WRATH OF THE EAGLE

Timeline: Season Three (It's the best season for my ff, all of them) 'Dead Man's Party.'

Disclaimer: Don't own, wish I did, but I don't, so I can't make money, buy a nice house, and pay off my bills for the next hundred years like the Joss Almighty. And yes, that was a play on Bruce Almighty, bad as it was, and which, by the way, also don't own…I'm going to shut up now before I get sued. Please don't sue.

A/N: I know, I'm a Buffy basher…live with it! I'm also a Xander fan…live with it! I also damn near literally worship at the alter of maker of the Colt handgun…live with it! …Sorry, just had an argument with my mate (Australian/British style, not animalistic) about all three. Anyway, this just struck me last night so, I figured, what the Hell? Enjoy, and please, review. Reviews are like coffee to my cousin: can't get enough, or else, I go mad.

╟╢

Buffy Summers was not in the best frame of mind as she packed her bag. All she thought of was how hard it was to deal. She had known that things wouldn't be easy, that this would take time…but, not like this. She wanted her friends back, not these people…who didn't want her back. Her own Mother thought things would be better if she left. And…she did, too. She wanted what was best for her friends, and she knew that they could handle it without her. She sighed as she finished packing and went to the window. It was a starry night, cold out, especially cold for this place but…she couldn't bring herself to worry. She sighed and tossed the bag outside, then went out onto the sill to the tree. For one agonizing second, she felt that same pang of guilt and horror that she felt the first time she had left her friends. She stopped and considered…but, no…she didn't.

"…Take care," she whispered those same words once, to Willow, and now…she whispered them to no one, hoping that someone out there heard her.

She stifled a sob and dropped down to the ground.

╟╢

Willow sighed in relief as she finally extricated herself from the party. Things were getting intense down there, and she wanted to check on Buffy. She hadn't seemed too well when she had spoken to her, sort of…depressed. It got her worried, thinking that she would run out again. She walked slowly down the hallway to Joyce's room and gently wrapped her knuckles against the door, so as to not surprise her.

"Buffy," she called and, upon receiving nothing for an answer, she opened the door and move inside, "It's Willow. Are you here?"

Once more, only the wind responded to her cry. The young witch began to become worried as she deepened her entry into the room. There was a slight folding along the bed, almost as though an object had been thrown onto it. She gasped as she realized that the fold was, in fact, the shape of a bag. She walked over to the closet, fearing the worst, and opened it up…and found it to be nearly empty.

"Oh, no," she muttered to herself, "She's gone."

"What," she turned her head around to face Joyce Summers, the distraught woman who had once bore Buffy Anne Summers into this world, the woman who now held tears in her eyes, "She's gone?"

Willow tried to speak but, found herself unable to muster a syllable underneath Mrs. Summers' gaze…so, she nodded, her eyes holding a great amount of remorse and sympathy for the ragged woman. The mother of the Slayer clutched her heart as tears began to flow from her eyes. She collapsed onto the bed, with Willow nearby, trying to no avail to appease the weeping mother.

╟╢

Rupert Giles was, by all accounts, a patient man, a man of the written word and of the old ways. However, when it came to the zombies which were now holding his way, he held no patience whatsoever. He threw his fist into the dead thing's face, or what remained of it, sending it sprawling to the floor. He hastily retreated to the safety of his old Citron and locked the door, just as more zombie reinforcements joined the fray. He reached into his pocket and searched for his keys, only to find them missing. Enraged at himself for possibly losing his keys, the keys which led to his ticket out of this mess, he lifted his head up and searched from the window…where he saw the keys, lying on the ground, a mere ten feet away.

"Oh, good show, Giles," he mocked himself.

He took a quick moment to examine his situation and decided that reverting to old skills from his unscrupulous past held the key to his survival, the Englishman dived down underneath the dash and began to tinker with the wires. After a moment, he found the ones he needed, just as a member of the living dead's fist came crashing through his window, littering himself and his vehicle with broken glass. He gritted his teeth as a small fragment invaded the area between his neck and his shoulder and worked harder at his task. After a moment, he felt a slight shock as the wires sparked together, a spark which was followed by the lovely sound of the engine starting.

"Just like riding a bloody bicycle," he muttered to himself as he straightened up and drove down the street, causing the zombies to be left behind in his dust.

╟╢

"So," Xander turned his head to look at his love as she spoke, "What do you think of the infamous Buffy's return?"

"…," he sighed as he searched for an answer to Cordelia's question, "I wish I knew what to think," he muttered after a moment, "One part of me is leaping for joy but…the other parts of me are worried. They're asking 'what now?' and 'how do we deal?' and 'will she stay?' I, we, went through Hell this past three months, and I can't imagine what she went through but…I do know that I would have turned to my friends no matter what."

"Hey, kids," the two turned their attention away from each other to the blonde woman, Pat, Joyce's friend, "You wouldn't happen to know where Joyce is, would you?"

