Archive of Our Own ^beta

              The last few days had been... weird. Weird even for the Hellmouth. Rupert Giles knew this; after all, he couldn't read, and was getting lost in the stacks. Xander had been left in nothing but underwear when he'd walked into class. Buffy had mentioned a history quiz she hadn't been informed of. And at the center of it all was a small child in a coma.

              While Rupert didn't know exactly what the cause was, outside of Billy, the kid in question, his suspicions were confirmed with Xander stumbling into the library, clad in Sunnydale High Razorbacks swag and with Willow in tow. The population of Sunnydale High were currently caught in a manifestation of everyone's nightmares coming to life.

              As the two teens talked, bringing the librarian up to speed, he realized: "…Wait."

              Xander paused his nervous pacing—made slower in how the borrowed clothes were a size too big and almost tripping him—to look to Giles. "What is it? I mean, outside of… y'know. Everything."

              "—Buffy. Did she mention any nightmares recently about her father?"

              "No," Willow appeared confused. "But she did tell me that she's been dreaming a lot about the divorce." She trailed off, worry tingeing her tone. "Giles, you don't think…?"

              Seeing his face, Xander replied, "…I think he do think, Will." Then, catching his grammar error: "I mean. He does."

              Rupert's heart sank, but tried not to let it show in front of the teens. Still… What the hell could Buffy be seeing right now?

              He was loathe to let the girl find out—and wasn't going to let her, if he could help it.

              "Xander, Willow, I need you both to continue investigating." The two nodded at that. "Did you see Mr. Summers? He was just here. Buffy appeared to be confused that he was visiting so early in the school day."

              "I dunno what he looks like, sorry." Willow shrugged. "But he usually shows up after school to pick her up when it's his weekend. Her parents are divorced, y'know."

              Her companion, meanwhile, appeared deep in thought before piping up: "Oh! Yeah. Now that you mention it, I did see her walking with some guy. Older. Wasn't Angel. So, I'd hazard a guess that that was probably her dad. Either that, or she has a type. A thing for olde—"

              "Xander." Giles shot a glare his way, the venom clearly carrying on his voice.

              That shut the Harris boy up before he could attempt another potshot at Buffy. Sheepishly: "…Anyway, they were walking out to the courtyard. You could probably catch 'em, if you're qui—"

              Cutting Xander off: "Right. Thank you. I'll see you both again soon."

              The librarian pushed past the two teens as he walked to the courtyard, pace brisk. In the background, he could hear Cordelia loudly lamenting her hairstyle being changed—made sense that that was her nightmare. (If only his were so banal…!)

              Still, he ignored the letters swimming on the signs and the banners throughout the hallway (and how much it stung each time he couldn't parse what they said), and, sooner than later, found himself outdoors, faced with the sight of his Slayer, sitting on a bench, talking to her father.

              Their voices weren't loud enough for him to hear from the distance where he stood, so he moved closer. The father-daughter duo appeared to be only focusing on each other, which make it much easier for Rupert to do some reconnaissance, standing off to the side and with his back to them.

              He could hear the Summers' conversation as he approached: "…You're sullen," Hank began, voice perfectly even, "and rude, and not nearly as bright as I thought you were going to be. I mean, Buffy, let's be honest. Could you stand to live in the same house with a daughter like that?"

              Hank's tone was gentle, kind. That made what he was saying all the more abhorrent. Rage sparked in Rupert's chest, but, for the sake of trying to glean more of the situation before moving to action, he held himself back, listening more.

              "…Why are you saying these things?" Buffy's voice was small, cracking. Oh, god. Was she crying? He really didn't want to turn around to see.

              "Because, honey, they're true. I think that's the least we owe one another." He paused. "And—I don't think it's very mature of you to get all blubbery when I'm just trying to be honest, young lady."

              The Watcher's heart sank. Oh, god, she was crying.

              "Oh, speaking of which, I don't really get anything out of these weekends with you. What do you say we don't do them anymore?"

              Her voice cracked. "You… you don't want to see me anymore…?"

              "Of course not. Would you? You're a disappointment, a failure, a—"

              The time for listening had passed. Rupert had to intervene.

              Steeling himself, he moved to where Buffy and her father sat, cutting Hank off as he placed a hand atop the the back of the bench, in front of the girl. Giles towered over the two of them. He found himself, he realized, instinctually leaning toward Buffy, making a sort of shield with his body.

