Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Stranger Things Have Happened ❯ Stranger Things Have Happened ( Prologue )

TITLE: Stranger Things Have Happened.

AUTHOR: Orin.

RATING: NC-17, for violence, sexual situations and Spikeness.

DISCLAIMER: Mutant Enemy owns all things Buffy; Gundam Wing belongs to Sotesu, or Sunrise. Never sure which. Either way, neither are mine.

SPOILERS: Everything through S6 is game for Buffy I guess. And all through Endless Waltz for GW.

FEEDBACK: Yes, but please be gentle.

PAIRINGS: Possibly, Anya/Xander and Heero/Duo/WuFei. ^__^

TIMELINE: Post S6 in Buffy and Endless Waltz for GW

SUMMARY: It's the start of a new school year in Sunnydale, and with the reopening of the old high-school, things start getting rather strange. The Old Ones are reawakening, and it seems that the Powers That Be have decided to pull all the strings for some outside help - Oh, and it's the Apocalypse. Again.

STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED

Chapter 1

Sunnydale - Mostly Harmless

"This world is older than any of you know, and contrary to popular mythology it did not begin with a paradise. For untold eons, demons walked the Earth, made it their home, their Hell. In time, they lost their purchase on this reality, and the way was made for mortal animals. For man.

What remains of the Old Ones are vestiges: certain magicks, certain creatures…"

Giles - 'The Harvest'

"If the Apocalypse comes - beep me."

Buffy - "Never Kill a Boy on the First Date"

"I'm not saying I haven't made mistakes. But the last time I checked, slaughtering half of Europe wasn't one of them. He doesn't have a soul, Buffy, just a leash they jammed in his head."

Xander - Seeing Red.

"...In my experience, there are two types of monster. The first can be redeemed, or more importantly, wants to be redeemed... The second is void of humanity, cannot respond to reason, or love."

Giles - "Beauty and the Beasts."

"Virginia, 1866. The disappearance of local Civil War widows shocked an already devastated community. These events ended when Lucy Hanover arrived in town. Chicago, May, 1927: Forty-one bodies were found near Union Station. Shortly after the arrival of this young woman, the mysterious murders stopped. Now, in 1997, it's starting all over again."

Voice-over narration at the beginning to 'Welcome to the Hellmouth

"The only thing going for me - were those moments. Just moments - when Tara would look at me and I was wonderful. And that will never happen again."

Willow - "Two To Go."

"Steel and wires and silicon. It won't let me be the monster. And I can't be the man... I'm nothing."

Spike - "Seeing Red."

God, she hated vampires.

But really, it was that blond vampire she hated the most at that moment. With those ridiculously high cheekbones, those blue-blue eyes and lips that looked utterly kissable, even when pressed in irritation. All in all, a facial structure that a lot of girls she knew would kill to have.

Her ragged panting ripped apart the silence, and panicked footfalls rustled the wet leaves on the grass. The late Autumn air was warm and still and because the night was so clear, the moonlight painted shadows on the dark, imposing boughs, making them radiate an ominous evil all of their own.

Although evil in the Hellmouth was pretty much a given anyway.

A yowl sounded out over the treetops, one that chilled her to the core even through the humid air. A cat. She knew exactly what cats sounded like; she had heard them call out often enough. Not scary. Not by half.

But the feline sound only served to remind her just why she was running.

Terror gripped her again, choking the air already short in her lungs. Sometimes breathing was a bitch. Vampire unlife negated the necessity to breathe; it must come in handy at times. Times when one was running for one's life, in a state of complete and utter panic.

She stumbled. Damn heels. She knew wearing those things was a bad idea. Of course going out at night, in Sunnydale itself, was in general a bad idea.

Her new boots were ruined. Black leather, almost-stiletto heels, because she couldn't quite handle stilettos yet. They weren't even a week old.

Damn.

Pulling herself up, she cast the tree-root that had caused her fall an ugly glare. A second later, she was fleeing through the night again. Another noise, not quite a growl, and it sounded much too close. A cacophony of panic surfaced in her head, screaming from all sides, repeating over and over, the same thing. She recognized the primal alarm for what it was. An ancient fear long-vanished, now and then reawakened by the need to survive…

Run, you silly bint. Run!

