Bad Trip, Chapter 11

[thedeadlyhook]

Forget what I said earlier about the sturm und drang. Went over it again with the hubby. This one's good to go. More soon.

And now, to the hospital...


Previous parts here

ACT ELEVEN: ASCENDING AND DESCENDING

Just as the paramedics had predicted, the hospital in Buffalo was a scene of chaos. A parade of emergency vehicles crammed the access roadway like airplanes on a crowded runway. The ambulance and its minivan escort had been forced to go cross-country, weaving their way through a maze of decorative flower beds and lighted signs pointing the various ways to Reception, Visitor Parking, Outpatient Services. When they'd finally reached the Emergency Room entrance, having driven across the hospital front lawn to do so, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Xander had been promptly whisked away, and once the double doors swung closed behind his gurney, Willow and the five Slayers slumped to the floor in a corner of the reception area to catch their breath. Exhausted from the afternoon's adventures, their nerves still frayed from the harrowing journey to the hospital, they'd fallen silent, unsure what to do next. All about them, people bustled to and fro--doctors, nurses, clerical staff, civilian visitors, and a surprisingly large number of uniformed police and security guards.

After several minutes of silence, Lo excused herself with a mumble about finding a vending machine. Graciela padded over to the front window and stood there, watching the sun creep lower toward the horizon. Bet occupied herself by playing Cat's Cradle, winding and unwinding lengths of surgical thread that she'd pilfered from an overflowing supply cart.

Neena directed a disapproving glare at Bet and hissed at her to stop. "That's expensive medical equipment, Elizabeth. Please do not waste it." Ignoring her, Bet continued her exercises, and Neena decided to let the matter drop.

Lo's return with an armload of sodas and candy bars provided a momentary distraction--no one had realized how hungry they were until the pile of snack food materialized before them. For long minutes, the only sounds were those of eating and drinking, tearing paper and rattling cans.

At last, Kennedy raised her head and stared numbly at the foot-tall lettering stenciled above the reception desk. "Schoen... fluss? Funny name for a hospital."

"It's German. Means 'beautiful river.'" They looked up to see the stocky paramedic who had driven Xander's ambulance into town. "That's actually the name of the city, too. Some French trader named this place 'Beau Fleuve,' hence 'Buffalo.'" He grinned. "Sorry, it's kind of a hobby. My name's Portnoy--we didn't have time for proper introductions earlier."

Willow waved from her spot on the floor. "Willow Rosenberg. This is Kennedy, and these are, uh, our friends." She gave the paramedic a hopeful look. "So, is Xander gonna be okay?"

Portnoy drew in a deep breath and held it a moment. "Can't say for sure," he eventually answered. "We couldn't keep him conscious, which isn't good, but from what I heard your friend seems to be in pretty decent condition otherwise. Biggest problem right now is gonna be with the head injury. I can guarantee you there's gonna be some degree of edema or haemorrhaging to--" He broke off suddenly, seeing the blood draining from their faces. "Aw, you don't wanna hear this stuff right now, do ya, kids?"

"No, we can handle it," Willow insisted unconvincingly, then lowered the volume of her voice for the younger girls' sake. "So what happens next?"

The paramedic stroked his beard contemplatively. "Once they get him out of surgery, they'll probably move him to the ICU, put him on a ventilator, and just keep an eye on him for a bit. After that... well, we'll see. But there I go again." He shook himself as if trying to wake up. "I gotta go take care of a few things, but I'll check back in on your buddy in a couple hours and let you know how he's doing."

"Thanks, mister," Graciela piped up. "That's awful nice of you."

"Least I can do," Portnoy assured her. "If we hadn't had you guys escorting us, I'm pretty sure those freaks would have jumped us back on the highway. Speaking of which, I strongly recommend you stay put for the evening. Once the sun goes down, things are gonna get ugly out there."

"Ugly?" Kennedy asked as the paramedic turned to go. "Like how ugly?"

If there was any trace of amusement in the man's voice, it was hard to make it out beneath the sheer fatigue. "Oh, don't you worry," Portnoy replied. "You'll find out soon enough."

Then he was gone, leaving them huddled in a corner of the reception area.

