Summary: Buffy lives in a castle during Season 8. How? Why? How?
Word Count: 610
A/N: Another attempt to fill in the blanks between Seasons 7 and 8.
“Stake! Somebody throw me a stake!” Buffy jumped back, avoiding the swipe of the claymore. The broadsword banged against the stone floor. The vampire grunted, the braids at his temples flying in the air as he hefted the heavy blade up and swung it at her neck. She dove forward, sliding in between the huge Scot’s legs. Before he could turn around, she kicked his tree trunks masquerading as legs out from under him. He fell. Hard. The bigger they are…
“Buffy!” Xander called, throwing a stake. She caught it, rolled towards the Scot and plunged it into his heart.
“Ach, christ,” he cursed, then turned to dust, his plaid tartan evaporating before her eyes. Which was good because no one should be caught dead in plaid. Or undead in plaid. Whatever. She didn’t care if it was all significant and a part of Scottish heritage. There was no excuse for bad fashion. His sword clattered against the stone floor, his large calloused hand the last part of him to disintegrate.
Standing, Buffy brushed stray flecks of dust from her hands. Her squad of Slayers started walking into the great hall. A few girls were missing, no doubt busy finishing off the last of the minions. Buffy nodded at Xander and returned his grin with a small smile.
“Told ya we’d come through, Seamus,” Xander said, clapping the shoulder of the older man standing next to him. Bending down to grasp the hilt of the sword at Buffy’s feet, he said, “So Buff, you think with the claymore you’ll slay more? Hehe, get it?” He tried lifting the sword. It didn’t budge. “Whoa, that’s heavy.”
“You need more muscle on you, boy,” Seamus said. “And thank you.” Leah joined them, walking forward to stand in front of Seamus, smiling proudly. “And thank you, lass.” He reached forward and pushed a bright lock of red hair behind her ear.
Leah flushed with pride. “It was nothing, Uncle Seamus.”
“It must be weird having to hire out for someone to slay your vamped ancestor.” Buffy fidgeted. “Not that you have to pay us. Not that we need you to pay us…”
Seamus chuckled. “You haven’t read much Scottish history, have ye?” Shaking his head, he continued, “This isn’t the first time we’ve tried to oust the old laird. It’s just the first time we succeeded.” He looked around the great hall, an air of sadness clouding his face. “Centuries of the clan suffering the whims of a demon’s lust. I’m afraid there’s no’ much left to save. We can only hope for a new beginning.”
“So does that make you, uh, lard now?”
“I’d say it makes you laird, lass.”
“You won with the might of your sword. Your stake. It all means the same. Your strength carried you through. It’s all that really matters.”
“That’s not the way--”
“It’s the way of the world. Always has been. Castles are for warriors. I’m a simple man. I’ve no need. But I ken that you do.”
Buffy was speechless.
Unfortunately, Xander wasn’t. “Cool! Our very own castle.”
Andrew running into the hall at that very moment didn’t help, either. “We get to stay in the castle? Ooooh, report to me for sign-ups in the live Dungeons and Dragons game!”
“Guys, we’re not--we can’t--hey, where’s everybody going?” Buffy called after them.
“I call the ginormous room in the tower!” Andrew yelled.
“Not if I get there first, Watcher wannabe!” Xander shoved past him and ran out of the hall.
Buffy turned back to look at Seamus, her face red. “Um, thanks…?”
“Welcome to Scotland, Laird Buffy.”