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It's All Been Done
by Kat Peter
Part One  Part Two  Part Three  Part Four  Part Five 

Part One

Mrs. Karen James-Hartley watched impatiently as the last of her late grandfather's possessions were crated and taken out to one of the large trucks in the courtyard. Three months of sitting by a hospital bed and holding his disgusting, clammy hand while he wheezed and moaned and whined...it was all worth it. The auction was set for Monday and with its proceeds she and her husband would be set for life. The mansion and grounds alone were worth several million. Karen smiled to herself; yes, all her sacrifices had been worth it...the creepy old coot had left her everything. 

"Karen, luv...what on earth do you want to do with this thing?" She looked up to see her husband, Brent, leaning over the staircase banister on the second floor. In his hands was quite possibly the ugliest urn she had ever seen...squat and misshapen at the mouth, and made of what looked to be dull red clay. 

Brent came down the wide marble steps, tossing the thing from hand to hand, an expression of vague disgust on his handsome features. Karen met him at the foot of the stairs and took the urn from him, turning it over in her hands. One perfectly sculpted eyebrow went up and her perfectly pouty pink lip curled. Odd markings had been scratched into the surface and when she tried to pull the lid off, she found it to be stuck tight. 

"Ugh, throw it away darling! This thing isn't worth the petrol it would take to transport." She handed it back to him and turned on her three-inch heels, stalking out the front door with a toss of her long blonde hair. Brent looked around blankly for a moment, wondering if he would have to actually walk out to the trash pile the workers had started around the side of the mansion. Then he spotted a large box containing some broken boards and brown wrapping paper that had been left in the door to the parlor and happily dropped the thing in. Glad to be rid of it, he trotted out after his wife. 

* * * 

That evening, the last of the cleanup crew moved through the impressive estate, gathering up trash and pulling sheets over the few remaining sticks of furniture. All the while, they grumbled about their employer and how sad it was that all a sweet old man like Michael James had in the world was such a bitch granddaughter. Two men hefted the box outside the parlor none too gently as they expressed their views about Karen Hartley and her probable destination in the afterlife. 
They carried it out with the other rubbish to the dumpsters that had been set up by the front gates and thought nothing of the distinct sound of something shattering as they heaved it in. They closed the lid and hurried to their truck, eager to get home and into a hot shower. And so no one noticed when a thick, black liquid began seeping out of a crack in the bottom of the dumpster. No one was there to see it pool on the ground, hissing and bubbling like acid. And no one was there to see the ichor rise up off of the ground, and coalesce into a vaguely human shape, before it vanished in a cloud of oily smoke darker than the night sky. 

* * * 

Freedom. Perfect, glorious, freedom. The night air sliding around and through, cool and oh so dark. Soft touch of the wind a lover's caress. Stretching, floating, flying after so long. So very long imprisoned. Senses bound for centuries at last reached out and drank in the world. Light, sound, delicious and decadent. This world was a plum ripe for the picking...and it hungered. Blood and screams and terror, it had not tasted these in far too long. It craved. The wind became a harsh sting as its pace quickened, and the pain was as welcome as the pleasure was. Power called to it, its song even more enticing than that of the mortals below. Far, far away, but so very strong...strong enough to bring *it * back to full strength. And then the blood. Then the screams, then the terror. 

It would throw open the gates and bring forth the wrath of Hell. 

* * * 

Bill, bill, credit card application, Publisher's Clearing House...did the bloody American Postal Service deliver nothing but junk anymore? Giles flipped through the afternoon's mail, faintly irritated at the sheer amount of...crap. Then a slender, cream colored envelope addressed in a very familiar scrawl caught his eye and the rest of the mail slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers. The letter was postmarked London; specifically the Watcher's Council motherhouse. Giles knew he still had some friends in the Council...but none of them would risk being found contacting him for a simple bit of friendly correspondence. Which meant it was probably bad news. 

And in his line of work, bad news nearly always had a deadly twist. 

Hurriedly, Giles tore open the envelope and unfolded the crisp stationary. As he had suspected, the letter was from one of his old classmates, a Council researcher by the name of Eric Andrews. Eric's writing had always been jagged and rushed, but this time the words bordered on illegible. Eric had either been extremely nervous or extremely rushed when he wrote this; maybe a little of both. Giles read through quickly, his face literally draining of color the further down he got. He was wrong...Eric hadn't been nervous when he had written this. 
His old friend had been terrified. 

* * * 

Buffy was fairly certain she was being punished for some heinous crime committed in a past life. Patrol had been freakishly quiet for the past few nights, she had an eight page English lit paper due in two days, she'd managed to spill cappuccino all over her favorite sweater. All that she could have lived with...but this? 

"I'm telling you Fang face, there is no possible way on this Earth Storm is hotter than Rogue!" 

"Oh the bird's got a lovely body, but she looks like a bleedin' skunk with that hair. Storm's got that whole exotic vibe goin' for 'er." 

"Hah! Next you'll be telling me Jean Grey can beat out Psylocke." Buffy didn't know which was more disturbing, the fact that Spike and Xander were arguing good-naturedly, or the fact that they were arguing about the sex appeal of the female members of the X-Men. At least they weren't discussing *Passions * again. Spike had apparently gotten her friend hooked on the soap as well and the two had spent an hour last night discussing whether or not Ethan should dump Gwen and marry Theresa. 

"Okay, much as I hate to interrupt this grand scholastic debate, can we change the subject?" Xander's expression immediately turned sheepish, but the vampire merely smirked. 

"Of course, pet," Spike said with exaggerated solicitousness. He turned his attention back to Xander. "All right, mate...battle royal an' you've got Wolverine an' Gambit...who's left standin'?" Buffy glared at their reluctant ally as Xander snickered. 

Such had become a near- regular occurrence during the past few weeks. Spike and Xander would amuse themselves by starting the strangest conversations known to man, someone would call them on it, and they'd just start right back up. More and more often, the boy and vampire had been gravitating towards each other during meetings and patrols, presenting a united front of sarcasm and witticisms that was damn near impenetrable. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn they were friends. 

After the vampire's debacle of an alliance with Adam, he had gone all out to convince the Slayer that staking him was not in her best interests. "Helpful" Spike was somehow scarier than "evil murderous" Spike, but Buffy had to admit, if only to herself, that he was a tremendous asset on patrols. And with him watching her Slayerettes' backs on patrol in exchange for blood and a lack of wooden objects aimed at his chest, she found herself worrying about them less. It was...nice. However, it was still downright frightening to watch him getting all chummy with Xander. 

"I can't believe you actually read those things," Buffy muttered before swinging back around and continuing her trek towards the cemetery. 

"Loyal fan since '76. Hell, you should've seen the Batman collection I had in the thirties. Really wish I 'adn't thrown those away now. Would've been worth thous--" Spike suddenly broke off and turned to look over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the darkened street behind them. Both humans were instantly alert, though Buffy hadn't sensed anything. 

"What is it?" she demanded, hefting a stake. Spike turned a slow circle, his vampiric visage shimmering into place as a low growl worked its way out of his throat. 

"Dunno...something's watchin' us." As one the three formed a loose circle, back to back. Now Buffy felt something too...the hair on the back of her neck prickled unpleasantly; not exactly a demon vibe, but something was out there, watching, waiting. The street suddenly seemed to quiet, the shadows darker than usual. 

None of them even had a chance to *think* about reacting when the attack finally came. There was a flash of searing cold, and then Buffy was flying through the air. She landed roughly several yards away, but was on her feet again in almost the same instant. 

"What the bleedin' hell?!" Spike looked around frantically, but there was nothing on the street but them. No vampires, no demons, not even a gods be damned cat. Cursing violently, he ran towards the Slayer, dragging Xander along behind him. Almost as soon as they started moving, their assailant came around for another go. It was only his enhanced night vision and countless years of watching his back that enabled Spike to see the...whatever-it-was coming at them again. He threw himself face first to the ground, pulling Xander down with him. Again, the sensation of Arctic cold passed over them and Spike felt something not quite solid brush the back of his neck. An eerie shriek of rage echoed around them, unlike anything Spike could ever remember hearing. 

"What *is* that?" Xander shouted as the two climbed to their feet once again. Buffy skidded to a halt in front of them, anxiously looking for something to put her fist through. 

"I think the relevant question is *where * is it, luv." The street was once again silent, save for the ragged breath of the two humans. Spike growled again and was about to suggest they make a break for it, when Xander grabbed Buffy's arm and pointed over the vampire's shoulder. 

