Los Angeles
Monday night, approx 10 pm
Wesley lifted his face from the damp dirt and peered into the darkness, pain shooting down his spine. Stifling a groan, he froze, wondering if something was broken, then carefully levered himself onto his side, teeth gritted in agony, and scanned the area around him. A dark form lay prone against the far wall of the sewer; Wesley guessed from its shape that it was Angel, and thanked the Powers That Be that he hadn't been dusted. He could hear someone sniffling quietly in the shadows, and prayed it was Fred. There was no sign of Gunn. Wesley waited for a few minutes, listening and watching, until he was certain that no-one – or no thing – was there with them.
"Fred?" he whispered, his throat sore from the stranglehold he'd barely escaped earlier.
The sniffling stopped, and Wesley could almost hear her terror.
"Fred, it's Wesley," the former watcher said gently, in as loud a whisper as he dared. "It's alright – they're gone. Are you alright?"
He knew she was nodding, wide-eyed, beyond his visual perimeter in the shadows to his right, and he smiled thankfully.
"We need to get out of here," he said, hoping his tone would calm her. "Can you get to Angel?"
As Wesley carefully raised himself to a sitting position, trying to ignore the white hot pain which ripped through his back and threatened to make him pass out, he saw Fred emerge slowly from the shadows, eyes darting in all directions as she crouched towards Angel. Pausing to get his breath, and fight the blackness that tried to claim his consciousness, Wesley watched as the frightened girl bent down beside the vampire and timidly shook his arm. Fred turned to look at Wesley, her face stricken.
"He… he's not dead," Wesley assured her. "No dust."
Fred nodded once, and turned back to Angel, shaking him more vigorously by the shoulder.
"Angel?" she whispered, her voice catching. "Angel?"
The vampire remained motionless. Fred quickly took in his many injuries and realised he probably wouldn't be waking up for some time. Panic washed over her again and she stifled a cry, scrabbling over to Wesley who sat against the other wall, his face white amid the gloom.
"I can't carry him," Fred hissed, close to hysteria. "Or you," she added, realising that he too was badly injured.
"Where's …?"
"Don't know," Fred squeaked, eyes widening even further as she tried to deal with yet another fear. She hadn't seen what happened to Gunn: he'd been fighting a long-taloned demon to her left, then something had hit her in the head and she'd blacked out. When she came to, she could only see Angel and Wesley and she'd feared them both dead. Tears tripped from her eyes and she sat down heavily.
Wesley reached out and touched her arm, waiting for her to look at him.
"You have to find him," he told her firmly, "or Cordelia or Lorne – we have to get Angel out of here, and I'm in no fit state to help. Get back to the hotel, get help, and then come back for us." He figured she needed clear and simple instructions. "Can you do that, Fred?"
The girl looked at him, tears streaking her dirty cheeks, and nodded. But she didn't move.
"Go," Wesley told her, pointing towards the junction in the sewers about 20 yards to their left. "Take the left tunnel, then the next right – then up the ladder half-way down on your right. Remember?"
"Left, right, right," Fred nodded numbly. "Right."
"Left, right, ladder," Wesley clarified, afraid she'd take too many turnings and get lost.
"That's what I said." Fred got to her feet, and looked down at him. "Will you be okay? They took our weapons."
Wesley nodded, the pain from the movement making him feel sick.
"We'll be fine," he told her, resolutely. "But hurry."
At the junction in the sewers, Fred turned to give Wesley a little wave before she disappeared down the next tunnel. From that distance, she couldn't see that he'd passed out.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Sunnydale
Spike crouched low, one leg stretched out to kick the demon sideways in the knee; it howled, and Spike used the distraction to leap upright, driving his right fist into its eye and bringing his left up to smash into it's open jaw. The thing howled again, before its teeth were slammed shut onto its tongue and it stepped back, flailing in agony and rage. Revelling in its pain, Spike ran at it, pushing it backward with both hands, satisfied when it hit a gravestone with the back of its head on the way down. He leapt on top of the creature, kicking it viciously in the head and any body part his boot made contact with, roaring in triumph as it howled under his assault.
"Spike!" Willow's cry went unheard as the vampire continued to deliver hard steel-capped boots to the demon's dying form. Spike was lost in his own ferocity, beating the crap out of anything he could to take away the gnawing uselessness he felt away from battle.
"Spike!"
This time, the scream caught his attention, and with a final unnecessary kick to the demon's face, Spike looked up in the direction of the witch's voice. Willow was being held by the throat, several inches from the ground, by the dead demon's twin. Or mate. Colleague, maybe?
