Chapter 1

***

"That was soooo good," said Dawn, still chuckling a bit. "Pooh-Bah was my favorite."

"I've got some classes with the guy who plays him, and he's a nice person. He's got a great sense of humor," Tara told the young girl. "My favorite was Ko-Ko, though—he's just too nice to be the Lord High Executioner."

"Yeah, he was fun, too," agreed Dawn. "Thanks for taking me, Tara."

They were walking home from the bus stop, taking their time, but still hyper-aware of the night around them.

"Not a problem. Thanks for being my date tonight, Dawnie." Tara thought for a second about how that sounded. "I mean that in a strictly non-statutory way, of course."

"I didn't think you were making a pass at me." They were ambling up the Summers' front walk. "Want to come in?" Dawn asked. Tara hesitated. "Will's at a study group tonight. It'll be just me and the Buffster."

Trust Dawn to be so perceptive, thought Tara. "Sure, why not?" she said aloud. Truthfully, the warmth that had grown between Buffy and Tara since Buffy's confession was something Tara treasured. The other girl trusted her, saw her as her own friend and not simply Best Friend's Lover (or ex-lover), and Tara had found she liked Buffy even more than she admired her.

Dawn opened the door, calling, "Buffy?" No answer came. "Huh. The lights are on." The teen turned, making a beeline into the kitchen—and tripped over a pair of legs on the floor.

Tara had turned into the living room when Dawn's shriek of "Buffy!" commanded all her attention. She ran into the kitchen to find Dawn standing, horrified, over her sister's still body. Buffy was sprawled facedown on the kitchen floor beside a pool of her own vomit.

"BUFFY! Buffy, Buffy, Buffy, Buffy . . ." Dawn dropped to her knees, took her sister's shoulders, and turned the Slayer's body over so Buffy was resting in her sister's lap. "Wake up!"

Tara dropped to her own knees just as Buffy's eyelids fluttered open. The Slayer coughed and gasped, intense pain written all over her face. "D-Dawn?" she whispered.

"Buffy, what happened?" asked Tara urgently. The Slayer looked terrible: no color in her face, save for running makeup, and traces of vomit on her face and in her hair.

"It . . . it stung me. The thing. Hurts." Her eyelids started to close again.

"Buffy, no! Stay awake," Dawn ordered.

"Help me get her to the living room, Dawn," said Tara. Carefully, she put an arm under Buffy's shoulders, and she and Dawn started to lift the Slayer.

"Aah!" cried Buffy. It was a sound of pure pain. Her hands went to her belly.

Tara stopped what she was doing. "Buffy, are you . . ?"

"It's okay." Determinedly, Buffy reached her arms around Tara and Dawn's shoulders and allowed the two to help her to her feet. They made it to the living room, where the Slayer promptly collapsed on the couch, clutching at her belly. Taking in the patch of blood on Buffy's shirt, Tara lifted it away to reveal what looked like a bee sting, only ten times bigger, over Buffy's belly button. The wound was so swollen no blood was escaping anymore.

"Sh-should we call 911?" Dawn asked Tara.

"No," said the witch. "I doubt this is something a regular doctor could handle. Call Willow."

"She's at that study group. I don't know how to get ahold of her." Dawn's voice was trembling on the verge of hysteria.

"Then call Xander. He'll know where she is, and he can pick her up on his way over. We'll need everyone we can get." Tara touched Dawn's arm. "I'll clean Buffy up while you do that. It'll be okay, Dawn."

The teen nodded, rallying, and went to get the phone.

***

Ten minutes later, Willow, Xander, and Anya all came bursting in the door, variations of "Is she all right?" on their collective lips.

"What happened?" Willow asked Tara as she fell to her knees beside Buffy. Tara had wiped the makeup and vomit off the Slayer's face, which made her look better, if only just.

"We found her on the floor when we came in," said Dawn, still clutching the phone. "She said something stung her."

Tara pulled up Buffy's shirt to expose the wound. Buffy gasped as Willow gently brushed her fingers over it.

"Does it hurt bad?" Willow asked.

"Yes," Buffy barely whispered.

Xander found a place by the fallen Slayer's side. "Buffy, what happened? What did this?"

Buffy described the beast in short sentences, as if breathing pained her. What worried her friends most was the utter lack of Buffy's usual quips; generally, the Slayer was able to joke about anything, even if her humor did veer into the pitch black at times.

Anya suddenly forced her way past Willow, critically examining the wound, even leaning down to smell it. Then she held out her hand to Dawn. "Phone, please," she ordered. The teen, mystified, passed it over. Anya punched in a number.