"There! Left of that streetlight," he whispered urgently. Buffy and Spike whipped around and stared into the pool of shadows just outside the yellow-orange circle of light cast by the bulb. After a few seconds, they saw it. A barely visible patch of darker than dark, with the faintest hint of deep red outlining it. If Xander hadn't happened to be facing directly towards it, he never would have been able to spot it. 

Buffy's lips narrowed into a grim line and she suddenly hurled her stake towards the patch. It tumbled end over end, flying with deadly accuracy, and the three heard a satisfying screech as the wood plunged point first, dead center into the shadow. 

Buffy charged forward, closely followed by Spike and Xander. That strategy was quickly thrown out, however, as the stake clattered to the ground and the patch of darkness moved, almost seeming to shrink before their very eyes. 

"I don't like this," Spike muttered. 

"Maybe we scared it off," Buffy answered tersely. 

"Uh-huh, and on it's at this point that the scary killer usually jumps out and ruthlessly slaughters the overconfident heroes. Don't you watch Monster Vision, Buff?" A viscous, black liquid suddenly boiled over the curb, pouring down from the sidewalk into the street. "Why can't I ever be right about *good* things?" The slime oozed towards them, bubbling up over itself and *growing*. A wet, heaping mass rose up from the concrete, larger by the second. The deep scarlet around the edges began spreading, branching out in a vein-like pattern through the black. The mass ballooned to a nearly seven foot tall, humanoid frame. Thick limbs sprouted from the barrel-chested torso and what looked to be a head reared up from that. Two burning pits of the same scarlet light settled into a face that was otherwise without feature and still the liquid bubbled and writhed even as it solidified. 

"And *again* with the making a relatively easy to 'andle threat into a big soddin' monster! Keep your stabbing to vampires y'damn git!" 

"You think this is *my * fault?!" 

"Guys, Slay now, argue later, k?" Good point. The demon stalked forward, a sibilant hiss issuing from it...which was an interesting feat considering it didn't have a mouth. Buffy met it with a hard left hook, quickly followed by a knee to the gut. The "flesh" of the demon gave with a sick sucking sound wherever she hit it, but the demon barely swayed under the assault. The Slayer backed up a step and let fly with a roundhouse to the juncture between hip and thigh. It should have dislocated the thing's leg. 

Instead, her foot sank into the demon up to her ankle and she was jerked off balance. It reached down and gripped her calf, and Buffy felt an icy sting where the demon's hand met the flesh left bare by her Capri pants. She shouted in alarm as it jerked her up and threw her aside like a rag doll. 

"Well, that's not good," Spike said as Xander rushed to Buffy's side. Deciding to forgo fancy attacks, the vampire went back to basics. He tackled the thing. They both went down hard and Spike used his forward momentum to somersault over the demon's head and back onto his feet. Instantly, he pulled a stake out of his pocket and dove to his knees, driving the wood straight through the demon's throat as he went. He heard the point of it crack on the asphalt beneath them and the thick black liquid began to seep out from under the demon's neck. 

"That's sorta anticlimactic," Xander said from beside his position beside the fallen Slayer. Just as the demon's "blood" suddenly came alive on the ground, forming thick tendrils that shot up and wrapped around the vampire's wrists where he was still holding onto the stake. 

"Oh you're kiddin' me!" Spike jerked back, but the demon held him tight. Faster than one would think something of that size could move, the thing lurched to its feet and gripped Spike by the shoulders. Seconds later the vampire found himself flying into one of the many stone benches set up along the sidewalk. He heard the crunch of ribs breaking as his head cracked painfully against the back of the bench and then he was on the ground, arms clutched around his middle. The pain started to fade almost instantly as his bones re-knitted themselves, but for the time being, he was out of the fight. Dimly, he heard Xander shout Buffy's name and the sounds of battle resumed. 

* * * 

For the second time that night, Buffy had hit the pavement...hard. Her leg and arm were badly skinned, and one of her favorite blouses was now ruined, torn and spotted with grit and blood. All were contributing factors to her being one very pissed off Slayer. Even as the demon was lifting Spike off of the ground, she was moving again. As Spike went flying, so did she. Both her feet connected solidly with the demon's back and it went sprawling. Buffy twisted in mid-air, landed, catlike, on her feet and immediately dropped into a fighting stance. Xander tossed her yet another stake as the demon began to get up again. 

She rushed forward before it succeeded and launched into a flurry of powerful kicks along its face and chest. It hissed again and suddenly rolled away and back to its feet. Buffy followed, but this time the demon was ready for her. Kicks were blocked, punches simply shrugged off and Buffy had a very bad feeling growing in her gut. She didn't think they could win against this thing. Spike was incapacitated, her attacks didn't seem to be having much effect, and even if Xander hadn't been showing the good sense to stay back, she wouldn't want him anywhere near the thing. She had never seen anything like this. 

She was being forced back up the street as the demon pressed its advantage. Now she was the one blocking and dodging a furious attack. A vicious right cross connected with her cheek and Buffy saw stars. She stumbled back, wide open for the killing blow. Surprisingly, the demon didn't go for it. Instead, it circled around her warily, those strange burning pits focused on her every move. Buffy rubbed her jaw and shook her head to clear it. There *had* to be a way to kill this thing. Or, barring that, a way to distract it long enough for them to make a break for it. Some answers from her Watcher would be very welcome at the moment. Gritting her teeth, she charged back into the fray. 

"Buffy, look out!" Xander's warning came too late. Buffy charged straight into a set of rope-like tentacles that had sprouted from the thing's chest. They wrapped around her throat and lifted her off the ground. Gasping for breath, Buffy wrenched her body in every direction, trying to dislodge their viselike grip. She clawed ineffectually, as her lungs began to scream for oxygen. Black spots began to dance across her vision and the tentacles wound still tighter, choking the last vestiges of breath from her. "Let her go!" 

Something slammed into them and then she was dropped. For the third time, Buffy hit the ground and lay gulping the sweet, cool air. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Xander and the demon rolling away in a tangle of limbs and fear for her friend drove her back up. 

"Xander!" Buffy didn't notice that her cry was echoed by Spike, who was just climbing back to his feet as well. The two stopped with the hulking demon on top of Xander...and now he was the one being choked. The demon's thick hands completely encircled his throat, throttling the boy. Xander was punching at the demon's face as hard as he could, his feet flailing, but it was a losing battle. The demon leapt up, dragging Xander with it, and held the boy several feet off the ground. Buffy was running towards them, Spike close on her heels, when she saw Xander's hand snake down to his jeans pocket. His lips were taking on an unhealthy blue tinge, but he still managed to pull a small vial of holy water out, open it, and upend it over the demon's face. Once again, the chilling howl of pain filled the air, and it was Xander's turn to get up close and personal with the pavement as the demon dropped him to clutch at its face. Barely pausing, the boy lurched back up and threw himself at the demon's middle. Once more, the two went sprawling...right into the circle of light cast by one of the streetlamps. 

The howl intensified. The demon writhed under the light, its body hissing and bubbling angrily. Xander pulled himself to his knees just in time to be thrown back into another stone bench as one of the demon's flailing legs connected with his chest. Xander tumbled back to the ground, holding one of his own legs tight to his chest. Buffy skidded to a halt just outside the light, while Spike shoved past her and knelt at Xander's side. The demon was dissolving before her very eyes, back into the strange, black liquid, and then into an oily cloud of black smoke. With one last shriek, the demon launched itself into the air, blending into the nightsky almost instantly. 

* * * 

Spike knew he and the Slayer should probably be attempting to follow the demon...to see where it ran if nothing else. He couldn't bring himself to care, however. Not when Xander was lying on the ground, teeth clenched, eyes screwed shut, and in obvious pain. He was rocking back and forth on the ground, his knee pulled tightly to his chest and his breath hissed in an out of his teeth as he tried to keep from screaming. 

"Oi, let me see, mate. What'd you do?" Gently, Spike pried the boy's hands from his knee, and ran his own hands up and down the limb, searching for serious damage. He let out a relieved sigh when he could find no obvious breaks or bleeding. 

"Hit the bench pretty hard," Xander finally gasped out. "I think I wrenched my knee." Spike helped him sit up against the bench and once again pressed his hands to the boy's leg. His knee was already beginning to swell. 

"I think you're right, pet. Doesn't look too bad...put a wrap on it an' you'll be all right." 