"I think, ugh, upstairs," the two pointed upward in unison.

"Thanks," she smiled at them and turned around to go up.

The two were about to return to the conversation at hand, only to be rudely interrupted as a body flew into the room through the window, shattering the glass completely. Before anyone could react, the being clutched one of the partygoer's necks in his hands and twisted sharply, severing it completely.

"Go upstairs, get Buffy," he shouted to her and ran to help the others.

Two boys, Devon and Jonathan, were working together to try and get this one back outside, the line between cool guy and geek bridged by the mutual need for survival. Xander threw a right into the man, sending him back into the windowpane. He followed through with a kick to its abdomen as it stood up, sending it rolling backward into the gather of beings behind it, causing them all to fall to the ground. He took a quick look behind himself and noticed that more people, each of them equal in grotesque appearance and…dead quality. He came to a quick conclusion: zombies.

"Block the window with that table," he ordered the two, along with the few remaining partiers, "Don't let them get through," he turned around and noticed two jocks, both wrestlers standing by, looking simultaneously thrilled and worried by the increase in violence and decided they would be best, "You two," he snapped at them, causing them to become instantly rigid upon his tone, "Get the couch, block the front door with it."

They nodded in understanding and went to their task. Xander, meanwhile, ran to the front door and aided in the effort to keep them contained.

"The couch is coming," he told the three that were working to keep the front door standing, "When it gets here, move quickly and allow them to place it there, I'll stay to the side and keep them out. When it's down, move and block them as best you can."

They nodded in understanding and moved as fast as they could, allowing the two wrestlers the ability to set it down to the ground. Xander punched the first zombie to even get a hand in, sending it backwards and into the ever-growing crowd of zombies. Fortunately, the two set it down, allowing him enough room to move. He got out from behind the couch and helped them set it down to the ground, as the three remaining guards took up post against the zombies.

"Stay till I give the word," he ordered, causing them to nod in agreement, "You guys take the kitchen," he told the wrestlers, "Keep all them out, and keep it as secure as you can. Make sure it's clear when I come back, got it?"

They nodded simultaneously and hurried back to the kitchen. He sighed in frustration and moved to the dining room, where about seven people were fighting for their very lives from the invading zombies. He looked around quickly for a weapon and settled on the nearby chair. He lifted it up and slammed it into one of their backs, causing it to take its arms away from the person it had been trying to strangle and devote all its attention to him. The person behind the zombie, a small blonde girl with a large amount of freckles, looked to him for advice. He grabbed its arm and began to pull it to the window. She joined him and grabbed its other arm and, together, they threw it out of the room.

"Go," he ordered, "Get all them out."

She nodded and moved on. Xander stayed behind to guard the window, punching and kicking all the zombies that made a run for it, and helping all the remaining people get the beings out of the room. Within fifteen minutes, the dining room was clear.

"The table," he called and the eight of them worked together and lifted the large table up and blocked the window with it.

"Stay here," Xander said to them, "Wait for my order, got it?"

They all nodded, confirming that they had heard him. He ran around the house quickly and went to the hallway in the staircase. He opened the closet and withdrew an axe that he had given her, just in case, a baseball bat, and a pair of ski poles. He ran back to the kitchen and handed the bat off to one of the wrestlers.

"Listen up," they looked at him expectantly (Whoa, he thought, They're actually taking orders from me…never expected it. Oh, well. Save lives now, question status in life later.), "In a few moments, I'm going to have everyone get the Hell outta here. Keep this place covered as best as you can. When I give the order, you," he pointed to the one with the bat, "Go out first, lead them to the hospital, there'll be wounded. You take the rear," he pointed to the other one, "Keep all the stragglers going and any zombies that might pursue off you, got it?"

They nodded. He smiled grimly and turned away, entering the dining room as he did so, grabbing a handful of Chex Mix on the way, and handed one of the ski poles off to the same blonde girl, who was, by far, the one doing the least amount of work on the table. He move on to the front and handed the other pole off to Jonathan, who took it questioningly, but still took it. He sighed in relief and walked up to the stairs, just a few steps below the top floor.

"Everyone," he shouted out, causing a few heads to turn his way while most remained partially focused on their task, "When I give the word, run out the house through the kitchen in the back. Head for the hospital and take any wounded you can," he counted to three in his head quickly and, upon reaching the number, shouted, "GO!"

They took off as fast as they could, escaping the dead clutches through the kitchen. Xander turned away from them and walked up to Joyce's room, where a decaying man was trying to gain access. Xander lifted his axe high and drove it down into the man's head, splitting it open. Before it could react in any way, Xander used the axe handle and pulled it away from the door. He ripped the axe out and kicked the zombie down the stairs, creating a bowling ball effect on all the monsters trying to reach the top floor.

"Strike," he thrust his fist into the air with joy.

Before they could recover, though, the young man turned away and ran into the room, only to be hit in the chest by a bat.

