Missing, Presumed Lost (Prologue/?)

By Danel(danel@fanfiction.net)

PG-13, I think

Arriving home from school to find both the house and the Magic Box wrecked and no one in sight, Dawn rings Angel for help. Meanwhile, in LA, Connor finds Holtz missing, but when he storms the Hyperion he finds it similarly ransacked and deserted. That's when the 'phone rings.

Spoilers:  Starts during Seeing Red(BtVS) and Benediction(AtS), but certain events, which occurred later, still take place. Most of Seasons 6 and 3, basically.

Disclaimer: I suppose I should do one myself… none of these characters are mine, which should really shock no one. However, I'm just using them for a little while. I won't hurt them. Well, not too much at least…

Author's Note: Thanks to Karen for letting me use the central concept (of everyone but Dawn and Connor going missing). Thanks also to Alea, for some support, and again to Karen for beta'ing and being very kind.

Prologue

Summers' Residence, Sunnydale, California

Dawn walked jauntily towards the door, whistling tunelessly. She was very glad that school was finally over for the day – it seemed like this day would never end. She cautioned herself not to think things like that. It wouldn't do if something 'overheard' and decided to take her up on it. She got to her front door, and was astonished when it swung open to her touch.

Most teenage girls would have written that off as 'just one of those things' and not worried, but Dawn Summers wasn't a normal girl. In Sunnydale you had to rely on your instincts and the split second warnings to give you the heads up before things hit the fan. She carefully pushed the door open the rest of the way, fully alert. As she looked into the house, she realised that something was very wrong.

It looked like there had been a battle here – which had, unfortunately, a good chance of being true. And it was far too quiet. Dawn felt sick – the physical illness that comes when tension and fear combine in large quantities. She reminded herself to breathe and then began moving forward through the house, part of her ready for what she might see, part of hoping and praying that it wouldn't be so.

There was no one around. She wanted to call out but knew that that might be the worst thing she could do. She checked the living room, then moved over to her sister's weapons chest. She slung it open and rifled through to find something sharp while watching behind her the whole time, just in case. An axe… perfect.

She dropped her bag by the chest and picking up the axe swung 'round, holding it defensively in front of her. She walked towards the kitchen, watching and listening for anything out of the ordinary – or anything at all. She felt cold, far too cold.
The kitchen was in a slightly better state than the main room, but had still been damaged by whatever had happened here. Dawn's practiced eye skimmed over the room – some people would just think this was a robbery or vandalism, but it clearly wasn't. The mess was a result of collisions, not wilful damage.

The downstairs was clear – damaged, but nothing and no one there. That just left the upstairs, and the-

She'd try upstairs first.

As she moved up the stairs, her footfalls seemed unnaturally loud. Worse still, she was finding it harder to breathe again – she almost hoped she'd find something up here(oh please god no) so that she wouldn't have to go down into the-

Her head swam. She reached out to the banister with one hand to steady herself and, with a sharp crack which seemed almost deafeningly loud in the oppressive silence that had preceded it the banister snapped off. Dawn wobbled, caught horribly off balance. Desperately she threw herself forward, clinging to the stairs in front of her like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood.


She didn't know how long she stayed like that, curled up and gripping the stairs, but it felt like forever. As soon as she felt able to move she crawled upstairs and got to her feet, shivering desperately, her axe still clasped loosely in one hand. Willow's door wasn't just open but shattered, almost falling from its hinges. She hurried into the room, looking around for signs of life or even death. Clearly, someone had been using magic here – in places, the walls were charred from blasts of fire – could that have been Tara? Then she noticed a spot of red on the wall. Blood. Her breath caught, and she hurried over to examine it. Wet… it was still fairly fresh. But there was nobody(no body) here. Had they got away? But why would they have left, if they beat the demon?

She hurried out of Willow's room and quickly searched the other rooms on the upper level. They seemed to be untouched – presumably the only fight upstairs had taken place in Willow's room. But she should still check out-

Dawn rushed downstairs, worry for her family now overriding her terror of the dark, silent basement. She threw the basement door open, peered quickly in – nothing wrong, nothing disturbed, nothing to worry about – then withdrew and slammed it shut. Hard.

Now what?

Bolthole of Daniel Holtz, Los Angeles

"Dad, I'm back!"