"Are you okay?" Buffy knelt beside them and gripped her friend's hand, performing her own anxious search for obvious wounds. 

"I'll be fine, Buff. Gimme an Ace bandage and a few days and I'll be good as new. Take one for the home team, and all." 

"What were you thinking?!" Satisfied that Xander was in no immediate danger, Buffy sat back, her hands on her hips, a stern glare settling on her face. 

"Um, that your eyes were about to pop out of your skull and I should do something?" 

"And what if that thing hadn't gone all poof when you rolled it under the streetlamp?" Xander shrugged sheepishly. 

"I figured it would do *something* when it hit the light." 

"Why's that?" 

"When he clocked you...you went right under the lamp, and it stopped. It had you and it just waited. Had to be a reason." Buffy sighed, and her expression softened. 

"Good thinking...just try not to wait so long next time." She gently touched the raw, chapped marks on his throat, the mirror images of which she herself was wearing. Idly, she wondered if they should go get checked for frostbite. That thing had been *cold.* 

"No arguments there...now shouldn't we be having a conversation with the G-Man right about now?" 

"He's right, Slayer. No tellin' where that thing'll pop up next. *I've* never seen one of those before; we'd better find out what the flamin' Hell it is." Buffy nodded and went to gather up their scattered stakes, while Spike helped Xander up. The vampire firmly resisted the impulse to just sweep the boy up into his arms. Xander probably wouldn't appreciate being carried like a child, no matter how much his leg hurt. Instead, he settled for pulling Xander's arm over his shoulders and wrapping an arm around the boy's waist. And who cared if he held the boy a bit closer than was strictly necessary? Didn't want him to fall. 

***************** 

Part Two

Giles' glasses were now quite possibly the cleanest surfaces on the face of the planet. As she watched him take them off and polish them for the fifth time in as many minutes, Willow couldn't help but wonder if he wouldn't rub a hole through them eventually. The Watcher hadn't gone into the reason for his obvious agitation over the phone, nor had he opted to tell her and Tara when they had arrived, muttering something about not wanting to have to explain things twice. So they sat in Giles' living room, waiting for Buffy, Spike, and Xander to return. Willow was starting to get nervous...there was definitely an air of "bad" in the room. As if reading her thoughts, Tara reached over and gently squeezed her knee, offering small, reassuring smile. 

Willow smiled back, then brought her girlfriend's hand to her lips and kissed her fingers. 

It was at that moment, as Giles was in the middle of yet another glasses-polishing, that the door burst open and the others at last arrived. Willow and Tara were on their feet in an instant, letting out twin cries of alarm. Buffy was bruised and bloodied, her blouse torn in several places. An equally bedraggled Spike was half-carrying Xander, who was doing his best not to put any weight on his right leg.

"Good Lord, what happened?" Giles asked immediately, as Willow rushed back to the bathroom for the first aid kit. Spike helped Xander over to the recently vacated couch and the teenager collapsed against the cushions with a grateful sigh. Buffy sank down into Giles' armchair and began peeling the sleeve of her blouse back from her skinned arm. She winced as the now crusted blood and dirt came away with the material and a few of the deeper cuts began oozing again. Willow bustled back in and was quickly at the Slayer's side with antibiotic ointment and bandaids.

"Not a lot-- dusted a vamp outside the Bronze...stopped for some window shopping over on Fifth... oh, and then we got attacked by a very pissed off pile of JELLO. How's your evening going?" Xander hissed as Tara tucked a small pillow under his knee, elevating it a bit.

"I'll go get you an ice-pack," the blonde witch said quietly. 

"Thanks." 

"I'm sorry-JELLO? Did you hit your head?" 

"Demon...high on the quivering slime factor. High on the not-so-quivering slime factor too, actually," Buffy supplied. Giles rolled his eyes at the vague description.

"Shapeshifter of some kind. Thought it was a wraith at first...all wispy an' such. Divebombed us a bit, then 'lil miss Stake Happy over there stabs it an' we've got a nice puddle of slime that suddenly turns into a *huge soddin' monster*. Big bloke, red an' black. Strong too...an' he 'ad this fun little feature where bits of 'im...grew. Threw us 'round a bit more, then Xander 'ere pushes the tosser under a lamp an'"

"Poof! He acts like we tossed him into a barrel of acid and goes all smokey again," Buffy interrupted Spike, oblivious to the fact that her Watcher had been growing progressively paler as they spoke. When she looked up, however, he was as white as a sheet. "Giles?"

"You know what it is? Or are you just 'avin a stroke?" Spike's tone indicated that either option would be satisfactory. Giles sank down next to Xander and began rubbing his temples.

"Not what-who." A collective groan went up from the teenagers assembled. 

"Wait lemme guess-there's an ancient prophecy somewhere that says this thing is here to open the Hellmouth and we have to stop it in any number of wildly bizarre, life-threatening ways or else the world will end. Right?" Xander accepted the towel-wrapped ice pack Tara held out to him with a smile of gratitude and placed it on his still denim-clad knee.

"No-no prophecy...I'm afraid this, this was wholly unexpected," Giles answered quietly. "I received a letter from an old colleague of mine today and it contained some very disturbing news. A retired Watcher by the name of Michael James died last week. He had in his estate several items of incredible power, weapons and books and such. Before the Watchers were able to clear them out, his granddaughter put the entire lot up for auction. Fortunately, the Council was able to recover all but one of the truly dangerous objects. An urn that had been in the James family's keeping for two centuries was unaccounted for."

"And this urn just 'appened to contain the demon," Spike muttered in disgust, fishing around in his pockets for one of his ever-present smokes.

"Unfortunately, yes. The demon you encountered was actually once human; a warlock by the name of Gregory Caedin. He was truly gifted, especially in the darker side of the occult. The man literally sold his soul to the forces of evil, in exchange for the power you yourselves witnessed tonight. He cut a swath of destruction across Europe the likes of which hadn't been seen since the Black Plague until he was bound into the urn by a powerful spell. My friend knew that if Caedin were loosed, this would be the first place he would head for. Eric had hoped that we could track him down while he was still relatively vulnerable, and bind him again."

"Okay, no problem. Will and Tara make with the Wicca and we'll send Slimer back to merry old England."

"I really don't know that it will be that simple. The caster who first bound him was nearly killed in the attempt...the sheer amount of power it took left them drained to the point of death." Tara paled visibly at the news and Willow swallowed hard. The two witches looked at each other, sharing a silent communication, then nodded decisively.

"We can do it," Willow said, settling firmly into "resolve-face" mode. Tara sat down next to her girlfriend and entwined their hands, looking slightly nervous, but no less determined. Giles frowned, obviously wanting to protest, but perfectly aware that he couldn't. There really was no other choice; the spell needed to be cast, and the two girls were the only ones who could do it.

For the thousandth time that night, Giles silently cursed the Watcher's Council and their carelessness. James had indeed been a legend when Giles was still in training, but by the time he had left for Sunnydale, the man was more than half-senile. He'd had no business guarding some of the things in his house. And from what Giles remembered of Karen James, he really didn't understand how the Council could *possibly* have expected her to act responsibly when it came to the artifacts in her grandfather's possession. Recriminations would have to wait, however.

Right now, he had a spell to prepare. 

* * * 

He watched the apartment complex silently, one with the darkness, held in the embrace of the shadows. The mortal boy had hurt him, but his strength was growing by the minute. They would not harm him a second time. Let them bring down the noonday sun upon him, let them bathe him in holy water blessed by the Pope himself...it would do no good. For he had drank deeply of the power contained in this small place, the nourishing energy of Hell itself was flowing through him. It had been foolish to attack his enemies before that energy had restored him. It was a mistake he had made once before, and he had paid for his arrogance with his long imprisonment. Now, however, now he was ready for them. He still had not achieved his full potential, but these humans needed to be dealt with as soon as possible. He recognized that these were possibly the only ones who could threaten his power. No more. Caedin let himself drift out of the sweet darkness, into the light cast by the streetlamps.

And did not even flinch under the glow. 

Not at his full potential, no. But more than powerful enough to kill every being in this place.

* * * 

As Giles, Tara, and Willow began going over the binding spell Giles' friend had provided, Xander levered himself off the couch. Holding onto the back of it, began awkwardly hobbling/hopping towards the bathroom, where he knew Giles kept several Ace bandages. His knee may not have been seriously injured, but God it *hurt*! After the fifth step he was tempted to just throw the whole manly act to the wind and beg Buffy to go get the wrap for him. But Giles had already enlisted his Slayer in ingredients detail. Spell-to-stop-evil-murdering-demon was a bit more important than help-Xander-fix-up-bum-leg. Damn, had the bathroom moved since he was here last? He was positive he didn't remember it being that far away from the couch.