The activity around them was increasing as dusk drew nearer, and through the glass doors of the lobby they could see vehicles maneuvering in the courtyard outside. Police cars were lining up to form a crude barricade, and workmen were hanging wreaths of barbed wire from the arch at the top of the hospital's front gates.

Night was coming, and the Schoenfluss Medical Center was fortifying for a siege.

...........

By sundown, Xander was out of surgery and safely installed in Intensive Care. Willow stood for a minute at the door of his darkened room, listening to the hiss of the ventilator.

"It's okay, babe," Kennedy murmured, stroking Willow's back soothingly. "Standard procedure. It's not like he's gonna be in an iron lung for the rest of his life."

Willow gulped, then stepped away from the door. "I guess we've done everything we can for now..."

"That's right." Kennedy gave her a reassuring grin. "He's benefited from the very finest in medical science and occult lore. Not bad for the middle of a war zone."

Willow glanced down the hallway, to where the four younger Slayers had gathered around a window. "Yeah, there's that. I'm just glad we happen to have a bunch of apprentice Slayers around to stand guard over him."

Kennedy lowered her voice. "And you know, Red, after what happened... They're not going to let anyone lay a finger on Xander. I think those kids are ready to take a bullet for the guy."

Meanwhile, over by the window, the young Slayers watched the sun as it sank below the horizon. The ICU was on the hospital's sixth floor, giving them a pretty good view of the city, but the sight was more unnerving than inspiring. Although the hospital had its own generator, most of downtown Buffalo had been without power for days now, and as the night came on the buildings appeared to dissolve into the gathering darkness.

"Spooky," Lo shivered. "They said most of the people have been evacuated, right?"

Graciela nodded. "Except the ones who didn't want to leave. I suppose that would be some of them over there..."

The girls stared through the glass at the office tower they'd seen on their way into the city, and the tiny pinpricks of light that glowed at its base. Campfires, Graciela guessed, lit by the ragged weirdos they'd seen crawling through the ruins around the rune-covered HSBC building. She'd caught glimpses of the rubble-dwellers as they sped through that last trailer-strewn stretch of highway, and seen the malice in their hungry eyes, but they were evidently still too timid to attack by daylight.

Bet scowled, her small hands balled into fists. "And if they know what's good for them, they'd better stay there."

Neena gave her a warm, weary smile. "Exactly. Mr. Harris, and this place... they are under our protection now."

...........

Later that night, Willow and Kennedy withdrew to make their preparations. As busy as the hospital was, most of its more mobile patients had cleared out during the recent evacuations, and so they'd been able to appropriate a vacant room with little difficulty. Pushing the beds up against the walls, they cleared a large area on the floor, where Willow carefully arranged an array of candles.

Kennedy regarded the setup skeptically. "You sure this is going to work, Red? I'm no expert, but I was kind of expecting a few more props."

Willow rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "This one's not about the ingredients, sweetie. It's more of an application of pure will. The candles are just for atmosphere."

"So you're totally sure?" There was genuine concern in Kennedy's eyes. "I won't lie to you, Willow. I've seen you pull off some amazing stuff, but what you're talking about here--just stepping into someone's mind? It sounds pretty dangerous to me."

Willow frowned. "Well, I've done it once before. Of course, we were in the same room at the time. And she was conscious. And, yeah, not being inhabited by the essence of ultimate evil. But I'm pretty positive I can pull this off." She gave Kennedy a helpless look. "And what else can I do? If we're going to get ourselves out of this mess, we have to understand how we got into it. And only she can tell us that."

"If you say so, Red." Kennedy mustered a supportive smile. "Gotta defer to the specialists on this one."

"I have to do this." This time, Willow seemed to be trying to convince herself. "I wasn't strong for Buffy when she needed me to be. So I have to be strong now. I have to help her." She looked away, towards the room's curtained window. "And I have to do it tonight. If The First really leaves her when she sleeps, then maybe, just maybe... I can reach her in her dreams."

"So you're planning to start with the big voodoo at midnight, right?" Kennedy settled onto one of the beds. "Then you'll be busy with the meeting of the minds, Xander will be getting his beauty coma, and us material girls get to cover your butts back here in the real world."