Stupid Hellmouth. Stupid were-cat creature thingy. Stupid Dawn and her stupid girly sleepover. Stupid blond cute vampire-guy… And a variety of other stupid things that had caused her to be exactly where she was at present - with impending death looming just around the next tree. Only not, because the next tree was just as unoccupied as the rest of the trees in the park. In fact, the whole area was silent and brooding, not a creature stirred in the entire place - except for her, and the big hungry cat-thing that was currently her pursuer.

Nothing else was so stupid, it appeared.

She glanced upwards and over her shoulder. The moon was a round face sporting a venomous grin of malice. It could have been her imagination, but then, it was Sunnydale, so a malicious moon was entirely possible.

Her legs were scratched, boots ruined, and the long fingers of bramble and branch had torn her shirt to a state that could no longer be passed off as a fashion statement. No matter how quickly she ran, no matter how determined or terrified, it seemed to catch her scent - or whatever it used to follow her. Because it followed her still. A third yowl sounded out behind her, closer than before, she was sure. But she dared not look. Looking back was always a bad idea; anyone who had ever watched a horror movie knew this to be true. It was one of the cardinal sins of horror. That, and going up the stairs when one should be scuttling out the door.

Run!

"I'm running, you goddamn blood-sucker!"

Her efforts redoubled. She forced her legs to move faster despite her exhaustion. She was lost of course. She really didn't know the park well enough to find her way, and then there was the whole matter of running in a state of 'blind panic', which did nothing to help. Stumbling into a clearing, she froze as her activity sent an owl shooting into the air and streaming away from her, a ghostly phantom among the shadows. Its cry echoed as it disappeared. The moon above her shone clear and bright, illuminating the clearing almost unnaturally. She heard 'it' lope closer, and turned to run. From the corner of her eye she could see its hazy form enter the clearing, sending a powerful shriek up to greet the sky.

Even as she turned, she knew she would not be fast enough. She wanted to scream, because every fiber in her body was screaming. She wanted to break away back into the wooded park, escape into the night, but it could see in the dark, it could follow her, and she was so tired-

It lashed out with a clawed paw the size of a man's fist, made contact. Her boots were leather, and knee length, but that did not stop the claws from sinking into her leg, raking through flesh and bringing her to her knees with a shriek of pain.

Run!

Nowhere left to run. She was dead. She wanted to pick herself up. Pressing her palms flat, she levered herself to her knees, willing her exhausted muscles to work. She was way to young to die yet. And she had a date Saturday night; an event that had heralded the purchase of her formerly-pristine-boots, with this incredibly cute guy whom Dawn thought was amazing. She had even finished her History paper before the deadline. It was due in two days time.

Her arms buckled under her weight, and she slumped onto the ground, feeling leaves and mud soak her shirt. It was all she could do to twist herself around, to look at her death.

Her cat-pursuer rose to its full height, screaming into the sky. It sounded triumphant. She watched the claws extend to what she presumed to be their full length. They looked like knives, and from the throbbing of her leg; she knew they were just as sharp.

It snarled.

Then it lunged.

And then, it squeaked. And strangely choked, squeaky sound. Almost like a huge rat. A huge choking rat. Its eyes even bugged out a little. That was just before it slumped back onto the ground.

Its muzzle rested on her extended foot, and quickly she jerked away, ignoring the pain in her leg for doing so, reasoning that a sore foot was better than 'a no foot at all.' But for all intense purposes, her pursuer looked dead. Very dead.

Of course, she was not about to poke it to make sure.

It was then she spotted the double-bladed axe jutting from the back of its neck. Or somewhere thereabouts. The blades were buried in its flesh for the most part, but she could make out the tips, splattered with blood, gleaming silver in the moonlight. So she knew it was an axe. She had seen one before anyway.

"Thought I told you t' run."

It was the same voice, low and irritated, that sounded out from the shadows. Kit raised her head, for the first time feeling weary. It was amazing that he did not even look one bit out of breath. Yes, he was a vampire, and by all accounts he did not need to breathe, but still.

"I did run. I was running."

