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Title: Fred the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG/Teen
Summary: Everyone deals with the fallout of Fred's change in I Walk With Heroes, and Knox finds himself still connected to his God...
Disclaimer: I'm not Joss, therefore I have no power and am just a lowly mortal trying to get by, afraid at any moment the big guy might shockingly kill me off. ME and such own Fred and the others that crop up in this story, but the words are all mine because they would never be this nice to her. 

Originally posted Here

The mildly-functioning part of Knox's brain is telling him that if it wasn't for that darned scorching in his chest he'd have slipped into a coma by now.

Say what you want about Charles Gunn, he still knew how to punch a guy into oblivion.

He spits a mouthful of chipped-teeth and crimson-laced spittle onto the sterilised lab floor, mouth twisting in a sweetly-psycho smile. It has begun. Burning tickles at the idols sewn painstakingly into his chest in the best kind of way, almost as though he can feel his God swelling and growing with power. Feel it rising with victory. He scrambles to his feet, swaying with blood loss and dangling blissfully on the edge of unconsciousness, dragging a heavy body along with his searing heart.

Then the burning stops.

A moment of universal silence.

Then he feels it screaming.

Writhing and searing beneath his flesh, body consumed by a knife-point waltz, something is spreading along his skin. The pain so exquisite he is almost laughing, something beautiful and perfect in its butchering debauchery.

A map drawn in blood and blue bruises appears on his ravaged breast, pulling like a tether.

Barely aware of consciousness, Knox begins to walk.

**

Six hours.

She's been a Slayer for six whole hours and apart from a hyperactive phone call demanding Angel and Spike get their Champion-asses back to LA right this minute so she can hug 'em (and congratulate them on their choice in women), Fred hasn't given Wesley a chance to draw breath.

The gloriously impromptu make-out session after she'd tackled Wes to the carpet had melted away all the fear and grief and agony of the day before, just by the meeting of hot, soft mouths and warm, desperate bodies.

Coming up for air, they clamoured onto the bed with not-so-innocent touching, both well aware that it's taken them four years to get here—but neither really caring.

They have long lives ahead to worry about sex.

Wesley's more interested in how his beautiful amazing Fred is still in his arms. He isn't surprised, not really. Fred was always so brilliant, so determined. She's the single strongest creature he's ever met, and if anyone could have survived her fate, it's Fred.

It's his Fred.

And he watches her, with smiling glee, fully believing they have forever. Even if they only have a second, they have forever.

She can't explain it well. It isn't an experience for words—not that she was ever that good with words, she always leant a little closer to science—and science couldn’t make it work either. But she babbles it out as best she can, even if it makes her head feel floaty, lost in Wesley's blue awe-stricken gaze. And even when she's done, he remains silent, studying her like she's something out of one of his books. "What?" she smiles, leaning in to indulge him a kiss and snap him out of his stupor.

"I'm just in awe."

Fred snorts a little, "am I still splotchy?" She touches her face lightly, then runs a hand through dishevelled hair.

He shakes his head, claiming a kiss of his own. "You're the most incredible woman on earth."

"And I've got the best Watcher, and he's gonna make me the best Slayer, too."

Her bedroom's grown dark as night swallows day. It's a haphazard heap of old clothes and books and bedsheets, carpet painted in dust and misspent tears. Moonlight spills in through ajar curtains and onto the bed, bathing tangled limbs in an ethereal glow. Into each other's arms, both so full of life and joy, both more blissfully in need of rest, a Watcher and a Slayer slipped into the depths of sleep.

No dreams.

People in love don't need to dream.

**

"She's —you mean she's not—" He's stumbling ungracefully over the words, joy and disbelief murdering coherence, "God, seriously? Fred's… Fred's alive." Charles Gunn thinks he might be crying. She's not dead. He hasn't killed her.

He could have.

But he hasn't. She's the only girl he's ever been in love with, and even though he's been so stupid, and he'd known he'd pay the price, he hasn't. Because Fred isn't dead.

He clicks the end button, uncaringly hanging up on his boss, probably dropping the phone. He doesn't know. Doesn't care. His tie feels less like a noose now, breaths a little easier to force out.

"Umm, Gunn what're we—" Harmony's words are cut off by the sudden crushing of her bones, enveloped in the sniffling man's embrace.

An incoherent mantra is muttered into her ears, "Alive. She's, Fred's alive."

The blonde squeals and for a moment too long she hugs him back, savouring the teensiest bit of physical contact. Warm, willing, offering body. Blood pumping away… She shoves Gunn off of her in a frankly incredible moment of self-control that'd have Mr Brood-up-his-ass proud, "God, clingy much?" And she drops the roll of duct tape, her favoured bondage implement falling to the floor, carpet swallowing up the clatter, suddenly reminding her why she's here, "so, what do we do about Knox?"

The Earth's turning again. Yesterday has still happened. Knox is still the bad guy. Gunn still needs to redeem himself. He sighs and fixes his tie, a sharp twinge shooting through his chest, "we still gotta interrogate him, find out what he had planned and what's going to happen to Fred."

Harmony shrugs. "Good luck. See, that's what I came in to tell you. Knox is gone."

**

Wesley's still sleeping. And God, he deserves it. He mumbles softly, pained whispers interspersed with—soft mouth curved into a smile—what sounds suspiciously like her name. She could lie here, snuggled in his manly arms, just watching him breathe, forever.

But her spirit is restless. Like a tingly tug pulling at her to get up and do something, anything.

It's telling her to fight.

