Willow dosed, her head leaning uncomfortably against the bars between her cell and Oz’s. One part of her knew she was in the dungeon of Angel’s place, trapped with her friends, no word on her family, but another was caught in a recurring nightmare of the past days. Underlying all that was a magickal thrumming that made her skin itch and her insides tingle.
That part, at least, was from the interrupted spell. Willow figured, though she had no concrete proof, that what Giles said was only partly true. The gypsy spell was black magicks definitely, and immensely powerful ones at that. But when Drusilla’s minions interrupted her casting, the residual power in the air had no place to go. It couldn’t find its home in Angel, with his soul, and it couldn’t dissipate, either. So, it backlashed into her, making its home there.
If only Buffy had been able to hold off Angel for just a little longer, Willow thought in her half-dreaming state. If only Buffy was able to fight him without Angel waking Acathla, then…then this wouldn’t have happened, then Angel would have his soul and Acathla wouldn’t have awoken, and hell wouldn’t have overrun the planet, and they wouldn’t be in cells in Angel’s dungeon, and…
Was there really any use in the what ifs of life?
Not any more, not any longer, for there was nothing she could do to change anything. Buffy failed, and if her one appearance here was any indication, it was a failure she wasn’t paying for. Willow scowled bitterly in her sleep at the thought of the comforts her friend had and wondered why she, Willow, even bothered with the spell if this was what Buffy seemed to want all along.
(Does that say ‘restoration’? Willow, I think you should try the curse. Willow, I…I need him back, I still love him, Angel, so much. It’s so hard to…see the…to see him like this now.)
To see him like this now…Buffy hadn’t said evil, she hadn’t said monster. She said that it was hard to see him like this now. That she still loved Angel. Angel…the one with the soul, Willow wondered, or the demon he now was?
Trying to find a more comfortable spot, Willow shifted, unaware that Oz was wide-awake and stroking her hair in a vain attempt at comfort.
The werewolf was overwhelmed. Not by his situation, though that seemed…dire. No, his senses were going crazy. He could smell more than the thinly layered veneer of civilization that permeated the land; now he could smell (you always could, just admit to it) deep into the planet, the dirt, the creatures that lived there unaware what happened to their ignorant existence. He could smell the air, the hot and heavy atmosphere that was suddenly there when he woke.
Oz smelled the creatures that roamed the land now, even from within his cell in a dungeon that wasn’t, as far as Oz could tell, anywhere near a population.
What had happened to Sunnydale? Oz was sure that the town was standing when he first regained consciousness, but now that did not seem to be the case. Now Oz couldn’t sense anything in the immediate area, or at least not the crowded streets that he once could. There were creatures around, a lot of vampires, and some other creatures he couldn’t even begin to name, but other than that, nothing.
When Angelus opened the doorway to hell, had that doorway taken all of Sunnydale with it? Hellmouth and all, so Oz figured it was possible.
Breathing deeply again, just to see what else he could sense, Oz heard a distant howl.
Head jerking up at the sound, he closed his eyes and listened more intently. The howl was closely followed by another one, and something deep within Oz opened at the sound, desperately wanting to echo it back. Suddenly that howl was followed by more and more, until it was a cacophony of sound that beat within Oz; his blood pumped in time with the noise, his inner wolf cried so loudly within his head, Oz wondered that the sound wasn’t heard by all.
Hands clenched around the bars separating his and Willow’s cells, Oz desperately tried to control the wolf, tried to gain some measure of control over it even as a part of him wanted to let it loose, wanted to let the wolf have that freedom it so craved.
He didn’t realize that Spike watched him, with a measure of amusement, through badly swollen eyes; that Whistler looked at him in resigned sadness. Oz didn’t realize that his hands tightened on the bars so hard that his fingers were indented into the thick steel or that Willow was awake now and looking at him in fear and curiosity.
“Oz?” She asked, her voice soft and hesitant. “Are-are you okay?”
Focusing his eyes on the woman before him, seeing the pain and fear and loss that colored her normally bright eyes, Oz relaxed his grip slowly, ever so slowly, and concentrated only on her. He really did love this girl, with her kind words and her gentle nature, her unswerving loyalty to the slayer, and her friendship with Xander and even Cordelia.
His woman. She was his. The wolf howled in agreement, and the man relaxed at the sight of her.