"Hello?" she yelled into the phone as someone apparently answered. "Hello, Uncle Rory. It's me, Anya. Xander's fiancée? Yes, that's me. The one with the great ass. Could you put Skaldik on the phone? He's sort of blue, with gills on his face. He might be in the bathtub. Yes, that's the one. Please put him on the phone."

"You're calling our apartment?" Xander asked as Anya paused.

"I think I might know what stung Buffy," said the ex-demon. "I hope I'm wrong, because if I'm right, we're really screwed, but—hello, Skaldik? It's me, Anyanka. Do you know anything about an Antyliok being in town? Uh-huh. Right. Thanks, I forgot. Okay, go back to your bath. I'll pick up more salt on the way home. Yes, sea salt; I know you hate that iodized crap. I'm hanging up now." Anya clicked off. "I was afraid of that."

"What's this Anty-thingy?" asked Willow.

"It's an Antyliok," explained Anya. "They're demon killers."

"Waitasec—you're telling me this was done by a good beastie?" asked Xander.

Anya shrugged. "Not good, not bad, not anything, really. It's just a beast. Not too intelligent. It just so happens that they like eating demons, but they'll pretty much take out anything that gets in their path. They're in hibernation most of the time, but come out of it about once every eighty-four years. Of course, they don't exactly use the Gregorian calendar, so—"

"An. The point, please," said Xander.

"The point is it pretty much matches what Buffy told us. They kill demons, and that's probably why Buffy was having such a slow night; most demons go into hiding if they think one's in the area. Also, Skaldik told me when the last outbreak of them was. I'd kind of forgotten; what with going human and all, and the wedding, I had other things on my mind. The time's about right. Besides, it matches the description I've always heard."

"So you've never actually seen one of these things?" Willow asked.

"Hell, no. I'd skeedaddle at the first rumor one was in the area. Those things are scary. And you don't want to kill one, if you're a demon: their blood destroys demons. And their sting?" Anya shuddered. "The only cure for the venom is the blood of the beast. Which makes it kinda pointless for demons. But it's okay for humans."

"Okay," said Xander. "I guess it's time to mount up and take this thing down."

"Actually, it's time to get Spike," Anya corrected. Everyone looked at her. "There's a cleansing ritual you can do with vampire's blood. Right now, Buffy's only got about twenty-four hours; the ritual might buy us some more time."

Xander stood. "All right. I'll bring you back either Spike or his blood."

"Xander, wait," called Dawn. She jumped to her own feet, grabbing her jacket. "I'm coming with you."

"Dawn—"

"I'm coming," the teen said, interrupting Xander's objection. "I know where some of Spike's haunts are, and besides, he'll listen to me before he'll listen to you. I'm not taking any chances with Buffy. Let's go." She was out the door as she finished, and Xander could only follow.

Back at the couch, Willow tenderly brushed golden strands back from Buffy's pale face. "You're gonna be okay," the hacker whispered.

Buffy's eyes fixed on her friend's face. "I don't . . . want anyone . . . getting hurt because of me," she gasped out.

"Hey. Don't start with the arguing," Willow rebuked softly. "We're gonna take care of you. I promise."

The Slayer smiled feebly as Tara laid a cold cloth across her forehead. "I know."

Buffy's eyes fluttered shut again, and Tara and Willow traded a worried look over her fevered body.

***

Xander and Dawn decided Spike's crypt was the best place to start their search for him. When they got there, a surprise was awaiting them. The place appeared to have hosted an explosion at some point in the very recent past.

"Think Riley did this?" asked Dawn as she and Xander entered, walking carefully. "He's big with the explosives."

"More power to him, I say. Spike? You in here, Dead Boy Junior?"

There was no immediate answer. Dawn surveyed the walls and floor with a flashlight. The beam found a piece of leather, which quickly lead to the discovery of Spike, passed out cold against one wall. Xander went to investigate.

"Is he asleep?" Dawn asked, looking over Xander's shoulder.

Xander pried a bottle of whiskey out of Spike's cold, dead fingers. "It's worse than that: he's drunk, Dawn."

"Spike?" Dawn called. "Spike, wake up!"

"Huh?" exclaimed the vampire, lurching upward and opening one eye.

"Spike, get up. We need your help," said Dawn.

Spike just chuckled. "Need my help. Well, ain't that a bloody laugh?" He raised his fist to his mouth before he seemed to realize there was no whiskey to be found in it. He looked momentarily puzzled before locating his bottle in Xander's hand. "Here, now, gimme that."

