Xander had been impatiently pacing his hospital room for the past 45 minutes. Angry thoughts were racing through his mind, leaving him bitter.

"I knew it," he mumbled. "I knew it. Angel doesn't give a damn about me. 'Trust a vampire with a soul. That'll get you far in life.' He probably just hung up and didn't tell anyone about me and he'll go on with his merry unlife until he remembers, 'Oh yeah, end of the world. Well, there I go!' But maybe he didn't. Why's it taking him so long?! Why aren't I out of this hellhole. . .?!"

Xander's ranting was cut off by the abrupt entrance of Anya. The look on her face was that of a terrified chipmunk. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair was an absolute mess and she had a nasty cut across her left cheek. Her face was dirt stained and her makeup was no longer in a state of cleanliness. Xander also noticed that she held her left hand in a strangely bent way.

"Anya. . . Anya, what's wrong?" He grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her from shaking any harder. "What happened?"

His wife's response came in broken sentences. "Magic Box. . . Demons. . . Attack. . . Robbing. . . Chad. . ."

"Wait a sec, honey. Calm down." Xander's grasp on her shoulders didn't loosen in intensity. He then attempted to translate her ramblings. "Chad and a gang of demons robbed and attacked the Magic Box?"

The ex-demon shook her head with vigor. After a few moments of deep breaths, her story came out a bit clearer than before. "No. . . Chad tried to protect me. This gang of Chaos demons who bore the Mark of Ch'Nalin, met their kind before and they're not very pleasant to be around believe you me, broke into the store. Though I don't understand why they had to break down the door. I mean, it was the middle of the day and the store was still open. It's gonna cost a whole freak load of money to replace it." Xander gave her the look that said 'Get on with it.' She conformed to the look.

"Anyway, the demons broke into the store and demanded the Runic of Virgo, which of course I wouldn't give them even though we had one in stock. I knew what they want with it. When I refused, they grabbed me, kicking and screaming, and threw me down the stairs into the basement and locked me there. I could hear fighting upstairs, which I took to mean that they were throwing down shelves and completely ruining the place.

"To make a long story short, they kicked Chad's ass from here to kingdom come and took the Runic."

A look of horror came across Xander's wounded face. He quoted the first British vampire that came to mind. "Bloody hell. The only thing left for them to get is. . ."

". . . the child," Anya concluded. She didn't care enough anymore to tell him that his hands were still gripping her shoulders. "And they've got two days to get it."

Xander looked sorrowfully down. "Just when I thought Murphy was lying. . ."



*****

". . . Things can, and are going, terribly wrong," Angel mumbled, not knowing he was finishing the phrase of a distant Xander. But he had good reason to utter such a thing. Angel, in his 249 years as a vampire, has been around the block a few thousand times and he'd never seen anything like this. Ever.

Cordelia, now with the mentality of an insane vampiress, was cradled in the arms of Spike as if it were a happy Norman Rockwell painting. That is, if Norman Rockwell was into the vampire scene.

"Aww. . ." Lorne sighed, clasping his hands together and placing them on his chest. "Isn't that just the most darlingest thing you ever saw?"

"Greenie. . . You knew, didn't you?" Lorne nodded at Gunn's inquiry.

"I was about to tell you that before Ralph and Alice here. . ." The Pylean gestured his hand in Spike and Angel's general directions. ". . . interrupted my lovely explanation." Both vampires shot Lorne a nasty look when he referred to the two of them as the Kramdens. Lorne didn't know or didn't care to notice.

"What made you think of 'Danny Boy' anyway?" Fred intervened. "There *are* other songs out there."

"Good question, sweetie. It's a proven fact that every Britishman and woman from the late 1800's knows the lyrics to 'Danny Boy.' Right, Blondie?"

The younger vampire tried to combat Lorne's comment in some way, but couldn't. "Yeah. . ." he replied tonelessly.

Buffy needed to point out the strangeness of the situation. "Uh, Spike?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"Huh?"

"That person. In your arms. Why is she there?"

Spike looked down at what Buffy pointed out. There was the May Queen resting protectively in his arms, resting her head against his chest. 'Just like the ol' days. . .' He shook his head. 'Look who it *is*, mate! Well, not on the outside anyway.' He didn't exactly know how this embrace had occurred. One moment, she was shivering and shaking in her usual lunatic way when she got excited or flustered and the next. . .

Spike felt the girl in his arms and, for unexplainable reasons, felt comfortable and familiar.

