FIC: Wasted Potential (BtVS/SPN)
Wasted Potential
A Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover
by mhalachaiswords
Summary: An unCalled Potential gets to leave... but what can you call it when you have nothing to live for?
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the CW and Kripke. BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon. No profit has been made from this fic.
Rating: PG
Setting/Genre: Gen, crossover, pre-series
Words: 1,175
Spoilers: The SPN pilot, vague Buffyness.
Note: I thought this one up while I was stripping out Frontpage coding from html. Yeah, my work's weird. Warning for strange tenses.
Every day, from the day Mary was taken from her family, was the same. Train. Learn. Listen to her Watcher.'>~~~~~~
Potential Slayers didn't have families. That was the rule.
Every day, from the day Mary was taken from her family, was the same. Train. Learn. Listen to her Watcher.
Wait.
For years, Mary didn't know what she was waiting for. The Slayer to die? To be Called to become a Slayer herself? Mary knew she could do it, if she had to. She knew how to fight evil, at least in theory.
Only problem was, she didn't want to die.
Maybe that was why, with each Slayer's death, Mary remained a Potential, never the Slayer.
She was nineteen when the Watcher's Council threw her out. She was too old, they said, too defiant, too reckless to be Called. She would never be a Slayer, and she couldn't find it within herself to be sorry.
It wasn't so bad. The family that gave her up was still around, but after spying on them for two days from forest surrounding their house, Mary couldn't see anything in them that was familiar. They were just strangers now.
Hitchhiking across country was easy, with a few little lies and traveling only by daylight. She ended up in San Francisco, busing tables and bouncing the occasional drunk in a dingy diner on the waterfront. It wasn't much, but it wasn't bad.
It wasn't like she really had anything to live for, anyway. She wasn't a Slayer, wasn't a person. Some days, she felt like she was just killing time until... until the end. She didn't want to die, but she'd never learned how to live.
~~~
He came into the diner late one night in May and ordered pie and a coffee. She sized him up at once. He didn't look like a robber, and he wasn't carrying a gun, that much she could tell. And if he was looking to cause her or the other waitress a different kind of trouble... well, Pete the Cook was in the back, and so was Pete's shotgun.
"What's your name?" he asked as Mary passed by for the third time, sweeping the floor. His voice wasn't like anything she'd ever heard, all rough from the cigarettes she knew he had stashed on him somewhere, and hearing him made her knees week.
A memory of a ghost from her past made her straighten her spine, her emotions turn cold. "Slayers are above such base physical attachments," her Watcher had told her the first time she'd been caught sneaking out to meet a boy. She was only fourteen. "Slayers are the hand of righteousness in the fight against evil, and you will not act like a common whore."
"Do you want any more coffee?" she asked, holding it all in. All the pain, the wasted opportunities, her wasted life. She had been a Potential, and she would not let anyone see her break. Especially not this stranger.
He looked at her with steady eyes. "No, ma'am..." His eyes flickered to the nametag on her uniform. "Mary. I'm good."
She walked away.
He came back the next night, and the night after that. Mary wished desperately he would go away and leave her alone, let her sink back into the waking dream of her life. But still, every night he ordered pie and coffee, and asked her how she was.
Three weeks later, he followed her home.
Oh, she knew he was there. Fuming every step, tracking the echo of his footsteps on the concrete, Mary forgot to pay attention to her surroundings. She missed the quick footsteps in the fog, and she didn't see the dark shape speeding towards her head until it was almost too late.
Luckily, some higher power was watching out for wasted Potentials. Mary ducked the swing, kicked out hard like she'd been taught for so many years. Her attacker fell to the ground, crying in pain, as Mary fell back into a fighting stance.
Then the guy from the diner appeared on the scene and kicked her attacker away down the street.
Mary was almost home when he caught up with her. "Hey, you okay?" he asked, blood dribbling out of a fresh cut on his chin. "You know that guy?"
She didn't respond. Everything in her ached for a fight, but at the same time she was so scared. Was this what her life was going to be? The only men who wanted to get close to her being midnight rapists and stalkers?