              The blonde sniffled. "G-Giles?"

              "Hello, Buffy." It was taking all of his power not to deck her father and then pull the kid into a hug. Still, he refrained, trying to keep his composure; after all, losing his cool and going to violence immediately would have done much more harm than good. He had to handle this delicately.

              He moved around to the front of the bench, placing himself between Hank and the girl. Hank stood up, while Buffy remained seated.

              "Mind if I speak to your father for a moment?"

              She shook her head, clearly thankful for the reprieve.

              "Good. Here—" He knelt down, meeting her at seat-level. "Take this." He took a handkerchief out of his pocket. The fact that Rupert couldn't actually read his initials embroidered on it... Well, he pushed that aside to deal with the more pressing issue at hand.

              "Thanks." Buffy's voice was shaky, yet saturated with gratitude.

              Giles flashed a fond smile her way. He didn't linger, however, as he stood back up and moved to Hank's side. "Stay here, all right?" He said to the girl. "We'll be right back."

              "Well, he will. We won't be long." Hank cut in. Then, with a prize-winning smile: "But I won't be back."

              The girl inhaled as if she'd had the wind knocked out of her. Rupert kind of hoped that she noticed the glare he sent Hank's way, if only so that she would know that she had someone on her side. Poor kid…

              "Mr. Summers. A word."

              With a briskness fueled by fury, Rupert walked ahead of Hank, finally leading him to an alleyway, near a dumpster. No one else seemed to be around.

              Good. Witnesses would be bad. …No, no. Rupert chided himself. He had to get out of the violent mindset. But, considering how enraged he was…

              The two stood there awkwardly for a beat. Eventually, Hank spoke up, running his hand through his hair. While he'd seemed nice enough when he'd been in the library—which Rupert assumed was likely how he was outside of the nightmare—the contrast between his demeanor and his actual words was chilling.

              "—Mr. Summers."

              "Hank. Call me Hank."

              This guy clearly did not understand just how much he was about to get reamed. He was remarkably calm. That, admittedly, threw Rupert. Still, he, after taking a moment to recalibrate, went on, ignoring the offer. After all, this man didn't deserve the dignity of a name at this point in time. "What makes you believe that you have any right to talk to your daughter in such a manner?"

              The smiley attitude of the Summers man began to slip. "…What do you mean?"

              "You were remarkably cruel, saying what you said to her. She is a child. A child who wants nothing more than her father to love her. Why would you say such horrible things to her?"

              Hank shrugged. "I was just telling her the truth. She's grown. She deserves that."

              Rupert took off his glasses, putting them into his shirt-pocket. He, frankly, didn't want to see the look on this man's face. It was easier for him, that way. Easier to forget, for a moment, that this was likely not the real Hank, and was just a possession via this nightmare debacle. But, actual Hank or not, the hurt that he'd caused his Slayer was real. And for that, Giles wouldn't forgive him.

              "I was just honest," the man went on shamelessly. "I mean, you've worked with her, haven't you?"

              "I have, yes. Extensively. I'm her tutor, after all, and her faculty mentor." That wasn't entirely a lie. It was the closest thing to 'Watcher', in terms of his job description, that he could actually divulge to a layperson.

              Hank breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, phew. Well, you see what I mean."

              A glare. "No, I do not. Could you clarify?" He crept closer to the man, which made Buffy's father inch backward. A barely-holding dam of ire was churning beneath his words, bound to cracked.

              The father gladly obliged. (The fact that Giles was intimidating him completely appeared to go over his head. It was impressive, really.) "Well, there's the whole thing with the gym burning down, her cutting class, her grades falling… And then there's her personality. It's a drag. She's annoying, obnoxious, dull, a menace t—"

              Something snapped at that moment with the Watcher. Possessed by a kind of protective, righteous rage, he lunged forward, hitting his hand against the side of the school and pinning Hank Summers against the wall, making a sort of cage with his arms.

              "You listen to me, and you listen to me well, Hank." Giles said the man's name with the same delivery as one would a slur. "And what about you? Give an honest answer. You're so good at being honest, are you not? Enlighten me. What purpose do you serve in your daughter's life?"

              The man appeared to have the fear of god in his eyes. He squirmed beneath Rupert's grasp. Oh, this was satisfying. He really didn't want to admit it, but seeing this whelp, scared (rightfully so) for his life… It felt great.

