"Tuesday."

Duncan was somewhat confused by the antsy, uncertain and unhappy feeling that surrounded the entire Castle Summers. He'd been told a few times about Tuesday's and the uncontrollable bad luck that happened every Tuesday, rain or shine Hell and high water. All of which had happened on Tuesday's for as long as anyone in the Slayer Branch could remember. And upon a bit of further reflection, he could admit that most of his problems had happened on Tuesday, not all of them, there were far too many, but definitely the ones he remembered best.

But every person in the castle was on their best behavior, walking on eggshells and keeping curses to a minimum. Monday night everything had been cleaned in a flurry and every mess and all the leftovers of every spell had been cleansed and every weapon purified and locked up. Everyone just sat quietly. Playing cards and eating only vegetables and being good. The beer was locked away and it was deathly quiet.

Two immortals sat in the living room with the Scoobies as they were called. Duncan next to Dawn, who was reading an old romance novel written in Turkish, wearing a modest skirt and his sweater. He hair was pulled up and her glasses sat on her nose. But she wasn't really reading, just sort of sitting with the book open.

And everything was going pretty well.

But it was a Tuesday, and every Tuesday, something bad happened.

"Aya namzaqu diĝir

"Shamash mūtānu igen su dug

"anguba ilu

"utud

"zu kešed erin duri

"Innana dambanda Nergal

"dikud niĝgig duri

"duri hili kar"

"duri hili kar"

Dawn opened her eyes and saw Duncan's panicked face instead of the pages of a book. She could hear loud voices and the lights hurt her eyes. Some people off to her right were arguing about meanings and Buffy's hand was holding an oxygen mask to her face. Lifting a lead arm, she tried to bat them all away, only to be held back and have more lights shined in her eyes and more people arguing over her.

"g'way," she finally managed to get out, her mouth drier than the Sahara and her tongue an uncomfortable mass of flesh. "m'ine. Shoo."

"She's alive!"

Who died? She couldn't have, that was just silly. But as her consciousness came back, so did the strangest set of memories. Memories of salt water and greatest beasts running rampant, of promiscuous warriors and drunken lords in stone halls. Fire and blood with beings she knew, and all the same didn't. Shadows and light and words and sounds assaulted her. And somehow, she knew that under all of this violence there was beauty. Lush gardens behind walls that kept the people safe from the death beyond. Beauty and life and joy. But the smells and whirring motions of those memories and the sounds must have made queasy. Because now she want to vomit.

"Dawn, can you hear me annasa?"

"Mmm, yes, I can hear everyone. They need to shut up," she grumbled, trying to sit up so she could go and vomit. Her sister wasn't having it and kept pushing her down. "Let me up."

"I don't think so," Buffy scoffed, lifting the mask away. "You were dead for an hour, then you started glowing and speaking, while dead, and then you went dead again and woke up."

"Then I'm gonna puke all over you and drown in it," Dawn breathed out before giving a violent heave. The was flipped onto her side as the liquid burbled out of her mouth, and that just didn't help.

"Buffy," Duncan said as his young love vomited a mixture of blood, water, and clumps of wet sand.

"I know. Giles, do we know what she was chanting?"

"W, well, Adam and I seem to have some conflicting views on the delicacies of the issue, primarily on-" He was cut off by Methos, who'd been in the middle of drinking his beer.

"I told you I know Sumerian like the back of my hand, why can't you trust me on this?"

"Well forgive me if I'd like a professional opinion on this."

"I was there when most of those stone tablets were written!"

"Children!" Buffy shouted at them, her voice dangerous and stopping both of the men. Duncan would have smiled had Dawn not started shivering and demanded to sit up. As he slowly helped the girl up, he noticed that she was listening quite closely to the general agreement of Dawn's prophecy.

"Right, well, the general translation is that of four gods coming to the earth and taking control."

"We have to fight more gods?" Buffy deadpanned.

"Aye, ancient Sumerian gods at that," Methos nodded. "God of the sun and his wife, goddess of war and love, and the god of death. I'm sure he's eager to see you."

"Oh, I'm so excited." Buffy sneered. "I hate Tuesdays."

