Title: Lest Ye Become
Rating: R
Author: Brynn McK
Spoilers: through Same Time, Same Place
Disclaimer: I am not making even a shiny nickel off of this. Joss is God. I want to bear his wispy-haired children.
Feedback: Yes please! Here or at tmeyerswa@yahoo.com
A/N: OK, this requires a little explanation. Awhile ago, a very nice person named Igore (you can find his fic at http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=234321) emailed me and told me that he had a character he wanted written about, and he wanted me to do it. Being the shameless whore that I am, I said, "What? Rip off someone else's idea in the process of ripping off someone else's idea? Where do I sign up?!" And thus this fic was born. Therefore, all the credit for the creation of the Original Character herein goes to Igore. Anything which puts you off about him is undoubtedly my fault.
Thanks very, very much to my brother for both the Nietzsche quote and for his help with the Gaelic and Latin. If you enjoy discussing tenses of dead languages, email me and I'll put you in touch with him. He's wicked smart, and I can't keep up. Plus he's pretty cute. Thanks also to the lovely and talented Serpentine (aka Devil Piglet), whose fic makes me drool in jealousy, for the beta. You can find her work at http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=166621, and at her site, which is listed under her FF.net profile. So go read it, she rocks.
On to the fic…
**************
"Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster; and if you gaze into the Abyss, the Abyss also gazes into you."
-- Friedrich Nietzsche
**************
Fire. The world is fire, and rage, and agony, and white-hot emptiness hollowing his soul. The screams make him cringe and exult as he channels, power twisting from one whole, one withered hand. He can feel grit and smoke, smell flesh, and suddenly, a voice: "Father!"
And she is there, just out of his reach, blond curls flaming like a wild halo around her head. As he watches, her eyes slowly blacken, skin melting from bones. A small hand stretches toward him, imploring, then falls to ash.
"No!" The word tears from his throat. He tries to stop, tries to douse the flame, but he is a slave to the power now. "Kaia! No!"
He can do nothing but watch as the flame arrows from his fingertips and she burns, and burns, and burns—
He woke gasping, crying, hands twisted helplessly in the sheets. The nightmare had come to him thousands upon thousands of times, but never like this, the pain still knifing through him even after waking. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Instinctively groping for the source, he followed the scorched trail of agony in his mind to where a flame-haired girl knelt, eyes flashing black. Her pain tangled with his own as her keening wail echoed in his ears, mingling with those of his victims: "Tara! Tara!"
The loss in her voice made him weep. And yet, a part of his soul exulted as he heard another voice in his mind, confirming what he had already known in his heart.
She's the one.
I know, Mother, he replied. As always, her presence soothed him, enough that he could wrench himself away from the searing contact. The link snapped, leaving behind an emptiness that had him breathing hard as he tried to collect himself. Long moments passed while he focused on the steady intake and exhale of air, the awareness of his body from his toes to the claw of his ruined hand, the steady march of blood through his veins. Finally, when he had calmed, when he had once again tended the wound in his heart, he rose slowly and began to prepare himself for the journey.
But he could still hear the screams.
************
The pain was so intense, Dawn could hardly keep from screaming. She wondered if it could all be a bad dream, the shock, the betrayal, but no… it was all too real… Finally, desperately, a single word tore from her throat: "Buffy!"
Buffy looked up, innocently stirring her mai tai with an umbrella. "What?" she replied sweetly, batting her eyelashes for good measure.
"I told you I was coming here tonight," Dawn hissed, moving in on the table her sister and Willow were sharing. "You can't be here."
"That's funny, 'cause, check me out. In the toned and tanned flesh." Buffy grinned, then relented when her sister continued to glower at her with agonized intensity. "We're here together all the time, Dawn. What's the big?"
Dawn rolled her eyes. "I told you. Nathan is here tonight. And there's no way he's gonna hit on me with the counselor who can give him detention looking over his shoulder. Speaking of which, for a counselor, you're a pretty crappy listener."
"Sorry, I totally forgot," Buffy answered contritely, making her best apology face. Dawn was unmollified. "Look. We're just sitting here in the corner, no one's even gonna—"
"Dawn?" A dark-haired, dark-eyed boy approached, hands stuffed into the pockets of too-big jeans. Dawn narrowed her eyes for a last death-glare at her sister, then transformed her face into what she hoped was the image of coy sweetness as she turned to the newcomer.
"Hey, Nathan."
"Been looking for you." He hitched a shoulder in her direction, reeking of pasted-on cool. "Wanna dance?" He suddenly caught sight of Buffy behind her, straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. "Oh. Hi, Miss Summers. I was just…"
"Going to dance with my sister," Buffy finished brightly. "Sounds like fun."
"Oh. Yeah. I guess. Um…" Nathan's brow furrowed a bit, as if he was having trouble processing the situation. Awkward silence descended, lingered, and was in danger of setting up permanent housekeeping when Willow intervened.
