Chapter Text
A night without incident in the town of Sunnydale was as a unicorn in its rarity, though the extent to which each of those was true rang much differently in the ears of those who were familiar with the town’s hidden depths. Buffy had never actually, y’know, seen a unicorn, but her magic-practicing compatriots had used their parts as ingredients for a spell or two in the past, so in some ways that kind of counted.
From the perspective of the Slayer, however, a night without incident meant slashing and bashing the usual low-level vampiric freakazoids that grew occasionally bold and or hungry enough to try preying on the living in the streets of her town rather than scrounging around and gorging behind closed doors. This being the case, a notable absence of the usual flunkies or even a non-flunky that would inevitably go on to terrorize her community for a week before she finally managed to slay it and learn a valuable life lesson in the process was- in a word- concerning.
When she reached the graveyard on her usual route and found no traces of upturned soil, she began to consider abandoning the rest of her patrol to turn in for the night and then beelining for The Magic Box the next day to try and see if there was anything particularly significant about the 21st of September for demons. She hoped Earth, Wind and Fire weren’t secretly devil worshippers setting up for a nasty surprise at the turn of the century or something.
That would ruin the one consistently good joke everyone could count on at the start of Fall.
Caught up in her own funky thoughts of the 70s, she nearly missed the click of slow footsteps and quiet, melodic whistling of that same tune. Buffy quickly ducked behind a gravestone moments before a man she had never seen before appeared from behind a distant tree.
With his long red coat, black boots, long white hair, scruffy stubble and fingerless biker gloves, she would have pegged him as a former rock star in denial about being past his prime if it weren’t for the wicked-looking greatsword he carried on his back. The thing was practically as big as he was, with a blade that widened near the tip and a hilt formed out of what she really hoped weren’t real bones. He looked around before putting his hands on his hips and hanging his head.
“Not a one…” the man sighed. “Don’t demons in this town have any pride? I only stab one and suddenly they’ve all actually got a sense of self-preservation. Where’s the fun in that?”
Ok, clearly a demon hunter of some kind. But in Buffy’s experience, human demon hunters that weren’t Slayers weren’t usually this…. blasé about such a typically life-threatening endeavour.
She shifted slightly to get a better footing-
Crack
...Oops.
“Oh? Somebody there? If you’re trying to sneak up on me, I promise it’s not gonna turn out as well as you hope.” In an instant, the man in the red coat unsheathed the sword from his back and began slowly walking in her direction.
Ah, screw it.
“Wait! Not a demon! Just a girl. A normal, not-demon girl,” she called out as she stood up from behind the gravestone with her hands raised.
The man popped an eyebrow and lowered the sword in his hand. “...Little late to be out and about by yourself, isn’t it, missy?”
“I could say the same to you. Shouldn’t you be taking your…before-bed antacid or whatever old-timers do right about now?” she replied.
“...I don’t look that old, do I?” he grumbled. “The hair’s not doing me any favors, I guess…”
Buffy winced. “Oh uh- oops. Did you go grey early?”
“If by early, you mean at birth, then, yeah.” The man shook his head. “Anyway- it’s not safe out here for little girls. You need to go home.”
Buffy’s jaw set. “Because of the demons? I can take care of them myself.”
His brow furrowed with skepticism. “You’re not exactly packing heat, there, kid. Demons are no joke, and I don’t see how-”
Behind her, Buffy suddenly heard the cracking of earth and a snarl as a hand shot out of a grave and grabbed her ankle. The man’s eyes went wide.
“Shit. Don’t-”
Before he could finish, Buffy deftly reached into the folds of her coat and whipped out a wooden stake. She swung her captured leg forward- hard- and heard the earth crack once more as the momentum lifted both the hand and the vampire it belonged to out of the soil and fully into the air. The vampire barely got out a surprised “Wha-” before Buffy spun and drove the point of the stake into his heart, poofing the demon into a cloud of smoke. She breathed out slowly to calm herself, and then returned her gaze to the man with a cheery smile.
“See? Armed and dangerous.”
The man let out a low whistle. “Was that a stake? And you’re callin’ me an old-timer?”
“It gets the job done,” she said defensively. “And you’re not exactly cutting-edge with the weaponry yourself.” She gestured to the sword he carried. “Was that thing forged before or after Jesus was born?”
“Oh, definitely before,” the man said casually. “But it still gets the job done. And if it doesn’t, I’ve got some other options. Weaponry of choice aside, though-”
The man stood a little straighter, and fixed her with an eerily piercing gaze that made Buffy grip the stake in her hand a smidge tighter. His appearance hadn’t changed at all, but something in his presence had become distinctly supernatural in a way that put her Slayer senses on edge.
“Demon-hunting’s no game. There’s no warmup, no practice rounds. You either become strong enough to kill anything that comes your way, or you and everyone you love-”
“-will die?” Buffy interrupted. Her own voice rang strangely in her ears. “Believe me… I already got the memo on that one.”
The strange aura around the man faded somewhat as his expression softened.
“...So you have. How’d you even get wrapped up in this business, kid?”
Buffy shrugged. “I’m the Slayer. Didn’t really get ‘wrapped up’ as much as I became the tortilla that stuff gets wrapped up in.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “...You’re the who-now? Not to be rude, but is that supposed to mean somethin' special around here?”
Buffy'd have been a liar if she hadn't gotten at least a little used to people already knowing who she was, so she was a little caught off guard.
“...Uh, you don't... know? Girl imbued with butt-kicking powers to slay demons? New person gets saddled with them every time one dies? Usually creepily oversighted by a group of weird old British guys calling themselves the Watchers’ Council? That Slayer?”
The man put a hand to his chin, adopting an exaggerated thinking pose. “...Huh. Why does that sound…? Ah, whatever. I’ll think about it later,” he said, waving his hand to dismiss the train of thought. “So, little miss Slayer-”
“It’s Buffy, actually.”
“Right. So, little miss Buffy, I gotta ask… the name Sparda mean anything to you?”
She shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Should it?”
The man grinned ruefully, and for a moment he seemed ancient. “Probably for the best that it doesn’t.”
He spun on his heel and waved as he began to walk away as suddenly as he came. “There’s nothing left on the east side of town, so I’m heading out since I assume you got the west side. Nice meetin’ ya, Buffy.”
“Wh- hey, wait!” Buffy yelled out in protest, reaching out a hand. “Who are you? What’s your-”
Before she could finish her sentence, she felt a surge of magical energy. The man’s form blurred, and then he was gone. Buffy dropped her hand and huffed in frustration. She turned and started heading back home.
This was gonna come back in some way later. It always did.
All she had to do was wait.