"And speaking of covering butts..." Willow delved into her tote bag and extracted her marker pen. "I know a certain dusky-eyed gal who still needs her portion of protective counter-charms. It's time for the desert wind, baby." After a moment's concentration, she reached out with her free hand, and carefully traced the four points of a compass in the air before her. As her hand moved, fire flowed from her fingertips, and when she dropped her arm again the circle hung there like a fiery wheel.

Kennedy watched, open-mouthed. "Damn, girl. I'm never going to get used to that one."

"Pretty cool, huh?" Willow popped the cap off her marker. "Okay, now where you want your inscriptions?"

Kennedy paused in the midddle of her unbuckling and unbuttoning and gave Willow an innocent look. "Let's make it Wicca's choice."

"Hmm." Willow leaned over the bed and lowered a gentle hand. "How about... here?"

"Keep going."

"Here...?"

"Your call, babe. Ah."

"I think maybe... here."

"Uh-huh." A sudden breath, then a slow, shuddering sigh. "Here... is good."

...........

Xander came awake as if struggling up from a place deep underwater. He slowly took in his surroundings, picking out indistinct shapes around him--the end of his bed, his blanketed feet, an IV stand. A hospital room, dim, nearly dark. Light spilled in from a half-open doorway.

Eventually, he realized he wasn't alone. Bet was by the door, standing stiffly as if on guard. Her blonde hair and blue T-shirt were bright spots against the gloom. Graciela was there, too--it took a moment for him to recognize her hunched form, sitting in a plastic chair as if poured into it, her face nearly hidden by the collar of her hoodie sweatshirt. He could just make out the shine of her pulled-back hair, her wavy plastic headband, her silver hoop earrings.

Thank God they're okay, he thought, relief flooding through him. Willow must have fixed them. Everything's gonna be alright.

"And finally he joins us. 'Bout time."

The voice came from somewhere just to his left.

Nerves leaping with instant recognition, Xander swiveled around to look, slowly. The sinking feeling in his stomach, the awful familiarity of that voice, had already told him what he'd see.

Spike was sitting right next to his bedside, eyeing him coolly.

Laughter bubbled out of him, involuntary, high-pitched. Not because it was funny, oh no--funny was the last thing he'd call it--but because if The First was back, that meant things weren't okay. Actually, they were pretty goddamn far from okay, and the presence of the girls in the room sudddenly seemed a lot less comforting. He strugged with a sense of hopeless panic, desperate fear for Willow Oh God, did they kill her, I didn't see and for himself. After that horrible attack by the girls, he couldn't even imagine what kind of torture might be next on the menu.

"So you're back," Xander heard himself saying, with all the defiance in his voice that he could muster. "Getting a good chuckle out of seeing me all helpless? Or just want a ringside seat for the main event?"

Spike frowned at him. "No," he said slowly. "You need to wake up, Xander. Your head's messed up. You're not healing right."

"Sure. Right," Xander turned away. Couldn't look at that face. "Yeah, you're here 'cause you want to 'help' me. Gotta tell you--the whole sympathy trip was a lot more convincing coming from Anya."

Spike stared, brows knitting in irritation. "Get a grip on yourself, Harris. You're talking nonsense."

Xander ignored him, focused on the girls--his girls. Graciela sniffed, brought a hand up to her nose. Bet stirred restlessly, drawing a line on the floor with the toe of her pink sneaker.

Graciela's sobs. Those ugly turquoise pants she thought looked "hip." Neena's beautiful eyes. Her gold rings. Bet's blonde hair, so pretty when the curls fell just right, like ringlets. The cinnamon toothpaste she insisted on. Lo's blue-painted toenails and clunky boots. Her rusty laugh. Willow. Dawn. Buffy.

"Just get this over with, why don't you," Xander blurted. "Finish me off."

"Finish you--?" The vampire winced, scowled. "You have a head injury, Xander," he spoke slowly and precisely, as if to a young child. "Docs say you're touch and go. Means you can see me, but that doesn't give us much time."

"Time for what?" he said sullenly. "More fun and games with the stabby, stabby knives?" He couldn't take his eye off the girls. I'm so sorry. I did my best. I let you down.

