet Buffy, but the reflected glare from her ridiculously shiny mane caused the usual early morning bout of temporary blindness, so they launched into a completely normal sisterly conversation instead.
“Y’know, Dawn,” Buffy said, rubbing her eyes, “I saw a flyer for Conditioners Anonymous on campus last week. Feel like going?”
“Sorry, Buff, but I’m having a thumb-wrestling tournament with Tara this afternoon. I’m in a key position to win!”
“Buffy,” Joyce asked, “why do you have Mr. Gordo in your pocket?”
Buffy blushed. “Um, I dunno, Mom. I was just…I woke up with him, I guess I must have just…I’ll put him upstairs.”
In her room, Buffy felt strangely reluctant to leave her pig behind.
“Come on, Slayer, you’re way too old for a transition object!”
Talking of transition objects made her think of her recently deceased Psych professor and her favourite creation. She shuddered and tucked Mr. Gordo safely back into bed.
Downstairs, feeling oddly bereft, she joined her mother and sister for another completely normal, everyday conversation.
“Oh, Buffy, could you do me a favour this afternoon?”
“Sure Mom, what is it?”
“Well, we’ve hired some new staff at the gallery, so I need some new keys. Could you go into town after class?”
“No problem. Do you have a spare that I can use to get the new keys cut?”
“There’s one upstairs. I’ll get it after breakfast. Now that I think about it, Buffy, you should have a key to the gallery too. Just in case.”
“Good idea, Mom. Could I give one to Giles, as well?”
Joyce blushed. “Mr. Giles already has a key for emergencies, Buffy.”
“Oh.” The kind of awkwardness that can only happen around parents followed.
“So,” Joyce said with a hint of desperation, “how’s the Slaying going?”
“Things have been pretty quiet recently,” Buffy replied, grateful for a new topic.
“Why’s that, dear?”
“Well, there were a lot of demons killed when we kicked Adam’s ass, I guess maybe everyone’s lying low after that.”
“Well, that’s good honey. Since it’s so quiet, maybe you could ease up on the patrolling for a while?”
“Actually, I have been. Everything got so intense last year, with Riley and the Initiative, I let a lot of things slide. I mean, I didn’t even notice Willow going through this huge thing. I’ve been letting my friends down a lot recently. I wanna change that.”
“What huge thing, dear? Is Willow okay?”
Oops. Buffy blushed.
“Um, well Mom…”
Everyone was yelling at him. You’d think they’d at least take turns, he thought to himself. He was beginning to seriously regret this monk gig. He missed his hair.
“Enough!” The head priest intoned. “We will fix this. We must transfer the Key into the body that has been created for it. We must alter the memories of those involved. And then, Brother Gillus, we will deal with you.”
Tara and Anya walked toward the Magic Box, Anya enthusing about wonders of internet stocks.
“Like, first money, then money money money?” Tara asked.
“Yes!” Anya said, eyes alight with capitalist arousal - er…glee.
The monks formed the Chanty Circle as the head priest began to intone the Holy Words again. The overwhelming smell of incense was making Trevor’s nose itch.
Inside the Magic Box, Willow and Xander sat at the table together, chatting. Tara immediately walked over to her lover and sat down, smiling at Xander, who grinned back.
“Hey, sweetie,” Willow said, hugging her. Did you and Anya have fun?” Despite her best efforts, Willow couldn’t quite keep the scepticism from her voice. Tara squeezed her admonishingly. Since she was basically smooshing her boobs against Willow’s, it didn’t quite have the desired effect.
“Yes, we did. We brought mochas as well.”
Willow’s eyes lit up. “Have I told you that I love yet today?”
“Four times,” Tara replied with an indulgent grin.
Xander turned to his girlfriend.
“Hey Ahn, I hear you and Tara had a good time today.”
“Yes we did. Not in a lesbian way though.”
This qualified as tame coming from Anya, so nobody commented.
Buffy and Giles came through from the training room.
“Buffy, if you wish to bring a stuffed animal to the shop, that’s your concern, but I was simply suggesting we put it somewhere where it wouldn’t be a hazard.”
As Buffy had retrieved her mother’s key that morning, she had absentmindedly picked up the stuffed pig and shoved him in her bag. Now she was feeling a little defensive.
“Look, Giles, I just want to make sure I don’t forget him! I didn’t even mean to bring him, but I don’t want him left in the shop overnight.”
Seeing an escape from the conversation, Buffy turned to the newcomers.
“Hey guys! How was the outing?”
“I learned about internet stocks,” Tara offered.
Willow pouted.
“Anya was teaching you about computers?” She whispered.
“It didn’t mean anything, honey, I promise.” Tara smiled.
Giles went to the counter and opened the cash register.
“Hey!” Anya dashed over. “Hands off the money! That’s my part, remember?”
“Yes, Anya, I was simply putting away this receipt.”
“Oh. Good. Records of past earnings are important, but the paperwork is definitely your department.”
They began to bicker, quietly.
Tara stood up, leaving Willow to finish talking to Xander. Reluctantly leaving. What with the boob smooshing and all. She’d decided to make an effort to get to know all of Willow’s friends better, starting with Buffy. After all, the best friend of my lesbian lover is my friend too, right? Right.
“H-hey Buffy,” she said, wincing at her stutter, “how was patrol last night?”
“God, don’t even ask! Dawn snuck out, trying to follow me. She knows the Slayer gig comes with enhanced senses, so how she thought I wouldn’t notice…”
The Slayer settled comfortably against the counter as Tara did the same, feeling relieved. So far, so good.
The ritual was going well. So far. Trevor had that odd, tingly feeling he’d last gotten right before that mess with Mr. Williams’ French windows, that honestly wasn’t his fault, it just sort of happened. Plus the incense was really starting to irritate.
The chanting reached it’s peak. There was the mandatory significant pause…and Trevor sneezed.
Twice.
Magical winds rushed through the hall, stirring the incense further.
He sneezed again despite the frantic shushing of his colleagues.
Power surged through them, gathering, pulsing, until, with a final sneeze from Trevor it was expelled out into the night.
The tingling was gone, too.
In the Magic Box, everyone collapsed. Mr Gordo reappeared, tucked into Buffy’s elbow, glowing a deep forest green.
Xander began to snore.