Suddenly, for the second time that night, Spike's arm encircled his waist and the vampire half-lifted him, taking all the weight off his abused leg.

"Thanks," he breathed. Hopefully, Giles had aspirin in his medicine cabinet. One about the size of New Jersey should do the trick.

"You should probably go get that X-rayed tomorrow...might 'ave torn something." The concern was still something Xander was getting used to. Spike still missed no opportunity to needle, threaten, and generally annoy the others, but there was no longer anything but friendly teasing directed at him. Oh, Spike still needled, threatened, and annoyed him...but there was never any venom in the words. And it was completely mutual. He didn't think the others had quite realized it yet, but he and Spike were...friends. He, Xander Harris, was friends with William the Bloody. Spike was probably the best guy friend he'd had since Jesse died. Only on the Hellmouth.

Of course, he'd never thought about Jesse the way he thought about Spike. 

"Nah, I've had a torn ligament before; believe me, I'd know if it were that bad. The whole neighborhood would know if it were that bad." Ah yes, that had been one of his better Christmases...he'd spent it in the hospital after his Dad had pushed him down the stairs on Christmas Eve. Hospital turkey was light-years better than his Mom's was.

They made it to the bathroom and Spike settled him on the toilet seat then began rummaging through the various drawers underneath the sink. After a few moments, he fished out one of the tan bandages and handed it to Xander. The boy accepted it and jerked his head pointedly towards the door. Spike put on a mock pout and shook his head mournfully.

"What, no floor show?" 

'*Anytime you want.*' "Like I'm gonna strip to my skivvies in front of the evil undead."

"Yeah, right. You think I don't know about those Digimon boxers?" 

"Hah! As if I would support the franchising of such a ridiculous show!" Xander looked rather affronted. "They're *Pokemon*. Now, out! Go annoy Buffy or something."

"Ooh, there's a thought." Spike tipped him a salute and shut the door. A few heartbeats later Buffy's voice rose up in an indignant shriek. Xander chuckled and began peeling off his jeans, deliriously grateful that they were about half a size too big. Shouldn't be much of a problem to get them back over the wrap. His knee was turning a truly fantastic shade of purplish-blue and the joint had already swelled up considerably. Some ice would probably take care of that tonight, though. He expertly wound the Ace bandage around his leg and fastened it, then hitched himself up to the sink and opened the medicine cabinet. Sure enough, Giles had a nice big bottle of Advil sitting on the center shelf, and Xander helped himself.

He absently whistled under his breath as he carefully pulled his jeans back up over the bulky bandage, gearing himself up for the fun little walk back to the couch that was in store for him. And damn it, how was he going to get back home tonight? Giles still hadn't replaced his car, and there was no way in Hell he wanted to risk exposing any innocent pedestrians to his father's driving. Maybe he'd get lucky and Spike would take him home...he'd have the whole walk to enjoy the feel of those strong arms around him and...time to derail that train of thought. Going back to the living room while sporting a tent pole in his pants was not high on his to-do list. So caught up was he in thoughts of his Aunt Gertrude (whom he was sure could make quite a living as a Sumo wrestler) in a thong, that at first the sound didn't register.

It was only a whisper of a sound, really. A soft, tinny clinking, remarkable only in the fact that he couldn't remember Giles' pipes ever being noisy. He leaned over the tub, frowning, as the sound got louder, and was suddenly accompanied by an odd slurping. Seemed to be coming from the faucet...

Xander remembered the sheer stupidity factor of checking out odd noises in Sunnydale by oneself in about the same instant as the reason for said stupidity factor made itself known. He stumbled back as the faucet of Giles' bathtub quite literally exploded, gushing an all-too-familiar black slime. For a second he was reminded of a scene in Ghostbusters II and a bubble of hysterical laughter welled up in his throat. There were better things he could be doing with his throat, though.

"Guys! It's here!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, even as he lunged for the door. The demon was faster, however, and a thick tendril shot out from the tub, slamming the door shut just as he wrenched it open. The slime spilled forth onto the floor and Caedin's humanoid form rose up, while the tendril wound itself around Xander's arm and jerked him off-balance. Better things still to do with his throat. "*Help*!" He furiously tore at the tendril holding his arm, but to no avail. Wherever he managed to loosen it, it simply moved to a new place and wound tighter. Other, thicker ropes of slime were winding their way up his legs and waist, and in a panic he threw his whole body backwards, hoping to tear himself out of Caedin's grip. Dimly, he heard Buffy shouting and someone was pounding on the door. A solid thump and the sounds of wood beginning to splinter told him that the Slayer was probably trying to kick down the door, but abruptly, it didn't matter so much.

The demon simply shrugged off his wild attempt to free himself and Xander was jerked back forward. Those burning, scarlet eyes focused on him and then he was pulled flush with the demon's body. He punched out at Caedin's chest as hard as he could, but his fist only sank into his "flesh." And kept sinking.

"Help *now* please!" Willow was screaming his name, and still Buffy was kicking at the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Xander could see that Caedin was holding it shut with more of the tendrils. The demon was wrapping itself around him now, so cold his arm had already gone numb up to the elbow. He wrenched, flailed and pulled, studiously ignoring the agony flaring in his knee, but still the slime crept up over his body. His arms were completely submersed, his legs and chest rapidly following, and God it was so cold. Caedin looked down at him once again, and Xander had the distinct impression of a cruel smirk, despite his lack of a mouth.

"Tell me child...do you fear death?" The voice came out of nowhere and everywhere, harsh and broken, as if it were coming from a throat full of broken glass.

And then, Xander couldn't breathe. 


**************** 

Part Three

Buffy kicked the door again, as hard as she could. Something was blocking it from the inside and though the latch was little more than twisted metal and splinters, their path was still blocked. Xander was no longer screaming for help, and the silence fueled Buffy's determination as nothing else could have. Behind her, Willow and Tara were scrambling for the coffee table and the spell components laid out on it. She heard Willow shouting for matches as Tara began chanting in Latin. She kicked out again and finally felt the door give a little. She didn't know how long the binding spell would take; they had to get to Xander now.

"C'mon, Slayer. On three!" Spike shoved past Giles and joined her at the door. As one, they backed up a step and on the count of three let loose with twin kicks that shattered the bathroom door. Caedin stood in the center of the small room, hunched over something. The scarlet glow that shot through his black body stronger and brighter now. As Buffy and Spike charged forward, Caedin's head snapped up and a low hiss sounded as the hellish red eyes narrowed in hate. The demon's threatening actions weren't what held their attention, however. Buffy almost screamed as the back of Xander's head sank out of view, completely swallowed up by Caedin's semi-liquid body. The demon had literally just absorbed her friend.

An eerie, chill laughter echoed around them, from no apparent source. The sound seemed to surround them, coming from all directions at once.

"Let him go!" Buffy demanded, fire in her eyes promising the demon a slow, painful death if he did not comply with her wishes.

"Yeah, that'll work," Spike hissed tightly. Caedin cocked his head to one side, and again the laughter filled the air.

"Surely you jest. If you want your friend back, come and get him. Do hurry up, though Slayer. Humans don't seem to last very long without air." In that instant, a rope of slime shot out from Caedin's hand, catching both Buffy and Spike high across the chest. The two flew backwards, knocked into Giles, and landed in a tangled heap on the floor. Caedin stalked forward out of the bathroom just as Buffy and Spike regained their footing. They split up and circled around the demon warily, each painfully aware of the seconds ticking by. How long *could* Xander hold his breath?

* * * 

The answer was: not as long as things seemed to be taking. Xander tried to thrash his way free, but was held firm. Somehow, suffocation by JELL-O had never made it to his "Possible Ways To Die on the Hellmouth" list. Huh, or maybe he was being eaten by JELL-O? Well, Willow always had said the junk food would kill him one of these days. For a moment, he thought he heard Buffy's voice, dim and far off, as though he was hearing it through water.