Spike watched him in silence, forehead furrowing as if he were trying to force sense out of Xander's words. "They can't hear you," he finally spoke up. "Or see you, any more than just a body in a bed, hooked up to machines. To them, you're still in a coma."

This information, new and shocking, penetrated his daze. He rolled his head to look at Spike. The vampire stared patiently back.

"This is like a dream, Xander," he said slowly. "You're on a different level from them. You haven't opened your eye since you got here."

And it hit him all of a sudden what was wrong about how he felt--he didn't really feel anything at all. No fuzziness from painkillers or heaviness of blankets or parched dry mouth. Nothing at all like the hospital stay after losing his eye.

He felt nothing.

Spike stood, straightened. Xander stared. This version wasn't at all like the last manifestation. No leather coat. No hard-edged sneer. Just tired eyes, uncombed hair. The same old black T-shirt and jeans.

It sunk in, the surety.

"I'm dead, aren't I?" Saying it made it real.

Surreally, Spike responded with a warm grin. "No you're not."

His heart wasn't hammering. He couldn't feel his own breath. There was no pain. Nothing.

"Oh god--I'm really dead."

"Hello? Just told you you're not."

"Hey--you're dead."

"That I am."

He paused for a moment, let everything sink in.

"You're not The First, are you?"

"The--? No. No, I--Oh. Still doing that, is it? Would've hoped it was done with me."

"And you're not the other one either. With the eye. The spirit guide."

"You been seeing me a lot lately?"

"You're really Spike."

"Uh, yeah. Last I checked."

Pause.

"You're dead."

An eye roll. "Yeah, we went over that. You done yet?" Spike made a sweeping gesture that took in the room. "Once more. You're not dead, but close to it. Might say you're between worlds. You'll have to struggle hard to remember what you see here, assuming you ever wake up, but the gatekeeper reckons it's the only way to get a message to you."

"Gatekeeper?" His mind was still stuck on the words between worlds and assuming you ever wake up.

"Fella who runs this place. Says I owe him a favor." Another faint smile from Spike. "Turns out we've met."

Xander fought to stay focused on this info, failed. Between worlds. Gatekeeper. Assuming you ever wake up. Spike.

"So, what--you're a ghost now?" It was all he could think to ask.

"Don't say that," Spike shot back, obviously annoyed. "Not a bloody ghost."

"But you run errands for some afterlife bigwig? What's up with that?" Xander studied him. He didn't look the same as he had the morning of the final battle. No coat. No amulet. Something was wrong here. "I mean, you shuffled off this mortal coil a couple of weeks ago. Why are you still 'between worlds'?"

A confused look. "Don't know," he admitted, finally. "Keeper didn't... tell me. Just know I won't be staying."

"I'll bet. Got someplace warm to get to, huh?"

Silence. Spike's smile faded.

"Just follow me," he said curtly, and walked out of the room.

...........

The transition was jarringly sudden, just as it had been the last time she'd done a spell like this. One moment Willow was sitting crosslegged on the floor, facing Kennedy and holding her hands. Candles flickered around her, and she felt the boundless vitality flowing through the other woman's body. Willow closed her eyes, tried to summon up the image of her target--her face, her expressions, her movements, every element of her persona. She spoke one word, a name, and then reached out with her mind. And then, suddenly, she was somewhere else.

The darkness was gone, and light flooded in. A blurry kaleidoscope filled Willow's field of vision as she adjusted to her new environment.

She heard a familiar voice.

"Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"

As Willow's perceptions adjusted, the dark blur before her resolved itself into the back of a bobbing head. She placed the voice at last, and realized voice and head alike belonged to Dawn. Looking about her, Willow found herself in the back seat of a car--some kind of station wagon, as best she could tell--with Dawn in front of her in the shotgun seat, bouncing impatiently. And to Dawn's left, in the driver's seat--

"Be patient, Dawnie," Buffy said indulgently. "Can't rush these things. If we were any quicker, we'd be dead." She swung the steering wheel to and fro in long, lazy pulls, but the scenery outside remained unchanged. The view outside was painfully bright, a vivid blue sky framed by bursts of colorful flowers and lush green trees. A sparrow landed for a second on the hood of the car, tilted its head, peered at them with cartoonishly cute eyes. The bird batted its long lashes and hopped into the air, flapping its wings as it passed out of sight.

