FIC: Training Ground

Okay, so, Jules's birthday was yesterday, but in my defense I fell asleep about ten minutes before posting it at 11. Luckily I do not know how to sleep, so I was awake again before four, and now there is STORY.

Um, late story, and crack story, but... story!


Title: Training Ground
Author: Amy (alexia@innergeekdom.net)
Fandom: Buffy/Angel/Muppets
Summary, Notes, etc: I was going to write Jules Buffy/Gunn for her birthday. Which was just going to be Buffy/Gunn, but turned into Buffy/Gunn with Muppets. I... don't really know how that happened. So, um, happy birthday juleskicks!



The face-off is not what he expected.

Oh, Gunn's been through a lot, the past few years. You get used to crazy-ass things seeming far less crazy-ass than they should, and normal things seeming downright spooky. This, however, is not so-normal-it's-weird. This is so-batshit-it's-making-every-other-damn-batshit-thing-in-the-universe-seem-completely-sane.

"Stand down," he says, trying to sound calm and in-control enough to make everyone listen, and he wishes that Buffy was with him, because for all that she's little and girly there are very few people who won't take her seriously at this point. And then, when no one listens, "I said stand the fuck down!", and they edge apart. Not enough that he thinks they can be easily disarmed and dealt with, but enough that things have shifted from "completely unreasonable" to only "mostly unreasonable with a side of logic". Which, having worked with Angel for four years, he's pretty damn familiar with.

He's evaluating as quickly as he can, trying to figure out where best to start.

Side A: There's Andrew, as well as five or six of the baby Slayers who apparently decided it was better to follow Andrew than wait for competent orders, all poised with crossbows.

And Side B: A pig, a bear, a dog, a frog, a shrimp, and a... whatever. The pig has a crossbow of her own. The other five are cowering behind her.

Mostly, right now, he's wishing he was a slightly less good boyfriend, and instead of offering to go see what was going on and possibly pick up the newest discovered slayer, he'd told Buffy to go investigate the crisis her own damn self.

"I'm somehow guessing," Gunn says, trying to sound as calm and rational as he can, "none of you are going to give me a rational explanation for any of this?"

"Look at them!" Andrew manages to squeak out. And he points at the tableau directly across from him. "They're demons. DEMONS!"

Gunn raises an eyebrow at Andrew's little posse, most of whom have the grace to blush or look away. He and Buffy have been training all of them extra-hard for the past few weeks, and at least one or two things have sunken in. Then he turns to the other side. "You gonna explain what's going on, or am I going to have to let the geek squad take you out?"

"We were going to Hollywood," the bear says. "To start a career. In show business."

"We got distracted," the shrimp thingy adds, "by these people trying to kill us, okay?"

"I took care of it," the pig interrupts. "And now a new set of lunatics is trying to gun us down."

"Alright," Gunn interrupts. "No one is trying to gun anyone down, because no one has a gun. We are all going to put down our crossbows." He turns to Andrew. "And put down our other crossbows." He waits until at least a few of the less-dumb baby Slayers start to lower their weapons, and then turns back. "You're going to tell me all your names. And then we're gonna have a little chat."

***

"So they're not demons?" Buffy asks. Dawn was assigned breakfast duty this morning, which means everyone who's awake in time is enjoying frozen waffles which haven't entirely defrosted. Which means that Buffy and Gunn are splitting the pile Dawn deserted after going back upstairs.

It's a big pile. That's good. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Except for lunch or dinner, maybe. Those are important too.

Gunn shrugs, and answers around a bite that's pretty much drowning in maple syrup. "They say they're not."

"A lot of things say they're not demons." Buffy pauses. "Well, actually, most of them just growl and grunt a lot. But some of them have said they're not demons. Usually they say it in a demon language, though, which I guess takes away part of the sting."

"These guys all speak English," Gunn says. "Well, the shrimp guy has a wacky accent, but so does Wesley, and..." A pause. "So did Wesley." Neither of those feels quite right, but that's not what he wants to think about. "I think that's just being British."

It would've been funnier if Wesley hadn't died. Some days, the worst part of everyone dying in a blood-soaked battle is how many punch lines it cost everyone who's left.

"Then why are they here?" Buffy asks. "I mean, not that there aren't enough rooms, but there are plenty of places that will house any old menagerie. We're usually a Slayer training ground, and a mutant freaks kind of hide-away as a bonus."