But that couldn't be his answer. Too sissy. The answer he did come up with had a bit more of the Spike touch to it.

"Jealous?" He followed up the question with his trademark smirk and raise of the scarred eyebrow. A muffled laugh came from where Drusilla had her head in his chest.

The Slayer's eyes widened in horror. Just the reaction he was going for.

'Not here, not now, not in front of Angel!' Buffy mentally yelled at the vampire. But, she knew, he couldn't hear her. It was pointless, so instead she replied in the tone she was so used to talking to him with.

"You're a pig."

"You know, Slayer, you *really* have to come up with a new insult. That one got old the first twelve-thousandth you pierced me with it."

Buffy was flustered, but oddly intrigued and attracted by his swagger. . . 'NO! STOP IT!' She stuck out her tongue.

"Oh, real mature."

Wesley spoke up. "Ahem!" All heads in the room, save the body of Cordelia, turned to the head of Angel Investigations. "I feel bad about breaking up this, uh, domestic dispute of sorts. . . But could we talk about the plan to get Xander out of the hospital safely? We'll deal with this Cordelia/Drusilla matter soon enough." Wesley looked around the room. "Where are Willow and Tara? They might like to hear this, too."

Dawn coughed. "What? They're probably doing something. . . Magicky."

"So that's what kids are calling it these days," Lorne remarked.

Wesley wanted to change the subject *desperately.* "As I was saying. . . The plan to get Xander out of Sunnydale would first involve. . ."

"Get them away! Get them away! They've come for Little Brother!" Drusilla was violently thrashing in her childe's arms and he was having a hard time keeping her under control.

"Spike!" Angel screamed over Dru's screeching. "Get her out of here! Take her to one of the rooms, preferably not a used one! Just. . . get her out!" Spike followed Angel's orders and dragged Cordelia's person kicking and screaming up the hotel stairs.

"We seem to be interrupted a lot these days, aren't we?" Gunn commented. They all silently agreed.

Once the screaming was out of earshot, Wesley continued his speech, hopefully uninterrupted. "As I was saying. . ."

The ex-Watcher's fears soon came to be. Just as his instructions for getting Xander out safely were under way, the front door to the Hyperion ripped open to reveal fifteen or so demons, all sorts of nasty creatures of varying races brandishing axes and broadswords. Leading the group of lesser demons was a Pleuon demon, known for their natural skills in magic and wizardry, dressed in bright colored silk robes. Emblazoned on the front of the larger demon's robe was an eye absorbed in flames, much like the one on the coin that Faith had found.

"Nice digs," Lorne observed upon sight of the smallish but frightening demon. "Where'd you get 'em? Joseph's Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoats?"

The Pleuon raised his hand above his head. "Silence, Krevlorneswath."

"How did you know my name?"

The head demon waved his hand in its place in the air. "I know much. But we are not here to mingle. We have come for the child."

Angel unintentionally switched to his game face. "You stay away from him," Angel threatened through clenched teeth.

"And what will you do about it, hybrid? Attack me?" The Pleuon snorted. "I think not."

Buffy stepped in. "You have no idea who you're messing with, buddy. I'm the Slayer and so is she." Buffy pointed to her Chosen counterpart. "We could kick your ugly demon ass from here to next Tuesday." Faith stepped up to Buffy's side to show the demon what he was dealing. "Besides, I bet those little lackeys you have built up back there are just for show. No tell."

The magic demon was not affected one bit. In fact, he thought this humorous. "Ah, that is true." With a smooth wave of his hand, the demons behind him disappeared. "But you couldn't hurt me with an army of ten thousand Slayers. Now where is the child?"

"Like we'd tell you!" Fred roared. The tone of her voice conflicted with her smallish figure.

Angel, in slick vampire fashion, had used that "disappearing thingy" Cordelia had brought up earlier to make his way to Connor's bassinet undetected. Just as he cradled his son discreetly into his billowy coat, Angel felt his dead body run even colder than usual. All of his joints locked and he became frozen like a statue. The Pleuon had used a freeze spell on the vampire. To ensure that no one would get in his way, the Pleuon used a similar spell on all the other occupants of the room.

"I'm guessing Nest taught you *that* little magic trick, didn't he, Angelus?" The robed demon drifted Angel's way and took Connor into his own arms without struggle from the small being. "But you can't protect the child now. He will help us raise Ch'Nalin and bring the demise of the disease that is mankind. As well as you weakling hybrids."

