Chapter Text
Into Every Generation, A Slayer Is Born. One Girl In All The World Is Called Upon To Protect Us From All That Is Evil, And Fight Against Vampires, Demons, And The Forces Of Darkness.
She Is Chosen.
She Is A Fighter.
She Is The Slayer.
THEN:
Lawrence Kansas, 1983:
Mary Sandra Winchester sat at her kitchen table. It was late. A chill filled the night air. She tried hard not to stay up all hours of the night, especially since the kids were born. But old Slayer habits were hard to break. It didn't help that her and John spent the night fighting. She eventually threw her hands up, and he staggered off to bed, angry and drunk.
She debated whether or not to go to bed. The fight was a few hours ago and John should be asleep. But if he wasn't, they risked waking up one or both of the boys, lord knows she didn't want to do that. So instead she sat at the table, going through the mail for the third or fourth time today.
She looked over bills and re-read letters from her friends; Carlos talking about the hunt he was on, and his hope to eventually break into Hollywood.
Lata, reminiscing about old times and writing about her time documenting supernatural beings and cryptids across the globe. She was currently in South Africa, in search of a large serpent creature know as the Grootslang.
There was one envelope at the bottom of the pile that she hadn't opened yet: a letter from her Watcher.
They hadn't talked much since Dean was born. That was when they discussed (well, mostly fought about), Mary giving up slaying. She had already, mostly, given up hunting. After doing both for so long, she was ready to be a mother.
She didn't hate him by any means. Talking to him was just difficult. Even as a father himself, he still always put duty first. Since she was sitting here, she decided to finally open it. That was when she heard the noise upstairs. The noise sounded like it was coming from Sam's room, he must've been stirring. She sat the letter down and headed upstairs to check on him.
It wasn't the baby's fussing that woke John Winchester that night. It wasn't even the heat. It was his wife's screaming. The last thing he remembered was seeing Mary, on the ceiling, surrounded by hellfire.
Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Dean, go!
Mary Winchester died that night.
She would go to Heaven.
A new Slayer would be called.
But her husband's spirit would never find it's peace.
Summers Residence, Los Angeles, 1996:
The alarm clock blared. Buffy Anne Summers, groggily slapped at the snooze button. As her hand came down on the button, the clock shattered.
It was getting old and worn out. Bound to happen eventually.
She briefly rationalized before pushing it out of her mind and getting out of bed.
30 minutes, and one shattered bathroom mirror, later, she met her sister on the stairs and headed towards the kitchen to meet their parents.
"Good morning Dawnie," the patriarch of the house, Hank began, "Elizabeth."
She had been going by "Buffy" since the fifth grade. It was a mostly uncommon shortening, and the uniqueness helped with her popularity. While her Mom was always supportive of her choice, her dad insisted on calling her by her given name.
"Good morning, Daddy." Both sisters responded in unison.
"Buffy, are you going to walk Dawn to school today?" Mother Joyce asked while finishing up breakfast. "I have that meeting today and I can't be-"
"Why do insist on doing that, Joyce?" Hank interrupted, agitation filled his voice.
"Doing what, Hank?" Joyce asked, following a sigh. It was clear that they had been fighting awhile.
"Bastardizing my mother's name!" He suddenly shouted. "We didn't name her that just for her to go by the most deformed version of it she could come up with!"
"It is her name and she can go by whatever she wants." Joyce tried her best to maintain some form of calmness in front of her girls. Unfortunately, the conversation only continued to devolve.
"Come on, Dawnie." Buffy spoke quietly to her sister after several minutes of tense awkwardness. "I'll get you to school."
"Hey, Buffy," the 9-year-old Summers began as they approached her school.
"Yeah, Dawn?" The eldest sister returned.
"Have Mom and Dad always been like this? You know, fighting all the time?" She added at the end to make sure her sister knew what she was asking.
"Not always." Buffy sighed. She had been working on pushing this mornings event from her mind this whole walk. "Daddy's work has been pretty stressful lately."
"If it's work that's bothering him, why does he yell at mom and you?"
"I don't know, Dawnie." Buffy sighed again, after a moment. She loved her sister but she was thankful to see her school. Thankful to get away from this conversation.
As the bell rang and Buffy began to leave, Dawn ran up and wrapped her arms around her sister.
"I love you, Buffy."
Buffy would go on to push this morning out of her mind. Except for this moment, standing her, with her arms around her little sister. She'd hold on to this as long as she could.
Watcher's Council, 1996:
Merrick Jamison-Smythe stood before the Council. It had been a handful of years since he stood here but he knew what this meeting was about all the same. He had done this dance more than enough times to not know. The Slayer had failed, and it was time to assign the new one a Watcher.
"Not to question the choices of the Council, Mr. Travers," he began, "But, why pick a tired old man, and not a younger, more ready, one to train the girl? What about Rupert?"
"Mr. Giles, while competent enough, lacks experience." Quentin Travers replied in a dull, matter of fact tone. "After the... incident...with the previous Slayer, the Council wants the next girl to have a more capable Watcher."
"And who better than the most experienced Watcher on the Council." Gwendolyn Post added from her seat across the room. "After all, you have trained 5 slayers."
Merrick stood for a moment, considering the words of his fellow council members. Finally, he let out a sigh. "I suppose you are right. I will train the next Slayer."
Jamison-Smythe Residence, 1996:
"You'll be leaving already?" Helen asked her husband.
"Yes dear, I'm afraid so." Merrick replied, gathering his things in a suitcase. "My plane is leaving soon. The Council wants me in the states by morning."
"Where will you be landing?"
"Boston. The Slayer is believed to be a rather reckless young woman. Lahane, I believe."
"Mary, you mean?"
"What?" At the sound of that name, Merrick dropped the clothing he had in his hand onto the bed. "Why would I mean 'Mary?'"
"That's her name." Helen added as quick as she could. "Mary Faith Lehane."
"Oh. Right." Merrick sighed with realization. "I'm sorry, darling, I should've remembered."
"That night was hard on all of us," Helen returned sympatheticly. "Will you be able to say goodbye to the girls?"
"Sadly, no. But I'll call you as soon as I land."
Merrick left that night to head to America.
He would talk to his wife one more time; To tell her that Mary Faith Lehane was not the Slayer.
He'd never see his twin girls again.