"Hey, Will," Buffy said, shooting a glance backward over her shoulder. "Could you check the trunk? I think something's gotten loose back there."

Willow looked behind her, and saw that there was a red curtain partioning off the rear portion of the car, like the sliding window of a taxicab. She drew the curtain aside, and twisted around in her seat to see where the grinding, scraping noise was coming from.

The rear of the car consisted of a large cargo space, with a pitch-black interior and more of the red curtains draping its windows. Within this compartment she saw a long, rectangular mahogany box, fitted with gleaming brass handles, which was sliding slowly back and forth as Buffy tugged at the wheel.

"Buffy?" Willow asked. "Why is there a coffin in the back?"

"That old thing?" Buffy laughed. "Never you mind. It's always been there."

Willow slid the curtain closed. This is no good. I have to take control, find out what I need to know. She turned around again, addressing the headrest of Buffy's seat. "Buffy. We need to talk. There's something--"

"Ow!" Dawn exclaimed. "It cut me!"

Willow saw that Dawn had been playing with what appeared to be a kitchen knife, and as she watched she saw a drop of blood form at the tip of one of the girl's fingers.

"I told you, Dawnie," Buffy chided her. "It's not for thee."

"Buffeee!" her sister wailed. "It won't stop!" Blood was oozing now from all the fingers, from the palm.

"It can't go on flowing forever," Buffy replied, "now can it? Oh look, here we are already." The car lurched to a halt, and she nudged a button, popping open the locks. Buffy and Dawn swung their doors open and stepped out, and after a moment Willow did likewise.

Outside the car, it was dark. They were standing in a flat expanse of wilderness, decorated only by patches of scrub. In front of them stood a huge tower of struts and scaffolding, which tapered up in stages and ended in a protruding platform something like a diving board. It took Willow a moment to recognize the structure.

"It's time, Dawn. Time for you to run along and play." Dawn nodded, face bright with excitement, then took off towards the tower, hitching up her elaborately decorated satin dress as she ran. Buffy stood beside the car, watching her with maternal pride. "Back to the top of the slide, Dawnie. I'll see you again at the bottom..."

"Buffy." Willow tried again. "Buffy, this is just a dream. I need you to show me what really happened. I need to find out the truth."

"The truth?" Buffy looked at her, impassive. "There's only one truth, Willow. It's here if you want it." She raised her hand, and Willow saw that it was dripping with blood, just like Dawn's. "Taste it and you'll understand."

Willow recoiled from the red-stained hand. "Buffy, I just need to talk to you. Please, let me just--"

Buffy shook her head. "No more words. Drink of me, and learn the language of the earth." She stretched out her arm, held her hand up to Willow's mouth. Willow's lips parted almost of their own volition, and she extended the pink tip of her tongue, flicked it across Buffy's bloody palm.

An electric jolt ran down Willow's spine, and she staggered back a step or two in shock, tongue tingling where the blood had touched it. Buffy lowered her arm and turned her attention back to the tower. "This is how it began. My blood for hers. A sacrifice born of love." She smiled ruefully. "My gift. My curse."

Willow steadied herself and looked up at the top of the tower, straining to make out the tiny figures against the dark night sky. "I don't understand. Is this when it happened? Or was this just the start?"

For a minute, Buffy remained silent, watching the drama play out upon the platform high above them. Then she looked back at Willow, her expression unreadable. "You brought it across the threshold, Willow. But I was the one who opened the door."

...........

Xander watched as Spike walked to the doorway and, rather than pushing the door all the way open or stepping around it, simply passed straight through it.

Through it. His body ghosted through the half-open panel as if it wasn't even there.

This is really happening, Xander thought. This is what happens after you die. First the visits by ghosts from your past, then the wacky fun out-of-body experiences.

Speaking of which...