Xander evaded the vampire's clumsy grasp and calmly emptied the bottle on the crypt floor over Spike's protest. "No can do, Captain Peroxide. Buffy needs you."

"Oh, she does, does she?" Spike focused his red-rimmed eyes on Xander. "You can tell that bint that she can scream, she can cry, she can beg, but there'll be no more Spike gettin' taken advantage of. Got my dignity, I have." He belched.

Dawn leaned down, clutching Spike's shoulder. "Spike, please! Buffy needs your help, or—"

"She's the one who called it off!" Spike interrupted loudly. " 'It's over, Spike.' 'I'm using you, Spike.' 'I'm sorry, William.' She called me William!" He started to cry, holding Dawn's hand to his face. "Why'd she have to do that, Li'l Bit?"

Xander rolled his eyes. "Great. He's delusional. I'm thinking Plan B." He held up the now-empty whiskey bottle and produced a pocketknife. "Bottle. Knife. Let's bleed him!" The carpenter lifted Spike's other arm and took aim with the knife.

"Xander!" Impatiently, Dawn smacked Xander's knife hand away from Spike's arm. The teen then grabbed Spike by his coat lapels and shook him with all her strength until he looked her in the face. "Spike! Listen! Buffy's been hurt, bad. She's dying. Anya says you can help her. Please, Spike! I know you and Buffy haven't been getting along, but . . ." Tears welled in Dawn's blue eyes. "I can't lose her again. Please help us."

Comprehension slowly dawned on Spike's face. "Dying?" he asked.

Dawn nodded, tears running down her face. "Anya says you can help. Please, Spike."

"All right, then." Spike blinked a few times, as if clearing his head. "Don't cry, Sweet Bit. Spikey's here." He attempted to stand. The attempt failed. "Just gimme a sec."

Xander set aside the bottle and pocketed his knife. "If we wait for him to be able to stand, we'll be here all night. Help me get him up, Dawnie." With some effort, Dawn and Xander lifted Spike to his feet. "Oof. Dead weight."

" 'Course, she won't be grateful," Spike mumbled as the two maneuvered him out of the crypt and toward Xander's car. "Five'll get you ten she'll break my nose again when it's all over. Bitch. But I do love her." He chuckled. "She's right; I do love the pain. No one's ever hurt me like she does . . ."

"Dawn?" grunted Xander under Spike's weight. "May I knock him unconscious?"

Dawn, panting under the strain, said, "He keeps talking like that, I'll do it myself."

It only took them a few minutes to reach the Summers house, but when they came to a stop, Spike was able to walk in unassisted (if not gracefully). He walked to the couch and looked down at Buffy.

"Cor, you look pathetic, love," he commented.

For the first time since her friends had discovered her on the kitchen floor, there was a spark in Buffy's eyes. She glared at Spike. "It took a hurking big demon to get me looking this way," the Slayer rasped. "What's your excuse?"

"Whiskey. Lots of it," volunteered Xander.

Anya walked briskly in from the kitchen, tossing Spike a carving knife as she did so. "Cut yourself," she ordered. Spike blinked at her. "Cut your hand or something! We need your blood for Buffy."

"S'pose it's a good thing I'm feeling no pain," muttered Spike as he gamely sliced his right hand open. Dawn blanched and looked away.

Anya went to Buffy and exposed the sting wound on her belly. "Set your hand on the wound. Your blood will need to soak in for a few minutes."

Spike obligingly plopped his bleeding hand down on the swollen sting. Buffy bit back a cry.

"Be careful!" scolded Willow, Tara, and Dawn all at the same time.

The vampire was staring into Buffy's face. "Does it hurt?" he asked. "Feel like somebody's ripping your guts right out?"

Buffy forced her eyes open, breathing with great effort. "You think I don't know pain, Spike?" she hissed. "Believe me, I know it even better than you do."

They continued to stare each other down until Anya finally said, "That's enough. Get your hand off her, Spike."

"Gladly!" snapped the vampire. He lifted his hand to reveal a bloody patch covering Buffy's wound.

Anya was working the top off a vial. Spike took a look at it.

"Don't tell me you're going to use that to clean her up," he said.

"Holy water," said Anya. "It's part of the ritual."

Spike snorted. "It'll hurt like hell."

"If not worse," concurred Anya. "Hold her head and shoulders down, would you?" The ex-demon sat across Buffy's legs. "Just in case you thrash, which, let's face it, you probably will," she said to the Slayer.