"Unfortunately," Giles continued, "we have no time frame as to when this attack may happen, or any way to kill them."

Buffy could only hold her head in annoyance, things had been just fine a few minutes ago, now her slayer was the new messenger girl for the PTB and some crazy blood lusting idiots were about to enslave mankind. Standing she walked out of the room and onto the castle grounds. She needed some time to clear her head, think about what to do, plan a strategy. But planning that sort of thing was more Xander's deal and Willow always did the protection bit.

"Never met a god before."

Buffy whirled to see the oldest man in the world. How the hell did he always sneak up on her? But there he was with a beer, walking barefoot on the stone pathway that led through the garden. Crazy man, if he'd been anyone else he'd be getting sick.

"Not that amazing," Buffy shrugged. "Well, not the hell gods at least. Pain in the ass really, with tacky fashion sense." The man let loose a laugh, a bit infectious and definitely fitting.

"I'll take your word for it. We should head back in the house, it's going to rain in a second."

Back in the house, Duncan was helping Dawn clean up in the bathroom. She looked a mess, her rosy skin was sallow and oily, sweat dripping down her form in streams. She looked a right wreck, and when she died, he'd never felt so furious in his life. Yes, he was furious that she'd been taken from him and that thought grieved him very nearly enough to cut off his on head or give it to Methos. But she started speaking and returned to him.

He still worried though. What was he supposed to do with all of this? How was he supposed to react? There really wasn't much he could do right now he supposed, but he'd like to at least try doing something.

"Duncan, take me home." Dawn's voice was so small and pitiful that he couldn't make himself disobey her if he wanted to.

"Of course," he nodded, gathering her up in his arms.

On his way out, he was confronted a few times by Giles and Willow, both trying to convince him that Dawn needed to stay in the castle while they worked things out, while they tried to make sure she'd be safe. But Methos interfered with a bit of logic and convinced them that Dawn was perhaps the least likely to get hurt. And by then everyone was back in the room arguing and asking just why he was so sure of that.

"Take it from an old barbarian," he said finally, his voice gaining a certain murderous quality. "Anyone who wants to rule the world is going to keep around the oracles. Oracles are a heads up, good gifts to hand out and keep the people appeased. If you let the oracle keep her guardian, she's stays happy, subservient. If you kill her family, she rebels, threatens to kill herself, hides the future."

"I'm going to agree with him," Buffy finally said. "But I want you to call if she so much as gets a fever, you hear me old man?"

"I call only after she's stable. She's a higher priority than you."

Normally this would have made Buffy furious, but for once she agreed. She had hated Duncan when she found out about her sister and him, but right now she was thankful that someone would drop everything and take control of the situation. Take over where she couldn't and give Dawn the attention she needed while the Slayer crew worked out this riddle. Those were her thoughts as she watched Duncan put her baby sister in the car and drive away, his normal speed -bordering on death defying- greatly reduced to just below sane standards.

"Alright everyone, lets do some research!"

Methos stayed behind, lending his own take on everything and correcting "retarded mistakes" that younger people made when it came to translation and planning. And Duncan was okay with that. Now wasn't the time to make sure his people stayed away from dawn's people, when their combined efforts could save the world. And right then he realized that everyone was right, he was the boyscout of the immortal world.

But right now he didn't care to much about the world. Right now he cared about Dawn getting better and being able to live through the night. She couldn't keep water down even, vomiting as soon as the car stopped -and a few places en route- in front of her apartment. And they'd taken the stairs very slowly, eventually rushing into the bathroom so she could once again release the odd mixture of blood, water, and sand. But he had to keep her hydrated, and so he forced as much water into her as she could keep down. He didn't bother trying to make her eat, because that would be a wasted effort. He didn't leave her side once during the night, keeping two fingers on her pulse while he wiped her brow of the sweat and fever.

Somewhere around one in the morning her fever broke and she was well enough for him to leave her for a few seconds for a sandwich and a bathroom break. He did wash his hands thank you very much! And as he ate and watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, he remembered Buffy wanting a phone call.

But Dawn didn't need that. She needed rest, and even if it was the last thing he did, by god she was going to get that rest!