TITLE:  The Crow: Restless Souls 2/?
AUTHOR: Wesley
FEEDBACK: Sure.
DISTRIBUTION: Just drop me a line letting me know where it has been placed.
DISCLAIMER: I know nada and own even less.


The home of Rupert Giles;

Sitting, sitting and reading. It's all I bloody well do anymore. I used to love reading, I would sit in the local coffee shop and read wonderful adventures of love, heroism, and courage; but not anymore. No, now I sit in this god forsaken chair all day, and the escapism the tomes once held have been bled dry. My passion has become my prison. It used to be a part of my job, no... a part of me, I loved it so much. Now its the only thing I can do, and I loathe it. All because of that bastard demon who took the body of my friend, my boy.

My eyes have grown weary from the text and what's left of my body aches from worry. She spent months tracking him, trying to discover his daytime havens. Yet he was a brighter boy than we gave him credit for, and he knows our techniques. By the time we had created new search patterns and patrol schedules, the demon did something even Angelus had been reluctant to do. He invited the Slayer out to "play"

It's the sound of crashing glass that brings me out of my reverie. I wheel myself slowly from the living room to the kitchen area. I can feel a slight breeze touch my face as I round the corner. I pray that it is a stray ball from one of the children in the complex, though not that many children play stick-ball in the middle of the night. Surely enough, the kitchen door is standing open and the window smashed in. I sigh at the sight. My luck, a burglar has chosen my flat to pinch.

"Whoever you are, please just take what you want and get the hell out of my home." I say in a weak voice.

That's when I hear a sound that chills me to my very bones.

"G... Giles."

The sound is so soft, so frightened. I know the voice, without a second thought I know it is him. I turn the chair slowly, my heart racing at what I might find. He stands there, naked and shivering, dark streaks of long black hair matting his face, and an odd black bird perched casually on his shoulder. It's Xander, and my heart is stuck in my throat.

"What do you want here?" I demand, failing to conceal the fear in my voice.

"Giles?" His voice is like a child just learning to talk.

The shaky edge of his voice eases my fear, which allows for the fact that he is standing in my house, uninvited, to sink in. Then I notice, in the nakedness I have been trying to avoid, that his skin is a warm pink, not the pale cream of a vampire. He looks fresh out of the fires of hell.

"Who are you?" I ask in confusion.

"X....X... ander." He states as he collapses to his knees. "Please... Help... Me..."

His plea strikes me hard. I can feel my heart strings tearing, and against my better judgment I wheel over to him. He is sitting there like a child, rocking back and forth while clutching his head and mumbling inaudibly to himself. I reach out my hand to comfort him, and draw it back from a snake's bite when he screams at my touch.


It's like living fire burning through my veins. I've stumbled most the way here, not evening knowing where "here" is and I'm begging this strange man for help. A man I can only remember as "Giles". A man I know I should know, but right now its like trying to think through a bowl full of Jello.

Then he touches me, and the fire in my veins explode. A million and one different memories all fighting in my mind. My life. Its all so clear in a matter of moments, from the first time my father held me in his arms, to the first time his drunken fist smashed into my face. The first time I saw a blond-headed goddess, and the first time she broke my heart. Images of a dark haired woman, a Slayer, laying dead at the hands of a demon with my face, to that of a madwoman dancing in the moonlight. All the things that had existed in me, touched by Giles, and those around him, danced in my head.

The scream is out of my lungs before I realize its on my lips, I scramble away from him, fearing what more his touch might show me. I clutch my head, as this damned heavy bird is running its beak up and down my cheek bone. Somehow, I find its actions comforting.

"Where's Buffy?" My voice resonates with the sound of the grave as I speak.

"Xander? My god can that really be you?" He asks, his voice gives away his confusion.

"Where... is... Buffy?!"

I can feel the startled expression on his face as he speaks. "She... She went to fight you... um... him."

"She can't win this. I have to stop him." Even as I say it, I know its why I am here.

The crooning of the crow at my side assures me of that. I turn away from him without another word. With an un-Xander-like grace I fling open the hall closet, I'm not sure how I know, but I its there. A trunk, filled with my former possessions. I guess my folks didn't care to keep any momentoes of me after my... passing. I pull a pair of dark gray slacks and old work boots from the trunk, and grab a black trench off one of the hooks. A bit cliché I know, but it suits my mood.

I feel the change of my face, as the crow caws, like one can feel a stretch of the legs. Its like an inky slick sliding down my face setting a devilish grin on my lips. I can sense that the warm pink of flesh is now a cream white. How do I know this? Haven't a clue.

"By God Xander how have you come back to us." He asks me.

"Guess you answered you're own question there." I shoot back, nonchalantly slipping on the trench.

"Are you a ghost?" He pleads.

I don't even look at him as I walk out the door. I pause only to say one last thing.

"No my friend, I'm something far worse."

And both me and my feathered friend are out the door.