Crossover: BtVS/Evil Dead
Disclaimer: Since I am a poor chickadee with no wealth to speak of, I think it's safe to say that neither BtVS nor Evil Dead are mine. ^^;
Written for: TtH August Fic A Day Challenge
Summary: “What the hell’d you do, Spinach-chin? And how’re you gunna fix it?” Buffy asked, her voice stressed. But she wasn’t the one speaking- it was the Buffy above her.
Author's notes: Comics? What comics? >.> This is set post season 7 for BtVS, and after the end of AoD for Evil Dead.
A soft, questioning voice was the first thing Buffy heard as consciousness sifted slowly back to her, and she groaned. It was a low sound, deep with pain, and there was a splitting headache pounding away between her ears. Against her will, her eyes fluttered open for a moment- and a second, louder moan followed the first before she quickly shut her eyes and rolled over, one heavy arm moving to cover her face. God, her head hurt, and rolling over didn’t feel too hot tummy-wise either. The voice that had awoken her spoke again, something of a concerned tone carried within the words that were just soft enough to not make her head hurt even more.
“Milord, how dost thou fare? Art thou feeling well?” It wasn’t a voice she recognized- and what was with the old timey words?- but then, she wasn’t exactly in the best place of mind to try and place the voice either, not with the way she was feeling. A tiny pair of deft hands touched her arm lightly, somewhat hesitantly, and the Slayer shook her head minutely, too busy trying not to give in to the nausea in her stomach to answer verbally. One of those hands slipped to her back, stroking gently in a soothing manner, up and down, and it helped a little. The other, almost impossibly small, carefully took her hand and pulled it down so it could lie against her brow itself, taking note of the heat that burned there. When the voice, soft and feminine, spoke once more, it was even more worried than before. “Thou art burning up!”
hen, with one last soothing caress, those dainty little hands pulled away as whoever it was stood and stepped back. Buffy only vaguely registered the more authoritative tone that came over the voice as it began to speak to apparent others in the room, and she only barely caught some of the words flying. Words that should have rung alarm bells, and would have at any other time or state of mind. Words like ‘Promised,’ ‘spell,’ ‘portal,’ and ‘Deadites.’ As it was, those words slipped right by her, as did the rest of the world, until she felt a cool, damp cloth pressed upon her brow, and as the pain lifted somewhat, she drifted off to sleep.
When she woke again, and her eyes flickered open- this time, thankfully, without the blinding pain that had accompanied her first glance before- she was staring up into her own face. A face that was both angry and panicked at the same time. It was an odd look to see upon her own face, and in the calm of waking pain free, she reflected that she was fairly certain that was not the face she was making herself. This, of course, led to the question of why she was seeing it.
Why was she seeing a look on her face that she wasn’t making?
“What the hell’d you do, Spinach-chin? And how’re you gunna fix it?” Buffy asked, her voice stressed. But she wasn’t the one speaking- it was the Buffy above her.
Suddenly, Buffy was wide awake.
“What the hell?!” This time, she was the one speaking, except- it wasn’t her voice. The voice she’d spoken in was deeper, gruffer, and dear god, it was Ash’s voice! Then-
“Yeah, baby,” her voice said grimly, a serious look in her own green eyes that stared down at her. “I’m up here.”
“Oh god,” she said quickly, shoving up into a sitting position, eyes darting around to take in their surroundings. She was sitting on what felt like a straw bed in a room made of stone- a castle, by the looks of it. Standing above her was- well, Ash, apparently, a dark haired woman behind him, and an older man with a long beard beside him. The man looked down at her gravely, his expression troubled as he stroked his beard lightly.
“Yes, it seems that the Necronomicon’s spell to summon the Promised One has had unexpected consequences.”
“Ya think,” Ash growled back, but his eyes were all for Buffy, watching her closely. She inhaled deeply as she put both hands before her, turning and staring down at them, and at the rest of her body- or rather, Ash’s body.
“I’m alright,” she said after a moment, gathering herself up; it wasn’t the first time she’d switched bodies with someone, after all. Maybe this’d be like with Faith, and wear off in time. She squeezed the fingers of her new right hand into a fist, an odd lack of sensation where it was a gauntlet instead of a true hand, and pursed her lips. “You?”
“Fantastic, doll.” And even as she watched, he mirrored her movement, hazel eyes darting from the metal gauntlet to the flesh and bone hand he flexed in response. She had a moment where she could see something like awe flashed through his gaze, then he was quickly shoving his hand down and turning his attention to the man beside him “I’ll be even better once this joker tells us why he dragged me back here, and how he’s gonna put us back.”
“Ashley,” the woman behind him scowled, and Buffy had a moment of realization at the scolding tone in her voice; this was Sheila. Ash didn’t talk much about her when he talked about his past, but he’d said enough for the Slayer to understand what this woman had once meant to him. “Thou should treat the Wiseman with more respect than that! He hast brought thee here only due to the dire need of Kandar!”
“Yeah, well, too bad. He wanted help, he shouldn’t’a gotten Buffy mixed up in this.” And god, was it strange seeing her own chin jut out in that defiant manner that was so completely Ash.
“I am sorry that thy- friend- has become entangled in this, but I do not know a cure for this, strange one. All I may guess is that the effect of the spell should be reversed when thou art returned to thine own time,” the man told them both, his eyes flickering from Ash to Buffy. Ash growled again.
“Then send us back, already, got it? I ain’t gonna help you if you’re blackmailin’ us like this!”
“I cannot,” he answered, his voice quiet compared to the loud volume with which Ash spoke.
“Oh yeah? And why not?”
“Because the spell to return thee home lies in the pages of the Necronomicon. The Necronomicon- has been stolen.”
Ash cursed furiously under his breath, using words that had never left those full lips of his before now, and Buffy groaned. She knew exactly where this would lead, and as little part as she wanted in it- they didn’t have much of a choice.