Disclaimer: I think you know they're not mine by now! If not, check out an earlier chapter for the legalese.

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DREAMING PLANES

"You're dead, pet?" Spike said. He hadn't meant it to be a question - after all, he knew the answer already - but somehow it came out that way. Buffy tilted her head thoughtfully.

"Yes and no," she answered. "I've got no body. My body's definitely dead. But me, I seem to be somehow...stuck. Here. Where I'm not supposed to be. But I don't know where I'm supposed to be. Exactly."

"Bloody hell. Now I know I'm dreaming," Spike said, just to say something. "Didn't understand a thing you just said."

"Can we get back to the part where I say I need your help and then you actually ask me what I need you to do?" Buffy responded testily.

"You need me?" Spike repeated blankly, then a slow grin spread across his face. "You need me."

"I so don't have time for this."

"You need me, pet. Say it. You need me." He edged closer to her, needing to feel her even if it wasn't real, and noting how she didn't back away.

"I..."

"Say it," Spike said in a taunting tone. She glared at him, before finally sighing.

"I need your help, Spike."

Spike's face fell momentarily before he smirked in amusement.

"Wrong wording, pet."

Buffy threw up her hands, her temper flaring.

"You know what? Forget it. I'll just have to hope that Willow can-"

"Red?" Spike blinked. He shook his head, feeling bad at having to break the news to her. "She's...in bad shape, luv. I don't think the doctors were hoping for much."

"She was here, before. We spoke. She said she'd try." Buffy's face crumbled for a moment, and Spike wanted more than anything to hold her. Except he knew she wouldn't appreciate the gesture...and he didn't want her to kick his dream ass right now. "She's the only hope I've got."

"No, she's not." He risked reaching for her hand, and felt overwhelmingly gratified when she didn't pull away. "Just tell me what you need me to do, and I'll do it."

Buffy nodded, but her next words were the last he expected.

"Find Lydia Stokes-Martin."

****************************************

DESTINY, MAINE

It started like a low rumble, growing louder. Matthew started to cry, and Lydia picked him up, holding him tightly. Tricia reached for him, but her Koy held his wife back. Lydia shivered, fighting the cold comprehension of what was happening that was sweeping through her. She started backing away from them with a growing sense of dread.

"Stop her!" Tampa shouted, but Koy shook his head.

"Run, Lydia," he said desperately.

"No..." she moaned even as she turned and began to comply, running as fast as she could. She heard shouting and footsteps echoing behind her and prayed that the others were following close. Screams and the sounds of falling bricks made her slow, trying to turn her head to see what was happening.

"Lydia! Get Matthew out of here! Run!" Koy cried. And she did. She ran full out, faster and harder than she would have believed possible, calling on that strange reserve of strength that had been hers since her bonding with Spike.

She was afraid that it was not going to be enough.

The walls were falling, and now there was the smell of burning. Fire spread along the wall beside her and Lydia shielded the boy with her arms, feeling the hair on them singed as she left through a wall of fire that had seemed to spring up of its own accord. The ground beneath her feet started to crumble away as she landed, and she knew that they weren't going to be able to get out of there alive. Desperately she flung herself forward, blinded from the smoke, hoping against hope that this was in fact the way out. Part of her mind registered that she no longer heard any sounds of life behind her, but she had no time to deal with what that meant. She stumbled and Matthew screamed, clinging to her as she fell to her knees. The sound of the petrified child strengthened her resolve. Staying low, she crawled blindly through the smoke and flames, with no sense of direction and with chunks of concrete and metal falling around them. If they didn't move faster they would die in here, she knew.

//stand//

Her ears were ringing and her head was swimming badly, but the word seemed wrong somehow, like a thought that came from elsewhere. Still, she knew she had to move faster and she regained her feet, tightening her grip on the now-choking child. She took one tentative step forward and collided with the bottom of a ladder that had been obscured by the smoke. The lower rungs were chest high; she would have crawled right under it without seeing it if she hadn't stood at that moment, but she had no time to think about what that meant. She tore a long piece of fabric off of her shirt and wrapped it around her nose and mouth to help keep the smoke out, then did the same for the boy.