"Dancing. Right. With the… movement, and the music, and the not standing in the corner." She tried for an encouraging smile, raising an eyebrow at Dawn.
"Right! Movement. Good idea." Dawn grabbed Nathan's arm. "C'mon." She dragged him off like there was a Kreggkhash demon on their heels.
"Have fun!" Buffy called after them, waving, as they disappeared into the crowd. "How cute was that?" she squealed, turning to Willow.
"Cute like a herd of puppies," Willow agreed. "In an weird, teenage, I-never-want-to-be-there-again sort of way."
Buffy sighed dreamily. "If he hurts her, I'll break both his arms."
"Sounds reasonable." Willow nodded, stirred her own drink, a frothy concoction called Witches' Brew. Buffy smiled, nostalgia overtaking her as she surveyed the familiar scene of the Bronze on a Friday night. There's where I danced my first dance with Angel. There's where I failed miserably at studying French with Willow. There's where Oz was standing when he found out there really are vampires. There's where Faith always danced, where everyone could see her. There's where I kissed Spike until I couldn't breathe. There's where Spike and I— the memory train derailed abruptly as her eyes settled on the darkened catwalk, and she shuddered a bit, staring down into her drink. Her smile had disappeared without a trace.
"You OK?" Willow asked quietly. The trust between them was still new, tenuous, layered like a scab over six years of friendship that were suddenly in question.
Buffy wrinkled her nose, hitched a shoulder. "Yeah. Just remembering stuff. Thinking about when we used to come here to do homework, and how much has changed since then, and how far we've come, and oh my God what the hell is that girl wearing?" She pointed, gaping, at a girl no older than Dawn whose top seemed to consist of two leather postage stamps held together by a series of thin snakeskin straps.
"Puts the skank in… skank-ho," Willow scoffed. "Takes all the mystery out of it."
"I'm telling you, Christina Aguilera has killed fashion for an entire generation." Buffy stabbed her umbrella into ice vengefully. "And speaking of which, what is up with the music they're playing tonight? They've played, like, two songs I know."
Willow frowned slightly, looking around. "I know. And… who are these people?"
As soon as the words were out of Willow's mouth, her eyes met Buffy's over the table. Their faces assumed identical expressions of horror. "Oh God," Willow whispered.
"We're old!" Buffy wailed, burying her head in her hands in an attitude of utter despair. "We will never be cool again! I will have Mom-hair for the rest of my life!"
"It's not so bad, Buffy," Willow offered weakly. "I was never cool anyway, and… the hair is good! It's bouncy, and shiny, and healthy, and… all that other Pantene-y stuff."
"Really?" Wistful, from underneath splayed fingers.
"Definitely." Willow's reply was firm. "Portia DiRossi would be jealous."
Buffy sighed gustily. "Well, at least that's something."
"C'mon, we're not out of the running yet, right? We're two hot, available chicks out looking for a good time."
"Right."
"Any member of either sex would be lucky to have us."
"Right." Buffy nodded, sat up straighter, smoothed her hair. The spirit was beginning to move her.
"And I have to go home now."
"Ri--what?!" Buffy's mouth dropped open, betrayed.
Willow grinned regretfully. "Sorry. But I'm getting sleepy, and I still haven't gotten in my meditation today. And for some reason, it doesn't work so well when I'm snoring." She patted her friend on the arm, consoling. "You wanna come with, or are you gonna stay here and break some hearts?"
Buffy sighed again. "None of the above. But I guess I should stay and keep an eye on Dawn and Mr. Bigpants over there. I've got to patrol in awhile anyway." She pouted. "Deserter."
"Sorry. I'll make it up to you this weekend." One last pat, and Willow slid off the stool. "Don't forget--hot. Available. Pantene hair."
"Gotcha. Be careful."
Willow patted the stake tucked into her jacket pocket. "No problem."
*************
"`No problem,'" Willow repeated mockingly to herself as she pulled her jacket tighter around her. "Why did I have to say that? I always make fun of people in the movies who say that. What would possess me to say that?" She looked uneasily around her. Truth be told, even armed and aware, she wasn't too comfortable jaunting around Sunnydale by herself at night. It had been awhile since she'd practiced fighting vampires without the aid of magic, and she'd never done so alone. She wasn't sure if she was more afraid of using her powers, or not being able to use them. But she felt like she'd been on enough of a burden on Buffy as it was, and she wasn't about to ask for an escort just because she had to bail out early.
Still, Sunnydale seemed to have even more cemeteries than usual that night. She held her breath every time she passed one, counting the familiar number between the Bronze and the Summers house. Rockfield… Halloway… Sacred Heart… only three more… Sparmount…
"Walking alone tonight, sweetheart?"
Shit.
I just had to say it.
Willow ran.
She got halfway down the block before she heard a roar behind her and felt the concrete tear into her skin as she fell beneath two hundred pounds of smelly vampire. She kicked and struggled desperately, managing to work the stake out of her pocket and turn on her back. At which point she found herself face-to-face with two hundred pounds of smelly, fangy vampire.