Spike took a position at the head of the couch and wrapped an arm around Buffy's shoulders and neck. "Comfy, love?"

"Your breath stinks," said Buffy. "Anya—go ahead."

Anya poured the holy water. As it hit the vampire's blood, the mixture hissed and fizzed like a science project volcano, and Buffy screamed the scream of a woman having acid poured on her belly. Then she did the sensible thing and passed out.

Anya found herself on the floor, looking somewhat surprised. She guessed Buffy had indeed thrashed. Dawn, meanwhile, had rushed to Buffy's side and pulled her sister's head and shoulders from Spike's grasp into her own arms.

"Why did you do that?" the teen demanded of Anya.

The ex-demon picked herself up with a little help from Xander and checked Buffy's stomach. "The vampire's blood-holy water mixture should have destroyed any of the venom that hasn't absorbed," she explained calmly. "Cleaning the wound should buy us some time. We still need the antivenin, though."

"Which means the thing's blood, right?" asked Xander. Anya nodded. "Okay. I'm going for it. Who's coming?"

"I could use a spot of violence," said Spike. "What kind of thing are we lookin' at doing in?"

"An Antyliok," said Anya.

Spike gaped at her. "My original plan of spending the night in a drunken stupor is looking better and better. See you wankers later." He stood and made for the door.

"Spike," called Dawn.

The vampire looked back at the teen and the pale, wounded warrior in her arms. A short war fought itself out in his face. Then he pulled at his hair, let out a roar, and stomped his feet repeatedly.

"Fine," he muttered at last, and made for the weapons.

"It's got unarmored skin . . . on its chest and belly," Buffy gasped out, surprising everyone. She opened her eyes, drew in a deep breath, swallowed, and went on. "You should take weapons . . . that give you a long reach. Spike . . . you should take my longest sword." She breathed in and out a few more times. "You can use it . . . better than anyone else. Also . . . polearms. Xander, take one."

Xander did as she said. "Buffy, don't talk," he told her gently. "We can—"

"No," Buffy interrupted, her voice firmer. "Important—I blinded it . . . in the left eye. Keep in its blind spot . . . fewer bodily injuries that way. Stay away from the tail. Cannot emphasize enough." With that, she passed out again.

Willow had moved over to the weapons now and was picking through them. She hefted a few polearms, mulling over which one to take.

"Willow, are you going?" asked Tara.

"Yeah," said the redhead. "I figure I can lend a hand. You guys stay here and take care of Buffy."

Anya came charging back in from the kitchen. "Wait—that's not fair! Willow's not a fighter." She looked directly at the other girl. "You don't even use magic now. Tara would be a better choice to go."

Willow's mouth tightened. "I can take care of myself."

"Willow, she's right." Tara stood from her place beside Buffy. "You've never gone up against something this big without magic or without Buffy. I'll go instead."

"We'll both go," Willow said decisively.

"No, you won't," said Spike. "I'm not babysittin' three of you. The whelp and the witch'll be quite enough, thank you."

Xander broke in with a protest, Willow continued to argue with Tara, Anya stepped in with a few sharp remarks, and the noise level in the house increased at an exponential rate.

"SHUT UP!"

The high-pitched shriek cut through all the overlapping chatter, and the combatants turned to face Dawn, who was standing, fists balled up, face red, thoroughly furious.

"Get over yourselves!" ranted the teen. "My sister's lying here in pain, and all you can do is argue? God, I thought adults were supposed to be smart! If you actually care about her, you'll do something instead of just talking about it. And if you don't, you can all just GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!"

Her fury spent, Dawn burst into tears. Willow shook off the shock first and went over to comfort the teen. With her arms around Dawn, the redhead faced the others.

"Okay, here's what happens," she said. "Anya, you know the most about this thing and how to treat Buffy. The first thing to do is to have Xander swing you by the Magic Box to grab any books or supplies you think will help. I-I'll stay here and help you research and care for Buffy. Xander, Spike, and Tara, you guys track this thing. Start at the cemetery Buffy fought it in and work outward from there. Keep in cell phone contact with us here, and we'll keep you updated on what we know. Sound like a plan?"

"Sounds like a good one," said Xander.

"I'll need to stop by my dorm room, too," put in Tara. "I need to change clothes, and I've got some magic supplies that could come in handy."

"Take what you need from the Magic Box, too," said Anya. "I'll bill you later."

"We done chit-chatting?" asked Spike.

Anya pulled on her jacket. "Ready to go."

"Then let's go," said the vampire. He, Anya, Tara, and Xander walked out the door.