              "Buffy is a brilliant young woman. She works incredibly hard. She sacrifices so much for the sake of those around her, and juggles more responsibilities than you could ever hope to fathom. That is all to say, in the limited time and capacity as an educator in which I've known Buffy, one thing has become abundantly clear." Giles met Hank's gaze as he said what, to him, was the ultimate truth: "She is far too good a daughter to be burdened with a father like you."

              In a voice flint-sharp, one motion away from sparking into something fiery: "Now, if you value being able to set foot in Sunnydale ever again, you listen to me. You will apologize to Buffy. You will tell her that everything that you said was false. You will spend the entire next month making up for the harm you have caused her with your conversation today." At each will, he pushed Hank further into the wall by leaning forward and downward, his face centimeters away from the man's.

              Hank stammered, nearly breathless. "You—you can't hurt me."

              "Oh, don't tempt me."

              "You're bluffing." The Summers man's breath was shallow. A sheen of sweat plastered his pathetic face.

              "Your daughter and her friends—they talk. I also, coincidentally, have connections. Connections which can make anytime you step into Sunnydale's borders a coin toss on whether you will exit in or out of a body bag."

              He scoffed. "Yeah, right. You're a librarian. That's rich."

              Rupert removed his hand from the wall and grabbed the father by the lapel, pushing him into the side of the school. Hank's head hit hard. Good. He wanted it to hurt.

              "Hear me well, Hank. If I hear an inkling, a notion that you have harmed Buffy again, be it emotionally or physically, then you will find yourself as a one-sentence obituary in the next day's edition of The Sunnydale Herald. Do I make myself clear?"

              Mr. Summers merely breathed, too petrified to respond. Now, now. That wouldn't do.

              "Let's try this again." He pushed Hank into the wall again, harder this time. "Do I make myself clear?"

              The man nodded.

              "Good." With that, Rupert let go of Hank. "Now. You will go apologize to your daughter, and then, once the school day ends, I will be waiting at the curb, making sure that you will be there to pick her up from school. Understood?"

              Another nod.

              Giles put his glasses back on, leaving Hank dazed and possibly injured. He went ahead, walking over to the bench where Buffy sat. Her eyes were puffy, her makeup running down her cheek. She was the picture of misery. Poor kid. She hastily wiped away the remains of her meltdown with the sleeve of her jacket, then looked up at the two men as they approached.

              "Hi, Mr. Giles. Hi, Dad."

              "Buffy, meet me in the Library after you talk with your father; we need to review the exam you have tomorrow while we still have a Free Period, yes?"

              The girl, to her credit, played along without a bit of hesitation. "Got it, Mr. Giles. I'll be there soon. Thanks." Then, to her father: "I… I thought you weren't coming back?"

              "I wasn't, but…"

              Rupert walked away at that, giving the two their moment. As he entered the school, more pandemonium had erupted since he'd left: one room appeared to be housing an operatic performance, based on the sound of orchestral swells and a dulcet Italian tenor's voice drifting through the air. A greaser was having his cheeks pinched by his mom.

              He looked at the walls again. He couldn't read. A sigh. Still… At least he hadn't let his Slayer suffer. So, reaching the library and taking a deep breath, he went to his office, awaiting a visit from Buffy.

              While the wait wasn't long, the anticipation of seeing the Slayer was enough to make Rupert nervous. While he would normally be reading to de-stress—action helped when it came to situations like these—he was left frozen, helpless outside of wringing his fingers. Had Hank kept up his part of the bargain? He couldn't know for sure. Still, the notion of him being cruel to her was enough to set him on edge.

              As if on cue, interrupting his anxious thoughts, Buffy emerged from the library doors. She looked… well, marginally better, considering. Outside of the fact that, based on the makeup on her face, the girl had been crying even more in the interim from when the librarian had last seen her. There was something on her mind, something that she needed a moment to articulate. After a short silence, forgoing a greeting: "Did you hear what my dad said?"

              Giles paused, unsure of whether to reveal the full extent of his knowledge about their conversation. Still… Considering the kid had just gone through the wringer, he figured that honesty was likely the best move. "…Only the last part, which was more than enough to make me want to put a stop to it," he conceded. "Was the rest of it worse?"

              "I don't know if it was worse, but… Definitely not something I want to hear aloud again. Ever." She appeared as if she were about to start crying again. "I know it's, like, probably the weird magic thing that's been happening—I think our nightmares are becoming real?—but that doesn't mean it didn't sting, y'know?"

