Richard Castle, Watcher (Castle/Buffy) (Complete)

London, August 1999

“Is this all?” Mary’s voice was cold enough to drop the temperature by a few degrees, but Richard was almost certain she was secretly relieved. In hindsight, it was a surprise they hadn’t broken up sooner, given the amount of fights they had gotten in. It was mostly a matter of pride, he thought. And that it hadn’t been her idea. Though filing for divorce in New York probably hadn’t helped her temper. Richard didn’t care. She was not suing for custody of Alexis, and that was all that mattered. Well, that, and he still would be rich after the settlement. That was important too. If he ever married again, he’d certainly get a pre-nup though.

“Yes. Everything left belongs to you or the Council.” He handed her the keys to the flat. The apartment itself was part of the settlement, and was going to be hers.

“You’re quitting everything and everyone then.” Mary stared at him. She didn’t call him a coward, but he knew her opinion on his courage, or lack thereof.

“I am not quitting my family,” he shot back. She didn’t flinch. Not anymore. “Alexis needs me. She needs a father she doesn’t have to worry about because he’s hunting monsters at night. Besides, the Council has things well in hand.” The Slayer had prevented an ascension a few months ago, and was still alive after almost three years on the hellmouth. Buffy Summers - and who in their right state of mind would name their daughter ‘Buffy’? - got results, even if she was a bit hard on her Watchers. After Rupert, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had been fired as well. Mary was probably hoping she’d get the position this time. He hoped she’d not - both Rupert and Wyndam-Pryce had stayed in California instead of returning to England, and he’d rather have an ocean and an international border between himself and Mary.

The two glared at each other until Richard nodded at her and left what had been his home for so many years. He wouldn’t dwell on the past though, or not too much. He had a future to look forward to. And he had to figure out how to get a flamethrower to New York.

 

New York, January 2000

Richard Edgar Castle. The name of a rich, successful author. His name. Officially now.

“Are you playing with your new business cards again?” Martha Rodgers shook her head at him on the way to the kitchen in his new, expensive apartment. She was visiting often since he had moved back to New York.

He dumped the stack of cards in the drawer in his desk and yelled: “No, I am not!”

His mother appeared again, one of the canapes from last night’s party in her hand. “Though I have to hand it to you - for a clean break, a name change works wonders. Now if only Mary wouldn’t know your new address…”

“She’ll hardly show up here, mother. She’s quite happy in Merry Old England.”

“I am not sure Mary will ever be happy.” Martha sat down on the seat in his office, and studied the various melee weapons hanging on the wall. “Did you actually split those things between the two of you?”

“Each of us kept their own weapons.” Those on the wall were harmless props. His actual weapons were hidden in a concealed safe, or secured so no six year old, or older, kid, not even a very bright one, could get to them.

Martha shook her head. “To think that both of you are crazy for medieval reenacting. Or were - she stopped attending conventions with you years ago, didn’t she?”

“She did yes. But she still is quite fond of her weapons.” That should have been a first sign things were not going well, he thought. They had had such fun, dressing up.

“A very weird hobby, even for a British woman.” Martha stated, though she was looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“Her parents have a collection.”

“And so do you, now.”

“I do research for my books, mother. ‘Vampire Hunter’ is a successful series since I take care to get the details right.” At least among the fans of medieval weaponry.

“Such as the sizes of your heroines?” Martha finished her canape. “Just remember to use Gina as a model for the next vampire villainess. She’d never fit the hero role.”

“Mother!”

“I am serious, Richard. Mary turned out to be a bad fit, but Gina’s a gold digger.” Martha shook her head at him. “Which you’d realize if you were thinking with your head.”

“She’s a very competent agent, not a gold digger.” And she was very attractive too, and she admired his talent as a writer.

“Kiddo, all agents are gold diggers. Both want to screw you and take your money.” Martha Rodgers shook her head.

“You make her sound like a whore.” His mother hadn’t liked any of his girlfriends, as far as he could remember. Maybe Anne Bartlet, but that had been in pre-school.

“She manages to do that just fine by herself. A pushy one at that.”

“Was there something else you wanted to talk about, mother? Or did you just come by to raid my fridge and berate my life choices?” Richard asked while starting up his computer.

“Alexis told me you carry a “lucky stake” around, to ‘fend off vampires’. She also lectured me to never invite anyone into my or your apartment, since ‘vampires cannot enter uninvited’. And she always wears a cross.” Martha leaned forward. “I know I raised you better than to believe in superstition.”

“Yes, you did.” He should have had this talk long ago, Richard knew. But there never was a harmless chained up vampire around when he needed one.

“Alexis is sensible and mature for her age, but she believes in that… stuff. She takes it very seriously. And she said Mary taught her the same rules.”

“Yes. Very thoroughly, too. With quizzes even.” He tried to make light of it - and failed.

“Richard, it’s one thing for a successful author of vampire books to carry a stake and a cross around with him. Eccentric, ironic, an ice breaker at a party - though your bank account balance works much better for that now that you’re rich. But for him to indoctrinate his daughter is another thing.”

“Did you ever wonder why I only wear shirts with a collar?” he asked and started to unbutton his dress shirt. To his surprise, Martha remained silent until he pulled the shirt off and the undershirt back. She hissed at the sight of the scar on his neck. “I was bitten by such ‘superstition’, mother. Without Mary I would have died.”

She was eyeing the weapons on the wall with a different expression now. And him as well. He sighed. She’d not believe him without actual proof. Hopefully, that coroner contact of the Council hadn’t heard of him quitting, and had a potential fledgling on ice, ready to be staked. He’d rather not chance visiting a demon bar, if he could find one. With or without his mother.

 

New York, January 2000

Richard Castle had met a number of eccentric people in Britain. People who spent their lives, sometimes literally, fighting vampires and other demons tended to acquire some quirks. And worse. Sidney Perlmutter, the medical examiner in charge of the morgue with a possible fledgling, would have fit right in with them.

At least Richard hadn’t ever met a guy who ate his take-out dinner next to a corpse while pointing out the intricacies of the straps that ‘would stand up to a bloodsucker’s strength’. No wonder the man was a contact of the Council. At least his mother wouldn’t flirt with the doctor, not after seeing him use a scalpel to open the container with his food, and then to use the same tool to demonstrate that the corpse was truly dead while lecturing her and Richard about the telltale signs of ‘proto-vampires’.

That had actually been quite informative. He could use some of the information for a book, should ‘Vampire Hunter’ ever reach the 20th century. Richard pulled out his notebook and wrote a few lines down while his mother’s polite smile grew more forced each minute she was listening to the coroner. It had taken a lot to get her to come, and if she stormed away now it’ll all be for nothing. Worse, she would believe he was delusional.

“So, when will the bloodsucker rise?”

“Hard to say. It’s not that predictable, but within the hour, if my time of death is correct.” Perlmutter’s tone made it clear that this was the case, and that questioning him would not be a good idea.

Richard nodded. “How many such cases do you get, by the way?”