"Much better, Will," she muttered to herself, wrinkling her nose and twisting her face away as the vamp laughed. Fortunately, he was so busy laughing he didn't notice her legs were free, and she sent a knee slamming into his crotch with all the force she could muster. He howled, rolled off, and she skittered backwards like a crab.
"Tenet!" she shouted, throwing out a hand, but the familiar tug and flow of the power refused to come. "Tenet!" she repeated, uselessly, as the vampire regained his feet, leaping towards her with another deafening roar.
Her heart was hammering against her ribcage, and she knew the vampire could hear it. He grinned malevolently as her as he wrestled her back down, this time pinning her legs with his. The stake clattered from her hand as he slammed it against the concrete. He reared back for the kill, mouth gaping, fangs dripping--
"Cremat!" she screamed, and the power arced through her, and the world exploded into fire.
It was everywhere, searing her skin, and she screamed again and rolled, blood from her burned arms mixing with the dust that settled around her. She felt a jolt through her body as she tumbled off the curb and into the street, away from a sudden surge of heat that pushed at her even after she'd doused the flames on her clothes and hair. She blinked through teary eyes and saw a tree next to the sidewalk engulfed in flames, the fire licking at the branches of neighboring foliage, and she knew she could stop it if she could just remember the words…
"Mùchtear," came a deep voice from behind her, and the fire abruptly disappeared, leaving the smoking remains of the half-devoured tree behind it. She rolled again, painfully, to see a dark-haired man regarding her with eyes that seemed to see through her.
"Having some control problems, I see," he observed calmly, the hint of a smile playing around his lips.
As the adrenaline slowed in her veins, Willow could feel the pain of her burns starting to overwhelm her. "Ow," was the best reply she could manage as she tried unsuccessfully to lever herself up off the ground.
"Apologies." He moved swiftly to her side, placed a cool hand on her wrist. "Athchòrìtear," he whispered, and she almost passed out with relief as the raw skin on her arms and face closed without a blemish, the pain mercifully disappearing along with the blisters. "Better?"
She nodded wordlessly, and he rose again, striding towards the crippled tree, a battered cloak trailing behind him. He stroked the bark gently. "Wrong place at the wrong time, weren't you, friend?" he asked, his voice low and intimate. "No matter. Athchòrìtear," he repeated, and Willow watched in amazement as the tree stretched and sighed and slowly regrew itself, leaves sprouting from new branches that shed soot like rainfall. The blackened grasses around the man's feet straightened and shone emerald in the moonlight. He turned back to Willow, and now the hint had become a full-fledged smile.
"How did you…" Willow wondered breathlessly. "You can't just… that should take weeks, if not…" She trailed off, unable to process. Finally, in disbelief, "Who are you?"
He approached her slowly, eyes shadowed, still smiling. "Your teacher, if you would have one." When she didn't reply, he came closer, crouched down in front of her, his cloak pooling around him. "Athchòrìtear. To restore. To make whole. As I have done with your burns, and those of our friend over there." He gestured towards the renewed tree. "But you have other wounds. Ones I cannot heal so easily." His smile faded, and he lifted one shoulder in a regretful half-shrug. "Some, I cannot help you with at all. But I will teach you what I can, about magick, about balance, about control. If you would learn." He put a hand on her shoulder. "And I will not fear you."
Willow jerked back instinctively. They're afraid of me, she'd told Giles when he'd asked her about the coven. They all were, even here, her friends never quite able to forget that cheerful, brainy Willow with her day-of-the-week underwear was also black-haired, black-souled Willow who'd tried to end the world. Even Xander remembered it--she occasionally caught him looking too appraisingly at her when he thought she wasn't looking, and she didn't think all the yellow crayons in the world could change that. And she knew she deserved it all, even if she sometimes felt as if her power wasn't part of her, but a parasite, eating away at her control and whatever life she tried to make for herself until eventually there would be nothing left of her. If this man could teach her, and not be afraid… yet how could she trust a stranger, and one so obviously powerful, just on his word and a healing spell or two?
He nodded as if she'd responded, though she hadn't spoken a word. He reached into a pocket and placed something on the asphalt between them. It was a small rock, worn smooth, a strange sigil etched into it. "You enjoy reading, yes?" She blinked at him, confused, and his smile returned. "This symbol, and its history, appears in many Wiccan texts. Find it, learn what you will, and make your decision. If you want my aid, trace this sigil in water. I will find you. If you decide to continue alone…" He shrugged again, but the sudden look of sadness on his face brought tears pricking at her eyes. He reached out almost tentatively and placed a large hand over hers. "It is a difficult road, and I wish you well."
The shock of the attack, her loss of control, her sudden rescue, and now this, was enough to render Willow completely speechless. She was still gaping in an excellent imitation of a landed fish when she realized he'd disappeared.
TBC