Must be the Slayer senses kicking in. And boy, being strong, having power, she wants them to. She wants to use them.

Against her better judgement, Fred kinda wants to kick some ass.

So she unfurls herself from her lover's arms, slips a pair of pants on beneath her dress and scribbles a note for Wesley. Pulls out the crossbow she keeps hidden under the bed, slides a couple of stakes into the waistband of her jeans. She looks out at the moonlight and grins almost savagely.

Winifred Burkle has killed a God. Vampires of LA better be ready.

**

"Giles I don't frankly give a shit whether or not you trust me. Fred's a Slayer now, and I wanna talk to Buffy."

Spike's amusement is thinly veiled as he watches his grandsire struggle not to smash the phone.

"No Giles, I don't know how it happened. No, she wasn't a potential… Yes, I understand but—is Willow there? Because she's Fred's FRIEND, I think she'd be happy to know she's not dead. No. I know. Just… Ugh." he throws the cell phone to the floor of the plane, smashing it into several pieces.

Spike smirks, "that went well."

"Shut up, Spike." His expression still bleeds with 'Hulk Smash'.

"Stop being miserable. Fred's alive."

"No thanks to us."

The blonde rolls his eyes, voice a shade shy of mocking "that's why you're pissed off? Because the knight in black leather didn't save the princess? Grow up, Peaches. Fred's a big girl, she saved herself." He glances out of the window, away from Angel's furrowed brow, "I don't know why you're bothering with Rupes anyway. You've got Wesley, didn't he used to be a Watcher?"

"A Watcher who got fired."

Spike chuckles, noting quite how far beneath him the world hangs, how unnatural it feels to be among the clouds, almost undeserving, "well, yeah, because his charge was a homicidal maniac. I don't see Fred going all Little Miss Murderess on us, do you?" He turns back to Angel, who's mouth has quirked into a small but definite grin. "A smile, now that CAN'T be good."

"You have a cell phone?" An eyebrow quirks to match the brunette's smirk.

"Sure Doy—Lindsey bought me one. Why?"

"Because there's someone I know'll talk to me."

The blonde's lower lip pulls into a pout, "promise you won't smash it?" He hands the small phone over with a side of apprehension.

Angel snatches it and punches in a number.

"Hey, Faith, feel like a trip to LA?"

**
It's dark and it's cold in the alleyway and Fred really doesn't care.

Puddles of grime and muck from a rainstorm she can't remember splash beneath her feet. The cloying stink of week-old garbage flooding her senses as it spills over too-full bins. All that's missing is the gothic mist, then the look would be complete. But the moon's far too bright for that, and she can see everything clearly.

She keeps feeling this tingle, this odd itching tug along her nerve endings, running up and down her neck. There are vampires close, and how fortuitous? It's almost like they want her to stake them.

She's wracked with the feeling of power and she knows it's gone to her head, but she's so full of LIFE that nothing in the world could take her new strength away. Like all those dreams in back-of-beyond Texas that begged for her to be other than normal, anything but mousy and dull, she's woken up a Superhero, and she has a world to save.

So when the undead couple slink out of the shadows, mistaking her for some poor, fragile little girl, it takes everything inside her not to giggle.

Before the man slips into vampface, the crossbow lets loose a bolt that shatters his heart with a satisfying crunch. His body crumbles violently from flesh to skeleton to dust, a hiss on his tongue dying with him.

When his lover howls and launches herself at Fred, she's ready. The crossbow clatters to the floor and her stake is drawn. It's not the first time she's killed a vampire, but she's never really fought like this before. Her fists connect with cold skin, sharp claws slashing at her flesh. Sharp teeth scrape at her skin, sending alarm-bells blaring through her skull.

It's so much harder than she'd thought it would be.

She's kicking and pounding and winning, sure. The vampire is crying and her punches weaken with every blow. But as Fred lands a kick to her head and stumbles back from the impact she realises that strength comes free, skill does not.

She's a plucky fighter, and hell, she's kicked some butt in her time—she's had to, working with Angel—however, she's never been properly trained.

But she's only just got her life back, damn if she's gonna lose it to one stupid vampire.

The vampire sprawls backward into a puddle in the alley, the splash bringing silence to mewls and growls. Before agonised muscles can pull up a body hungry and desperate for one lousy kill, Fred's there.

Chocolate eyes burn righteously into yellow. The Vampire whimpers, and falls to ash.

"You aren't supposed to be here, Fred."

She looks up. Knox is there, bloody and bruised, smiling in the darkness.

"Knox, what the hell happened to you?"

"You're little ex-boyfriend wanted his pound of flesh, I guess." He shrugs and hobbles forward, towards the confused object of his unrequited affections. "But I don't know why. If he knew, if he knew what you could become…" He shakes his head, grin growing wilder and more savage by the second. "You're the one, Fred." he stumbles closer and closer, Fred's back now pressed to the rough, grimy wall. The skin on her back rips away, rubbing tender flesh against the gritty bricks.

Her brain wants to know what the hell he's talking about. Her soul tells her to run. Run fast. Her body disagrees with both of them.

"You're going to ascend. Into a higher creature. A Goddess." He runs a bloodied hand along her exposed arm.

He's dripping with blood. His face is ravaged, chest gaping. It finally hits Fred that she's afraid.

She raises a hand to him, but he's impossibly fast, pining her against the wall with inconceivable strength. "No, none of that. I'm gonna fix everything. Make it all alright."

Something sharp and cold jabs into her arm and floods her, sending her spiralling into blackness.

"Goodnight, Fred."

Part Three Here

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