“Not too many. The population still hasn’t recovered from the time Nikki Wood cleaned the city up.” Perlmutter answered, his face briefly showing a wistful expression when he mentioned that Slayer. “The number’s slowly rising though.”

A coroner and the Slayer, working together? That would make for a nice novel, with a Quincy vibe. Still quite different from his usual books though. And he had a feeling that if Perlmutter recognized himself in a fictive character, it would lead to trouble. “Well, no worse than London, yet.”

“Ah. What’s your preferred method of disposal?” The doctor finished his meal and threw the box into the next trashcan. For a moment Richard wondered if he disposed of body parts in the same way.

“Stake if they are tied down. But if not… fire.” He grinned. Next to him, Martha rolled her eyes. She obviously hadn’t forgotten or forgiven the time he had set their garden table ablaze. Even if it had been an accident, mostly.

“That can be messy. And dangerous.”

“Not as dangerous as trying to stake them in melee.” He had gotten good with the flamethrower.

“It can lead to attention from the police though. Arson charges are a thing.”

“Well…” Before Richard could explain that he had been careful, Martha’s shocked scream - and, dear Lord, she should really audition for a Slasher movie - interrupted the two men. The vampire had risen, or tried to.

Snarling, his ridges and demonic eyes fully visible, it struggled against the straps holding it down. Richard was pulling out a stake while Perlmutter noted down the time, and a few other observations. “See, mother, that’s a vampire with its demonic face visible. They show that when feeding, otherwise they look like normal humans.”

“Look how the cuts I made before it woke up have disappeared.” Perlmutter threw in. Martha gaped at him, then at the demon again.

Richard shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, but to show his mother she had been wrong about him? This was almost as good as when he told her about his book contract! “But check this, Mother: It has no reflection. That’s why I have so many mirrors, and one directly opposite our door. If someone doesn’t show up in the mirror, do not open the door, ever!” He held out a small mirror to demonstrate.

Martha’s mouth was moving, but she wasn’t saying anything. Maybe he was overdoing it? “To kill them, a wooden stake to the heart works well.” The vampire was screaming and cursing a bit too much now. A moment later, he turned to ashes. “Mother?” Oh, yes, he had overdone it. But he couldn’t think of a way to show her that would have been less shocking.

Perlmutter was commenting on the way the clothes - if the scrubs on it counted as clothes - had disappeared as well while Richard gently guided his mother out of the morgue. He just knew this would be costing him a small fortune to make it up, even though it was all her fault for not believing him without proof!

 

New York, January 2001

“I know it’s customary to dislike your daughter-in-law or step-mom, but aren’t you jumping the gun here? Gina hasn’t even mentioned marriage so far!” Richard Castle - ‘Rick’ for his friends - said exasperatedly. It wasn’t often that both his mother and his daughter agreed upon something, but in this case, both were of one opinion: Gina Cowell was not the right woman for Richard Castle!

“We’re being pro-active,” his smart, precocious and protective daughter declared, taking care to pronounce the obvious newly learned word carefully. Rick shot a glance at his mother, who feigned confusion. “If we get rid of her now we’ll not have to commit a crime later!”

While he was gaping at the little girl who was supposed to be innocent, his mother cut in: “You’re very rich and very prominent now, Richard. Women want a piece of that, and usually not the one you’d like to share.”

“Mother!” He made a face and pointed at Alexis.

“Pish posh! She’s your agent, she already gets more than her fair share of your money. That she is trying to marry you just proves that she’s too greedy. Even for an agent.” Martha Rodgers ranked agents several steps below lawyers. Alexis showed her agreement with this statement by nodding several times.

“Did you two ever think that Gina might have honestly fallen in love with me because of my charm, wit, and handsome face?” He had his hands on his hips as he glared at them.

“No,” Alexis flatly answered and shook her head emphatically.

“I do not think she knows what love is unless it’s related to money.” Martha stated.

Rick sighed. “Look, you are being very, very biased. Can’t you give her a chance, for my sake? She may be an agent, but she’s got a number of good sides to compensate.” Like her body.

“Well… with her around we’d be safer,” his mother stated after a short pause.

“Exactly! We… wait, what?

“She obviously sold her soul to the devil already, so vampires and other demons will stay away from her!” Martha said in a deadpan voice, before breaking out in giggles with Alexis.

“Very funny.” Richard glared at them, but as usual it didn’t impress either of the two. Martha was immune to it, and Alexis only caved when she thought she had been bad - and she was such a good girl, when she actually did something bad for a change, she punished herself so much, Rick usually never needed to scold her. He groaned. “If she’s really after my money, then two words will scare her away: Prenuptial Agreement.”

“That’s why I think you’ll one day wake up in Vegas, married to her, and with the prenup unsigned since you’ll be so drunk, you won’t even remember the night. Did she ever mention how nice Nevada is in the winter, spring, fall or summer?”

“No she didn’t!” Gina had mentioned California, but Rick didn’t really want to get close to the Hellmouth. The things he had heard… even though he would have loved to be a fly on the wall when the Slayer had told Travers off!

“Smart of her. She’ll present it as a spontaneous idea, something wild, like a teenager would do, and you’ll fall for it hook, line and sinker!” Martha wasn’t about to change her opinion of Rick’s girlfriend.

Alexis kept nodding, then frowned. “What does that mean, Gran?”

While Alexis learned about fishing, Richard went and fixed himself a drink. He and Gina would show them! They could be happy together without marrying, or mentioning money!

 

New York, June 2001

“Told you so.” Martha Rodgers commented, without looking at him, her gaze locked on the newspaper announcing the break-up of “Rick Castle and his agent”.

“Mh.” Alexis was holding her orange juice with both hands.

Rick Castle walked to his new and expensive Italian coffee maker while glaring at them both. “Yes, you were right. And? Am I supposed to run every girl I am interested in first by you two, so you can judge her?”

“Yes!” “Of course, dear. Not that you’d ever do much of what you’re supposed to.”

Rick groaned while his coffee slowly dripped into his mug. He just couldn’t win.

 

New York, November 2002

Gina had fought tooth and nail to get as much money as possible from him during the divorce. At the same time she had done all she could to make more money for him - she got a cut from that anyway, after all. Richard Castle had to admit that his second ex-wife was a professional when it came to money.

He rubbed his chin. That would make for a good remark for the press: ‘I have the utmost trust that our relationship will only improve now that it is strictly professional again. My ex-wife always was better with my money than with me.’ At least he had had the presence of mind to get a prenup that did stand up, mostly, in court. Oh, another one: ‘If I had spent every evening with a professional, it would have cost me less.’

“... explosion shook the heart of London. Authorities are still investigating. So far no one has claimed responsibility, though both islamist terror groups as well as the IRA are under suspicion…” He whipped his head around and stared at the TV running in the living room. What the…

“Dad! I am old enough to watch the news! It’s educational” Alexis claimed while holding the remote to her chest. Rick shook his head. “Switch to BBC.”

Alexis stopped trying to defend her right to watch news of terror bombings in the morning and did as told. He stared at the screen showing the smoking ruins of an old building in London. A very familiar building.