She felt her eyes slip shut and knew her shoulders slumped. Usually, those signs of fatigue would not be considered cool, not for her, and not in the presence of another. And a vampire besides. But, she was just glad to still be breathing at that stage, all other thoughts were on hold momentarily, and he had saved her life. Even if he was about to end it - which, strangely enough, Kit did not think he was about to do. He could not have been that hungry, and surely there were easier ways to get a meal for a vampire than chasing through trackless parkland after a girl who already had death on her heels - not of the vampire variety?

And besides, it was not the first time he had saved her life.

So, Kit felt as safe as she could, considering the circumstances.

He was looking at her strangely, as though surprised that she had actually survived, even though she had very nearly not. At least she thought it was surprised, because she really didn't know many vampires - none in fact - so she could only guess that every expression they had was frosted over with that constant air of annoyance her current vampire savior was wearing.

He could have just been irritated that he had actually been forced to go into the entire process of saving her, as in exerting himself physically to do so. But Kit did not believe this to be the case. Simply because, one; He was a vampire. Since when did vampires lend themselves to caring about the 'human condition'? Therefore, it had been his own choice. And any exertion on his part was all incidental to him saving her. Consequently, it was his fault.

And two; Well, he was a vampire, so she supposed that covered all bases really.

"If you wanna call that running." He raised an eyebrow in an altogether expressive manner; she noticed that it was scarred. "Wasn't nearly fast enough for a Sunnyhell resident, luv."

Sunny-Hell? Now there was one she hadn't heard before. Hmm. God, but it fit, didn't it?

"Almost of the former."

He blinked. His eyebrow was still arched, and it made him look very patronizing when she took in the entire stance and expression.

"Resident, I mean."

"Almost," he agreed, nodding. And with that move his irritated demeanor was gone. He stalked towards her, eying her condition surreptitiously, only not enough because she could see, and when he reached her, his hand shot out. Unthinking, she grabbed it, and was pulled roughly to her feet. It was strange, but she had always believed that a vampire's skin would be colder than his was; technically they were dead after all…

His gaze moved down, across her leg. He pursed his lips.

"Can you stand on that?"

She tried. It hurt, not as much as she had thought, shock maybe, but she could stand on it. She nodded.

"Right then."

With that, he released her and moved away. His stride was purposeful and for a moment she thought he was going to leave her there, which, all things considered, he was perfectly free to do. He had saved her life after all. He owed her no obligation whatsoever. Though, since he had saved her skin, for some reason Kit felt he had a certain responsibility to make sure she stayed alive. Unfair, she knew, but what was the point of her dying at this stage?

She didn't have to worry in the end, because he was not leaving her to the darkness and the trees, he was just going to get his axe back.

She watched him reach out, bracing his foot against the cat-thing's side, gripping the axe tightly, and then pulling it out with a jerk. It came away cleanly, with one fell swoop.

She thought he was done then. He was not.

Kit could only grimace when she realized what he was about to do as he swung it high, lumberjack style and brought it down so fast it was a blur of flashing steel and blood. It cleaved cleanly thought tendons, flesh and bone without the slightest whisper of sound, except for a wet clunk, which she could only assume was normal when decapitating strange creatures' heads.

When he looked up, she must have still been wearing the same funny expression because he gave her a clearly marked 'What?' look. She only grimaced again, restraining from squealing out 'Eww', and looked at the severed head. He saw that, then rolled his shoulders in a shrug.

"Just makin' sure, luv. Don't want it getting' up wandering off after us, now do we?"

Oh.

Wait, us?

He had said us. He had definitely said us. She fought the reflexive sigh that the relief brought on; because he was British and 'us' and 'we' could just have been some weird slang for 'me' and 'I'. Singular.

"Where're you s'pposed to be, then?"

Um..." She winced slightly as pain shot up her leg. "Summers' residence. I'm late now though."

"I can imagine." He nodded again, looking surer for it. "Summers. They'll patch you right up. Know their stuff."

"They've had practice," she agreed. His eyes flew to her face at that, and he stared at her for a long moment, as though looking for something. Then his mouth quirked strangely. "They 'ave at that," he granted quietly.

He was very odd, she decided - for a vampire.

"C'mon then."

