Disclaimer going forward: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Grave Beginning

The procession to the old factory on Crawford Street is solemn. Buffy takes point with her blessed blade. Giles follows with his tome and extra stakes. Willow and Oz, carrying crossbows, keep time with Xander and his blowtorch.

Buffy has known too much solemnity since her calling and especially since her seventeenth birthday.

Since Angel became Angelus.

Since Ms. Calendar.

Since Kendra.

Buffy would be hard pressed to say which loss has been hardest to bear.

This, all of this, is her responsibility. Buffy is the Slayer. The one girl in all the world.

The Powers That Be must have flubbed when they picked her. All she does is make mistakes, left and right. Maybe that's why Slayers aren't supposed to have friends-so if a Slayer should suck at her job and die, a friend wouldn't come along and breathe her back to life again, allowing her to go on making more bad calls and getting people killed.

Kendra…Buffy thinks her sister slayer would still be alive if Buffy hadn't been so stupid. She'd let herself be distracted by the suicidal vamp in her classroom. Meet Angelus in the cemetery. Obviously, a trap. She let herself be led away and that gave Drusilla all the opportunity she needed to voodoo up and kill Kendra.

Thank goodness Buffy made it back before the insane vampiress hurt anyone else.

If Buffy lives through this confrontation with Angelus, she knows she'll be having nightmares about finding all of her friends sprawled across the familiar old library, throats slashed.

No. No. This nightmare ends today.

They take position up on the catwalk and blend into the creeping shadows there. Buffy is under no illusion that Angelus won't notice them, if he hasn't already. Just because a predator gives no indication of seeing its prey doesn't mean it won't pounce and savage at the slightest provocation. Buffy herself has used this tactic.

In the arena below, Angelus stalks around a raised dais upon which Acathla rests.

Drusilla practically floats around the peripheral of the stone-walled room. Her white lace dress brushes the dirt floor. Angelus is ordering around his minions. "No, you numbskull, to the left—" directing the proceedings with an iron fist. Even as they watch, Angelus dusts two vamps. One moves too slowly for him, the other for no apparent reason.

The monster wearing Buffy's lover's face flips through a book old enough and musty enough to rival Giles' collection. Actually—

Giles sputters, "My codex! The recordings! Fiend! He must have sent Drusilla after it when she—"

Desecrated their safe place? Killed Kendra in the library with the thrall, she'd like to make an accusation, please? Yeah.

Giles, minding his volume, ducks his head down to Buffy's ear and whispers, "He may have the knowledge he needs to complete the ritual. Remember what to watch for?"

Buffy nods, the debriefing still crystal clear in her head. Blood of the ritual-doer and some chant-y words opens the portal. Only the same blood can close it. Buffy will intervene once they have the advantage of the rising sun, or in the unlikely event that Angelus can scrounge up a selfless, willing, sacrifice to begin the whole mess—

"Drusilla, doll, come here. I've got something really important to do and I need your help." Angelus' voice booms across the wide open space, both demanding and coaxing.

"Blast! That could actually work." Giles mutters next to Buffy.

Willow shoots them a wide-eyed look. "But didn't he, you know, make her?"

"Just because you're a parent doesn't mean you're good to your kid," Xander says grimly.

The group's conversation is camouflaged by the remaining minions noisily covering window openings with sheet metal to block the coming sun.

No sun advantage. And a possible sacrifice. Buffy doesn't know why she's surprised. Nothing is sacred to Angelus.

A tingle on the back of her neck coils her muscles and springs her into action. Buffy turns neatly, an economy of motion, and wields her sword before her.

Spike. The sight of him up and about on healed legs stops her short for a moment. But what stays her hand is his complete disregard for her and her friends, all of whom are armed to the teeth in vampire slaying gear.

Spike steps fluidly up to the catwalk railing and grips it tightly with both hands. His dark brows are drawn together in apparent concern.