The Pleuon returned to his spot of entry. "And to make sure you all don't get in the way. . ." He mumbled a few archaic words under his breath and before anyone had fully comprehended what was happening, they felt their eyelids become extremely heavy. Not long after, they collapsed in on themselves into heaps of bodies on the floor.

Seconds after the demon's departure, the phone began to blare. The ringing, unfortunately, fell upon deaf ears.

No one knew Xander had attempted to reach them.

*****



"Well, that's just fine 'n dandy," Xander muttered as he place the phone back onto its hook. "No one's answering."

"Maybe they're on their way to come get you," Anya suggested.

Xander shook his head. "Not likely. They're not letting anyone in or out of L.A. Not since the earthquake, anyway."

He then suddenly remembered the *extreme* predicament he was currently in. Alexander LaVelle Harris, the Zeppo of the Scooby Gang, newly discovered Hero, was being kept in a hospital because they thought he had gone insane when he had switched minds with a century old vampiress. . . Okay, he had to admit, that did sound a *little*. . . strange. . . The dark-haired man shook his head. That's it. . . He wasn't going to wait for Angel's help anymore. Dammit, he was the Hero and heroes do that independent, "Take the bull by the horns" kind of thing.

But first he had to tell Anya.

It took him several minutes to explain the whole "Guess who's the only one who can stop the end of the world!" speech and once he was done, Anya shrugged. "Not a surprise. I saw the mark on your shoulder."

"There's. . . There's a mark? Why wasn't I told there was a mark?" Xander frantically pawed at his shoulder to get a look at the now infamous mark. He screamed at the sight of the brown scar shaped like deformed sword-and-shield resting on his left scapula. "What the hell *is* that?! And how come I never noticed it before?!"

Anya laughed. "The Mark of the Sacred Hero, beady eyes." She began to quote from some ancient textbook Xander had yet to delve into. "'The Sacred Hero: He, only he and no other, can prevent the rise of Ch'Nalin and the accompanying Armageddon from sweeping the landscapes of the Earth. The Hero will be born with the mark of Hishtat, the leader of the hidden human movement within Ch'Nalin's army. These humans disguised themselves as demons for the sole purpose of defeating the warlord master."

"And let me guess," Xander said, closing his eyes, "I'm descended from that Hishy guy."

"Hishtat. Yes, you are."

The injured one sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"

"You're from Sunnydale," Anya stated as if Xander didn't know this little piece of information already. "If a 50-ton gorilla-rhino-ogre crossbreed fell from the sky and through your roof and landed on top of your armoire, crushing it into a thousand tiny pieces, you would just mumble that it's another day in the life of a Sunnydalian and go on reading your comic books and eating your Twinkies as if nothing happened."

Xander could not argue with that statement in any way, shape or form. Because, if something like that *did* happen (and being from Sunnydale, the odds of such an occurrence are higher than, say, at his Uncle Rory's cabin in San Fernando, but only slightly higher), he would just shrug it off as another perk about being a member of the Scoobies.

"But how am I going to get out of here, Ahn? The point of being born the Sacred Hero is to do something heroic! Can't exactly be Clark Kent if I'm stuck in the head injury ward!" Moments of silence passed as Xander came up with an idea. "Whoa. . . Whoa. . . I think I'm having a thought. . . Yeah, yeah. . . That's a thought. Oh. . . Now I'm having a plan."

"Good Xander," Anya complimented, patting him on the shoulder. "Now, what is it?"

"First, I need you to take off your shirt. . ."

*****



Boy, had he forgotten how rowdy she could get when she's all worked up like that. Tornado, hurricane, earthquake, tsunami, meteor. . . Nothing could compare to the destructive force of his former beloved.

Angel had told him to put her in a room that was preferably not being used. So, naturally, Spike placed the out of control Drusilla in Angel's abode.

Ooh, what a fine mess she had made in there. The thought of the absolute chaos she had caused put a smile on Spike's clawed-up face. 'Oh yeah. She messed that up too.' The smile disappeared as soon as it had arrived.

We join our favorite blonde vampire sitting up against Angel's locked hotel room door which contained the temporarily calmed Cordelia body. We mean temporarily because at this moment, he'd tied her up with some rope (don't ask him *why* Angel conveniently had rope in his dresser, he really doesn't want to know) and stuffed a clean sock (he may be evil but not even he would use an old Angel sock) into her mouth to stop the annoying metaphors from spewing out.

Twenty minutes it had taken for him to get all the information out of that crazy girl's skull, but at least he'd extracted what he wanted to hear.