He sat up. There was no physical sensation at all, only the extreme disorientation of seeing his hands move and not move at the same time, his legs swinging over the side of the bed while still seeing them there on the mattress, not moving, his body passing through the safety rails as if they weren't there.

Not a ghost. I'm not a ghost. This is just a dream. A dream. Because the ghost of a dead vampire just told me that it was--oh god. I'm a dead man walking.

He stumbled forward. Stopped at the door.

The girls were there, clear in the half-light. He looked at them for a moment, wishing there was something he could do to let them know he was right there, next to them. Not behind them trapped in a motionless body.

"Harris! Get your ass in gear."

Startled into movement, he lurched into the the hallway. It was the Intensive Care Unit. The night nursing staff was clustered around a central desk. There seemed to be a lot of frantic rushing around, especially for what seemed to be the middle of the night.

Lo and Neena stood just outside his room. Like the girls inside, they occupied spots on either side of the door. They seemed to be in a state of exaggerated alertness, scanning the corridor like a teenaged Secret Service.

"Will you snap out of it?"

He looked up. Spike stood by the desk, an impatient look on his face. People breezed around him, through him. He didn't even blink.

Xander kept staring, frozen, unable to get his bearings. He looked down at his incorporeal body. Saw it was clad in a cotton hospital gown and fleece socks.

My butt's showing. I have to vision quest in a backless gown. How come my astral projection doesn't get to have pants?

"Any time, Harris. Gotta get moving. We're on kind of a timetable here."

What? "Moving? Where are we going?"

"Seems somebody's earned himself a guided tour of the underworld," the vampire replied, his tone distant, chilly. "And I'm the lucky sod gets to play Virgil for you." He turned away, as if to begin walking down the hall. Xander watched him for a moment longer, debated following, came to a decision.

"If you're Spike," he blurted, and the vampire stilled, his back turned. "The real Spike... Then there's something you need to know."

He fixed his eyes on that pale neck, forced out the rest.

"I can't forgive you. For what you did to Buffy--I can't forgive you. You know that, right?"

It seemed very important to tell him this for some reason.

Spike didn't turn. He just nodded, and started moving further down the hall.

Xander followed. "You know I never believed that crap about a soul making you a whole different person," he told Spike's retreating back. "I could tell you hadn't changed. I didn't buy it with Angel, and I sure as hell didn't b--"

Spike stopped. Turned.

"Did the ponce tell you that?" he rasped. "Different person, is that what he said?"

"Well, that was the idea, wasn't it? Wasn't that what you got it for? So you could be just like Angel and she'd forgive you? So we all would?"

"Don't give a damn if you forgive me," he said hoarsely. "Didn't do it for you."

"Right. You did it for Buffy. And hey--your master plan sure worked there. The way she fussed over you toward the end there--protected you. Guess you got what you wanted."

"What I wanted," he repeated.

"Oh, sorry. The whole dying thing. Too bad. Although pardon me for thinking Buffy's better off."

Spike was silent, lips pressed together, face contorted with something that looked extremely like hatred.

"Gonna explain this to you just once, Harris," he said, his voice rusty, low. "I got the soul so--" He broke off, glanced up at the ceiling for a moment, regrouped. "So she'd know I'd taken responsibility."

"Responsiblity?" Xander sputtered. You have got to be kidding me. "Newsflash, Spike. You are responsible. You did that to Buffy, not somebody else. You having a soul doesn't change that. You're not some different guy now, some Mr. Nice Vamp we can't blame for anything. Far as I'm concerned, every minute of every thing you've ever done is still on you."

Spike just looked at him. Turned and walked away again.

This time, Xander didn't bother to pursue.

"You haven't changed, Spike," he called after the rapidly diminishing figure. "You saving the world still doesn't prove anything. There isn't a person who knew you who isn't better off with you dead and gone."

There was no answer. Only the clatter of machinery and the sound of running feet, as nurses and doctors rushed past him, through him, and the wail of sirens echoing in the distance.

...........

Willow trotted along behind Buffy as she crested the top of the hill. By the time Willow had caught up with her, Buffy was already unfolding a checkered picnic blanket, which she then settled onto with a huge tub of popcorn. The slightly rancid aroma of imitation butter reached Willow's nose.

