Character(s): Buffy, Willow
Summary: Buffy helps Willow get rid of all bad influences lurking in their house. Set between Gone and Doublemeat Palace.
Word Count: ~ 700
Disclaimer: You're kidding, right? Sigh. Not mine. All belongs to the Whedon.
Author's Note: This piece is in response to gabrielleabelle 's "A Tribute to Willow's Hats" and is dedicated to her awesomeness.
The massive collection of magical supplies at the bottom of the stairs was swiftly growing. Buffy wondered what the guy at Good Will would say when he got a look at the bags of magic weed she was dropping off. She should probably just throw it away, but in the back of her mind she wondered if she could use the tax write-off somehow. She’d suffer through the ‘you’re a freak’ stares if it could help her out financially. Besides, after six years as the Slayer she was used to those stares. She should own copyright on those stares. Maybe she could own copyright on those stares…
Buffy brushed her hands briskly. “Okay, I think we’re ready for the magical clearance sale. You up for helping me pack the car?” Willow gave her a woeful look before staring at all her soon-to-be former possessions. “Right. Maybe not,” Buffy said softly.
Buffy paused halfway as she lifted the first box. “Yeah, Will?”
Willow bit her lip. “There’s…there’s still…”
Buffy dropped the box back onto the floor. “What? Willow? What is it?” She paused. “Where is it?”
Willow hung her head. “Upstairs. In the back of my closet.”
Buffy turned without a word and climbed the stairs, walking into the Master bedroom and opening the closet. She pushed aside the flowy skirts on the far left to reveal a box filled with mystical herbs, totems and a few spellbooks. She sighed. At least Willow had admitted to hiding it. That was progress, right? Lifting the box as she turned to leave, the sleeve of her shirt caught on a scarf hanging down from the upper shelf. Shaking herself loose with an impatient jerk, she stepped forward only to be bashed on the top of her head.
“Ow.” Buffy looked up at the ceiling with a pathetic expression before glancing behind her to see what had fallen. The carpet now looked like a rainbow had vomited colors all over it. Purple, pink, red, blue, orange and yellow hats in fabrics ranging from suede to fuzzy wool covered the entire floor. Oh, the horror. Buffy dropped the box and slowly stepped away from the headwear.
Dear God, she’d forgotten about the hats. She remembered each time Willow had worn them, mostly during high school, and how she’d refrained from commenting because Willow was sensitive about how she looked. Buffy had already moved past that phase where she judged people for what they wore. Okay, she’d moved past the phase where she openly judged people for what they wore. But seeing them now, their fashion criminality magnified exponentially, she knew what must be done.
Jaw firm, eyes resolute, Buffy swept up the hats and dropped them into the half-full box before jumping back and frantically brushing her shirt. Good, no stray hat fibers had been transferred. Thank God. She closed the box and headed back towards the stairs, stopping in the hallway to wonder if maybe she was crossing a line. Shaking her head, she continued downstairs and into the foyer.
Willow eyed the box nervously. “You found everything?”
“Yep. Everything.” Buffy set the box down with the rest of the pile, turning to give Willow a hug. “Don’t worry, Will. I’ll take care of it. You’ll never have to see any of this stuff again. I promise. Never again.” Buffy leaned back to give her a reassuring smile.
“Thanks. I think I’m gonna go take a nap. I’m still kinda wiped.”
“Okay, you do that. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve dropped off all this stuff.”
After loading up the hatch of her mother’s SUV, Buffy took a moment to look back at the house. This was the point of no return. What if Willow had some bizarre sentimental attachment to the demonic hats? Okay, they weren’t demonic. But they were definitely evil. No, Buffy finally decided, she was doing the right thing.
Besides, Willow hadn’t asked her if she wanted to leave heaven, so Buffy wouldn’t ask if she could get rid of the nightmarish hats of doom. Fair’s fair.
The hats would be slayed. End of story.