"Buffy," Gunn says, "the two-foot-tall talking pig killed a full nest of vampires with no backup. I think training isn't a bad idea."

Buffy grins. "It's possible the mutant freak thing was taken care of once you mentioned the two-foot-tall talking pig. Superpowers optional."

"Still," Gunn presses. "I think she might be a Slayer."

"You think lots of people might be Slayers. You thought the hot attendant at the gas station was a Slayer. And the hot nurse at your doctor's office. And the hot checkout girl at the supermarket."

"The hot checkout girl was a Slayer. She's asleep upstairs right now after taking out six demons last night."

"The point is, the odds aren't in your favor."

"At least talk to her," he says. "Fight with her. You'll see."

"I'm sure I'll see something," she says.

"So you'll talk to her?"

Buffy shrugs. "She wins, and we train her. She loses?" She grabs another waffle off the pile. "Tomorrow morning, we're having fresh bacon."

***

"So your name is Miss Piggy, huh?" Buffy says slowly, staring in. They were given three rooms, but apparently all six of them stayed in one. No one appeared to sleep in the bed. The shrimp thing is still asleep in the bureau, and the weird creature that she can't find in any of the demonology books she made Dawn check last night is hanging from the closet by his nose, periodically shaking as he snores. She's not sure where the bear is. Hibernating, maybe.

The pig looks like she's going to make a lot of rude comments, so she interjects quickly "I'm Buffy. I'm kind of the head Slayer around here. I mean, me and Faith, but she's homicidal sometimes, and besides, she's a sucker for ham and I'm like a step from vegetarian and-"

She's pretty much just digging deeper, she realizes. So she stops, and waits.

"You think you can take me?" the pig asks. "Do you honestly think you can take me?"

Buffy does her best not to snort, because... well, pig. "Um, a little bit, yeah."

She doesn't like the pig. She doesn't like her at all. But it's her job to train the Slayers. She's the Chosen One. That's what she does now.

Except maybe not this one, because her opponent doesn't seem to like that option. The pig's eyes narrow. And then she charges.

And then Gunn's there with an ice pack and the frog's telling her that Piggy didn't mean anything, she just wanted to show her stuff before the training, whatever that is, and Buffy's thinking of happy things like punching bags and wrestling mats and several layers of protective gear.

"So maybe she is a Slayer," Buffy murmurs.

Then she blacks out again.

***

They end up sitting together in the dining room and discussing it, most of the weird creatures and Buffy and Faith and Gunn, with cold glasses of iced tea in front of everyone and a cold compress on Buffy's... everything.

They've gone through all the usual questions, where you were born and what'd you first kill and when did you start believing in vampires and what percentage of your weight is fat and have you ever been in jail and when you were there did you ever try to shiv someone?

And then Buffy asks the last one on her list, the one that usually makes the other girls feel so much better about things. "Did this start for you... I don't know. About two years, seven months, and eighteen days ago? Give or take?"

The pig's eyes narrow slightly. "Is this a joke?" she asks. "Moi has always been like this."

Buffy looks at the menagerie for help, but none of them argue it. "Since... before then?" she whispers.

The pig nods.

"So it was... two years before that?"

"Longer."

"Six years?"

"Look, lady, I may look youthful, but I'm not a spring chicken here, okay? My forever is a little bit longer than 1997."

"So you've been a Slayer..." Buffy's eyes widen a little. "Longer than I have? And you haven't died?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Well, like... some people come back." She falters a bit. "You just... survived this whole time?"

"Maybe," the pig says with a grin, "I'm not the one who needs to be trained."

Faith's the first one who starts laughing, but after a moment, Gunn joins in, and as much as she attempts to fight it, Buffy isn't far behind.

"If you weren't so dead set on Hollywood," she says, "we could hire you here. We can always use another teacher for the baby Slayers." She looks up at the others, who are all looking nervous all of a sudden. "Or six."

"It's not Hollywood," Faith says. "No bright lights, no big city, and sometimes you have to be the one doing the laundry after the slime demon fights."

"But it's a warm bed, constant backup, and three meals a day," Gunn adds. "Even if one of those meals is frozen waffles."

"Plus, you'll be saving humanity," Buffy finishes. "Or, well, pig-frog-dog-bear-shrimp-"

"PRAWN, okay?"

"-okay, pig-frog-dog-bear-prawn-whatever-ity. You'd still be saving it."

The pig considers the offer. Looks at her friends, then turns back to Buffy. "Lady?" she says. "I think you got yourself a deal."