"Mary--"
"Stop it!" she exclaimed, whirling on him. "Why the hell does it matter? Just get away from me!"
He froze, hand outstretched but not touching. "I'm sorry, I am, but did he hurt..." His voice trailed off. "No, he didn't, did he? You cut him down good."
Mary shook her head and walked away. Her apartment building was only half a block down. And if there was one thing she'd learned on the outside, it was that men didn't like women who could look after themselves.
"Mary, I--"
"Stop saying my name," she burst out. "Stop thinking that just because you come into the diner every night and order the same damned thing, makes us some kind of soul mates. I don't even know your name!"
She was at the foot of her apartment building steps when she heard, through the fog, "It's John."
She didn't break down crying until she was behind her locked door.
~~~
Years later, she would find that she could have something worth living for. She would have the life she'd never dared to dream about, with a two-story house and the loving husband with a solid job, with the tow-headed boy who called her 'Mommy' and the chubby-cheeked baby who gurgled happily when she rubbed his tummy. She wouldn't want to think of the dangerous things that she'd known about as a child. Nothing evil would touch her or her family now.
She wouldn't let herself think that the shadow by little Sammy's crib was anything other than her husband, even though John's voice had never made her skin crawl so.
Later, when she realized that the thing by Sammy's crib wasn't John, she would run for her boy. And as she ran, she would remember what she had let herself forget.
For you see, Slayers do not have families for the dark forces would rip that bond asunder, would tear children from their parents, rip brothers and sisters limb from limb in vengeance for evil denied.
Too late, she would realize that the evil creature she hadn't protected Sammy from, wouldn't be after her.
It would be after Sammy.
She would scream as loud as she could, and it wouldn't make any difference. Sam would watch her on the ceiling, watch her bleed, watch her die.
In her last moments, she would pray that John would save their sons, would steal at least something away from the evil thing that threatened her family.
If that was so, then maybe her death wouldn't be a waste.
Maybe her life would mean something after all.
end
A Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover
by mhalachaiswords
Summary: An unCalled Potential gets to leave... but what can you call it when you have nothing to live for?
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the CW and Kripke. BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon. No profit has been made from this fic.
Rating: PG
Setting/Genre: Gen, crossover, pre-series
Words: 1,175
Spoilers: The SPN pilot, vague Buffyness.
Note: I thought this one up while I was stripping out Frontpage coding from html. Yeah, my work's weird. Warning for strange tenses.
Every day, from the day Mary was taken from her family, was the same. Train. Learn. Listen to her Watcher.'>~~~~~~
Potential Slayers didn't have families. That was the rule.
Every day, from the day Mary was taken from her family, was the same. Train. Learn. Listen to her Watcher.
Wait.
For years, Mary didn't know what she was waiting for. The Slayer to die? To be Called to become a Slayer herself? Mary knew she could do it, if she had to. She knew how to fight evil, at least in theory.
Only problem was, she didn't want to die.
Maybe that was why, with each Slayer's death, Mary remained a Potential, never the Slayer.
She was nineteen when the Watcher's Council threw her out. She was too old, they said, too defiant, too reckless to be Called. She would never be a Slayer, and she couldn't find it within herself to be sorry.
It wasn't so bad. The family that gave her up was still around, but after spying on them for two days from forest surrounding their house, Mary couldn't see anything in them that was familiar. They were just strangers now.
Hitchhiking across country was easy, with a few little lies and traveling only by daylight. She ended up in San Francisco, busing tables and bouncing the occasional drunk in a dingy diner on the waterfront. It wasn't much, but it wasn't bad.
It wasn't like she really had anything to live for, anyway. She wasn't a Slayer, wasn't a person. Some days, she felt like she was just killing time until... until the end. She didn't want to die, but she'd never learned how to live.
~~~
He came into the diner late one night in May and ordered pie and a coffee. She sized him up at once. He didn't look like a robber, and he wasn't carrying a gun, that much she could tell. And if he was looking to cause her or the other waitress a different kind of trouble... well, Pete the Cook was in the back, and so was Pete's shotgun.