Oz snaps his crossbow up to aim at the Slayer of Slayers. Willow gasps at Oz's elbow, but Spike pays them no mind. He leans farther over the railing to take in Drusilla tripping lightly over compact dirt on dancer's feet, in long fanciful arcs that slowly bring her closer to Angelus and Acathla.

"What…?" Spike mutters to himself. The minions finish blocking the windows and melt back into the shadows that creep along the edges of the torch-lit chamber.

Giles puts a hand on Oz's shoulder. The quiet musician slowly lowers his weapon.

Buffy knows what Giles is thinking. Let Angelus sacrifice Drusilla, coward, Slayer-killer, and let Spike be distracted by it. The fewer master vampires Buffy has to personally put down, the better. She won't even need the advantage of the sun's deadly rays at her back if the vamps start tearing each other apart first.

Two more minions spread out a rune detailed cloth on the dais with the utmost care and back away quickly.

Spike's knuckles go white on the rail.

Angelus holds an imperious hand out to Drusilla.

"No." Spike says clearly, next to Buffy.

The seemingly frail, beautiful vampire glides to Angelus and reaches out her hand.

"No!" Spike calls out, loudly. Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy sees Xander flinch as all the attention in the chamber swings up to the catwalk. Angelus' face morphs into a wolfish grin when he catches sight of Buffy.

Drusilla turns fully to face them. She clasps her hands and bounces on her toes, excitedly. "Ooooh, my William!" Her voice slips and slides, drawing the syllables out. "Daddy, look! Our William can walk again." She wears a charming Cheshire cat grin.

The older vampire's lip curls into a snarl, "Yes, that is quite the surprise." Angelus grabs Drusilla's shoulders and yanks her around. She lets out a little yip. "Focus, Dru. Remember, I need you to help me. Will you do that, baby? It needs to be now."

Spike's body vibrates with tension as he leans across the railing, teetering over the edge from the force of his shouts. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare, Angelus! Dru, get away from him!" Spike rocks back on his feet then hurtles down the grated stairs.

The fear and fury in his voice leaves Buffy's throat closed tight with borrowed anxiety.

Drusilla's head turns over where Angelus still grips her shoulders to peep at Spike with nervous eyes. "Daddy…"

His large hands appear capable of crushing her delicate looking arms to dust. Angelus shakes her.

She gazes up at Angelus, her back to Buffy and the others on the catwalk. Buffy can't make out what the mad vampiress says, but Buffy observes Angelus nod in rushed agreement. Drusilla takes his hand.

"Drusilla!" Spike shouts hoarsely, abandoning the rest of the stairs to leap over the railing and tuck and roll on the ground. He clumsily regains his footing and charges forward.

Angelus guides Drusilla to the steps.

"No, Dru, don't do it! Don't you listen to him, Dru!" Spike is half a room away and dashing closer.

Drusilla doesn't acknowledge him as she steps up onto the rune covered cloth of her own willpower.

"NO—"

Spike's horrified scream is cut off by a tidal wave of power bursting from Drusilla. The force of the blast radius rockets him back several paces. Buffy puts a hand up to shield her eyes from the unholy bright light washing over the room. Her watcher and friends duck and cover their eyes.

When it's over, Drusilla is just an empty husk draped over the platform. Her body is intact, but her mouth is open in a soundless scream, eyes burnt away into hollow sockets. Steam rises from her inert form.

The room smells of scorched earth.

Spike staggers to his feet and sobs Drusilla's name. He runs, stride weaving unsteadily, until he reaches her and collapses by her side.

Feeling like a voyeur, Buffy watches Spike gather Drusilla up into a desperate, gentle embrace.

"Dru, Dru, princess, wake up." Spike rocks her, patting her face. One of Drusilla's arms flops down, bonelessly. Spike grasps her wrist and brings it to his face, inhaling her scent and choking. Spike shifts the dainty woman around so her head is cradled in one of his leather-clad arms. "No, no, no—" Gut-deep wails. "Please wake up, Dru, please!" Off to the side, Angelus shoots the pair a disgusted look before resuming his inspection of the scorched cloth and Acathla. A hum buzzes in the background; power coalescing.