"We have to climb, Matthew," she rasped, her voice muffled by her impromptu mask. "Can you hang on to my back?" The boy nodded, and she swung him into position. "Hang on tight and don't let go!" she commanded, climbing up into smoke so thick that she thought she would faint for certain and kill them both. She could hear Matthew coughing violently, and his grip loosening just a bit. She let go with one hand and grabbed hold of his shirt, hauling him onto her hip and wrapping her arm around him. What seemed like hours later she reached the top and miraculously emerging out of a manhole mere yards from her car. Still shaking and coughing, Lydia looked up and down the deserted street frantically.

"Help me! Somebody! Anybody! There's been an accident! People are trapped! We've got to help..."

//gone//

"...them..." There it was again, that strange feeling in her head, only this time there was a hum, a strange vibration. Lydia looked around wildly as it began to gain focus and pulse...words...

//gone gone ow gone ow//

"What?" she said weakly as one hand went to her temple. The vibration grew louder and louder, and she felt like it was drilling her skull from the inside. She set the child down as her knees began to give way.

//gone ow gone ow go now go now go now//

Lydia found herself kneeling beside her car, looking into Matthew’s sad eyes. Such beautiful eyes, so like his mother's...

"Trish," Lydia half-sobbed.

//go now go NOW GO NOW GO NOW GO NOW//

Lydia cried out in pain, clutching her temples. She fumbled with her keys in the lock, wrenching the door open as setting Matthew down. Both hands grabbed her head as her keys slipped from her trembling fingers. She was torn about what to do, and in the case of her skull she felt like she was being torn literally.

//NOW GO NOW GO//

"Stop it, or we aren't going anywhere," she said in a low voice, and the vibration and sound stopped at once. She settled the boy in the back seat, belted him in, then sat in the front seat in silence. "I...I'm so sorry, Matthew. I don't know what...what to say."

//...//

She turned and looked at him, and the boy met her stare solemnly.

//mommy gone now no no no no no no no//

A wave of sadness so enormous passed over her that Lydia burst into uncontrollable sobs. Matthew watched her, then shook his head.

//no//

Lydia felt her emotional control return, and sighed at the boy.

"I don't know. Your parents, they could be...we've got to get help."

//no//

"Yes!"

Lydia groaned and slumped forward as a series of horribly violent images flowed into her mind. Some of them were as crude as a child's drawing, some were elaborately detailed. But all screamed danger. She saw her father's face and screamed. And underneath it all was that strange loud pulsing thought.

//GO NOW GO NOW GO NOW GONOWGOWNOGONOWGONOWGO//

"Oh God, stop! Stop it now!" Lydia said through teeth that were gritted to hold back another scream that wanted to escape. The voice and picture show stopped immediately. She pulled herself back upright, pressing her palms against her face. Her head felt like it had been cleaved into two throbbing pieces. She felt something sticky on her face and realized that her nose was bleeding. She shoved the keys blindly into the ignition and cranked the engine, unsure how she was going to be able to drive with this headache but knowing from what she had seen...from what Matthew had shown her...that the longer they stayed there, the greater the possibility that someone would realize they hadn't died in the explosion with the others. The explosion that had been an attempted murder of all of them.

Lydia didn’t have to think too hard to figure out who might have ordered such a thing, but she couldn’t think now. Thinking only made everything hurt worse.

"I just have to get away from here, then I can rest...and take a million paratylenol," she murmured as she shifted the car into gear and drove slowly out of Destiny, still blinking dazedly. Yet at the same time a plan was forming in the back of her mind, the only real possibility now. She'd run out of excuses and other options, and just picked up one big reason to go back there, to where this had all started for her less than a year ago.

First she'd need to go back to New York, visit a little place she knew in the Village that could get her and the boy new identification papers and whatever else she needed. Then...she sighed, still wincing. The pain in her head was fading slowly, and she could actually see the road better than just a blur now. She picked up speed as she looked seriously at the small child staring at her in the rear view mirror. Tears had dampened his cheeks, but he still had made no sound.