He started off, and wincing all the while, she followed obediently. The blond-undead did not offer her any aid, and she wasn't surprised at that. And if she ignored the throbbing pain of her leg and the wet-trickling feeling that must be blood, she found she could manage quite nicely.

Then something occurred to her, and she sped up as best she could, thinking fleetingly of how ridiculous she must look.

"It's 1630, Revello Drive," she told him.

All she got was another nod.

"I know."

Ah. What could she say to that, really? He knew the Summers'? Maybe. Or else he was in the habit of following residents back to their homes to see where they lived. And he was a vampire, so she did not rule that possibility out.

Silence. Her boot was squelching strangely with every step she took, she wondered if it was water, or blood. She hadn't the courage to check, and in order to do so; she would have had to stop anyway. She did not think her companion would be very pleased. The most congenial expression she had gotten out of him so far had been detached neutrality.

"I'm Kit."

She said it for lack of anything better to say, and in the slight hope that he's offer his name in return. Though she really wanted to ash him why he had saved her. But she didn't think an answer would be forthcoming. So far, her blond rescuer - without a name - had not been a big conversationalist.

"Good for you."

Damn. More silence.

It was about then that things began snowballing straight to Hell.

Something lunged from the shadows, a flurry of movement, malicious and powerful. It crashed into the vampire, flooring him, causing Kit to scream. She screamed with good reason. It wasn't supposed to happen, you see. The bad guy - thing - was dead, and this was the part where they all went home and lived happily ever after. Also, their current assailant looked suspiciously like their previous one, complete with wicked claws and all.

It was not possible, of course. Never mind that she was in the Hell mouth, but her vampire-guy had beheaded the body. If it was the same one, then it should have been minus a head.

So, Kit screamed because that meant that there were more than one of those horrifying creatures. And if there was more than one, then the possibility existed that there were more than two.

So, she screamed.

Her savior was on the ground, using the handle of his axe to fend off the creature's snapping maw. It was jammed firmly between the juncture of its jaws. It did not look like it would last long though; axe handles weren't made for that kind of thing. Besides, their cat-beastie could just move back once it realized it could do so, thusly prying the wood lose, and then-

And then, that was exactly what it did.

The vampire gave a strangled cry as the beast lunged forward again, dodging the wood as it did, aiming for the blonde's exposed throat. It did not get there. Seeing no other option, the blond jammed his fist into the gaping mouth. With a snarling growl, the creature clamped down before the fist could drive itself deeper. A hoarse curse issued from the creatures victim, and it was full of pain; a pain that did not stop him from bringing up his axe again with a shaking hand, and beating the thing about the head with it as best he could. And despite his pain, and shaking hand, his strength must have been something because the creature actually released him with another snarl and backed away, shaking its head. Blood trickled onto the ground in its wake.

Blond-and-British had scored a cut, but not enough to kill.

Carefully, slowly, her companion levered himself to his feet. His eyes were trained on the beast all the while. He hefted his axe, one handed. The other one was pressed tightly to his side; the flesh torn and hanging lose. She was not sure, but she thought she had read somewhere that it was a good idea to do so when injured and facing a dangerous animal, less moving targets for it to fix on or something.

"Why are you still here, luv?" His voice was very low, ragged, and infinitely dangerous. "Should 'ave legged it when you had the chance."

A growl from the beast.

Kit didn't say anything. What could she say? And besides, it did not seem a good idea to draw its attention to her. She didn't have an axe to defend herself with and she couldn't even run away all that well.

Ignoring her apparent terror, the blond nodded idly to the creature - which was still snarling, head bobbing, and looking slightly impatient - and said quietly, "Ugly wanker, in't he?"

It was. Exceptionally ugly.

It's face held skull-like qualities, and she could liken it to pictures she had seen of those extinct Saber-tooth cats. Though it did not have the necessary extended fangs, it really did not need them. Two long curved horns protruded from its head, bending back, and Kit was reminded of a goat. She could imagine the puck they could impart on something. The creature's back was humped, and its forelegs were longer than it's hindquarters. It had power in those back legs, from the way it moved and stood, anyone could see. The mane and slitted eyes completed the look, long coarse hair, and dark in color - though she could not tell what tone.