Willow has a hand covering her mouth. Her eyes are wide and wet.

Spike's grief is unexpectedly horrible. Or maybe it's the way Drusilla died, led like a lamb to slaughter. Staring down at the broken vampire clan, Buffy feels something sharp catch in her chest.

Spike shakes his sleeve back and cuts his own wrist with his fangs and places dripping red against Drusilla's mouth.

"Quit it, Willy boy. You're embarrassing yourself. She's gone, demonic energy got sucked up in payment." Angelus drops the rune-cloth at Acathla's feet and brushes off the statue idly.

Buffy snaps out of it and hefts her sword, preparing to descend and end this freak show when Spike's quiet, shocked weeping changes.

Each gulping breath charges into anger and Spike raises his head from his lost lover to snarl, "You bastard! You rat bastard. How could you fucking do this? This is Drusilla!"

Angelus swings around, apparently losing interest in the statue in favor of savoring someone else's misery.

"Yeah. And?"

"She would've done anything for you! She was your childe, and you led her to die! That's not how we do things!"

"Is it not?" Angelus says in mocking question. He moves closer to Spike, like a jackal circling a wounded antelope. Probing for the weak spot.

"No! What, why…" Spike breaks off, tucking Drusilla tighter to him a moment. He beholds Angelus with an accusatory disbelief. "It was you and Darla who taught us that. Taught us about family. What happened to, 'an eternity is a long time to walk this earth without family?'" Spike spits the last word, bitterly.

Angelus laughs. "I'll tell you what happened, boy. I got sick and tired of her carrying on about this, on about that—"

Spike's voice cracks with outrage, "That's who she is! You made her that way!" Spike glares fiercely over Drusilla's dark hair. "And how the hell could you be sick of her? You just got back!"

"What you fail to understand is that we are moving up in the world. I don't have time for burdens and while she had her…uses...a burden is all she'd become." Angelus licks his lips and pins Buffy with a look from afar. "Don't worry, Spike. I'm working on her replacement as we speak."

Bile surges to Buffy's throat. Giles practically growls, next to her.

Spike's emotions seem to have twisted from near-violent anger to despair again. He presses his forehead to Drusilla's, voice ragged. "She's irreplaceable. You sonuva bitch. She was it."

Angelus talks right over Spike's hunched form, directing his words to the group on the catwalk. "And hey, tell you what? After I get a couple of centuries' use out of our Buff here, I'll give her to you, no hard feelings. I know how much you love my sloppy seconds."

All hell breaks loose. Xander shouts down, "You bastard!" as Giles cries out in wordless outrage.

Behind Angelus, Spike's demonic face emerges and he tackles the older vamp in a flying leap.

Like kicking off an unruly pup, Angelus regains his balance and sends Spike flying. The bleached blonde vampire barely hits the floor before he is scrabbling up to charge Angelus again.

Buffy watches, numb, as Angelus bats Spike away each time. Buffy has fought both master vamps. Spike is better than this, it shouldn't be such a one-sided-

As he gets to his feet again, Spike swipes a furious hand over his tear-stained face.

Of course. Angelus always wins because he always has the emotional advantage.

It's not something Buffy would think would apply to another vampire in battle, and yet…

"Is it wrong that I'm rooting for Spike to win?" Oz mutters darkly.

Angelus knocks Spike to the ground again. "Big Bad Spike. You're just a twisted mess inside aren't you? Look at you. You call yourself a demon? Disgusting, how upset you get over these things. How emotional." Angelus sneers, "I think Drusilla really did turn you wrong, boy, just as she turned all her other childer wrong. The way you act, you must have at least half your humanity left, festering inside." Angelus shudders as if in remembrance.

He would hate the idea, Buffy realizes. Angelus hates the thought of his soul.

"Is that even possible?" Giles breathes, shocked. What, that Spike has some kind of humanity? Buffy seriously doubts that.