“Dear Lord!” He hadn’t cursed like an English in years. “That was the Council’s headquarters. I worked there for years with your mother!”

Alexis gaped at him, and he realized his mistake at once. “You mean mum was in that house?” she asked in a trembling voice. He wanted to hug his daughter, hold her, and assure her everything would be OK. Instead he was dialing. Mary’s apartment - no answer. Mary’s cellphone - no answer. Mary’s office - no answer. That was no surprise. It was currently burning and buried under rubble. Her parents… no answer. He dialed the numbers again and again, every time getting the same result, until Alexis started to cry.

He hugged and held his daughter then.

*****​

A day later, things had not improved. His TV had been running constantly. He had bought all British newspapers he could. Even the tabloids. There was no news about survivors and the families of the dead were not giving interviews. Rick had called all his old contacts in England. Most of them he hadn’t been able to reach. He wished he had stayed in touch with the Council, hadn’t limited his contact with Mary - he didn’t know enough people to ask about his ex-wife. At least she hadn’t been found dead in the rubble, like so many others. So, there was still a bit of hope that Alexis hadn’t lost her mother.

A cynical part of him wanted to claim that she had lost her mother years ago. But it would not do to speak ill of the probably dead. No one had taken responsibility for the attack yet. The press had started their own investigations, and the tabloids were already speculating about secret services and conspiracies.

Not too far off the mark, to be honest. He had reached a few survivors, but they hadn’t been able to find Mary, or confirm her death either. They had warned him though - the Council headquarters hadn’t been the only attack, just the most public one. And Mary’s parents had died in the blast, as well as Travers.

Rick glanced at the painting hiding his weapons locker. His apartment was pretty secure when it came to attacks by demons. Reinforced doors, panic rooms, he had even hired a wiccan to cast protective spells on it - his mother had complained about the smell of incense for days, and she didn’t even live there - he had gone to great length to protect his family. But against enemies using bombs? What could he do against that kind of threat?

He had a Glock 20 in his desk. He didn’t have a concealed carry permit, but as long as he stayed in his home, he could carry as many weapons as he could, well, physically carry. But shooting a bomb wouldn’t help, and Alexis would be frightened if she saw him carrying a pistol instead of a sword.

Alexis… she was not coping well. Not that anyone would expect her to, seeing as she was just eight years old. Or ‘almost nine’, as she had started to claim right after her birthday. He sighed. Alexis was usually very mature for her age, but this would be too much for anyone.

The doorbell interrupted his thoughts. Who could it be? His mother was in the guest room. She had stayed up too late last night, after having rushed back from her vacation in Florida with her latest lover. Alexis was already in bed, hopefully sleeping. After a second of hesitation, he picked up the Glock and walked to the door. If the gun wouldn’t work there was a broadsword mounted next to to the doorframe.

Rick looked through the spyhole and froze. Mary? She did show up in the mirror across the door. He opened the door a gap, as far as the far more solid than usual security chain allowed. “How did we meet for the first time?” he stated, instead of a greeting. He was sweating a bit, and gripped the Glock harder.

His ex-wife had been about to say something, and froze for a second, her mouth half-open. She recovered quickly though. “I saved you from a vampire that had picked you up in a pub in London and wanted to eat you in a dark alley.” The Council didn’t know that. Hadn’t known that. Almost no one outside their closest family knew that.

He nodded, then unlocked the chain and opened the door. Mary stepped inside, nodding approvingly when she spotted the gun in his hand. “You heard, then.”

“Yes. My condolences.”

His ex-wife nodded, her eyes barely showing any emotion. He locked the door, then held out his hand to her. She shrugged out of her coat, revealing an outfit she usually had worn on their hunts together. It looked slightly rumpled, like her hairstyle.

“Alexis!” he shouted. “Wake up! Your mum’s here!”

Mary jerked, staring first at him, then at the stairs leading up to her daughter’s room. The door upstairs was thrown open, and Alexis Castle came rushing out. “Mum? Mum?” She stopped at the top of the stairs, staring down. “MUM!”

Mary barely had time to open her arms, still just starting to smile, when the almost nine years old latched on to the woman and wailed.

*****​

“You want us to move to the Hellmouth?” Rick stared at his first ex-wife. He would have shouted, if that wouldn’t have woken up Alexis, who had finally fallen asleep.

“Yes. The Slayer needs all the help the Council can provide. She’s facing the First Evil, who is trying to destroy the Watchers and the Slayer Line. The Hellmouth is the key to her plan, as far as we know.” Mary stated.

“I’m not a member of the Watcher’s Council anymore. Haven’t been one for years.” Rick retorted.

“The First won’t care. Its servants have struck all around the world. Watchers, potentials, contacts - far too many died, alone, overwhelmed. More are still in danger. Our best chance is to join the Slayer. She has beaten a god and prevented more apocalypses than any other Slayer in history. If anyone can beat the First, it’s Buffy Summers!” Mary sounded quite fanatical for someone who had had a low opinion of the ‘yankee slayer’ a few years ago.

“She did all that without much help from the Council.” More like, despite the interfering from the Council, in his opinion. Rick wasn’t about to leave his family. It wasn’t as if the Slayer would need help from an author and retired vampire hunter.

“She wasn’t facing the First Evil then. She does now. This is the most dangerous enemy the Council has ever faced. We need everyone, or we’ll fall, and the world will be doomed. No one will be safe. Nowhere will be safe.” Mary glanced at the door to Alexis’ room.

He grit his teeth in anger. “Don’t bring her into this! She cried for two days, thinking you were dead, and now you want both of us to leave her?”

“Do you want to protect her, or not? You are a Watcher. The First will come for you.” Mary didn’t say that he was endangering their daughter by his very presence. She didn’t have to.

“I am retired!” He was no Watcher. Not anymore!

“Do you really think the First Evil cares about you formally quitting the Council? A number of retired Watchers were killed already!”

Martha Rodgers had been surprisingly silent during the exchange so far. She was on her second glass of wine now though, and looked grim.

Rick started to pace.

“Are you so selfish to endanger our daughter instead of doing what’s right?” Mary went on.

“Shut up!”

She ignored his outburst. “Why do you think the First has gone after the Council? It’s because we are a threat. With so many dead, everyone is needed, or it’ll win. Even ‘that damned yankee’.”

“I can’t leave Alexis!” He had to protect his daughter. Keep her safe.

“You have to. You’re not safe to be around.”

Rick snarled at her and went to get a drink from the kitchen, forcing himself to calm down. He’d never forgive himself if Alexis was hurt because of him. His mother was still not saying anything.

What should he do? What could he do?

Alexis. He had to do what was best for her. His daughter.

"Damn you, Mary!”

 

Sunnydale, December 2002

Richard Castle - Rick to his friends - hadn’t expected the Hellmouth to look so… normal. Suburban. There was no gothic architecture looming over narrow alleys, no ubiquitous shadows and mists hiding monsters, no general atmosphere of danger and violence. Instead, Sunnydale looked like the stereotypical Californian town. Sunny, open, filled with tanned, health-conscious people. Buffy Summers had to be a miracle worker to keep the hellmouth in check so it didn’t corrupt the town.