It even looked more hideous than the last one, despite the fact that she had not exactly examined its predecessor hugely. The vampire had a point, and she had no idea why he decided to make it, to her, in the situation they were in. So, she didn't answer.

She did manage the tiniest of nods though. He seemed to pick it up.

"Right then. Deal's this. I attack, you run. Got it?"

Another nod. She thought about mentioning that he was insane. That attacking it one armed, and using a frontal assault was idiocy, but that would have involved her speaking, and really, she still thought that as being a bad idea. Also, she wanted to survive, so pointing out the vampire's flaws would probably not endear her to him. He might even change his mind. So, she nodded.

It was then that a second shadow coalesced into something big-furry-and-very-solid and stalked out into the clearing to greet them with a snarl.

"Oh, bloody 'ell."

Mentally, Kit echoed the vampire's sentiments exactly.

She watched him swallow nervously and wished her mouth wasn't so damned dry so that she could too. She was officially cat food. He was officially dust. No way around it. She didn't think they could eat vampires; they were already dead after all.

More movement caught her attention. Blondie shifted slightly, eyed her, and jerked his head ever so barely. Oh. It seemed the plan still stood. Only she had a feeling that the chances of her surviving were severely lessened with the appearance of cat-thing number three.

After his initial shock had dissipated, her vampire didn't seem all that put out. Or at least, he didn't show it. Maybe he had more practice at those sort of situations than her, because he just gave the newcomer the once-over, shrugged again, then licked his lips. Then, he smirked.

Kit stared, and then did a double take. Yup. He was smirking.

Oh God. He really was insane. She was stuck in the woods, death staring her in the face, and her only hope was an insane British vampire.

Hello cat food.

He took a step towards the creatures, horrifyingly casual, raising the axe again then laying it across his shoulder like those old parasols she had seen in the movies. It was two against one - and he only had one arm, and still, he looked as though he was all for those odds.

And he was still smirking. Even as his face changed, and Kit started in surprise, he was still smirking. Grinning, so she could see his fangs elongate, and his lips curve back into a natural sneer. The sharp cheekbones remained the same, changing the graceful planes of his face into a sinister parody of what he had been. She saw the ridges form on his forehead and around his eyes even as they changed as well, into the golden hues of the predator.

Kit ran.

She never saw him lunge forward, but she heard the yell of exaltation and faintly, the wet sound of blade against flesh. And then the snarling and snapping of teeth - closing on empty air. Momentary concern welled up for her champion, but she did not look back. If she did, then she would see that demon again. With yellow eyes instead of blue, and fangs where there should be human teeth. So she ran, until the sounds faded and until, suddenly, there was a growl behind her and all thoughts of the vampire fled in a flurry of panic.

Her mind could only focus on the snarling that was behind her, and that it was behind her, that it was a deep growling that galloped closer with every ragged breath tearing her lungs. Her leg felt like fire, her pain ignored in favor of staying alive.

Then a loud cracking, like thunder only more condensed, drowned the growling out. It sounded out, again, and then again. Kit did not stop running though; she had learned her lesson once. Growling or thunder, or Hell itself would not stop her from running.

So she never saw the beast behind her slump to the ground, twitch twice, and then fall still. But it was probably a good thing anyway, because the entire mess that followed would just have left her more confused than she had been to begin with.

*****

Spike blinked his eyes open, his face returning to its more everyday appearance. He levered himself to his knees, idly searching out his axe. It was a moment before he realized that it was buried in cat-thing number two's chest cavity - and that the beast was lying on it. And that it was definitely dead. And that he had definitely not been the one to kill it.

He'd have some job lifting that thing to get his axe back. All in all, it was not his night. Violence was all well and good, but only when he was the one dealing.

He struggled to his feet, ignoring the throbbing burn of the bite on his arm, the tear on his side and the blood trickling into his eye. Hopefully the things were not possessing of any kind of venom. He was screwed if they were, plus he would have to track down the girl - Kit - and see if her leg wound was affected.

Provided she was actually still alive.

He was all bitten, for lack of a better term. His ribs felt as though someone had taken a hammer to them. He had swung wildly, screaming as best he could. Noise sometimes scared animals like them off. But it had nearly taken a chunk out of him for his troubles. At least it had only gotten two bites in. The head-wound was all his own doing. Or the rock he had landed on.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the dizziness he felt, feeling very much like something the cat dragged in. It would take a bit for the bites to heal, perhaps a few days, perhaps longer, depending on the quality and amounts of blood he could find in the meantime.