“Yeah, baby,” Oz said with a smile that wasn’t as forced as he thought. “I’m okay. Just, you know, a little out of it.”
Willow nodded, not sure what to say. She wanted to know what he meant by that, what was wrong with him that his face contorted into such a fierce scowl and his hands dented the steel separating their cells. But she didn’t because she wasn’t sure how to ask. And she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.
She didn’t mention that his normal light eyes flashed his wolfy yellow, or that she swore she heard an animalistic whimper from his lips as they peeled back in a silent cry. No, all she did was clutch his hand in hers, and resume their previous position against the hard metal bars.
Cordelia watched the couple with a measure of jealously and annoyance. She saw the whole thing, but also didn’t want to ask. There was one thing all this taught her, one thing she learned during her stint in the so-called Scoobies. That some things were better left unasked. Tact was never her strong point, and several people had already pointed that out. That didn’t change the fact that there were some things even she didn’t want to ask.
But there were others she did. Like what was going to happen to them now, who that strange guy in the cell near Spike was, and why Spike was with them and not out there making with the drinking and the whoring?
“Hey, you with the bad outfit,” Cordelia said from her position on the cot. Giles confiscated the pillow to place behind his head – which probably still ached from the whole torture thing evil Angel did to him – but Cordelia refused to sit on the floor just because he was in pain. Everyone looked at Cordelia, but she ignored them in favor of the badly dressed guy.
“Who are you?” She asked, and everyone turned their attention to Whistler.
“Destiny Demon,” Whistler said, shrugging his shoulders, which caused the rumpled, obnoxiously loud shirt to move with him. At this point, with the Powers obviously abandoning him and being stuck in this newly created hell dimension, what did Whistler have to lose by sharing? Just…not sharing too much. His greatest secret was Buffy; without her, he had no hope in, well, hell, of leaving here and regaining the many pleasures of dimensional travel.
Without making his deal with her, without the slayer as his pawn, er, partner, and not Angelus’ ally, he truly was doomed.
“And a destiny demon does…?” Cordelia asked, and scowled when Giles sat up to look at the demon, blocking her view. “Excuse me,” she glared at Giles, pushing him back against the bars, “I was speaking.”
“I nudge people along on their destinies,” Whistler said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Really,” Giles said, sitting back up and doing his best to ignore the pounding in his head. He really needed some aspirin, maybe something stronger. Preferably something stronger. “What are you doing in Sunnydale?”
“Came to help the slayer,” Whistler said, with another negligent shrug that indicated just how well that went. “The Powers sent me here.”
“The-the Powers?” Giles questioned, the pain in his head momentarily forgotten with the revelation of this new information. The Powers? That was interesting news; what could they have to do with all this? “The-the Powers That Be?”
“The powers that be what?” Cordelia asked, looking between Giles and the demon guy who didn’t look all that demonish. Were all demons really bad dressers? Well, Angel wasn’t, and that Drusilla chick had some seriously cool gowns – if Cordelia were going to a ball. Spike, on the other hand, his attire needed help.
“The Powers, Cordelia,” Giles explained, annoyed. “The Powers are the ultimate good in this world, on any plane, really.”
“Like God?” Giles shook his head at her question, and Cordelia frowned. “Higher than God?”
“No, no,” Giles insisted, and then looked confused. With religion being a personal choice, it was sometimes hard to explain the differences…if Giles even could. “They’re the leaders for the good fight.”
“Like angels?” Willow asked, having taken an interest in the conversation.
“Hmm, perhaps,” he nodded, and the watcher was in full watcher-mode. "They’re the ultimate generals, one might say.”
“I say,” Xander added his two cents, “That they did a crappy job at it.” Giles glared at him. “What? You know I’m right; if they’re so all powerful, then shouldn’t they have been able to stop this?”
Giles opened his mouth to disagree with the boy but stopped. For once, Xander was exactly right. He was about to ask the demon what his name was, Giles’ English sensibilities didn’t like referring to a creature without a name, no matter what the Council had taught, when the door opened.
They all braced themselves for another visit from Angelus. Judging from what he did to Spike – a member of his own family – none of them expected to live through the coming months. But Angelus didn’t enter the room, nor did Buffy. Drusilla did, catching Spike’s immediate attention.