              "You'd be correct; we appear to be living in a… well, living nightmare."

              "…Why can't we be living in a pleasant dream?" The girl groaned.

              "We're on the Hellmouth. Beggars can't be choosers. Anyway… I'm sure that, once we find the culprit of this mess, your father will be devastated for days afterward. If he remembers, that is." He moved towards her, still leaving ample distance. "Did he apologize?"

              "'Apologize' is an understatement. I think he was ready to grovel at my feet. Huh! Groveling! Never expected that." A curious gleam entered her eye. "What the hell did you even say to him, Giles?"

              "Oh, well, the specifics of it don't matter; I can be persuasive, when the occasion calls for it. Especially if someone is trying to harm my Slayer." A smile. "But, I distinctly remember refuting each point he'd made."

              "…Which were?" She clearly didn't want to ask him to compliment her, but also… "Not what he said, I mean. What you said."

              Ah, fine. He'd bite. "Well, I informed him, in no uncertain terms, that you are a remarkable individual, and that you do not deserve to be disparaged."

              She paused. Then, in the same tone as a child asking for another cookie out of the cookie jar: "…And anything else?"

              "…You really are relishing this, aren't you?" He rolled his eyes, but it was mostly in a performance of exasperation.

              "Giles? Complimenting me? This is, like, a huge occasion! You don't hand praise out willy-nilly."

              "I do not, that is true. Speaking of things that I am not in the habit of 'handing out willy-nilly,' where is my handkerchief? It isn't pressing, but… I get the feeling that I should ask now, lest it end up somewhere in your house, lost to the void of a closet."

              "Oh… It's with me, but… it's… uh, mucus-y," The teen said, sheepish. "Maybe wait a bit before asking for it back?"

              He laughed at that. "Just go and put it on my desk."

              As Buffy did so, Rupert began to count on his fingers, not looking at anyone in particular as he listed off what he'd said: "Hmm… Let's see. What I told him… Well, for starters, I informed him that he had no right to speak to you in that manner."

              "Good start." She chimed in from the office, her voice slightly muffled by the wall.

              Rupert trained his gaze on the ground, knowing that if he were to make eye contact with Buffy, he'd likely get emotional. "I let him know how you sacrifice so much, all for helping others. How you're a brilliant young woman. How he isn't worthy of the honor of having a daughter like y—"

              Before he could continue, he found himself practically breathless, something cutting him off. While he initially froze, he looked down to find Buffy, pulling him into a hug where he stood.

              Giles could feel her shake. A small sniffle followed. Tremulously: "…Thank y-you."

              In response, he melted into the embrace, hugging back as tightly as he could. He didn't say anything. What could he say? Buffy was not meant to be someone whom he cared about, beyond his Watcherly duties. He'd trained his entire life to aid a Slayer, and one thing that he'd been told, again and again and again, was to not get attached. She could die. Likely would die. After all, wasn't that the fate of the Slayer? The evil too strong, the peril far too great, the girl far too human, and just a girl. These Slayers' lives were a blaze, burning brightly, then petering out into ash. A life short and not nearly sweet enough for heroines who gave all to an uncaring, ignorant world.

              Still… It was easier said than done, he'd realized early on, to say he wouldn't care. He'd only been there for a short while, but ever since she'd walked into his library, he'd been struck by how she was just a kid. Even so, Buffy didn't need protecting—at least, not often. But, at times like these, when he was able to do something that could repay even the smallest amount of what she did for every single person in Sunnydale… It was worth it.

              After a moment that felt far too short, the two let go of each other. Buffy wiped her eyes with her jacket sleeve, and Giles, meanwhile, gave her a fond smile.

              "Wow. Sorry to get all sappy."

              "Don't apologize; your nightmare was quite awful. Still… We have to find Billy and stop these nightmares."

              "Yeah. I'll go investigate. In the meantime... Stay safe, Giles." The girl had already recovered her composure. Heading out the door: "And… Thanks again."

              "No problem. See you soon." He watched her go out the door, then braced himself for the inevitable.

              He didn't know that he'd, within the next hour, be presented with Buffy's grave, another nightmare coming to life of his. He had no idea that she'd be buried alive, rising once more as the exact evil that she fought. But... They'd come to that bridge as they got there. Ready or not, it was time for the gang to put an end to the nightmares, once and for all.