"Okay, Buffy," Willow sighed. "What now?"

Buffy motioned ahead of them, where a vast graveyard was spread beneath the starry sky. "You know what comes next, Will. And I didn't get to see this side of it last time." She munched a mouthful of popcorn. "Believe me, my viewpoint was a lot less scenic."

Willow followed Buffy's gesture to a clearing surrounded by a ring of trees, perhaps a hundred yards away. In the middle of the clearing, four figures knelt before a tombstone, one of them intent upon a small urn. Despite the distance, Willow could hear every word of the incantation. "Osiris, keeper of the gate, master of all fate, hear us..."

Buffy giggled. "So tell me, did you have any idea what you were really calling on?"

"Osiris, keeper of the gate." Willow frowned, trying to recall the words of Rutherford Sirk. "The dweller on the threshold... he who guards the divide between the world of the living and the world of the dead."

"Those are just words, Willow. Giving things names isn't the same as understanding them." Buffy half-turned, giving her a reproachful glance. "Don't you know what you did? You're like children, all of you. Just rattling the bones."

Willow's thoughts wandered, stray fragments bubbling up from some forgotten recess of her memory. "He takes you across the river, if you can pay his price... if you can pass his tests. Long ago, people paid for their passage with coins... with the coins of their eyes."

She felt the nudge of an elbow in her ribs. "Come on, you're missing all the good parts," Buffy said. "Want some Milk Duds?"

In the clearing stood the Willow of two years ago, blood streaming from the slashes that had appeared on her arms. As they watched, small bulges appeared under her skin, sliding about like scurrying insects. "Here," cried the earlier Willow, "lies the warrior of the people! Let her cross over!"

They saw Xander lunge to her rescue, saw Tara call him back. "She's strong. She said not to stop, no matter what."

As Tara spoke, Willow felt something pierce her, a pang of loss stabbing through her like a burning spear. For a moment, the grief was unbearable, paralyzing; she reeled as if physically struck.

She's so close. Even knowing this was a dream, Willow was overcome by the urge to stumble forward, run down the hill into the clearing, scoop Tara up in her arms. It'll be different this time, baby. We can make it work. Please, please, just let me have one more chance.

Recognizing Willow's distress, Buffy gave her a pitying look. "It's okay, Willow. Really. You just need to get some distance."

Their surroundings blurred and stretched, and the scene in front of them receded like a reverse zoom shot in a movie. They were now standing on a balcony far above the graveyard, looking down on the clearing.

"Now isn't that better?" Buffy beamed, leaning forward on the balcony's metal railing. "It's always easier when you don't get too close. Anything you have in this life can be taken away from you. But to live without love, without hope..." She shook her head, smiling wistfully. "I'd be lying if I said it was easy."

"Buffy, no!" Willow protested. "What kind of a solution is that?! You can't just--"

"Oh, right." Buffy snorted dismissively. "Like you're so good at this stuff. Letting yourself love someone, hoping that they'll be there tomorrow, that you can have a life together... You're calling out, you're just begging for despair to chew you up and swallow you whole. I couldn't stand to lose Dawn, so I fell. You couldn't stand to lose me, so you raised me up again. Up and down, round and round. Like a serpent swallowing its tail." She craned her head forward, eyes suddenly bright with excitement. "Hey, Willow, check this out! You're barfing up a snake!"

Willow turned away, turned her back to the scene below. She could see dim lights flickering about her in the darkness of the balcony, shadows dancing on the walls. The walls? Weren't we outside?

Buffy was still leaning over the balcony railing, watching the figures in the clearing below. "You try to be with them, but you always end up in the dark. And it's better that way. To live only in the action of death. To sleep on a bed of bones. To know no friend, no family, to die nameless and alone. This is the way... of the Slayer..." She moaned softly, and Willow looked back at her. Buffy was arching her back, stiffening against the railing. A shadow moved behind her. "But it's not a curse... It's a gift." She gasped, clawing at the railing. "Death in life... A grave for a bed... Freedom from... ah... from pain... and loss..."

"Buffy?" Willow squinted, trying to make out a form in the darkness behind her. "Is there... is there someone else here?"