Well, there were less people on the streets than he’d expected that time of the day - but then, it was a lot hotter outside than in New York. Sane people would stay indoors. Not that Californians were sane by East Coast standards.

“What’s the address again?” Rick asked while stopping to let a hot jogger cross the street.

“1630 Revello Drive. Take the next turn left.” Mary answered, splitting her attention between the map on her knees and the town.

Rick nodded, not bothering to answer verbally. After two days on the road filled with planning, ranting, and arguing, both had spent the rest of the drive in silence, even when they stopped to eat, or to shower and rest a few hours in a motel. He had wanted to fly - charter a private jet, even - but with both of them hunted by the First, and with Mary connected to the London bombing, they’d not have gotten far at any airport. And the Ack Pack currently resting in the trunk would have led to awkward questions from any authority.

He checked his appearance in the rear view mirror, ignoring the frown on his ex-wife’s face. He had a reputation as a handsome, rich playboy to maintain. It wouldn’t do to arrive too rumpled. At least he had been able to shower and shave that morning, though a bit of stubble might have made him look more like the experienced vampire hunter (retired) he was.

He drove the M3 Coupé into the driveway of the house and cut the engine. For the Slayer’s residence, it looked deceptively harmless. No high fence around the area, and the walls looked rather flimsy. Once outside his air conditioned car, the heat quickly started to get to him. His stylish leather jacket with the hidden loops and sheaths for stakes and blades and vials of holy water was more appropriate for London’s fog than California’s sun. Mary of course didn’t look as if the heat affected her; she wore her long coat and sour expression as if she had just returned from another boring Council meeting.

He pushed the doorbell, then waited. After half a minute, the curtain behind the window on the left side moved, and he could see part of a face peering out. Then the door opened, and Rick came face to face with Buffy Summers. Lothos, the Master, Darla, Angelus, Kakistos, Spike, Dracula himself - she had faced the most powerful vampires and had defeated them all. She was a legend. She was an inspiration to every vampire hunter. She was… about 5 feet tall, and thin like a fashion model.

“Buffy Summers?” He couldn’t quite keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Who are you?” The girl narrowed her eyes, and he suddenly felt a chill run down his spine, despite the heat. Her right side and arm was hidden behind the half-opened door. No doubt she held a weapon there, ready to kill him in a split second.

He quickly put on his best, most charming smile. “I am Richard Castle, Watcher. This is Mary Wilkinson, also a Watcher. We’re here to help.” He hoped Mary managed to smile instead of frown.

The blonde didn’t move, didn’t look away, she simply yelled “GILES! We’ve got visitors!”

Wait, Giles?

“Buffy, there was no need to yell, I was already on the way… dear Lord! Richard! Mary! You’re alive!” Rupert arrived behind the Slayer, adjusting his glasses. There was more grey in his hair, he had more lines in his face, but otherwise he could have stepped out of the Council library 10 years ago. Behind him, a gaggle of girls was hanging back.

“You know them, Giles?” The Slayer was still giving them looks full of suspicion.

“Yes, Buffy. They were colleagues of mine, back in London.” Rupert smiled at the girl, probably as he’d smile at any dangerous predator, Rick thought.

“Great. We’re invaded by the English. Soon Starbucks will go out of business, replaced by teabucks. And where will I get my coffee-fix then?” Buffy pouted, but stepped back and opened the door all the way. As expected, she had a stake in hand, a rather warped thing, too.

“I am actually American,” Rick corrected her as he stepped inside following Mary, “I just spent a decade in London.”

“You don’t sound American. Oh my god, English is contagious!” Buffy gasped. Had Rick really slipped back into the accent he had picked up in his years in England?

Rupert’s smile grew forced. “We could only wish English was contagious. You might stop mangling our language if that was the case.” The Watcher and the Slayer stared at each other for a second before the girl pouted and closed the door.

“Please excuse Buffy,” one of the other girls smiled at Rick, “my sister is ... oh my god! You’re Richard Castle!”

“Yes, Dawn, he said that.” Buffy glared at the girl.

“He’s a famous author!” Dawn, as the girl was apparently called, stared at Rick with an expression of awe he’d have loved if she was, say, 10 years older, and not the Slayer’s sister. “Willow! Castle is in our house!” She had a set of lungs like her sister too.

Rupert looked confused, Mary looked annoyed, and the Slayer looked lost. As first impressions went, this was one of Rick’s better ones.

*****​

“I’ve actually been a Watcher for about ten years. I quit the Council in 2000 and became a full-time author and father,” Richard explained a bit later while sitting in the Slayer’s living room. Which looked far too normal, in his opinion. If he ever wrote a book about this, he’d have to change things. Maybe add some weird hunting trophies and weapons to the walls. Older furniture, sturdier. More chests. He’d keep the Californian fashion worn by the girls though.

Rupert was polishing his glasses. He hadn’t taken the revelation that Rick had made a fortune by using the Watcher journals as inspiration that well. The girls, especially that redhead and the Slayer’s sister, were very impressed though. And the young man, Xander, seemed to be very amused. Probably at Rupert’s expense.

“Wow. That explains why the ‘Vampire Hunter’ series is so good. I should have noticed that the descriptions of the vampires and demons were completely correct! But… does that mean that those past Watchers all had affairs with their Slayers? I mean, in every book, there’s this love story as well, very romantic, even if it’s a tad biased since there’s no lesbian couples, but then again, there was that story with the female Watcher, but since we know that most Slayers die so young, that makes all those love stories very tragic in hindsight. Oh my god, I will have to reevaluate my whole opinion of those books!” The redhead babbled, then stared at Buffy and Giles.

“What?” the Slayer looked again confused, then her eyes widened. “No way! Me and Giles? Eww! He slept with mom! On the hood of a police patrol car! With handcuffs!”

“Giles! Oh my god!” Dawn looked shocked.

“G-Man! Way to go!” Xander exclaimed, then cringed when the Slayer and her sister glared at him.

“Buffy! I explained to you that both of us were under the influence of a mind-altering substance in those chocolates! I certainly would have never done anything like this otherwise!” Rupert huffed at the Slayer, then glared at the kids staring at him.

“Does that mean mom wasn’t good enough for you without doing drugs?” Buffy scowled at the Watcher.

“What? I most certainly didn’t mean that! Joyce was one of the most impressive women I knew.”

“You can be my step-dad anytime,” Dawn Summers cut in. “At least you’re around most of the time, unlike our real dad.” She perked up. “I’d need a bigger allowance, of course!” When the older man glared at her, she giggled.

Rick glanced at Mary while Rupert tried to defend his reputation. His ex-wife looked shocked, well, it was understandable. Rick was a bit shocked himself.

This was humanity’s best hope for survival? The world was doomed!

*****​

After things had calmed down, the talk returned to what might pass for a strategy session if one was a Californian teenager. Rick wondered if what he was feeling now was how Travers had felt when talking with him. And he wondered how Rupert was still sane - the man had spent years here, and he was born British!