It was enough to inspire him to renew his struggles briefly, but he quickly had to admit defeat. His lungs were beginning to burn, and his blood pounded in his head. He needed to *breathe*. And cold, he was so cold. Too cold to even hurt anymore; his body had gone completely numb. The demand for oxygen was becoming worse...it felt as though his lungs would burst from his chest if he tried to hold his breath any longer. For a moment it was as if he were in the bathtub at the frat party again, being held under water by phantom hands. But that water had been warm, and this was so, so cold. He wondered vaguely if he hadn't turned to ice. Whoa, no one had ever told him you went completely loopy before you smothered to death.

"*Do you fear death?*" He wasn't sure if the demon were speaking to him again, or if his own mind had come up with the grating whisper. However, no, in this moment he wasn't afraid of death. This, this was just floating; swimming in Arctic waters...he couldn't feel much of anything anymore. Except he really needed to breathe...breathing was good. He had to...what? The icy waters finally closed over him, and he couldn't really remember why he had been trying so hard to breathe. Wasn't really necessary anymore.

* * * 

Spike circled to the left warily, as Buffy did the same on the right. The demon completely ignored the Slayer and focused that burning gaze straight on him, an air of lazy confidence in its stance. Caedin wasn't making a move, nor did he seem truly prepared for them to make theirs. Spike knew better. He was a master at this cat and mouse game, although he had very rarely played the part of the mouse. He didn't like the feeling any better now than he had the previous times. In the background, Willow's voice had joined Tara's in the chanting, and Spike's hair stood up on end as he sensed the power beginning to gather in the room.

Caedin, however, seemed unconcerned. 

Which was setting off a five-alarm warning in Spike's head. He ticked off another minute in his silent count; how many was that now? Three? Four? How long could Xander hold his breath? Regardless, the boy was running out of time...he and the Slayer had to do something, and do it *now*.

Buffy seemed to have the same thought, for in that instant she charged. At the same time, Giles dove for his weapons locker and snatched up a battleaxe someone had forgotten to put away. He tossed it and Buffy deftly plucked it out of the air as Caedin whirled around to face her, a veritable nest of slimy tendrils sprouting from his arms and torso. Instead of directly attacking, Buffy lapsed into defensive dodging and weaving, hacking at the tendrils whenever possible and slowly working her way forward. Within seconds, the floor at her feet was littered with semi-solid clumps of the demon.

Spike's strategy was less intricate. As soon as the demon's attention was on Buffy, he launched himself at Caedin's back. He made contact in the same instant Buffy lost her footing to a particularly thick tendril. The demon staggered under his sudden weight, but without Buffy to draw Caedin's attention, Spike found himself wrenched up and hurled over his shoulder. He managed a truly spectacular twist in midair and landed on his feet, but was instantly pulled back towards the demon. Caedin pulled Spike close, his slick hands tight around the vampire's throat.

"Do you value a mortal's life so?" Caedin's horrible, broken rasp whispered in the air in front of Spike's face. Buffy was doggedly trying to get up, hindered by the demon's tentacles. The chanting had reached a fever pitch, and a hot wind began howling through the room. Still, Caedin made no move towards the two witches. "I can hear his heart slowing. The breath thinning within his body. Does this truly mean something to you, vampire?" Spike snarled at the demon and transferred his weight to the balls of his feet. With all his strength, he hauled back and punched Caedin in the hollow of his throat. The demon laughed maliciously as his fist simply sank into the flesh, but Spike wasn't done yet.

With a wild roar, he pushed himself forward, knifing into the demon's chest and abdomen. His other arm shot out wildly and connected with something reassuringly solid in the sickening jelly-like mass of Caedin's body. He hooked his arm around whatever part of Xander's anatomy he had hit and pushed forward. For a precious few seconds all he knew was blinding, bitter cold; then his face hit air. He somersaulted with his momentum, pulling Xander free of the demon, as Caedin howled his anger. They landed in a heap on the floor and Spike rolled them towards Willow and Tara. The wind picked up, blazingly hot now, and the witches' voices were echoing around them.

"Now, Red!" Spike shouted, as Buffy and Giles scrambled towards them. He pulled Xander's limp body closer and shielded him as best he could. The wind swirled around them at near-cyclone force and a halo of bright white light was surrounding Willow and Tara. As one, the two witches pointed at Caedin and the light shot forth, engulfing the demon. The heat became almost unbearable as their ears were nearly split by a disembodied shriek of power.

The light flared, a supernova right in Giles' livingroom, and Willow and Tara collapsed backwards, spent. The wind blew itself out in one great gust, and the shriek died away into silence. The light sparked white, green, and violet, then shimmered out of existence as well.

And Caedin, unhurt and standing tall in the center of the room, laughed. 

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

Part Four

"Oh *shit*." Not the most intelligent thing he had ever uttered, but Spike thought it summed up the situation perfectly. Caedin laughed and laughed, the cold, hollow sound a death knell is Giles' otherwise silent apartment. Buffy hefted her axe again, already gearing up for another fight. Behind them, Willow and Tara were slowly regaining their senses; Willow was already up on her knees. A horrified gasp worked its way out of her throat when she saw the creature in front of them.

"Willow, *do* something," Buffy hissed.

"I-I don't understand! It should have worked!" Willow scrambled for the notes lying next to several lit candles even as the demon stalked forward. Spike jumped to his feet and moved in front of Xander and the witches, while Buffy made to intercept Caedin. Surprisingly, however the demon stopped a mere foot from Buffy, completely focused on the Slayer. Without warning, he lunged, wrapping a massive hand around the back of her head dragging her face forward until it was inches from his own.

"Check, Slayer. Your move." Caedin then threw her violently backwards, into Giles, and melted back into a viscous liquid, then to smoke. The black cloud hovered in Giles' living room for a few seconds, then sped to the window and through the cracks, back into the night. The Scooby Gang was still, waiting for Caedin to return.

When it became apparent that they were, for the moment, safe, there was a flurry of movement. Willow and Tara lurched to their feet, leaning heavily on each other, while Giles and Buffy disentangled themselves. For his part, Spike had diverted his attention back to Xander the instant the demon had dissipated. For the second time that night, he knelt at the boy's side.

Xander's body was coated with Caedin's strange black slime, his clothes soaked, and Spike could see his hands and face had taken on an unhealthy blue tinge. He was drawing in harsh stuttering gasps between bouts of violent coughing and tremors shook his entire frame so hard it was a wonder his teeth weren't knocking loose. Spike unceremoniously hauled him to his knees and began pounding lightly on his back, wincing at the iciness of the boy's skin, even through the layers of wet cloth. Xander coughed harder, and retched up a fair amount of the same black slime. The others crowded around them and Buffy reached out to soothingly rub the back of his neck as Xander finally cleared his lungs.

"Oh God, Xander, are you all right?" Willow sounded on the verge of tears.

"C-c-cold," he stuttered miserably, still shaking.

"Get him upstairs and into something dry," Giles snapped. "Willow, go and fetch the electric blanket out of my linen closet, please." Willow nodded shakily and hurried out of the room, still staggering slightly from the effects of the spell. Without being told, an unsteady Tara headed for the kitchen, and the teakettle Giles always left out. Spike and Buffy helped Xander to his feet and started towards the stairs. His shivering fairly vibrated the other two and Spike was certain that even his own cool hands felt like branding irons on Xander's skin.

"D-d-did s-someone tattoo 'a-a-buse me' on m-my f-f-forehead when I w-wasn't l-l-looking?" Xander chattered as they made their way to Giles' bedroom. Buffy laughed, weakly.

"You *do* seem to have a pretty big bullseye on you, Xan." Her expression turned pained and she tightened the arm around his waist convulsively, heedless of the goop that was soaking into her own blouse. "Are you okay?"

"M-m-me? I'm j-just p-peachy."

"I'm sorry," Buffy said softly. "I should've been able to kill it."

"W-w-we'll get him, Buff. N-n-no w-worries." Buffy smiled and hugged him again, then let go and darted ahead of them into Giles' room. Xander leaned tiredly against Spike, still shaking like a leaf. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"For what?"

"S-s-saving m-my ass. I owe y-you one."

"You owe me six, actually. But who's counting?" Buffy was waiting for them at the bedroom door with a pair of Giles' sweats and a wet towel.

"There's more towels in the bathroom; I'm going to go find out what the hell went wrong with the spell."

Spike settled Xander on the impeccably made bed and handed him the towel, setting the sweats to the side. Xander clumsily wiped his hands and face off, then scrubbed his hair as best he could. He then handed the cloth over for Spike to do the same and began unbuttoning his shirt. Spike watched the mortal's hands fumble at the top button; Xander was still shivering too hard to accomplish even that task.