“Dru, love,” Spike croaked and swallowed, trying again. “What are you doing here, pet?”
“I came to see my Spike,” the mad vampiress said, as she floated to her lover’s cell. “Bad Spike, trying to hurt daddy.”
She was at the cell now, her hand reaching out to stroke Spike’s battered face. “Daddy’s angry at you, pet,” she told him in a singsong voice that carried to the others in the dungeon. “You shouldn’t have done it, my William, you shouldn’t have tried to ruin daddy’s plans, shouldn’t have tried to get in his way.”
“I did it for you, love,” Spike said as he closed his eyes, his face relaxing under her gentle touch. “I wanted things back the way they were.”
“I know, my sweet,” Dru cooed, leaning through the bars to kiss his swollen lips. “But you didn’t know the plan, you didn’t know what he wanted, what he was going to do; and daddy’s awfully angry. You know how he is when he gets that way.”
“Yeah,” Spike agreed bitterly as she drew back. “Even crazier than before.”
“Psst,” Dru said as she continued to stroke his face. “I have a secret to tell you.” Leaning against the bars, she whispered into his ear, the others in the room trying to hear what she said. “We’ve taken over the world, my pet; daddy’s the new king.”
Spike drew back, hating that his worst thoughts and fears were confirmed and that everything he didn’t want to know really was true. Sure, the proof was just out that window, and Angelus had gleefully pounded it into him, and the slayer’s little friends seemed to accept it readily enough, but that didn’t mean that even Spike didn’t have some kind of hope left.
A foolish hope, yes, but he honestly thought the slayer would win and none of this would matter. Imagine, a demon hoping that the world hadn’t gone to hell. So, Angelus opened Acathla, he brought hell to Earth, and all the Happy Meals on legs were going to quickly die out. Not that it mattered, he was stuck in this dungeon with no real hope of escaping.
“Bastard really did open Ole Stoney, then?” And then Spike realized the rest of Angelus’ plan and started to laugh, Drusilla smiled along with him at his newfound insight. “Oh fuck me, isn’t this typical. And I helped him along, didn’t I? And this, all this is just as he planned, the slayer’s little friends, the slayer herself, you…bugger me.”
“My poor William,” Dru shook her head, stepping back from the cell. “My poor Spike.”
“Yeah, poor me,” Spike agreed, knowing that his torture was only beginning and that Angelus wasn’t ever forgiving him for this trespass.
“Slayer?” Hank asked, interrupting the heavy silence that covered the room. “Joyce, what’s she talking about?”
Joyce shrugged, not wanting to answer, and not entirely sure she had one for her ex. “Don’t ask me, Hank, I’m merely her mother. Ask her Watcher,” and the word was covered in sarcasm. “He knows more about your daughter than we do.”
‘I knew I never liked her.’
‘No one really did,’ he assured.
‘Had more hopes for the dad,’ he sighed, and sipped from his goblet.
Giles cleared his throat and grimaced to himself. Buffy’s ‘secret identity’ as she called it wasn’t needed any more; the world, or what remained of it, wouldn’t care and the Council, if they were still active, had more important things to worry about than the identify of their slayer being revealed to one more person. Plus, he really didn’t like Joyce’s attitude, the woman never understood Buffy and the fact that she didn’t know of her daughter’s calling meant little to Giles.
“In every generation there is a Chosen One,” Giles began, shooting an evil look at Xander as the boy silently mimicked him. “She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.”
“And this slayer,” Hank asked, confused, “Is Buffy?” Giles nodded, and Hank laughed. Maybe this whole thing was one big joke, some kind of really big cosmic joke being played on him. “My daughter, the spoiled child who barely got the marks to make it to the next grade, who burnt down her gym and got kicked out of school, who cares more about shopping than anything, she’s this slayer?”
“Yes, Mr. Summers, yes she is,” Giles said, annoyed at the man who hadn’t bothered to see his daughter in nearly a year. “I assure you, this is no joke. Buffy is the slayer, and she does fight these creatures.”
“Then what happened,” Hank asked, and Joyce perked up at the question. “If she was supposed to fight these creatures, then what happened to the world?”
Giles was silent, Willow felt tears in her eyes, Oz said nothing, Cordelia went back to brooding over her circumstances and trying to figure a way out of this mess Buffy got her in, and Spike laughed, before that turned into a cough, blood dripping down his chin. “Ow,” he said and laid down on the cot.