The voice of Steven Holtz echoed ominously through the small building.

"I'm sorry that I'm a little later than… Dad? Dad? Where are you?"

He looked around, beginning to panic. The room had been damaged – it wasn't exactly something out of 'House and Garden' but his father had always been almost obsessively tidy – "The state of a man's home reflects the state of a man's soul," – and something was clearly wrong here. Something was on the wall… Steven noticed some kind of strange markings and writings, in no language that his father had ever taught him. Could it be a demon tongue? But who would want to hurt-

Angelus.

Steven snarled. It had been lies, all lies. The demon had tricked him while he plotted to steal his true father. He turned and stormed out of the building, heading back towards the hotel at tremendous speeds born of rage and adrenaline.

Sunnydale

Spike, thought Dawn. I should get Spike. She turned towards the door and then she stopped sharply. It was beginning to get dark – she'd been in the house longer than she'd thought – and the cemetery was no place to be at night for anyone other than vampires or Slayers. Especially not with something on the loose which had done this… Dawn shuddered involuntarily. Spike would find her, if he was okay. Of course he would be. Nothing could hurt Spike. She should head to the Magic Box – and quickly, before it got too dark.

She grabbed the spare keys from the stand in the hall and then carefully closed the door behind her. The sky was blazing, blood red, and she quickly hurried through the quiet streets before the demons began to crawl from the woodwork, so to speak.

 The streets tended to be at their quietest just before sundown and the air shimmered with the feeling of the calm before the storm. Dawn started running some way before the Magic Box, but managed to reach it without incident. She pushed the door open, breathing rapidly to overcome her exhaustion – then her eyes widened as she saw what had happened here.
The Magic Box was just as devastated as her house, maybe even more so. Shelves had been toppled to the floor, portions of the wall were charred and bent as though hit by some kind of extreme magical backlash. The ladder leading to the loft, which contained the dangerous materials, had been snapped viciously off and was lying in splinters next to the table. Dawn began to get very frightened.

Just what could have done this? There was no sign of anyone, living or dead, and the door to the training room hung open. She hurried through and found it similarly deserted. The weapons were strewn over the floor, the punching bag had been ripped from its hook, and was broken open, its stuffing covering the floor. She walked back out into the main room and, as she did so, something on the wall caught her eye. Up to now Dawn had assumed it was more battle damage, now she noticed it was definitely deliberate markings – some kind of symbols or demonic language that she didn't recognise.

Dawn assessed the problems – the house and the Magic Box wrecked, everyone missing, and strange markings on the floor and walls…

She needed help.


Angel.

She walked behind the counter and checked the auto-dial for Angel's number. It was one of the last ones on the menu– rarely used, but something that could be needed rapidly in an emergency. She picked up the phone and pressed the button when she heard the dial tone.

Angel Investigations, Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles

Steven kicked the doors open and strode into the hotel lobby, holding his dagger in one hand and a stake in the other. He'd been ready to see anything – except for the sight that greeted him.

The hotel was just as damaged as his father's place had been, perhaps even more so, clearly a major fight had happened here. There was some blood, scattered over the floor – vampire, demon and human blood.  He frowned in consternation, as that also neatly described those who stayed at the hotel it told him nothing about who had done this.


Perhaps he had been wrong to assume it was Angelus who had kidnapped his father – it seemed that whoever had done so had also attacked the people at the hotel. For a moment Steven was pleased that they hadn't gone down without a fight, then he chided himself for thinking such things. What was it to him if the demon and his friends had fought well? It hadn't mattered, anyway – they had clearly been overwhelmed and-

A harsh, loud ringing cut through the silence of the empty hotel and derailed Steven's train of thought. He jumped, looking about him for the source of the sound and ready for an attack at any moment. It didn't seem to come from a demon – he followed the sound into one of the side rooms ('offices' , one of Angelus' friends had called them) and tracked it to an object on the desk.

Now he knew where it was coming from, the sound no longer seemed harsh. It was instead almost pathetic, like a wounded demon begging for mercy. Steven decided to listen to this device, to give in to its pleas. He picked up the separate part, as Cordelia had done when she was showing him around, and spoke into it.

"Angel Investigations, we help the hopeless."

END OF PROLOGUE