"Dammit," he said in disgust. Spike gently pushed his trembling hands aside and unbuttoned the shirt himself, helping Xander out of it and his undershirt. The boy blushed slightly and ducked his head. Ordinarily, stripping Xander on a bed would have been the stuff of treasured fantasies, but at the moment, all Spike was concentrating on was getting the boy into something warm and dry. Xander managed the fly of his jeans on his own and Spike discreetly turned around as he struggled out of them and into the clean clothes. The shivering slowly eased and some of the color started to come back to his skin.

Spike quickly pulled off his own black t-shirt, deliriously grateful that his duster was safely hanging on the Watcher's coat rack. There was nothing to be done about his jeans, but he fished a clean shirt out of the neatly folded pile of laundry sitting by the dresser and put it on. When he turned back, Xander was hunched over, arms wrapped around his middle, obviously staying upright by sheer force of will as the night's events finally caught up with him.

"How's the leg?"

"Unfortunately, still attached."

"Let's get you downstairs, see if Giles has anything stronger than aspirin."

Spike leaned down and pulled Xander off the bed.

"Just so you know, I *can* walk. I just don't want you to feel useless."

"That's very considerate of you, Pet," Spike laughed. The two limped down the stairs and were met at the bottom by one Willow Rosenberg in full mother-hen mode. Within a scarily short amount of time, Xander was bundled up on the couch, a fluffy pillow under his knee and a mug of steaming herbal tea in his hand. He grimaced at the beverage, but drank it all under Willow's watchful eye. Only after the redheaded witch was satisfied that her childhood friend was warm and comfortable did they address the matter at hand.

"What happened Willow? Why didn't it work?" There was no accusation in Buffy's voice, but Willow rushed to defend herself anyway.

"I don't know. We did everything right, I know we did!"

"She's right Buffy," Tara said quietly from her position beside Willow. The two were perched on Giles' coffee table, as close as they could possibly get without being in each other's laps. Willow clutched the notes from the spell in a white-knuckled grip. "Giles and I went over the incantation five times. Willow had the list of spell components."

"And checked it twice," Xander piped up. He blinked innocently at the *looks* everyone shot him. "What? You all *know* you wanted to say it."

"Okay fine, the spell was done right," Buffy said. "Again, why didn't it work?" As usual, all eyes turned to Giles. The Watcher cleared his throat and started pacing the length of his living room.

"There is no logical reason for the spell to have failed. It's, it's a simple derivative of the Athenian bindings. It's powerful, yes, but Willow and Tara should have been able to complete it." As Giles railed, Tara had taken the papers from her girlfriend's hands and read them over. As she got to the last parts, her eyes suddenly widened.

"No, it's not," she whispered. The others regarded her curiously.

"It's not what?" Buffy asked.

"It's not an Athenian binding. I-I mean, it is...but it's different." Frowning, Willow took the papers back and Giles hurried over to read over her shoulder. Now that the urgency of the situation had vanished, they quickly spotted what Giles and Tara had missed the first time.

"Someone changed the spell," Willow said. "Look, this last part makes specific reference to Caedin."

"Okay, yay, the spell just binds Slimer instead of every demon on the block.

What does that have to do with the big-show-and-no-delivery-ness?" Xander's voice was thick with exhaustion.

"Someone took a general Athenian binding spell and altered it...specified it for Caedin." Giles trailed off, a look of sudden comprehension and alarm dawning on his face.

"What does that mean?" Buffy asked warily, sure she wasn't going to like the answer.

"Someone made the spell for the demon...something that powerful can only be cast by its creator or their designate," Tara said flatly. Willow paled.

"The only one who can cast the spell is the person who bound Caedin in the first place," Giles said.

"And that would be?" Giles closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

"A Slayer in the early seventeenth century by the name of Emily Beckett."

* * *

Caedin couldn't quite decide if he should feel furious or elated. The witches had been unexpected...and their power far stronger than he would have thought. With time and training, those two could become *his* superiors in the arcane. Their binding spell hadn't worked, but gods below, it had been close. He recognized that spell, had felt its power once before.

And it had cost him centuries of imprisonment.

Oh, but not this time...and not ever again. The creature who had trapped him, the only one who could perform the spell now, was long dead. And now that he had the sense of the two witches' power, he would be able to shield against any further efforts. He had broken his resolve to kill the humans as quickly as possible, true, but their fear had been so *intoxicating.* He had to taste more of it.

He wanted to grind them down, one by one, feed off of their torment.

And now he knew he had all the time in the world to do just that.

* * *

"Okay, and survey says? We're screwed."

"Don't talk like that Xander," Willow admonished, though there was little confidence in her voice.

"Why the Hell not? You 'eard the Watcher, your caster's been dead for four hundred bleedin' years."

"No, there has to be another way. What if Spike and I weakened it first...couldn't Willow come up with another spell?"

"Mmm, yeah, 'cause all that throwing us about like toys was just *exhausting* 'im."

"No Buffy, you don't understand...it's too late. Caedin is an embodiment of dark power. Now that he knows we have Willow and Tara, he'll be able to ward himself from their magics. The only reason the Slayer was able to bind him in the first place was his ignorance of her magical ability. Only the original binding spell could possibly hold him now."

"Well we have to do something!"

"We can." All eyes instantaneously focused on Tara and a deep blush rose in her cheeks. She ducked her head and Willow moved to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist. "That is, um, there's a spell that can help. It's, uh, it's pretty dangerous...b-but after what Giles said I think it's, it's our best shot."

"What spell?" Giles prompted, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"The Ritual of Kronos." Oh. *Oh.*

"Absolutely not!" Giles was shocked that a witch as experienced as Tara could even suggest such a thing. There were records of entire covens being wiped out by attempts to perform that spell.

"Giles, it might be our only chance," Tara protested.

"What's the Ritual of Kronos?" Buffy asked, surprised that her Watcher would be so vehement over a possible plan of action.

"It's far too dangerous to even consider, that's what it is."

"It's, well-let me put it like this: we need this Beckett girl? This spell will bring her here."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, time travel? There are time travel spells and no one ever told us? Will, you've been holding out! Do you know how many tests we could have aced back in high school?"

"Xander, this is no joking matter," Giles snapped, harsher than he had intended.

"No, it's not. The Ritual messes around with the very fabric of reality. The spell itself calls on patronage from several very different sources...and mixing magics is always high risk." Now that she was speaking about her chosen field, Tara's stutter and shy demeanor vanished; here she was on firm footing.

"Well it sounds to me like letting this Caedin guy run around loose is just as high risk," Buffy said briskly. "What do you need for the spell?"

"Buffy, if it were simply a matter of the spell, I'd agree that we have to take the risk...but there's more to it than just mixing magic. In order to bring one soul forward, another must go back. Trade places, in essence," Giles said. And the reason for his reluctance became crystal clear.

"Yes, an equal soul must take the place of the one brought to our time."

"So that means-"

"You'll have to go *back * to the 1600's, Buffy. And if by some chance the other Slayer is killed, which is a very real possibility, you won't be able to come back." Tara's face was grim, and everyone fell into shocked silence. Buffy swallowed hard a few times, but then a familiar glint rose in her eyes.

"I'll do it. What do you need?" Everyone save Tara and Spike protested at once, but Buffy held up a hand to silence them. "We don't have a choice guys. If anyone else has any other ideas, I'm all ears." Continued silence was her answer.

"Giles already has most of the spell components...there are a few things I need to get back at the dorms, and the magic shop should have the rest."

"But they're closed," Willow said.

"I know the owner...she'll let us in if we tell her it's important." With that, the two witches took their leave of the rest of the group, hurrying out the door and back towards the college. Giles headed upstairs to collect the necessary books and ingredients.

"Is there anything we can do, Giles?" Buffy called up after him.

"Pray."

* * *

It was nearly dawn by the time Willow and Tara returned, and Buffy insisted that they start the spell as soon as possible. Spike rather thought the Slayer was afraid she'd lose her nerve. Giles had insisted that he would be needed when it came time to actually perform the ritual, so the vampire had agreed to pass the day in the Watcher's house. At least the man got better reception than his crypt did.

Not that Spike was watching television at the moment.

Xander had fallen asleep on the couch shortly after the two witches had left. Reluctant to wake him, Giles and Buffy had handled most of the preparations. Consequently, when he had woken up, he'd felt horribly guilty for not helping with the work and tried to make up for it by doing everything else. He'd done a fine job too, up until now. Xander was on his hands and knees, well knee really, helping Willow paint a large symbol on Giles' living room floor. And Spike's position in the armchair gave him an excellent view without it being obvious what he was looking at. The boy suddenly turned to look straight at him, eyes narrowed, and for a moment Spike thought he had been caught.