Angelus tips his head up to soak in the group's attention. "Well Spike, it's been fun while it lasted, but we've got a little girl waiting in the wings for her time to shine."

Spike spits blood. "You fucking idiot. She's not some little girl, she's the goddamned Slayer and tell you something," Spike yanks a piece of rebar loose from the run-down building. "I know Slayers and I know this. Long as the two of us stand here, ready to duke it out, she isn't doing shit. She's gonna wait for us to kill each other or tire each other out before she joins in."

Angelus switches his stare from Spike's strained and furious expression to Buffy's stone cold killer face. The one she practiced especially for this fight in the mirror at home. At…her mother's home.

Something moves behind Angelus' expression. He spots the long-range weapons in their hands. Turning to his side to make a smaller target, Angelus sneaks a look over to Acathla.

But Spike has regained some of his equilibrium and moved himself directly in Angelus' path to the statue.

Angelus sneers, "If you know so much, then why don't you stand down? Drag this out and you'll be dust, Spike, by my hand or hers."

Spike laughs joylessly. "Whatsamatter, Angelus? Getting nervous? You great, bleeding coward."

"Spike," Angelus' voice rings with patience lost. "Give it up. I can count on one hand how many times over the last hundred plus years you've one-upped me."

Spike approaches, gesturing wildly with the rebar, eyes so wide with a hysterical edge that the whites are visible all the way around the irises. "Hundred years? Would that be the same hundred or so years you have on me? The same years you abandoned us and spent scrabbling among rats, wasting away while I cut my teeth on worthy opponents and drank Slayer blood? Face it, old man." Spike's expression has turned nasty. "Whatever edge you had on me is long gone."

Angelus' hands clench into fists. He looms. "Step up and I'll put you down, boy."

Spike's chest heaves with unneeded breaths. "Not this time, you fucking bastard. I'm no fledge and I'm no paraplegic. Know you hate anything resembling a fair fight, but why don't we shake things up a bit?"

In a blink, the two vamps are on each other like savage beasts. Snarling and slashing, they clash together and apart and together again.

Buffy notices with detachment that the rebar is a good idea. It gives Spike the distance he needs to stay out of Angelus' long reach and massive paws.

It's a pretty even fight.

Spike's skill and fury matches up to Angelus' strength and size.

Every time, Angelus gets too close, Spike jabs the rebar up and into Angelus' joints: shoulder, hip, collarbone. It keeps the bigger vamp off-balance and pisses him off. Spike swings in plenty of kicks to knees, ribs, even Angelus' face.

Angelus fights like a bear, bodily picking Spike up and slamming him back down, smashing his boot into Spike's face once, knocking him around.

Spike whips the bar at Angelus' head and he ducks under it, charging Spike. Spike brings the bar back in to whack the side of Angelus' head as the pair tumble down to the dirt. Spike continues the momentum and uses his feet as a springboard to launch the older vamp up and over his head to slam into the wall.

Willow clutches her crossbow close to her chest like a teddy bear. "They're going to kill each other!"

"One can only hope," Giles grits out.

Buffy watches, rapt, at the sight of two master vampires tearing into each other. It's not something she's ever witnessed before.

At one point, Angelus catches the tail end of Spike's long leather coat and yanks it up to trap his arms above his head and to blind his vision. Spike is forced to drop his weapon.

Spike snarls and dances out of the way of most of Angelus' meaty hits to his flank. Spike manages to close distance to gain slack and squirm out of the coat sleeves. The duster flutters to the ground, forgotten as the battle rages on.

Fists and fangs. Snarls and the thud of flesh on flesh. It's damn even, blow for blow, until Angelus spins Spike around and viciously kicks him in the spine.

"Arghhh!" With a pained cry, Spike collapses gracelessly to the floor.

Struggling to get to his feet, Spike yelps as Angelus grabs his arms and forces them back, planting one boot directly on the younger vampire's spine, the other on the back of Spike's bent leg.

