You and the Scoobies try to have a normal Thanksgiving. Try, anyway.
[ w — age gap (20+ years), older man/younger woman, injured! reader, assumed unrequited love, short story, tv show-compliant only, slight canon divergence ]
— divider cred: @/inklore
Living above the Hellmouth meant that nothing would ever be normal. No holidays, no birthdays would ever be like the average person’s.
Thanksgiving and Christmas was the same. Monsters and creatures of the dark never took days off, not with their insatiable need to be evil.
Buffy sighed as she staked what was probably the 20th vampire of the night. Thanksgiving was a time to sit down with friends and family, having a lovely, large dinner and being thankful for the people in your life and the things you had.
But not for the Scoobies.
You huffed, rolling your sore shoulder. A vampire had taken a good chunk out of of your neck, but the second he tasted your blood, he instantly revolted, and you took a stake to his heart.
“You good?” Buffy asks, eyeballing your shoulder.
“Yeah.” But you hiss a little as pain flares through it. “It’s just gonna take a minute to heal. I’ll put some bandaids on it when we get back.”
Buffy cheerily and knowingly chips in a, “I’m sure Giles would disapprove.” That prompts you to give her a deadpan look.
“You know that he doesn’t like me like that,” you reply. You shove your hands into your pockets. “It’s a one-way street. Can we talk about something else?”
She shrugs. “Sure.”
The two of you walked side by side out of the graveyard. Buffy sighs, tilting her head down.
“I really wish Christmas could be normal,” she admits. “I miss it, from when I was a kid. It’s so much different from now.”
“Not as involved with monsters, you mean?” you say, and Buffy nods in confirmation. “Yeah, me too. I feel so… apathetic about it anymore. It doesn’t feel as important, as fun as it used to be.”
“Cons of being apart of the supernatural world,” she adds.
“Truly.” You laugh. “Not to mention—” A scream rips from your throat. Cold heat washes through you and up your spine, all the way up to your skull. Your head jolts back at the pain, and the cold heat leaves as the wooden stake leaves your body, now replaced by odd, liquid warmth.
Oh, you’re bleeding. Bleeding out, perhaps.
You heard the slaps and thuds of fighting as you fall to the ground. You try to have some semblance of control as you collapse in pain, but it doesn’t work. You bump your head into a headstone and more liquid oozes down your skin.
You hear the familiar hissing sound of dust. Buffy’s won. Now you see her over you, terror and fear written all over her features.
“[Name]? [Name]? You with me?”
You gulp, attempting to focus and swallow down the pain. “Kinda,” you hiss.
“Healing magic? Can it fix this?” she inquires hurriedly.
“Probably,” you reply, becoming more and more breathless.
“I’m gonna put pressure on it, okay? The second you feel any sort of clarity, start chanting.”
You let out a loud cry of pain, more blood coming out and staining your shirt. The pain signals the adrenaline in your body. It takes you a couple seconds longer than what you hope before you start chanting in Latin.
It feels strange, your body stitching itself back together. The strange feeling of blood coming out of your body disappears. You huff, the chant ending a minute later. Buffy takes her hands off the wound and you watch her examine it.
“How’s it look?”
“Looks good, head wound is gone, too,” she says. “But we need to get you back to the Magic Box. Giles and Willow might have something they can help you brew up to get you fully healed.”
You lean up using your elbows and hands. You take Buffy’s hand and let out groan of pain as you get to your feet. You two walk out of the graveyard and head to the Magic Box. You thank God it’s dark and no one can see you and your best friend walk through the streets of Sunnydale with her holding you up.
The Magic Box comes into sight not ten minutes later. Buffy uses her key to open the door, but neither of you expect to see the floor of the Magic Box completely cleared out, with a large, decorated table filled to the brim with food and drinks.
Xander is the first to turn his head up and see you and Buffy.
“Happy Thanksgiving, you guys!” he says.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Xander,” you speak breathlessly. And that’s when he knows something is wrong. His eyes trail down to your bloodied shirt and widen drastically.
“Oh, crap.”
“Oh, crap is right.” Buffy sets you down in one of the nearest chairs. “Get the others and tell them [Name] needs a healing potion… or some sort of healing magic. The wound isn’t as bad as it looks, but she needs help crossing the finish line.”
“On it.”
Xander heads to the back to get the others, who come rushing in not a moment after he gets them.
Unfortunately for you, all you can focus on through one eye (the other squinted in pain) is Giles, and the look of worry and concern on his face.
“She’s very pale,” Giles says. His voice is clearly worried. It almost seems borderline… terrified?
“Blood loss,” you say in a shakily exhale. “Healed, yes. Blood back inside the body? Not so much.”
“Can you do anything, Giles?” Buffy asks.
“Let me see the wound and we’ll see.”
You raise your shirt, showing off the nasty scar. It’s not fully healed, maybe three-quarters. You look away, eyes meeting Buffy’s, who’s expression is borderline teasing and full of amusement. You roll yours in return.
“Nothing out of my capabilities I can’t heal,” Giles says. He looks up at you and adds, “But I do have to touch it to heal it.”
You shake your head. “It’s fine.” The second Giles places his hand on the injury though, a large wave of nausea makes you shudder and groan.
“She looks like she needs a trash can,” Xander pipes.
“I’ll get one,” Anya offers, disappearing behind the counter momentarily to grab one. She places it next to you and you thank her.
Giles’ warm hand leaves your lower torso. The wound is completely healed, although you still feel faint from the blood loss. He looks at you again, scanning over your sick expression.
“I’ll be fine in a bit,” you tell, a smile appearing on your face. “I think some food in my stomach would do me some good. Thank you, Giles.”
“You are most welcome,” he replies, standing. “And I think you are absolutely correct. Shall we eat?”
Buffy nods and speaks for everyone’s hungry stomachs. “We shall.”
Dawn sits between you and Buffy. Xander, Anya, and Dawn are on the other side of the table. At the head of the table, between Xander and Buffy, is Giles. Just like a father should be, you think, humored.
“So… What happened? How’d you get such a wound?” Willow asks.
You and Buffy answer in unison: “Vampires.”
“Thought we were done and one caught us by surprise with one of the stakes,” Buffy explains. “[Name] used her magic, but she couldn’t heal it all the way.”
“Glad you both made it back,” Xander said happily. “This Thanksgiving dinner we put together would’ve been a total bust.”
Everyone laughs in agreement and digs into the food. Unknowingly to you, Giles can barely keep his eyes off of you, only looking away to take a bite of food off of his plate. Though he does try to it make it obvious.
Indeed, he’s glad you made it back. He’s glad he’s able to heal your injuries. Life would certainly be a lot more dull without you around.
But as Anya hands you the gravy, you catch Giles staring at you out of your peripheral vision. There’s a look on his face, one you know well, because it’s the same one Spike gives Buffy when she’s not looking.
You smile and raise your glass in a toast. “Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.”
Everyone raises their glass cheerily, downing a swig.
You thank this Thanksgiving for giving you hope. Even if it doesn’t last.
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