"You *could* give us a hand, here." Xander gripped the arm of the couch and pulled himself off of the floor, still heavily favoring his right leg. Spike relaxed slightly...not caught then, Xander was just hurting and didn't want to crawl around on the floor anymore. Surprisingly, Spike didn't want him crawling around on that knee, either. So, instead of snapping out one of his usual insulting zingers, he got up, took Xander's place, and began carefully painting over the lines Willow had traced in chalk earlier. He was utterly disgusted with himself.

Not that he was bothered by his *wanting* the boy...he and Dru had both been planning to take the Slayer's dark-haired friend to their bed after the Slayer was killed. They'd often enjoyed trysts with their victims before killing them, both separately and together. Threesomes were so much fun. Their Sire's unexpected return had put a damper on those plans, however.

No, what bothered him was this-the concern, the protectiveness, the friendship...dammit he liked the boy! Right after the fiasco with that twat Adam, the job of providing blood for him had fallen to Xander. A single chance conversation sparked by Xander's catching him reading the latest X-Men comic had turned into a nightly ritual. He'd spent more time in the boy's company in the past month than he'd spent in any mortal's company in the past century.

And lustful want was becoming a consuming need. He, Spike, William the Bloody, Master vampire...was hopelessly in love with a nineteen year old human. This *had * to be a chart topper on the Cosmic Humor scale.

Willow watched his work like a hawk, checking and re-checking her diagrams to make sure they were painting the correct symbols in the correct places. She barked out orders like a drill Sargent, determined that nothing should further endanger her friend. As Spike was finishing with the paint, Xander and Tara began setting out candles and pots of herbs around the large circle of arcane symbols. Giles and Willow were going over the necessary texts with a fine-toothed comb, clearing pronunciations and timing with fervent intensity.

When the time came to actually perform the spell, however, everyone hesitated. This was perhaps the most dangerous task they had ever undertaken. Even summoning the spirit of the Slayer powers had not been so high-risk. If the spell itself didn't kill them all, Buffy could still end up trapped in the past, with no way to retrieve her.

There was no other way, however.

One by one, her friends stepped forward and hugged the Slayer tightly, murmuring words of encouragement and wishes for luck. Willow's eyes were shimmering, but she firmly promised that no harm would come to Buffy during the spell. The Slayer had called Riley and her mother (who was on a business trip in New York) just after dawn, to tell them that she loved them, but no mention had been made of what she was about to do. There was nothing they could do but worry, and Buffy wanted to spare her boyfriend and mother the anxiety. She could only hope they would understand if things went down wrong.

At last, Giles called a halt to the farewells and asked them to take their places. Willow had been kind enough to stop at Buffy's house and pack her a bag, which the Slayer scooped up nervously. Spike had had a hard time stifling his laughter when he had seen the bottles of shampoo and condition sticking out of the zippered top. No doubt there was a full case of makeup in there as well. When *he* had been alive, London was a filthy town and one bathed once a week if one was lucky. He couldn't imagine things being much better even further in the past.

They took their places at the edge of the circle, and Willow began passing around lit candles and matches. She and Tara went through the spell one more time, then closed their eyes and had everyone join hands. Spike grimaced as the Slayer's small hand reluctantly slipped into his, but the fact that Xander was sitting on his other side more than made up for it.

"Good luck Buffy, be careful," Willow said, and they began.

"Holle, goddess and guardian, we call on thee. Bless this act and lend us thy patronage," Tara intoned. The pot in front of her suddenly flared with fire, burning the herbs and releasing a pale lavender smoke into the air.

"Hike, guardian, we call on thee. Bless this act and lend us your power." As the words were spoken, the pot in front of Willow lit itself, and green smoke joined the lavender. The smoke swirled around them and the symbols on the floor began to glow softly.

"Fates, we call on thee. Urd, Verdandi, Skuld, bless this act and open thy realms." The pots in front of Giles, Spike and Xander burst into flame and a deep golden mist rose to join the cloud roiling in the air above them. The glow of the symbols intensified and the air fairly crackled with power. Beads of sweat had broken out on Willow's forehead and Tara was visibly shaking with the effort of controlling it.

"Kronos, god, we call on thee. Bless this act and lend us thy power. Bring forth the one who slew the beast, that we may defeat our enemy." The pot in front of Buffy flared and sparkling blue smoke rose up. The mists whirled around them, faster and faster. "Bring forth the one who slew the beast, that we may defeat our enemy." The symbols shone with blinding radiance, as light shot up to join the swirling clouds of smoke. "Bring forth the one who slew the beast, that we may defeat our enemy!" Willow's voice rose in a shout and the light engulfed them, burning and blinding.

The smoke flew down to the glowing circle and began swirling on the floor, faster and faster, until the colors blended in a dizzying whirlpool. A shadow rose up out of the mist and Spike heard a scream. Then his hand was suddenly empty. The smoke rose up in a billowing ball and exploded in a dazzling shower of sparks that drifted down on the participants before vanishing into thin air.

The humans furiously rubbed their eyes, trying to clear the sunspots and get a look at the Slayer that had been brought forward.

All but Spike, who sat frozen in shock.

Because the hand he still clenched in his own was small, soft, and decidedly feminine.

"What the hell happened?" Buffy demanded.

**********

Part Five

Buffy didn't want her vision to clear. Didn't want the sunspots to fade away, didn't want her surroundings to become visible again. Because something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. She was still sitting on Giles' living room floor, Spike's cold hand was still clutched in her own.

And *someone* had screamed...and been suddenly cut off. As long as she couldn't see, her suspicions didn't have to be confirmed. She didn't have to find out that one of her friends was gone in her place.

Unfortunately, she had long ago learned the consequences of denial, and that lesson would *not* be un-learned. She blinked furiously and the last of the blurriness faded from her vision.

She was still in Giles' living room. 

"What the hell happened?" she shouted. She dropped Spike's hand as though it had burned her and leapt to her feet. Her eyes darted around the room, frantically peering through the smoke that still drifted in the air. Tara...check, Willow....still there, Giles...looked as frightened as she felt; obviously he had completed his own head count. Which meant... "Xander? Xander!" She knew it was an exercise in futility even as the words left her mouth. Xander would not be answering. Willow's eyes had gone wide as soon as Buffy had spoken, and now the young witch stumbled to her knees, tears gathering in her eyes.

"Oh goddess...Xander?" Tara crawled forward and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend's waist as the reality of the situation sunk in. "Oh no..no, what happened? What did we do?" For once, even Giles was devoid of answers.

Grief and fear, however, would have to wait. 

"Erm, Slayer?" Spike's voice broke through the shock. Buffy's eyes flashed angrily, daring him to make a smartass comment. For one brief instant, Buffy could've sworn Spike wore an expression as shell-shocked and frightened as the rest of them; then his eyes met hers and the emotion shimmered away, to be replaced by his usual bored smugness. She was left wondering if she hadn't in fact imagined it. Abruptly, however, she couldn't care less. Spike jerked his head towards the remnants of their casting circle.

And the huddled figure lying on its side in the center of it, covered from head to toe by a hooded brown cloak.

Willow's choked cries died off as Tara helped her to her feet, though her white-knuckled grip on her lover's hands did not ease, and Giles made his way to Buffy's side. Buffy swallowed hard, squared her shoulders, and motioned the others back. Spike jumped up and joined the group, subtly placing himself in front of Willow and Tara. This Slayer was likely to be a bit angry when she realized what had happened. Spike didn't want anyone but Buffy (and maybe Giles, if he was really lucky) on the receiving end of that anger. Buffy cautiously knelt at the other Slayer's side and gently lay a hand on her shoulder. The girl's cloak was liberally coated with ash and dust, as well as glistening stains that were probably the blood of a demon of some sort. With a tiny stab of terror, Spike realized that they might have snatched the girl right up from a battle.

Which meant that Xander could have been dropped right *into* one. 

"Emily?" Buffy said tentatively. There was no response from the other Slayer. "Don't be afraid, okay? No one here is gonna hurt you. My name's Buffy...I'm a Slayer, like you. We brought you here with a spell...we need your help." Still, Emily neither moved nor spoke. Buffy sat back on her heels and turned helplessly to her Watcher.