"I'm so, so sorry. I don't know...I wasn't prepared for this...but I think...no, I know what to do. We're going to New York, Matthew. There's someone there, a friend of my brother's...I didn't want to go to him, but I don't think we've got another option. We've got a long way to go, and no time to take the car. And a commercial airline is out of the question," she said softly. The boy nodded, and Lydia bit back a hysterical giggle. "We're going to have to disappear for a bit, but we'll be all right, Matthew. So help me, we'll be all right." The boy nodded again, then closed his eyes and curled up to sleep. She thought perhaps she shouldn't let him; it wouldn't do if he was going into shock. But instead she concentrated on her own internal mantra, on the road, on anything but her best friend in the world lying dead behind her. Because of her.

*We'll be alright,* she promised herself again. *Soon as we get to California.*

***********

SUNNYDALE, CA

"Giles! How are you feeling?" Willow asked weakly when the Watcher entered. The older man's eyebrows went up in surprise. The swelling in the girl's face had gone down considerably from the last time he'd seen her, and although pale and bruised, she was awake and alert. He felt an almost palpable sense of relief, and immediately cautioned himself about expecting too much too soon. The girl had almost died last night, after all.

"That's really my question for you, Willow. You gave us all quite a scare, you know." The words were mild, but there was an intense and lingering sadness in the Watcher's eyes that told Willow he was flashing back to the still raw sense of loss that had accompanied Buffy's death. He looked her over intensely, seeming to relax only when she smiled back at him easily.

"Sorry," the witch murmured contritely. "I'm much better. Almost great, even."

"Ahem," Tara chimed in from her perch on the corner of Willow's bed. "You're not convincing anyone to sign your release papers, missy."

"Darn," Willow said, only half-kidding, something that both of her companions picked up on. Giles frowned in renewed worry.

"Indeed, Willow, we're all quite concerned for your health." Implied in that sentence was the fact that it was more than her physical health they were concerned with. Giles had been more than a little alarmed by the story that Xander had related to them, but didn't quite know how the subject should be broached. He shouldn't have been surprised when Willow picked up on his subtle disquiet and did it for him.

"I'm not crazy, Giles. And I'm not dreaming. I saw Buffy, I talked to Buffy, I promised to help Buffy...you of all people have to believe me. The Dreaming Planes are real, right?"

"In theory," Giles began, and Willow bolted upright, eyes filling with easy tears.

"It's not a theory!" she wailed, swinging her feet off the bed and attempting to stand. She swayed alarmingly and fell back onto the bed. "You have to believe me, Giles, I-"

"Willow, what are you doing?" Tara cried out in alarm.

"Get back into that bed this instance, young lady," Giles said, his words overlapping those of the blonde witch.

"You're going to kill yourself," Tara added, assisting her to do just that. The redhead's extreme pallor was alarming to both her visitors, her skin white as parchment. Giles looked questioningly at Tara as she settled her lover back in. Willow closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, glaring at them both defiantly. Tara nodded at Giles and sighed softly. "She won't relax unless you finish, and she needs to rest."

"Fine. But only on the condition that you sit quietly and let me finish," he said sternly. Willow gave him a meek nod, and he continued. "As I was saying, in theory there is no actual realm of dreams, although certainly there have been many opinions to the contrary. However, the Council did confirm the existence of such a place some years ago. I seem to recall reading about a Council mage having determined a way to walk the Planes in a meditative state."

"So how did Buffy end up there?" Willow asked, wide-eyed. Giles polished his glasses, reluctant to meet her eyes. He didn't want to upset her, but what she thought she had seen was simply not possible according to the Council's research.

"Willow, I'm not certain...what happens in dreams can seem very real..."

"Giles, you just confirmed that the Dreaming Planes exist. How many people do you know that have actually ever dreamed about them? I mean, people that didn't already know they existed. And knowing what they are and what they're called?"

"None that I'm aware of, other than other Watchers. But you could have read that information in a Watcher's diary and simply forgotten all about it."

"And when have you known me to forget about something I've read?" Willow said with exaggerated patience, easing herself back onto her pillows and crossing her arms defiantly. Tara and Giles shared a long nonplussed look.

"She has a point," Tara said slowly.

"Yes...quite...nevertheless..."