'Let's see. . . After she thought she was a cat and my face was a scratching post, I learned she was doing all this hero mumbo-jumbo to protect Peaches' offshoot. When I'd asked why, she took one of the Cheerleader's manicured nails and slammed it right into the soft spot of my left eye. So, before I could press out any more info, I did what came naturally to me. And tied her up. Smooth move, William. That only got her more brassed off and a whole hell of a lot more tight-lipped than usual. If that's even bloody possible.'

Spike banged the back of his head against the door. 'Great. More pain in my unlife. Just what I need.'

"Spike? Spike, are you okay? You look awfully beat up."

He didn't even have the energy to look up at the witches standing above him. "Thanks, Red. I haven't noticed the searing pain shooting out my eyeball or the twin nail gashes on my cheeks." He gathered up just enough strength to get a good look at the top of Willow's fiery red head out of his right eye. His left eye, the pesky thing, decided not to regain sight as of now.

"By the by, where have you two happy birds been? Nesting?" Spike had put just enough emphasis on "Nesting" to bother Willow.

"Do you want help up or not, chip-brain?"

He considered the offer a moment. "As of right this instant. . . no."

"Why are you up here, anyway?" Tara asked. "Who do you have locked in Angel's room?"

The vampire groaned. He was still way too exhausted to retell the tale. It was a lot of work keeping that insane mind-snatcher under control, you know.

A loud crashing noise seeped through the cracks in the door. The sound of a chair smashing to bits.

Spike gathered his arm strength to push himself from the floor to his feet, but victory was not his. Neither was luck or good timing, he later realized.

With the help of the two women, he miraculously arrived onto his two legs and, as a reward of sorts, quickly told them the tale of Drusilla: the mind switcher.

"How did she do it?" Willow inquired. "I mean really. That takes some serious skill to pull something that hefty off."

"Who knows? Who cares?" Spike did a one-eighty pivot on his booted heel and twisted the doorknob with his right hand. The door swung open to find the feral Cordelia ripping the bedsheets. Her hands were still loosely tied with rope.

Her incessant mumbling became coherent to Spike's ears. "He's gone. Little Brother's gone. They've taken him. There's nothing we could have done. . . The nasties have snatched him away and taken him to the horrible place where he could scream and no one will hear. You tried, my Spike. . . We all did. He's far from us now. Not even the moon can see him."

"Wait a second. . . Who's Little Brother?"

"Notice how Angel's been playing the Ward Cleaver to that baby's Beav?" Willow nodded. "It's not an act."

"I KNEW IT!" Willow hollered. "I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. He was being way too paternal for that kid to be adopted!" Her mood turned curious. "Who's the mother?"

Tara placed her hands on Willow's shoulders. "Focus, Will. Something serious is happening. Or. . . about to happen."

"C'mon, Tara. If things were going to horribly wrong, it would have already. Besides, who believes in Murphy's law anymore?"

"From my experience, the bloke wasn't lying."

"The silence. . . It's deafening. I don't hear any whispers. They've all gone to the land of sugar canes and lollipops, but they weren't sent through sleepiness."

Spike sighed. One hundred years of cryptic messages and blurbs were slowly reentering his mind. "Who, pet?" Dru pointed to the floor.

The master vampire and the two Wiccans needed no further explanation. The three dashed out the door of Angel's room and ran down the tiring numerous flights of stairs. The sight that beheld them when they reached the lobby floor looked like a post-battle scene from a World War II movie.

"Oh, goddess!" Tara and Willow cried in stereo. Hand in hand, they ran down the last few steps and crouched over Buffy and Faith's dormant bodies. "What happened?!"

"Beats the hell out of me," Spike responded. His glance drifted to the now unoccupied baby bassinet. "Where's the kid?"

"'He's gone,'" Willow quoted. "'The nasties have snatched him away. . .'"

Tara lifted the unconscious body of Faith and checked her pulse. "They're alive and they don't seem to have any kind of battle wounds." She gently placed the Slayer back onto the ground. "I'm guessing sleeping spell. But thank Goddess that it wears off after a while with no serious side effects. Not that I know of, anyway." Tara returned to a standing position and looked back at the scene before her. "We should get them in a safer place. If someone were to walk in. . ." Spike and Willow agreed with a nod.

Spike took a leap over the stair railing, similar to the one he had done earlier. "Now what was that you were saying about Murphy's law?" Spike teased.

"Murphy's law ain't lying," Willow murmured as she lifted the sleeping body of the blonde Slayer. "Ain't lying at all."