Then went sprawling as a booted foot lashed out and caught her in the back of the head. Spike shoved Willow and Tara behind the couch as Emily, the Vampire Slayer leapt to her feet with catlike grace, her hood pulled low, obscuring her face in shadow. She dropped into a fighting stance with the ease of a predator and her leather glove-clad hands disappeared inside her cloak and withdrew a stake. Buffy rolled clear as Giles stepped forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Miss Beckett, please...I assure you there is no-" Emily spun and again kicked out, her heel connecting solidly with Giles' chin. The Watcher crumpled and the Slayer darted nimbly for the door. As Willow and Tara rushed to Giles' side, Buffy and Spike made a dash for the door, cutting the other Slayer off before she reached it. Emily stopped short and crouched, her head cocked to one side.

Spike quickly began to reconsider his current position as he let his face shift into the demon's façade. Emily was *tall* for a girl, easily his own height, and she looked as though she'd have reach on both of them. If this turned as ugly as it could, Buffy would have a real fight on her hands.

Suddenly, the stake went to the floor and a knife, its wickedly curved blade gleaming in the lamplight, suddenly seemed to appear in her hand. Buffy bit her lip, then sighed.

"If that's the way you want it," she muttered. "In advance, I'm sorry." Buffy charged, studiously ignoring her proximity to the knife, then ducked under Emily's arm at the last possible instant, avoiding the deadly thrust of the knife. She came up fast and gripped the other girl's wrist, jamming her fist into the crook of Emily's elbow. As Buffy had hoped, the knife clattered to the floor. Unfortunately, the other Slayer recovered quickly. Her free arm came up and caught Buffy across the cheek with a vicious palm strike, even as a leg kicked Buffy's feet out from under her. Emily danced back as Buffy went down, though luckily, the girl made no move to retrieve her knife.

Spike took the opportunity to launch his own attack. The "charge and tackle" thing seemed to be working well for him tonight and he saw no reason to break a winning streak. So he charged. And tackled. And went flying as Emily rolled with the momentum of his strike and neatly tossed him over her head. The Slayer flipped back to her feet and turned on him as he gained his own. Buffy, her lip split and bleeding freely, scrambled to his side.

Spike attacked again, this time assaulting the Slayer with a flurry of well-aimed kicks and punches. The Slayer met him blow for blow, and Spike felt a begrudging respect for the girl well up in him as she expertly blocked and returned his attacks.

Buffy darted in behind Emily and the other Slayer instantly delivered a sidekick to Spike's midsection, then whirled in time to block Buffy's first punch. Emily staggered under the force of the blow, but managed to prevent it from landing. The two Slayers traded blows at a furious pace, but it quickly became obvious that Buffy was winning. Emily was slowly forced back into the center of the room and Spike decided to take a cue from one of the many Three Stooges marathons he had been forced to watch when staying with Xander in the basement. Grinning maniacally, the vampire slipped up behind Emily and crouched low, just as Buffy let fly with a devastating right hook. 

The other girl stumbled back and tripped over Spike, ending up sprawled on the floor with the Scooby Gang surrounding her. By this time, Giles had 

regained his senses, and the two witches were silently gearing up to join in the battle with magic; the air around their hands had begun to shimmer with green light.

Spike had had enough. There was no telling what was happening to Xander while they wasted time fighting. For once in his unlife, he wanted the violence to stop and stop *now*. He reached down and gripped the edges of the Slayer's cloak, then unceremoniously hauled her to her feet. He let his face slip back into his human features and glared into the depths of the hood, catching a glimpse of pale skin and long, dark hair.

"Look here, luv. You need to *calm the fuck down*." He punctuated each word with a forceful shake. "No one 'ere wants to 'urt you. No one 'ere wants to fight you. They just need your bloody 'elp puttin' down a demon. That *is* what you do, isn't it?" He shoved the Slayer back with a disgusted sigh and pulled his pack of cigarettes out. A loud gasp from the figure in front of him, however, halted his search for a light. A trembling, leather-clad hand reached out and brushed across the side of his face.

"My God, y-you're a vampire. No. Oh please no." Spike reached up, ready to bat the hand away, but froze at the whispered words. The soft, cultured tones of England did nothing to disguise the voice, and had Spike's heart been beating it would have burst out of his chest. Shocked, he reached up and shoved the hood aside, letting it fall back to reveal the face of the young *man* beneath.

Pale skin, long sable hair held back by a leather thong, lips that were simply made for kissing.

And wide eyes the color of melted chocolate. 

"X-Xander?" 

* * * 

Icy cold and darkness enveloped him, accompanied by the sensation of falling at a tremendous speed. His stomach rebelled instantly, and attempted to claw its way up out of his throat as he tumbled head over heels in the nothingness. No sight, no feeling other than the perfect, chilling cold, and if he screamed the sound was swallowed up and carried away, unheard by even his own ears. Then the ride was over and he was lying on his back, the breath soundly knocked from his lungs. A loud pop seemed to go off in his ears, not unlike the pressure equalizing after a steep climb and suddenly there was sight again. Sound again.

"Where is he?!" 

"Arrrgh! Someone find the damn queen!" 

"Emily! Are you all right?" 

"Just a scratch, Thom. Watch out!" Scuffles and grunts and loud voices...the scrape of metal on metal, feet thudding on soft earth. And all around him a sinister, hissing/chittering. All in all, not exactly sounds heard regularly in chez-Giles. He considered a moment; okay sounds that were regularly heard in Giles' apartment, but he was pretty sure there was no grass on the floor. Xander sat up with a groan and pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead, keeping his eyes firmly shut. He counted to ten, then slowly cracked open one eye.

He was in a clearing of some sort...thick, lush grass surrounded by stately trees.

His eyes snapped shut and he counted to ten again. Then twenty. In French. 

Funny, he hadn't even been aware he remembered that much French. Ever so slowly, he opened his eyes again. 

The sky overhead was lit with thousands of stars, and a fat glowing moon cast the clearing in silvery shadow.

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto." Xander winced at the boos and hisses his own mind supplied him. The chittering was getting louder, as were the shouts. With no other choice, Xander carefully rolled over and began climbing to his feet, intending to seek out whomever or whatever he was sharing the woods with. As soon as his injured leg hit the ground, a bolt of white-hot agony flared up, burning from his knee all the way up to his hip. He bit back a moan and clutched at the offending limb, doggedly forcing it to take his weight.

He needed to find people and he had a feeling that he needed to get away from whatever it was that was making the strange noises in the woods. Pain would have to wait. At last, he managed to struggle into a more or less standing position and began limping towards the section of trees where the human voices had been coming from.

Just as he reached the edge of the clearing, the tops of the trees in front of him began shaking violently and the chittering grew louder still, now accompanied by hisses, growls and tiny little squeaks that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Xander listened for a moment, then began limping backwards as quickly as he possibly could. Whatever was coming, it didn't sound human.

He'd only made it a few feet when dozens of tiny pinpricks of light became visible in the trees. Glimmering green lights, each about the size of a marble, they darted through the leaves as the shaking became worse. Frantically, he searched the ground for something to use as a weapon, but the best he could come up with was a pitiful stick that might have been more suited for use as a toothpick. Nonetheless, he snatched it up and held it in front of him, waiting for the...whatever-it-was...to appear.

He didn't have to wait long. 

With another of the eerie shrieks, something boiled out of the foliage, heading straight for him. He caught a glimpse of something gray, lumpy and bristling with gleaming fangs before the trees literally began raining the creatures down onto the ground. Most of them were about the size of a cat, but the one that had landed first was easily the size of a small child. Its head swiveled blindly for a few seconds before the oddly glowing green eyes fixated on him. A high pitched chatter rang through the air and Xander only had time to tighten his grip on the stick before the thing charged.

"I hate my life." 

He closed his eyes as the demon flew at him, knowing that the tiny stick he held wouldn't do jack to protect him from the claws and teeth visible in the moonlight. He was going to die here.

Then something crashed into his side and took him to the ground. He heard a loud hiss as the demon flew over his head and then someone was pulling him to his feet.

"Brilliant! You found the queen!" An accented voice shouted jovially into his ear. "But bloody hell, man, why didn't you yell?" Xander's mouth worked soundlessly as he was dragged to the opposite side of the clearing from the creatures, who were massing around the largest, chittering angrily. 

He stared up at the face of his savior, and for the moment even the constant throbbing in his leg was forgotten. 

"Spike?!" 

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

TBC