Author's Note: The image of the dress made out of time is copyrighted me! I wrote it in a poem back in college (one about subatomic particles and electrons) and I liked it, so I stole it from myself and shoved it into this story.

The sad thing is, I actually described better in 89 words (the poem) what it took me over 60,000 words to describe in this story. That's really, really frustrating.

Oh, well. Enjoy!

Buffy wasn't sure what to do. She shook Omega. "Fix it!" she demanded, trying not to panic.

Omega looked over at the Doctor, and there was something so tired in his face, something so weary, something which showed how long Omega had been fighting back against this thing. Single-handedly making sure that Toby didn't enter the universe, despite all the odds.

"Negatively charged regenerative energy," said Omega. "From the antimatter universe. It can get rid of the vampires, undo some of the damage. I can give the universe a chance. But you have to save it, Buffy Summers. You're the only one who can. The Doctor — he'll listen to you."

"What?" asked Buffy. "Why?"

Omega gripped her hand in his, the one that was holding the knife. Buffy tried, instinctively, to get the knife away from him, but he was stronger than she'd thought, and his grip held firm. He moved the knife (and Buffy's hand) away from his throat, and towards his rightmost heart.

"Promise me," said Omega, gripping Buffy's hand more tightly. "Promise me you'll save it."

"I… promise," said Buffy, without really knowing what she was promising.

Omega gave her a sad, weary smile, and then plunged the knife into his own chest.

Buffy could feel Omega's not-completely-there-yet skin beneath her left hand, which was still pinning him to the ground, as his skin grew hotter and hotter, gray mist swirling out around it. Buffy yanked her hands away, as his flesh began to scorch her.

She stood up, staring, not sure what was going on. Was this a good thing? A bad thing? Omega's skin was completely covered by a soft, gray, shimmering light. It was so intense and bright, so hot, that Buffy felt as if she were melting.

Buffy backed away, and looked over at the Doctor.

He'd stopped moving, one hand dangling, lifelessly, across a steel panel. Omega had said, before. Omega had said that the Origin of Evil was coming through, and the Doctor would serve him. That the Doctor would help whether he wanted to or not. And the way that the Doctor had reacted to whatever it was that Omega had whispered — it had to be bad. Buffy didn't know what Omega had said. All she knew was that she needed to get the Doctor out of there, now.

She ran towards the Doctor, just as Omega exploded into white light.

The light lashed out, across the entire room, and the force of it was strong enough to throw Buffy onto the — they felt like something wooden, now — that comprised the makeshift stage. Buffy's eyes stung, and she covered her face with her arm, as the light flowed across her. She could feel something inside her head. It was as if she were being wrapped in a blanket of time — no, as if she were dancing in it, her long, flowing skirt made from its intricate layers and patterns, her shirt woven with its memories. She was two people at once, living two lives at once. And she was watching as all the murky time around her was swept away, all those partial-timelines, all those truncated-timelines, all those events that never, ever happened. She could feel people returning to her, people that had been lost when she'd been unstable. Giles. Willow. Xander. Angel. She could feel them being added, woven into the fabric of her dress, as she danced across the universe. And Buffy opened a pair of eyes she didn't know she'd closed, and she could see.

The entire world looked as if it was covered in a white gauze. The air seemed to shimmer with potentials and probabilities as the rich, steamy scent of pure time wafted into her nose. Buffy looked around, at the vampires surrounding the Doctor, screaming as the white light washed across them, making them crumble into ash. At the Doctor, gasping for breath, blood pooling from his neck, his arms, his chest — everywhere the vampires had bitten him. At Omega, who was crying out, in triumph, as he continued to explode into that white light.

Seriously, when had this thing gone from being the easiest apocalypse aversion ever to the apocalypse aversion where no one stays on the same side for two seconds and nothing makes sense? Buffy was never going to take Sunnydale for granted again. At least in Sunnydale, she knew where she stood. Vamps? Bad. Demons? Bad. Giles and the Scoobies? Good. None of this crazy, schizophrenic not-knowing-what-side-someone's-on thing. Well, not on the good days.

There was a loud crack behind Buffy, and she whirled around, just in time to see the white light from Omega's explosion strike the ball of energy in the center of the room. The ball pulsed and wobbled, spinning around faster and faster, as it became smaller and smaller. The world screamed around her, as a gust of wind that came out of nowhere suddenly picked up and roared in Buffy's ears.

As the portal compressed, it began drawing Omega further and further inside. His voice faded away, as he was sucked back through the portal, and it squelched closed behind him.

And with a zap, Buffy found that she was back where she'd been before. Fallen across the makeshift stage, her arm still covering her eyes. She got up, and looked around.

It was daytime. Sunlight poured through the windows near the top of the room. The room itself was trashed, the bookcases that Buffy was standing on all smashed up and fractured. But there was no portal, no energy. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Normal.

Buffy knew, inside her head, without anyone having to tell her, that she was back to normal. That everything was back to normal. Omega was gone. The portal was gone. Sunnydale was just the way it had been before. Even Angel was still there. Everything was just the way she'd wanted it.

Except it wasn't.

Because there was something wrong, and Buffy could feel it in her Slayer senses. As if something were about to happen. Something really, really, really bad.

"Buffy…" came a voice from her right.

Buffy looked up, and there was the Doctor, trembling on top of the toppled bookcases, his reddish-orangey blood pooling around him. Except this blood… it wasn't singing in the same way it had been back in Sunnydale. There was something too flat about it. Something too dull and lifeless. And something else was wrong. Because… the Doctor…

He'd called her Buffy.