“So… if I got this right, you’re an author who moonlighted as a Watcher librarian. And your ex-wife is a Watcher librarian.” Buffy Summers was pacing in front of the couch Rick was sitting on with Mary, while the rest of the house’s occupants were sprawled around the living room, mostly on the floor. “We already have an ex-Watcher ex-librarian.” She pointed at Rupert, who coughed. “What exactly can you do, other than writing books about old men seducing poor young Slayers?” More coughing from Rupert followed. “I doubt we can beat the First by feeding her novels. That might have worked with Glory, though.”

“Well, it’s not as if we are only librarians,” Rick answered, before Mary’s indignation could overcome her shock and his ex-wife could start a confrontation with the Slayer who had sent Travers packing, “both of us regularly hunted vampires in our spare time in London.”

“Dear Lord!” Rupert sounded surprised - he really didn’t know Mary well - but the rest looked impressed.

“We left our weapons in the car. People tend to get nervous when they see a flamethrower.” Rick’s remark caused an instant change in the Slayer’s attitude.

“You’ve got a flamethrower? Can I see it?” For a feared veteran Slayer, Buffy’s puppy dog eyes were remarkably effective. Of course, knowing that she could rip him limb from limb if she wanted to helped her persuasiveness a lot.

“Of course. We can buy one for you too, if you want. That’s the other thing I bring to the table, apart from my ruggedly handsome looks and my experience: I am rich. Money can solve a lot of problems.”

The expression on the Slayer’s face suddenly changed and Rich felt as if he was a piece of meat in front of a hungry tiger. And not the in the good, kinky sense. Next to him, Mary was covering her face, across from him Rupert was polishing his glasses, and everyone else was smiling far too eagerly at him.

Maybe his mother was right, and Rick really didn’t learn from his mistakes.

 

Sunnydale, December 2002

Richard Castle was rich. Still. Financing the fight against the First Evil hadn’t really dented his fortune, yet. Despite Buffy Summers and her friends making a very determined effort to achieve that feat. And in less than a week too. Maybe the reason that the Slayer usually worked alone was that the Council would have gone bankrupt otherwise.

Sitting in the kitchen and waiting for the water to boil - he really needed to order a coffee maker too, Italian design of course - the author mentally ticked off the recent expenses. Rented a new, far larger and far more defensible, house. Villa, actually. He couldn’t fault that - he’d rather not share a room with Rupert and Xander again, and they needed more bathrooms with that many girls in one place. Lots more bathrooms. And solid walls were far better than that flimsy wood they used in California. Not to mention safer if one used a flamethrower as a weapon.

“Yes!” A yell from the backyard interrupted his tallying. The Slayer was practising with her new flamethrower. Another necessary expense - she had laid claim to his old one, holding it hostage until he bought one for her as well. And a few spares. And enough spare fuel to keep the US Army running for a week.

“And it burns, burns, burns!” Xander mangled Johnny Cash while instructing Buffy. At least the targets they were using had been cheap - the young man had made them himself from a few planks of wood, down to the painted-on fangs and slick black or blonde hair, which annoyed Buffy for some reason.

The water finally boiled, and Rick filled his mug. A sip later he winced. He really needed to order that coffee maker. Stepping outside, he saw that Buffy had switched to sword practise with Rupert, and Xander was now instructing the potentials in how to use a flamethrower in the midst of the burned remains of Buffy’s targets.

“That’s far too dangerous. One mistake, and they could set themselves on fire.” Mary had joined him on the porch, holding a cup of tea, no coffee for her of course, and glared at him.

Rick shrugged. “One mistake on a hunt, and you’re vampire chow.”

“It slows them down.”

“Even as potentials, they can’t keep up with the speed of vampires. Not on a Hellmouth. It gives them a range advantage, and even a glancing hit will kill a blood sucker.” Rick answered, almost bored. They had gone over that same argument twice already. “Besides, Xander knows how to use one.” And setting things on fire was cool.

Mary scowled, but didn’t continue the doomed argument. When a Slayer who had survived for six years on a Hellmouth wanted a weapon, she got that weapon.

The two watched the training in silence for a bit, emptying their mugs. Rick hoped Mary’s tea was as bad as his coffee. Unfortunately, with Rupert here, that was not likely.

“Mr. Castle?”

Richard winced. He pasted a smile on his face and turned around. “Yes, Anya?” The scandinavian friend of the Slayer, was attractive, but so greedy, she made Gina look like a nun sworn to live in poverty. She also was so rude at times, he suspected a mild mental disorder. That, or she had been raised by capitalist wolves in the wood, and had just recently returned to civilization. Now that gave him an idea for a new character...

“Have you considered my offer now?” She beamed a smile at him that was likely supposed to be seductive, but made her look slightly crazy.

“I think we should focus on fighting the First Evil for now, before discussing business opportunities.” He smiled as honestly as when he had been talking to Gina’s lawyer. Anya didn’t seem to notice though. “Besides, if we lose this battle, there might not be a world left to make money in.”

Anya nodded. “That is true. Would you like to have sex? In our situation, it is a quite natural desire. Many warriors had sex before battle.”

What? He stared at her. He had known scandinavian women were supposed to be very… liberated… but this was…

“Those little girls want to have sex with Xander too,” she pointed at the potentials surrounding the young man. “All but the one who wants to have sex with Willow.” In the kitchen, Rick could hear a cup crash to the floor, and someone sputter.

“Anya! What did we tell you about sex talk?” Rick hadn’t noticed Buffy coming over to them - she simply suddenly was there, next to him.

“Those are not strangers, or visitors. We now live with them, so sex talk is appropriate.” Anya answered, frowning at the Slayer.

Buffy turned to Rick and Mary. “I am sorry, she’s a bit… blunt.” And the Empire State Building was a bit tall.

“We’re all a bit stressed,” Rick answered. He was tempted to accept the offer - sex with slightly crazy people was great - but he was not sure that the relationship between Anya and Xander was really over. Why else would the man have tried to frighten him with tales of Anya castrating and otherwise maiming men? Not that he believed those tales, but seeing a possibly jealous ex-boyfriend demonstrate how to set a human-sized target on fire tended to put things into a certain perspective. “I’ll have to go over a few numbers now.”

“Oh, I can help you! I am good with numbers. I ran the numbers for the Magic Box for Giles, and made a healthy profit!”

Rick’s smile froze on his face.

*****​

“So, Xander, where did you learn how to use a flamethrower? I’ve been using one for years, and even I learned something new today,” Rick asked at dinner later that day, after a rather interesting afternoon. In the Chinese sense of the word.

“It’s a long story,” Xander began.

“He dressed as a soldier for Halloween, and due to a Chaos spell he got the memories of that soldier.” Buffy interrupted him.

“Apparently not that long.” Xander pouted.