"Nevertheless my ass!" Willow declared, blushing crimson the second she realized what she had said to Giles, but only slightly faltering as she continued. "Buffy's soul is on the Dreaming Planes, Giles. I swear! I swear...on everything! We've got to figure out a way to get her out of there."

Tara and Giles exchanged another look, both of their eyes less doubtful and more sure. In Giles' eyes Tara saw a glimmer of hope. Willow saw it too, and she relaxed slightly, sure now that the Watcher would be helping her.

"Yes...I'm sure there's something...wait, I have an idea!" Giles said urgently. "There's a member of the Council, Aldric Stokes-Martin, works in prophecies I believe. One of the better mages, really, and he's somewhat known for his knowledge of arcane magicks. I believe he might be the Council member who reached the Dreaming Planes, if not he'll surely know who has..."

"And know how to rescue a soul that's been trapped there?" Willow insisted.

"I-if such a thing is p-possible," Giles stammered.

"It has to be," Willow said fiercely. "Giles, there's a way. And we're going to find it." Exhausted, she settled back on to the pillows, already feeling sleep begin to claim her. Eyes closed, she didn't see Giles and Tara exchange looks of concern as she murmured joyfully, "We're gonna bring Buffy back."

***********

"Hello, Summers Residence," Dawn said cautiously into the phone. It had gotten to the point where she feared very ring of the telephone. Even though Giles had reassured her that Willow would be all right, Giles had gotten a funny, almost guilty look when she'd asked if she could see the witch that told her they were keeping something from her. Again. The person on the other end cleared his throat.

"Yes, is...is Rupert Giles there?"

"No..." Dawn drawled suspiciously. "May I ask who's asking?"

"Perhaps Miss Rosenberg is there? Or Mr. Harris? It's a matter of some-"

"Wesley? Is that you?"

"Yes, yes it is...good Lord, is this Dawn? You sound so grown up."

"Well, duh. I'm in high school now. Why are you calling? Is this about Faith? She's not out, is she? Because now is a really bad time for her to try to kill us all, I mean, Willow's already in the hospital and Anya and Giles are hurt and-"

"Calm down, Dawn. Now look, Faith is...is there someone else there you can put on the line?"

"Why? I can take a message," Dawn said defensively. Wesley's tone immediately became overly placating, which irked her anymore.

"Yes, I'm quite certain that you can, however this is quite urgent, and a message isn't-"

"Dawn? I heard the phone," Xander said, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"It's Wesley," she said, handing the phone over. "He won't tell me what's going on either."

"Huh?"

"It's fine. I'll be in my room, so you won't have to worry about me learning anything real. Bet you'll all be sorry when Faith comes and slits my throat!" Dawn stomped up the stairs after that parting shot, and Xander gripped the phone tightly, a wave of nausea threatening at her mention of the Slayer's name.

"Wesley? It's Xander. What's this about Faith?"

"Xander. Good, yes. I must explain, there's a woman named Blackman, Hortensia Blackman, who is representing herself as a Watcher from the Council. She's actually an assassin for hire. She tried to kill Faith."

"Tried," Xander repeated carefully.

"Yes, Angel did manage to stop her. He's protecting Faith. Faith called and started to explain but the line went dead, so I can't be certain, but I believe they're on their way to Sunnydale."

"Wait...you're saying that Angel broke Faith out of jail? Oh, man..."

"I'm certain Angel would not have taken such a drastic step unless it was absolutely necessary."

"Of course not. He's Restraint Guy," Xander said bitterly, then sighed. "Look, Wes, I don't mean to give you a hard time, honest. It's just...we're not exactly operating at peak performance here right now. We just had a major demon battle, and we almost lost..." Xander's voice cracked, and he took a moment to compose himself before finishing in a low voice. "We almost lost Willow."

"Cordelia, Fred and I are on our way to Sunnydale now. And we're bringing along a friend, someone I think might be able to help us sort all of this out."

"We can use the manpower," Xander sighed, running a tired hand through his already mussed hair. "It's been almost nonstop around here since Bu...ummm...let’s just say, the Hellmouth without the Slayer, much more Hellmouthy.”