"DAMN," he muttered as he fell against the wall, clutching his stomach, which was threatening to expel his lunch, "What the Hell kinda bus hit me?"

"Xander," he looked up.

Gathered inside the room were Willow, Oz, Cordelia, Joyce, and Pat, all of whom had been valiantly defending the room, and their lives.

"Xander," Willow repeated, "Are you OK?"

"Who hit me," he asked as he stood up.

"…Ugh," he looked up again and saw that Joyce was the one whose fingers were wrapped around the bat, an apologetic look on her face, "I thought you were a zombie."

"…I could never stay mad at a pretty woman," he said, causing her to blush slightly and look away, and for Cordelia to give him and her a look that screamed violence.

Before any could occur, however, the zombie onslaught rose against the door once more, allowing one access to the room.

"Get the door," Xander shouted, causing the others to spring into action and weave away from the zombie and into the door.

Xander, meanwhile, grabbed the remaining zombie by the neck and the arm and guided it to the window at a breakneck speed, hopefully literal breaking of the neck involved, and threw it out the window. As the youth looked up to help the others, a flash of red caught his eyes: the eyes of the mask in the room, Joyce's mask from Nigeria, he believed, were growing redder by the minute. Xander took a chance and ripped the mask off the wall, tossed it to the floor, and slammed the blunt end of the axe down upon it.

"Snooze," he grinned insanely, happy with his own Jim Carrey Mask joke, and stood up to survey the event.

The zombies that had been trying to get into the room were gone, as were all the ones outside. The Scooby gang, along with Pat and Joyce, came up to him in confusion.

"What," Mrs. Summers asked, bewildered as to why he destroyed her mask.

"Eyes glowed red," he stated simply as Cordy wrapped her arms around him, "Took a chance."

"Cool," Oz nodded to him and turned back to his Willow, taking her hands in his own, "You good?"

"Yeah, I'm ok," she smiled at him sadly, "But…Buffy."

"Buffy," that captured Xander's attention automatically, "Where is she? Is she alright? What happened?"

"That's what I'd like to know," everyone's head turned to the door, where an infuriated looking Giles stood.

Willow withered under his gaze as she tried to explain what had happened before the zombie attack.

╟╢

Outskirts of Sunnydale:

"So," the blonde Slayer know as Buffy looked up as the truck driver talked to her, "Where you headin' again?"

"…LA," she said with a grimace, "I have an apartment there, my roommate should be done moving it."

"Why'd you come back here, then," the fat man pried.

"…Because," she struggled to find the right words, "I used to have friends here…now, I don't."

A lonely teardrop made its way down her cheek and onto her hand. It ran down the veins and the skin along her body and into the crevice between her fingers, and onto the ring that the soulful vampire known as Angel had given her before his reversion to Angelus…before the pain had begun, a lonesome memory of love from the past.

╟╢

Los Angeles:

It was dark out in the City of Angels. Many people knew of the city's high death rate, all believed due to gang activity, all of which had been heavy during the early nineties. What many people didn't know was that a great deal of the mortality was due to an undercurrent of activity known widely as the Nosferatu…vampires. One of these creatures of the night was, at the time, stalking through the alleys of teenagers, looking for a meal. Believing the answer to his quest had been in the form of a raven haired goddess, the leech had taken her to a quiet part of the city, where none of his kind or hers would interfere. As he had leaned into her neck, however, he had felt a great force thrust against his chest, sending him back into the wall nearby. He looked up and saw the smirking woman standing before him, a stake in her hand.

"Slayer," he growled at her, "I thought you were gone."

"Wrong 'bout that, fang," she launched her fist into his neck, sending him back into the wall, pinned down by her arm and the stake against his heart, "You're gone."

"Why didn't you just stay lost," he shouted, planning for it to be his last sentiment on this coil of Earth, only to find that she hadn't staked him, but was looking at him with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.

"Gone," she asked, "Whaddya mean, gone?"

"You left Sunnydale," he snarled at her, "You haven't been seen in months!"

Faith stared helplessly at this creature before her, her sense of power having been stripped away from her. She had never been to Sunnydale, but…Buffy had. She had been there and done many great things, according to her Watcher…her dead Watcher. But, if what this vamp was saying was true, then…that meant that she had run away. Just like she had…and still was.

"Where is she," she demanded of him, "Where is that Slayer you've heard about?"

"Last I heard, she was in Denver," before he could finished the 'er' part, he felt a stab into his chest, then…nothing at all.

Faith dusted her pants off and took a moment to think. She needed help if she was going to stay off Kakistos's trail. She had heard from her Watcher that Buffy was working alone, like she had, so…that meant that there was nothing for her in Sunnydale. She sighed in frustration and took off down the alley, wondering how she was going to get to Denver with what little money she had.

A/N: OK, now I find I can't put songs up here! What about quotes, anybody mind quotes?