He circled the dead beast, eying it. It had fallen right on his axe. That was probably what had done it in. He'd bet that it was buried right to the hilt too. Really, Spike was in no mood to try and turn it over, but he really liked that axe. It was one of his favorite axes. He knelt reluctantly, muttering under his breath.

Rustling off to his left.

Spike's head shot up and he peered into the darkness. His hand twitched, itching for a weapon, knowing he had none - other than his fangs. If push came to shove, he'd use his fists - or fist, as the case may be.

He expected a vampire perhaps, or another cat-thing. Possibly errant demons intent on the easy kill of an injured vampire. Which was stupid really, because Spike was one of the most frustratingly hard-to-kill vampires in existence. Just ask Buffy.

What he did not expect was the young man sporting bright cobalt eyes and a ridiculously long braid that appeared from the surrounding shadows. What he did not expect was the gun levered in one hand, the familiar grip of someone long accustomed to guns, or the bright grin that flashed across his face on seeing Spike.

But then, it was the Hellmouth, Spike had to concede. Shit happened.

The boy nodded at Spike, then called, "Hey, Heero, d' I get it?"

Faintly, Spike heard an answering "Hai," from somewhere behind him. Oh, wonderful. There were two of them. The vampire kept his eyes trained on the boy, wary of the gun and just wanting to get the Hell back to his crypt and rest. Forget the damn axe.

Grinning, the boy gave a chuckle. "What'd I tell you Fei? Shinagami here, and I never miss."

Spike couldn't see whom he was talking to, not because whoever it was remained in the shadows. He was a vampire, night sight was his specialty. But because everything was becoming blurry, and that was not a good thing.

He noted the youth tucking his gun neatly away and extending a hand towards him. When had he gotten so close? His mouth was moving as well.

"You look like you need a hand," he winced, then added, "Or a doctor."

"Wha?" Spike whispered, and then was surprised at the whisper of his own voice. Braid-boy only went on, as though he hadn't heard Spike. Though Spike had whispered, so it was quite likely that he hadn't.

"And maybe while you're at it, you could tell us where we are? We're kinda…uh, lost."

The blond vampire did not reply, but instead closed his eyes. He had the mother of all headaches. The youth kept babbling too and he was sounding more worried by the second. Well, that was fine with Spike, because he was worried too. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong, and he didn't know what.

He felt something pound against his side and a moment later realized it was the ground. He couldn't open his eyes, even had he wanted to, and there was the faint sensation of burning - heat - spreading from his arm and his ribs. Then everything began to fade to black.

His final realization was that the bites were poisonous in any case, and that they would probably think he was dead - not having a pulse and all - and come sunrise, he was dust.

And that, really, all in all, some nights it did not pay to leave ones crypt.

*****

END OF PART 1

*****

Okay…

This style of writing is new for me. It's strange, but the more Buffy I write, the more brain cells that seem to get lost.

This is supposed to be kinda light, compared to what I usually churn out. And that's on purpose. But really, it's an experiment, and I'm not sure if I'm pulling it off at all conceivably. I wanted to try something different, and a Buffy/GW crossover seemed to be the way to try it.

Forgive me of any characters seem OCC in this or future chapters.

I find Spike really hard to write anyway - much more so than any other character I've ever written, because Spike's verbal politics are so varied, so tactile. Writing dialogue for him should never be taken lightly. If you watch him on the show, he nearly always has something to contribute, even when he's not trying not injure with words, he's still insightful with how he uses them.

Ever the poet, I guess.

Duo's my other big problem. But you haven't seen how much I can muck him up yet. Wait until next chapter.

Also, I don't think there'll be any Spuffy here, because, although I love 'em as a pair, I can't see Joss getting them back together for S7. Like I can't see Spike leaping out from the shadows to proclaim his return with a soul. I see them as becoming allies again, and maybe even friends after a while…

(And forgive the focus on Spike for chapter one. I can never resist His Big-Badness…)

More Gwness next chapter…

Take care,

Orin.