Dru smiled that ethereal smile she had, and kissed Spike goodbye, lapping at the blood on his face. “Daddy better not hear you talking like that about mummy,” she warned and looked at Spike as he jerked on the cot and fell onto the floor, stunned as Dru left with one last glance at her now former lover.
“Mummy?” Spike echoed as the door closed, “Mummy?” He repeated as he crawled back onto the cot. “Oh, bloody hell,” he said, and put the pillow over his face, trying to block out the world. Or what was left of it.
Xander looked at the vampire strangely, “Is madness contagious?” He asked, but no one answered.
“So,” Hank repeated, not understanding anything that had just happened. “Buffy is the slayer?” Disbelief was clear in his voice. “And there really are vampires in the world?”
“Yeah,” Xander laughed resentfully. “Couldn’t kill her fangy boy-toy, and he sucked the world into hell.”
“Can someone start at the beginning, please?” Hank asked, “I’m a little lost.”
‘These were the people who
tried to save the world from Angelus?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Not very bright, are they?’
‘You noticed that, too, eh?’
~~~~~~~~~~
Lindsey looked out his windows at the barren land before him. He wasn’t much for
views, his time usually spent working on his latest case or screwing his latest
interest, but this even depressed him. Still, he was alive, which was more than
he could say for many in this town. He knew what was to come for the rest of the
human populace, too, and didn’t want to be anywhere near them when things began
to get really bad.
A knock sounded on his door, and Lindsey paused in going to open it. It no longer mattered if he bade a vamp to enter; they could anyway, anyplace, and anytime they wished. Calling out, “Enter,” Lindsey went back to looking out his window.
“Sir,” the minion said, and remained bowing until Lindsey looked at him. “My Master wishes to bid you welcome, and would you please be so kind as to join he and My Queen for breakfast the day after tomorrow.”
Lindsey cocked an eyebrow at the minion and laughed. “Of course,” he agreed, and sincerely hoped that the minion came back on the right day at the right time. The hours of a clock had little meaning when you couldn’t tell day and night. His watched still worked, but Lindsey wasn’t sure Angelus went by the same time.
The minion backed out and shut the door, heading to the neighboring one to repeat his message to Lilah. Lindsey had already tuned back to his vista, wondering what the Senior Partners wanted with Angelus, what their original plan was for the Apocalypse, who this queen was, and what he was supposed to do now?
He briefly thought of his family, his parents and brother, and hoped that somewhere, they were safe. It wasn’t in his contract, keeping them safe after an Apocalypse, but Lindsey knew they could take care of themselves. They had, after all, for years after he left them to their dirt-poor, God-fearing existence.
As he had so many times since leaving, Lindsey chose not to think on the fate of his family; his life was with Wolfram and Hart now. and if that life was in hell as an ambassador to the new ruler of hell, then here was where Lindsey was. It wasn’t so bad, and he still had great perks. Sure, he had to work with Lilah, but the bitch had great instincts and a superior mind.
Yawning, he breathed in the thick, hot air, and stripped
down. He was exhausted and didn’t think Angelus was going to allow them much
down time once he got the whole leadership thing going. Just as well, Lindsey
was eager for a new challenge.
~~~~~~~~~~
Angelus watched Buffy sleep, falling back on his habit of keeping an eye on her
through the long nights. The dark blue sheet lay low on her back, her tanned
skin already beginning to lose some of that false color, her arms crossed
underneath the pillow that cushioned her head, hair spread behind her, keeping
her face and neck bare.
Tracing a long cool finger down her cheek and neck, Angelus lightly circled the beating pulse that lay at the base of her throat. He wanted to mark her, claim her in every tradition he could. And he would, but there were things she needed to learn first, and learn well. Buffy was still too independent, not yet submissive to his wants and needs. She would be, Angelus had no doubts on that, but until such a time when he claimed her for all to see, he planned on keeping his lover on a short leash
Her legs shifted in her sleep, and he knew she struggled to remain sleeping for just a little longer. Angelus would love to wake her as he had earlier, slowly, with kisses and caresses until her body could stand no more and begged for release. He wanted to teach her how to pleasure him, the many ways to do so, and he wanted to see her eyes glazed in passion for him. Not tonight, it was unfortunate.