Rick wasn’t entirely certain he believed that. Maybe the young man was a deserter from the US Army. Or a Green Beret working undercover. He had overheard some hints at a covert operation in Sunnydale yesterday. But he was a guest here, even if his money paid the rent and groceries and most of the clothes. He changed the topic. “Did the prisoner talk?” And hadn’t that been a surprise! The group was keeping a prisoner - an evil warlock, if his boasts were true.

“We made him talk!” Dawn piped up.

Next to her, Anya nodded. “He was more than willing to share what he knew after I told him what I would do to him if he did not cooperate. Even if I had to improvise most of the tools. Torture standards really declined in the last thousand years.”

Rick blinked, trying to make sense of that statement, but before he could ask what exactly she meant by that, Buffy interrupted him again. “We found out there’s a seal in the school basement, over the Hellmouth, that he has been trying to open. We need to seal that seal. Or re-seal the seal. Whatever, it needs to be locked up. Down. Closed.”

“Normally we would simply have walked in during the day and poured cement over it, but the new Principal is not quite as stupid as the ones we had in school,” Xander explained. “So we’ll have to do it tonight.”

“So that was what the cement was for.” Rick nodded.

“That, and I have a few ideas to enhance the defenses here.” Xander smiled.

“Xander - he can build an entire house, given enough materials and time!” Willow smiled at the man, prompting frowns from both the potential, Kennedy, and Anya.

“We’ll also have to find and rescue Spike.” At that statement from Buffy, the whole table fell silent.

Rick was puzzled. “Spike?”

“One of the members of the Scourge of Europe. He switched sides and was working with the Slayer the last few years.” Mary explained, without looking at him.

“So, it’s called ‘working’ now…” Xander said in a rather sarcastic tone, then yelped, and bent down, probably to rub his foot, while glaring at Buffy. Willow frowned at him while Rupert polished his glasses, but with a dark expression. Dawn was giggling. The potentials looked as lost as Rick felt.

“I feel I am missing something. One of the worst master vampires is working with the Slayer?” Rick gaped. “Why wasn’t I told that?” The stories he could spin from that...

“It’s a long story.” Buffy stated.

“Spike got a chip…” Anya started.

Buffy interrupted her. “I said it’s a long story. Too long to be told now. We’ve got a seal to seal. Willow has a locator spell to cast, and we’ve got a … Spike to save.”

“And there are more potentials coming. I’ve set up a switch that redirects calls to Buffy’s house to our new address.” Willow added.

“The seal and the girls are obviously the priority. We don’t even know where fangface is.” Xander said. “We’ll have to patrol the bus stop.”

“I’d like to go help with the seal,” Rick spoke up. He wouldn’t call it sealing the seal. He was an author! “I’ve never seen the Hellmouth, and that may be as close as I can get to it.”

“Oh, I doubt you’ll be that lucky. You’ll probably get grabbed by the tentacles sprouting from it, and dragged towards it.” Xander answered.

Rick was about to laugh at the joke when he noticed that everyone else was nodding with a grim expression.

Just what had been going on in that town?

 

Sunnydale, December 2002

After all he had heard about the Hellmouth, it or rather the Seal of Danzalthar on top of it, was not very impressive, in Richard Castle’s opinion. It was a pentagram, with runes mixed in, around a sabbatic goat head, all etched in metal. It looked like a cheap cover for a Metal band, actually. Rick wasn’t certain what that said about either Ancient Evil or Heavy Metal. “I’m not sure if I should be glad or disappointed that there’s no rift and no tentacles.”

“Glad.” Anya stated with obvious conviction.

“Definitely glad.” Dawn chimed in.

Mary just glared at him. He had expected that. Though after meeting the legendary Buffy Summers and her faithful allies, he could now safely say that Mary was far too serious to seriously fight the Forces of Darkness. It apparently took a certain kind of madness to survive for years on a Hellmouth. Rick would have suspected that the madness was the result of years on a Hellmouth, but Rupert had assured him that everyone involved had been crazy before he met them and they started hunting vampires.

“Since we do not know if Andrew would qualify as a virgin sacrifice to appease the demons coming through an open Hellmouth, I cast my vote for ‘glad’ as well.” Xander said from behind the bag of cement he was carrying.

“Hey!” Their prisoner protested, then fell silent when everyone glared at him.

“A virgin sacrifice would probably break the seal, so we would want to avoid that,” Mary said in the crisp, calm voice Rick knew heralded an angry outburst. He still took care to stare at Andrew, then at the seal, rubbing his chin, until the murderous little jerk paled and trembled.

Buffy arrived, carrying two bags of cement and her flamethrower as if they weighted nothing. Such sights drove home just how powerful a Slayer was. And the lack of reaction from everyone but himself and Mary showed just how much the group here had gone through. “If I break a nail carrying those, someone better pay for my manicure!” She exclaimed while dropping the bags on the floor.

“Buffy! Just because now we’ve got some rich sugar daddy supporting us is no reason to abuse it! It’s not as if you’ve got anyone who’d care for the state of your nails with the world in danger of ending!” Dawn scolded the Slayer with the satisfied air of a younger sister who was always waiting for an opportunity to turn the tables on her older sibling. It reminded Rick of Martha and himself, in a way. Not that he’d ever say that. To either one.

“Two words, Dawn: Leather Jacket.” Buffy huffed, dusting her thighs off.

“That counts as armor and therefore as slay-gear!” Dawn protested.

“Gucci doesn’t make armor!” Buffy crossed her arms and stared at her sister.

“Well it should!” Dawn retorted.

“Well, yes, but that’s not the point!”

Before the discussion could escalate into an argument, Kennedy arrived behind Buffy, dragging a hose with her. The potential was struggling a bit, but not noticeably. Impressive, but far from the supernatural strength displayed by the Slayer. Xander took charge of the operation at that point, and soon the cement was hardening nicely over the seal, with a few iron crosses buried in it as well, just in case some vampire tried to dig it up again.

“I’m all covered in dust! And it’s not even vampire dust! If it rains, I’ll turn into a statute when dry!” Buffy complained.

“At least then you’d look as old as you sound when you nag!” Apart from Dawn, always ready to needle her older sister, no one else reacted to her comments.

“How long do we have to wait until it’s dry?” Mary asked. She hadn’t had an outburst yet. Rick was impressed by her self-control.

“It’ll take a few days to harden fully,” Xander answered, putting up some “do not cross” signs borrowed from the construction site on the way. “But it’ll be soon too hard to leave your handprints in it.” He grinned, then blinked when the Slayer bent down and pressed both hands in the wet cement.

“Hey… it’s kind of our walk of fame.” Buffy defended herself while trying to wipe her hands clean without smearing cement on her clothes.

“If you squint and are on drugs.” But Dawn was eyeing the cement herself.

In the end, the cement was sporting handprints from everyone present before the group left the school’s basement.

*****

“So, ‘the presence of the First Evil destroys all plant life around it’. If I used that in a book, half the critics would claim it was too cheap, or too cliche as a plot point.” Rick commented as he followed the Slayer and Rupert Giles towards a Christmas tree lot. His flamethrower was hidden, somewhat, under a cut-up backpack, same as Xander’s. Rupert had declined to take one himself while Xander had persuaded Buffy that she would be needed as a quick reaction reserve to intercept charging vampires, and shouldn’t carry a flamethrower herself since she would be more effective in melee. It had sounded more convincing when the young man had said it than now, out in the last hour of the night, on the deserted street.