“Perhaps it’s serendipitous then that the Slayer is on her way there,” Wesley said wryly. Xander laughed without humor.

“I was thinking a Slayer of the less psychotic kind."

"Faith has made a lot of progress, actually. She's not at all like you remember."

"So she's becoming a nun?" Xander returned caustically. Wesley coughed in discomfort.

"Well, yes, she's somewhat like you remember...but she has changed, Xander. And she's the only Slayer we've got at the moment." Dead silence met his statement, and Wesley cleared his throat. “Xander? Are you there?”

"Yeah, I’m sorry. I just...you're saying no one was...when..." he stammered. Amazingly Wesley understood the source of his dismay.

"When Buffy died," Wesley said gently, "No other Slayer was called. I thought that you knew."

Another long silence met his inquiry, but this time Wesley said nothing, allowing the younger man to process things. Finally he heard Xander sigh.

"I think I maybe did...but there's been so much going on. To be honest, I hadn't really thought about it too much."

"That's certainly understandable."

"Wesley, not to sound cold, but how can you be sure the Council's not trying to kill Faith? Using an independent contractor, you know?"

"I...does it really matter, Xander? We simply cannot allow the girl to be killed in cold blood."

"No, no one else dies," Xander said with surprising intensity. Wesley nodded. He knew the feeling of helplessness that came with almost losing someone you cared about.

"Miss Rosenberg, is she going to be alright?"

"She's healing," Xander said roughly. "But it was dicey for a while, and she's not up to any big magic tricks. I so hope you can help with that. Last time I talked to Cordelia she said you were getting to be quite the Doug Henning."

"She did? Is that a complement or an insult?"

"It means you're good, Magic Man."

"Yes...well...I'm certainly not...I mean I wouldn't consider myself to be...I think I..."

Xander thought he could hear the man blushing, and despite the seriousness of the situation had to grin.

"Yup, you even sound like Will. Must be a magic thing. So any idea when we should be expecting Bonnie and Clyde?"

"I have no idea. As I said, the line went dead. I only hope they haven't run into more trouble."

***********

BETWEEN LOS ANGELES AND SUNNYDALE...

"We're definitely in trouble," Faith said almost conversationally as Angel wrenched the wheel to the side again as he slammed on the brakes, causing the car to squeal in protest as it spun 180 degrees.

"We'll be fine," he said through clenched teeth. "I got us away from the last three roadblocks, didn't I? I can't believe you don't trust me."

"Not the issue, touchy-guy," Faith growled. "They've got us boxed in, they know the car, we can't exactly ditch it because it'd be pretty dusty once the sun hit you...far be it from me to be the voice of reason, but we're not gonna make it."

"We'll make it."

"Angel..."

"I said we'll make it! Dammit Faith! I really need you to trust me here. I know what I'm doing."

"Well, it's a good thing, because they've found us," Faith said, her voice sounding oddly flat. Angel glanced at her and saw all the color had drained from her face.

"What? I don't see..."

"Not the police," Faith insisted, gesturing up ahead.

Angel swore when he saw the two women holding balls of blue fire, standing directly in the middle of the road ahead. He knew without needing to ask that they were the two from the prison, the ones that had wanted to kill Faith. He didn't even want to think of how they had gotten here ahead of them, or how they had found them at all. It stank of magick.

"I hate magick," Angel said, not for the first time. Faith slumped in the seat, looking at him nervously.

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"Sure."

"Get our asses out of here."

"Right," Angel said, wrenching the wheel again. The road they were on was sheer cliff-face on one side, sheer drop on the other. Angel knew he only had one real option.

"Angel, what are you - what the hell?"

"Hold on," he said, wrenching the wheel again. The tires squealed then spun for a moment, trying for purchase in the soft dirt. The Slayer braced herself as she they picked up speed, heading towards the drop.

"Oh, God, we're Thelma and Louise-ing here?" she cried.

"You said you trusted me." Angel deadpanned, flooring the gas pedal.

"Stop! Don't! Look, I changed my mind, I don't trust you any-AHHHH!" Faith screamed as the car dropped off the shoulder into oblivion.

***********

More apologies...it's coming along, I swear...don't hurt me...