"What's your name?" he asked as Mary passed by for the third time, sweeping the floor. His voice wasn't like anything she'd ever heard, all rough from the cigarettes she knew he had stashed on him somewhere, and hearing him made her knees week.
A memory of a ghost from her past made her straighten her spine, her emotions turn cold. "Slayers are above such base physical attachments," her Watcher had told her the first time she'd been caught sneaking out to meet a boy. She was only fourteen. "Slayers are the hand of righteousness in the fight against evil, and you will not act like a common whore."
"Do you want any more coffee?" she asked, holding it all in. All the pain, the wasted opportunities, her wasted life. She had been a Potential, and she would not let anyone see her break. Especially not this stranger.
He looked at her with steady eyes. "No, ma'am..." His eyes flickered to the nametag on her uniform. "Mary. I'm good."
She walked away.
He came back the next night, and the night after that. Mary wished desperately he would go away and leave her alone, let her sink back into the waking dream of her life. But still, every night he ordered pie and coffee, and asked her how she was.
Three weeks later, he followed her home.
Oh, she knew he was there. Fuming every step, tracking the echo of his footsteps on the concrete, Mary forgot to pay attention to her surroundings. She missed the quick footsteps in the fog, and she didn't see the dark shape speeding towards her head until it was almost too late.
Luckily, some higher power was watching out for wasted Potentials. Mary ducked the swing, kicked out hard like she'd been taught for so many years. Her attacker fell to the ground, crying in pain, as Mary fell back into a fighting stance.
Then the guy from the diner appeared on the scene and kicked her attacker away down the street.
Mary was almost home when he caught up with her. "Hey, you okay?" he asked, blood dribbling out of a fresh cut on his chin. "You know that guy?"
She didn't respond. Everything in her ached for a fight, but at the same time she was so scared. Was this what her life was going to be? The only men who wanted to get close to her being midnight rapists and stalkers?
"Mary--"
"Stop it!" she exclaimed, whirling on him. "Why the hell does it matter? Just get away from me!"
He froze, hand outstretched but not touching. "I'm sorry, I am, but did he hurt..." His voice trailed off. "No, he didn't, did he? You cut him down good."
Mary shook her head and walked away. Her apartment building was only half a block down. And if there was one thing she'd learned on the outside, it was that men didn't like women who could look after themselves.
"Mary, I--"
"Stop saying my name," she burst out. "Stop thinking that just because you come into the diner every night and order the same damned thing, makes us some kind of soul mates. I don't even know your name!"
She was at the foot of her apartment building steps when she heard, through the fog, "It's John."
She didn't break down crying until she was behind her locked door.
~~~
Years later, she would find that she could have something worth living for. She would have the life she'd never dared to dream about, with a two-story house and the loving husband with a solid job, with the tow-headed boy who called her 'Mommy' and the chubby-cheeked baby who gurgled happily when she rubbed his tummy. She wouldn't want to think of the dangerous things that she'd known about as a child. Nothing evil would touch her or her family now.
She wouldn't let herself think that the shadow by little Sammy's crib was anything other than her husband, even though John's voice had never made her skin crawl so.
Later, when she realized that the thing by Sammy's crib wasn't John, she would run for her boy. And as she ran, she would remember what she had let herself forget.
For you see, Slayers do not have families for the dark forces would rip that bond asunder, would tear children from their parents, rip brothers and sisters limb from limb in vengeance for evil denied.
Too late, she would realize that the evil creature she hadn't protected Sammy from, wouldn't be after her.
It would be after Sammy.
She would scream as loud as she could, and it wouldn't make any difference. Sam would watch her on the ceiling, watch her bleed, watch her die.
In her last moments, she would pray that John would save their sons, would steal at least something away from the evil thing that threatened her family.
If that was so, then maybe her death wouldn't be a waste.
Maybe her life would mean something after all.
end