“Oh, yes! Evil older than recorded history just isn’t what it once was, back before humanity climbed down from the trees. First we have magic seals that look like someone copied a Heavy Metal band, and now we have the evil itself copying cheap fantasy novels! I’d have thought primordial forces had more pride, you know?” Xander asked.

“Well… maybe that’s a sign that Metal and cheap fantasy novels are evil,“ Rick speculated. “My novels are expensive, by the way.”

“Don’t let Buffy hear that! She’ll try to kill the next rocker she meets!” Xander chuckled, and Rick joined him.

“Perhaps they sold their souls for fame and success, and the covers and plots were part of a discount? Sort of ‘advertise for us, and we’ll charge you less’?” Rick spun the thought further.

“What would be a discount on a soul? Isn’t that an all or nothing deal?” Xander asked, watching the entrance to a side alley they were passing. For all his goofy jokes and attitude, he moved like a trained soldier.

“I think those stupid enough to sell their souls probably don’t consider that.” Rick stated, covering his own side.

“Well, if Spike can get a soul, they can’t be too rare.”

“Could you two shut up?” Buffy glared at both of them, hands on her hips. It should have looked cute rather than lethal, but she was the Slayer, and Rick and Xander shut up. Although the younger man did it with an exaggerated gesture as if he was zipping his lips shut. He had been the Slayer’s friend for years though, while Rick hadn’t.

The four walked the rest of the way in silence, with Rick and Xander exchanging a few looks behind the backs of the other two, quickly escalating into grimaces, until they both were chuckling. Buffy probably heard them, but didn’t react. Rick hoped she was not one to hold grudges.

The Christmas tree plot - Rick hadn’t know they even grew in California, wasn’t everything, from trees to chests, plastic here? - did have a part where all trees had died, but Rick refrained from making another comment.

“So, there is a cave somewhere here?” Rupert apparently hadn’t been there before either.

“Yes, back when I fought the First Evil for the first time. Or, rather, its priests, when they were driving Angel mad.” Buffy explained.

“Figures. If it’s not one vampire, it’s the other.” Xander muttered under his breath.

Buffy sent him a glare - Slayers had superhuman hearing, Rick reminded himself, something to keep in mind when snarking - then continued. “We just have to find the entrAAHHHH!”

Before their eyes, the Slayer broke through the ground and fell into a hole. “Found it!” she shouted from below. The cheery tone told them that she wasn't hurt.

“Wait for us, we’ll climb down!” Xander yelled down.

“No, no, it’s a bit narrow, and you’re carrying the flamers. I’ll just take a look around - scout a bit, in soldier-speak - and come back up!”

Rick didn’t show it, or so he hoped, but he was kind of relieved. Not because of the climbing down - though that would be a hassle - but fighting in narrow spaces and bad air with flamethrowers was not entirely without risk, as his British friends would say. And if he failed to climb up with the additional weight, and the Slayer had to pull, or worse, carry him up, he’d never live it down!

Still, that you were standing around a hole in the ground while a girl risked her life below simply didn’t feel like something you could tell your friends when swapping war stories. Xander didn’t look like he liked it either, but Rick thought the man was a bit overcompensating. He wondered if such damage to a male’s ego was listed in the Watcher’s handbook under the risks of associating with a Slayer. It should be, in his opinion.

Minutes passed, then they heard a scream. “It’s right behind me!”

Peering down, Rick could see Buffy climbing up frantically, not bothering to search for hand- and footholds, but simply punching and kicking into the packed earth. And behind her, visible in the cone of Rupert’s flashlight, was the ugliest vampire Rick had ever seen, gaining on the Slayer. Rick gripped the muzzle of his flamethrower. The thing was too close to the Slayer to make a shot. If he sprayed too much, or misjudged the cone…

Then the thing was on fire, dropping from the wall and thrashing around. Xander obviously hadn’t had any such doubts. Buffy, yelling about her hair pulled herself out of the hole and then patted her head until she was certain it was not burning. Meanwhile the thing down there was slowing down, and finally turned to ashes.

“Dear Lord!” Rupert was pale.

“Giles! I staked it, I hit its heart, and it didn’t dust! What is that? Was that?” Buffy demanded to know.

“It lasted far longer than a vamp usually does when on fire,” Xander added. So that wasn’t an effect of the Hellmouth, Rick noted.

“Was it a vampire? Or some sort of demon? Maybe a hybrid?” the author speculated. He had shied away from using those awful vampire-werewolf-hybrid abominations, but if they actually existed…

“It was a Turok-Han. A legendary vampire, far more dangerous than its contemporary brethren. I thought they were just a myth…” Rupert seemed shocked.

“We dusted a myth? Will we get in trouble with a museum? Or PETA?”

While everyone turned to stare at Xander, Rick noticed that not being the one everyone glared at for a quip was quite a novel experience for him.

He wouldn’t give up that position to a younger challenger without a fight, of course!

 

Sunnydale, December 2002

“I love you, Alexis! Merry Christmas!”

“I love you, dad! Merry Christmas!”

Richard Castle smiled and passed his cellphone to his ex-wife, then walked around the porch to the back. He didn’t feel like going inside yet. He wasn’t ashamed that he was crying, but… the mood inside was somber enough, no need to drag it down even more, on Christmas. Besides, Alexis and his mother were safe. Celebrating Christmas with his first ex-wife, a former colleague from work and a bunch of bloodthirsty college kids was a small price to pay for that.

He snorted. Many other men his age would be happy to be one of the few men in a house chock-full of girls, even though a primordial evil wanted to kill them all. A great number of such men would also be willing to exploit the situation, offer the girls a bit of comfort, or whatever the excuse would be. Not him though. He had principles. Morals. Standards. And a healthy respect for the Slayer and the potentials. Maybe a little bit of fear as well.

His gaze fell upon the shovel stuck in the earth near the target range for the flamethrowers. Maybe more than a little bit. He shivered at the memory of the ‘shovel speech’ the Slayer had given him after he had spent one evening talking about his books with Dawn and Willow, who were among his number one fans. As if he’d sleep with an underage teenager! Maybe he shouldn’t have shown them the scar from the first vampire he had met, but they had not giggled, or made jokes about love bites, but nodded in understanding. Though in hindsight, he should have stopped them from showing off their own scars. That had been so easy to misunderstand for someone who had just entered the room when Dawn had been lifting her shirt and Willow had been unbuttoning her blouse.

The redhead was not interested anyway - she was still wobbling back and forth between being interested in and scared of Kennedy. It would have been very entertaining to observe, if they hadn’t been facing the First Evil.

That was the real dampener for this Christmas celebration: the prospect of a battle for their lives that was hanging over all of their heads. It was hard to get a celebration going when death could await them all. Well, hard for the potentials and the other guests in Sunnydale - the ‘scoobies’, as apparently the core crew around Buffy called themselves, were old hands at ignoring such things when there was a party to be had. Even Rupert, and he had let slip that Buffy was even worse on Thanksgiving.