"No, Willow." Buffy's eyes were closed, her head thrown back. "There's nobody else here," she said, as her hips rolled in time with the pulsing shadows behind her.

Comments

[tesla321.livejournal.com]

I suddenly have a very dry mouth. As always, no matter how interested I am in Xander and the SITs, you two make me fearful, fearful about Buffy and Dawn. Now, Willow...the visions, just as you've done all along, are written very well. Dreams are very tricky to do, and y'all do 'em right.
This I found very Xander: My butt's showing. I have to vision quest in a backless gown

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

We'll be checking in with real Buffy and Dawn before too long... for now, we've just got the dream peeks into Buffy's mind to go by. And yeah, some freaky stuff floating around in there, huh?

Kudos on the dreams all go to the hubby. They're his labor of love.

Xander would be me. I just keep getting this impulse to take his pants off! ; )

[auroramama]

Kudos on the dreams all go to the hubby. They're his labor of love.
Oh, do you have a dreamer husband too? Congratulations. They're really something, aren't they?

Xander is splendid -- not just the surface details but the heart. Very, very nice. I'm enjoying the hell out of this.

Something I forgot to say about Kennedy: when she sees a problem, she tries to fix it, even if she's not sure how. An angry Willow may see this as arrogance, thinking herself good enough to do what Tara couldn't. But what the hell else can Kennedy do? She just has to hope, not that she's as wonderful as Tara, but that she'll turn out to be capable of this particular thing Tara couldn't do. For some things you need a soulmate, you bet, but for some things you need a guy with a can opener, and Kennedy is just rummaging through her pockets and hoping she has one. The fact that she doesn't entirely understand the danger she's in, or what Tara was up against, or how unlikely it is that she can succeed? That makes her arrogant only if every other Slayer is arrogant. She's flawed, like all of them, but she's trying to deal with what's in front of her, and she's putting herself on the line.

[toysdream.livejournal.com]

Something I forgot to say about Kennedy: when she sees a problem, she tries to fix it, even if she's not sure how. An angry Willow may see this as arrogance, thinking herself good enough to do what Tara couldn't. But what the hell else can Kennedy do?

Well put! I'm glad you're enjoying our take on Kennedy. I do like the notion of her as a regular, imperfect person who's trying to follow up the Perfect Dream Lover - more than one of them, in fact, since Oz was pretty flawless as well - and is just doing the best she can for someone she cares about. Thank you for summing it up so perfectly.

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Oh, do you have a dreamer husband too? Congratulations. They're really something, aren't they?

They so are. This project has been quite the ride. We've been geeking out to an unprecedentedly fun degree.

Xander is splendid -- not just the surface details but the heart. Very, very nice. I'm enjoying the hell out of this.

Thank you so much! I've become more or less the official Xander voice more as the story wears on while the hubby tackles Willow - odd division of labor, but there it is - and I've been pleasantly suprised at how he's been turning out, especially considered how annoyed with him I was at times during the final seasons... I guess I have a classic Xander in my heart somewhere that I keep coming back to.

[http://users.livejournal.com/lady_alatariel_/]

For right now, this was great, as always!
Loved the Spike and Xander banter and the Buffy dream sequence was sooo creepy!
I need to read it again before I offer anything actually constructive cause that was a lot to process! But in a good way! :)
So more thoughts soon! Must sleep first, so tired!

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Yep, a lot to process for sure - this was probably our longest chapter yet. But thanks for taking the time even for a quick note - the comments really help push us along. The next chappie will be kind of more in this vein, big revelations all around.

[nazlan.livejournal.com]

Ah ha! I knew it! I've long felt that Buffy just wasn't the same after she came back from the dead and now I see I am not the only person who thought that. Sweet vindication!

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Oh, yes. Plenty more where that came from on the theory front. More coming soon!

[db2305.livejournal.com]

I'm just hoovering this all up, so you won't get any deep thoughtful comments from me this time around, but I am loving this more and more...Awesome plotting. I love the dreams especially. Creepy Buffy dreams. And I'm glad Spike is still around in some way.

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Glad you're liking. : ) And the really good Spike stuff is yet to come, plus more dream stuff... heh heh heh.