This was the third day, and on this day the ambassadors from Acathla were arriving. They were going to judge him and crown him Acathla’s successor.
He couldn’t be late, though there wasn’t exactly a timetable for this. None of the knowledge that currently swam in his head told him of a specific time for this gathering, but Angelus somehow knew. He knew that they were coming, and soon, and where.
Directly over the opening of the Hellmouth.
Wasn’t that irony at its best, the former vampire thought as he tugged the sheet lower on Buffy’s body, enjoying the way the silk sounded on her soft skin. The Hellmouth that Angel spent so damn much time guarding was really the means by which Angelus would rule the world. Once that Hellmouth was open, there was no closing it this time. That was something the Master never understood.
The Master wanted to open the Hellmouth and release the Old Ones, the first Demons. But he wasn’t worthy, he wasn’t the successor, so when he managed to succeed, it was an uncontrolled opening. If Buffy hadn’t killed the old bat, then the first beast to leave the Hellmouth would have done so, overrunning the populace in the process. Not that Angelus cared about the humans on this planet, but something the Master hadn’t thought of was a viable food source for his vampires; this way, with Hell on Earth, rivers ran with blood and there was enough of that for all the vampires for all eternity.
The other demons, well, it was as always; they fed off whatever they wanted. Most got off on humans, but that was normally a delicacy; the average demon could eat most of the other demons around. Plus, Angelus didn’t envision all the humans dying off, there were just too many of them for that; and the demons would try, no doubt, to keep as many as possible for pets, slaves, and food.
“Buffy,” he whispered, draping himself over her back, erection nestled between her butt cheeks. He thrust once, twice, against her heat, noting with a pleased purr her immediate response, how her body spread for his, curved to mold to his body.
Buffy moaned and shifted underneath him, smiling in her sleep. Angelus realized the exact moment full consciousness returned to her; Buffy stiffened, her smile faded, her eyes shot open. Smirking, Angelus rose from the bed, knowing they hadn’t the time to indulge in a fantasy or two of his. Later…there was plenty of time later.
Picking her up, Angelus looked down at her upturned face, so full of confusion and lust, so scared of what she really felt. He carried her to the bathroom and started the shower in the immense stall. The four showerheads burst with heated water, the temperature perfect for Buffy’s no doubt sore muscles.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s time, baby,” he smirked as he stepped under the water, Buffy still snug in his arms. “We’re going to be crowned the new rulers of this pathetic planet.” Kissing her hard as he set her on the tiles floor, Angelus cautioned, “Remember our agreement.”
“I remember, Angelus,” Buffy huffed indignantly, her mom’s face flashing before her eyes. “You have my family and my friends. I won’t do anything wrong and you know that.”
Soaping a washcloth, he ran the material along her back, mouth training kisses down her neck as he did so. “Excellent, just remember that.”
Like he would allow her to forget.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Tara, where are we going?”
“West, Dawnie,” her older sister said, with a soft smile and a quick look behind them. “We have to find that girl I told you about, don’t you remember?”
The ten year old nodded eagerly, trying to show her beloved older sister that she did remember and that she was old enough to keep the secret. “I remember, the slayer, the one from your vision. You said she’s supposed to help us now.”
“Right, Dawn,” Tara nodded, running her hand down Dawn’s hair in a gesture meant to comfort the both of them. She wasn’t sure how well it worked.
The two continued to walk down the streets of Kansas City, Kansas, a study in contrasts. Dawn McKay was dark haired, lean, and tall for her age. Tara was taller, but not by much, and her loose clothes hid a beautifully curved figure she wasn’t confident enough to show off. They were both running when this started, running away from an abusive home in New England. Now they were running to.
They were in Philadelphia when the vision hit. Tara had screamed herself awake, scaring Dawn and all the other passengers at the 30th Street Station. Four hours later, the sun was obliterated by red fog, and Tara knew what her dream meant. Hopping the next train west, the place she knew she was meant to find this slayer, Tara and Dawn traveled as best they could through the increasingly dangerous streets and towns.
They were behind the slayer, Tara figured, but wasn’t sure by how far. Nor did she know this girl’s name, only that she was supposed to help in some way. That with her, Dawn would be safe.
Tara had serious doubts about that. No one was safe anymore.
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