So, at least a few were having fun, and if Rick was right, the rest would follow, helped along by some liquid Christmas spirit. He wasn’t in the mood for that, yet. Nor to watch the potentials hanging all over Xander, Anya’s disapproval notwithstanding. Dear Lord, if he wrote such a passage in a novel, people would complain about turning ‘Vampire Hunter’ into a soap opera! A teenage drama, at that. He shook his head, chuckling at Gina’s possible reaction.

“Martha and Alexis send their regards.” Mary had apparently followed him, not understanding that he wanted to be alone. Not that she ever truly understood him. “Shouldn’t you be inside, impressing the underage girls with daring tales straight out of the Watcher’s Journals?”

Mary hadn’t taken the completely natural, if not so innocent interest of the potentials in a ruggedly handsome and rich vampire hunting author well. Probably because there was no similar interest in her. Her jealousy had always been her worst flaw. He turned his head to her. “Shouldn’t you be inside, telling them how to properly celebrate Christmas?”

“I left them the Watcher’s Handbook for field Christmas. They’ll be OK.” Mary answered.

Castle stared at her. “That was a decent joke, with self-deprecating humor even. California is good for you!”

“We British have always been good at gallow’s humor. You yankees just seldom get our jokes.” Mary shot back, and he could hear the edge behind her levity. She was tightly-wound, so he just laughed and didn’t escalate.

The two of them stared at the backyard, illuminated by the Christmas decoration that had almost cost two potentials their lives or at least pride before Xander had stepped in and mounted the ensemble without risking anyone’s life. The formerly pristine lawn had been turned into a battlefield - burned, trampled, even hacked to pieces in places by potentials getting trained by a veteran Slayer, a young man with the memories of soldier, and one former mass-murdering vampire, who had apparently regained his soul. Castle had known people tended to rediscover Christmas during the holiday season, but this was a success story the church probably wouldn’t want published.

“Do you think she’s sleeping with it?” Mary whispered.

“I think I’d rather not know, or think about such private details.” Castle answered. He knew Slayers had supernatural hearing, and vampires too. “Besides, didn’t Travers vet Spike years ago?” He was quite proud he didn’t add a few adjectives to Travers’s name.

“I am quite certain he didn’t know about that particular private detail.” Mary pressed out through her lips.

“No one else seems to have a problem with that,” Rick shrugged.

“Mister Harris and Rupert do not approve.” Mary stared at him with disapproval written over her face.

“They haven’t staked him yet, and given the way the locals seem to to voice their disapproval with lethal violence when they’re really serious, that’s as good as handing the bride over at the altar I’d say.” Rick shrugged again, and hid his amusement at her reaction. “Besides, he’s chained up in the basement. Although that doesn’t preclude some kinky action, of course.”

Marry sniffed at that remark, turned on her heels, and walked into the house. Mission accomplished. Rick sighed, then jumped up, gasping, when the Slayer revealed herself right next to him.

“For someone who does not want to know about my private life, you’re making with the speculation a lot.”

“Jesus! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Don’t worry, you’re not that old yet. And you’ll not be getting any older if I ever catch you with my sister, mister ‘I write tales about Watchers sleeping with teenagers’!” For someone who barely reached five foot, Buffy Summers could be very threatening. Mike Tyson would probably shy away from her glare, so Rick didn’t feel bad at cringing.

“I told you! I am not interested in Dawn!” he protested.

“She’s interested in you though. She always had a taste for men completely unsuited for her. Her first date was a vampire, you know.” The Slayer explained.

“Shouldn’t you be frightening her into staying a good girl then, instead of terrifying me?” Rick knew he sounded a bit petulant, but he couldn’t help it.

“Of course not. She’s my sister, if I tell her not to do something, she’d do it out of spite. Or you, in that case.” Buffy grinned with a slightly manic touch. “Scaring you works,though!”

“You’d blame me for your sister’s faults? That is so unfair!” Castle pouted at her. She was probably joking. At least a bit.

“You’ve been married to Miss Watcher Handbook, you should be used to getting blamed.” With a wide smile, the Slayer nodded at the shovel in the corner, then stepped inside.

Castle had to ask Rupert how he had managed to not become an alcoholic living with those maniacs. Or, if Rupert hadn’t managed that, ask where he kept his stash.

 

Sunnydale, January 2003

“We’re up against the First Evil. The force who invented the concept of evil. How many of us will die, screaming, in the battle? So many potentials have been killed already…” Eve sighed dramatically, and Castle was sure the girl was close to crying. And the rest of the potentials - their number had grown over Christmas again - were not doing much better. With the exception of Kennedy, who was putting the moves on Willow. She’d made progress over the holidays too, the redhead didn’t try to flee anymore when she was getting cornered by the rich girl. Still, she was not falling into the potential’s arms, and if she’d hold out another week, then Castle would win the pot.

“But we’re with the Slayer. We’re safe!” Rona answered Eve. The redhead, Vi, nodded.

Eve shook her head, hugging herself. Castle would have tried to calm her down, but each time he as much as took a step towards her, she was shying away from him. “She won’t be able to protect us. She can’t even protect her best friends, or their friends. Xander’s best friend was turned under her watch. Willow’s girlfriend was killed because of her. She's a danger to us all!”

“And you’re dead!” Buffy was suddenly standing in the door, to his horror, Castle saw two daggers flying towards Eve - and passing straight through the girl, as if she was… oh, Buffy hadn’t gone crazy, but had been speaking literally.

Eve sneered at them, then laughed. “Finally found my corpse? It doesn’t matter. None of you will escape me!”

“We found her body. You’re not Eve, you’re the First! And we’ll kick your ass down to hell whenever you dare popping up!” Buffy stepped in front of the ... ghost? Projection? Illusion?

Laughing louder, the girl disappeared. Buffy turned around, addressing everyone. “Alright, we’ve been infiltrated by the First. She can take the form of any dead person you know. Knew. Whatever. But she can’t touch anyone. So, we’ll be using a buddy system, and touch ourselves a lot. I mean, each other.” The Slayer corrected herself while blushing slightly.

Xander nodded. “If you see someone alone, touch them. Even if you know they’re not dead, touch them. Get in touch with your inner toucher. Now’s the time to get all touchy but not touchy-feely.”

Most groaned at Xander’s puns, but a few of the girls looked very interested. A squeak from Willow told Castle that Kennedy had adapted the new policy enthusiastically.

“That’s touching, not groping.” Rick added.

“Actually, that pretty much was groping, “ Anya cut in. “Xander used to grope me all the time like that, and then we had sex.”

“A touching revelation we all would like to hear more about, but I’ll have to find Mary and inform her of this.” Rick knew a clue to exit the stage when he saw one. Martha’s rehearsals had seen to that. He took a step back, grinned at the coughing Xander, who was the center of attention now, and left the room before any of the underage hotties or former vengeance demons decided to grope him.