With a nasty grin, Angelus slowly pushes out with his foot and pulls Spike's arms in, forcing him to bow his back the wrong way.

He is going to re-snap Spike's spine.

Spike yells out in pain, whimpering and gasping, knees buckling, and trying to break Angelus' hold. The strain in his face increases drastically.

Willow makes a horrified sound in her throat and turns away.

Buffy, without thinking too hard on her reasons for doing so, deliberately clangs her sword against the rail. Angelus' head swings toward the sound, distracting him enough for Spike to regain his feet and break his opponent's grip.

The battle reengages, but Spike is dragging, his back obviously paining him.

Angelus suddenly body slams Spike to the floor and sinks his fangs into the smaller vamp's neck. Spike shouts and flails his limbs trying to buck the bigger vamp off. Angelus stays latched on, sucking down blood.

The scene eerily resembles an assault of a different kind.

Buffy watches with bated breath as Spike's hand grasps the ground beside him and finds a large shard of broken glass.

He jams it into Angelus' ear.

With a howl, Angelus rears back and clutches around his injury.

Separated, the two vampires regard each other, wild-eyed and furious. They seem to have completely forgotten about their audience.

Spike, weakened from blood loss, presses a hand to the jagged wound at his neck and Angelus painstakingly removes the glass from his ear.

Spike staggers to his feet.

"I'm going to kill you!" Angelus snarls, clearly off-balance from his useless ear.

Spike stares him down, both defiant and overwhelmed. He looks at Angelus like David probably looked at Goliath. Like an insurmountable foe he doesn't expect to win against, but would die trying to vanquish.

Buffy finds herself sympathetic to Spike's side of the battle, but secretly hopes he loses anyway. She's not sure if that's just to give herself a chance at her own vengeance or if she somehow still doesn't want to see Angelus dust.

Well, she wants to see Angelus dust. Buffy just doesn't want him to be wearing Angel's face when he goes.

She needs to get down there. At this point, Spike's hurt enough he won't be a huge problem and Angelus is hers to kill.

But the two are already clashing again, tumbling into a scrap pile closer to the wall. Angelus shoves Spike down into the sharp metal and staggers back, clutching at his ear again.

Spike grabs hold of something sharp and shiny. He gets up to kick out Angelus' knees and the bigger vamp falls, dizzy.

Spike pins him in an instant, shoving down a widely curved, serrated blade over Angelus' neck.

All movement stills in the room.

If Angelus struggles at all or tries to rise, he will be instantly beheaded. Spike holds the blade firm against his throat, the curved ends sinking into the dirt ground.

Buffy feels the beginnings of panic surge within her. She didn't expect Spike to make it this far.

Angelus experimentally shifts this way and that. Evidently realizing he wouldn't be escaping without Spike's say-so, Angelus changes track, falling limp.

"That's enough, Spike. Come on, Will, let me up."

"Yeah fucking right," the bleached blonde pants above Angelus, eyes dark and wide.

Angelus' voice oozes fake sincerity. "I know you, Spike. You can't stand to be alone. You don't really want to do this." Above him, Spike shakes his head in despair. Angelus soldiers on. "I'm sorry about Dru, alright, but we'll make a new, better family this time around. A less crazy, more reliable one."

Spike laughs wetly, "Mate, I don't even know who the fuck you are. Dru was so excited her daddy had come home, but he never really did, did he? This isn't you. This is madness. The soul's turned you all around. You've lost the plot—"

"Spike—"

"Ending the fucking world. What'd you think was gonna happen? You kill all of the little blood bags, what's left for us to eat?"

"Spike!" Angelus hisses furious and urgent.

"And you're right. I don't want to be alone. I didn't want you and Darla to leave us all those years ago and I sure as hell didn't want to outlive Dru." Spike stills with intent. He glares sightlessly down through Angelus' prone form. "This is nothing. This isn't me killing the last of my family. I'm already alone. They're already dead."

Buffy flings herself away from the railing, but it's too late.

Spike presses down until resistance gives and Angelus' dust settles around him.