'Whatever', Spike shrugged with a grin, 'it's gonna be dead in a minute.'
Grabbing the first demon's weapon, appreciating its weight and form even as he brandished it, sword-like, whilst running at the two-some, Spike roared angrily and hoped this one would put up more of a fight. Willow, her voice cut off by the demon's grip, opened her mouth in terrified surprise as she saw him come hurtling towards her. The demon saw her expression and turned to see what had distracted her, just as Spike sliced the sword-thing through its neck and severed its head. It shuddered, then crumpled to the ground, still holding Willow in its grasp. Spike bent over and prised its claws open so that the girl could scramble free, coughing and gasping for air. Annoyed, Spike thrust the blade into the demon's body a few times, and kicked it twice, before turning to check that Willow was okay.
"Th … thanks," Willow said, regarding him strangely.
"What?" Spike demanded, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.
Willow looked from one demon corpse to the other, then back at Spike who was swinging the new weapon, still clearly agitated even though the danger was over.
"Nothing," Willow shrugged, not wanting to agitate him further, especially since he was still in full vamp mode and had a lethal looking sword-shaped weapon in his possession.
The vampire growled, but not at her: he was way too angry to have run out of opponents so soon, he wanted something else to pummel into the ground. He sliced at a nearby tree, the metal ringing slightly on contact as it left a sharp scar in the bark.
"Come on," Willow said, majorly wigged by his behaviour. "We'd better tell Giles what happened."
"You go," Spike said, turning from her. "I'll scout around in case there's more of those buggers lurking about."
"But …"
Spike whirled on her, yellow eyes blazing.
"Go!" the vampire shot at her.
Willow ran across the grass towards the nearby gate, and headed for Giles' apartment.
"He's gonna get himself killed," she said, having told Giles and the others what had happened in the cemetery.
Tara gently placed a band-aid over the cut on Willow's forehead, and touched the redhead's cheek with the palm of her hand.
"Can't have that, can we?" Xander muttered from the couch. Anya nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. "What?" he demanded defensively.
"He's on our side," Tara pointed out.
"And you're anti-demon comments are … racy?" Anya's effrontery melted into confusion.
"I think you mean 'racist'" Willow supplied, smiling despite the seriousness of the situation.
"He's angry," Dawn said, startling them all somewhat as they thought she was asleep. She stretched up from the armchair she'd dozed off in, and met their questioning gazes. "What? You never got so mad you wanted to beat up on everyone? Or thing?"
Her sister's friends considered this.
"He blames himself," the teenager continued, "and he's angry. He needs to kick a – erm – butt. Or something. I know how he feels."
"You're probably right," Giles nodded, putting down his book. "He has, as you Americans say, 'issues'. But I hardly think getting himself killed is going to help anyone, much less …"
He wouldn't say her name, but they all nodded in understanding and agreement.
"You don't blame yourself, do you Dawn?" Tara asked with concern, picking up on the girl's sympathy for Spike.
"Cos it's not your fault you were in the cemetery when the portal opened," Anya added helpfully. She frowned questioningly at Xander's little groan, then continued supportively, "How could you know it was going to be there?"
Dawn's face fell as she remembered that particular horror.
"Well, yeah," she said soberly. "If I'd been doing my homework like I was told …"
"It's not your fault," Willow and Tara assured her in unison, knowing that the teenager's intentions had been good.
"No-one is at fault," Giles stated authoritatively, his eyes filled with compassion for his slayer's little sister. "It happened, and we'll get to the bottom of it, and we'll bring her back. If Spike needs to kill a few demons to help him re-focus, then so be it, but we don't have time to go over …"
The door slammed open, and Spike strode into the apartment, still in full game face and obviously fuming. He went straight to the fridge in the tiny galley kitchen, and helped himself to a plastic bag full of blood, not even bothering to warm it in a mug as he usually did. The others watched in silence. Draining the bag, he threw it forcefully to the floor and was about to kick the fridge when Giles cleared his throat.
Willow leaned over the counter to see where the bag had landed, then looked at Spike with a grimace.
"Eeeeeeeew," she said, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Better clear that before he sees it."
"What?" Giles demanded, heading for the kitchen.
Spike held up a hand to stop him, his face morphing back to normal with a resigned sigh.
"I've got it," he said, and sulkily grabbed a cloth from the sink.
Giles was about to tell him to use the floor cloth from under the sink, but thought better of it. He tried not to shudder as the vampire began to wipe sprayed blood from the floor with the crisp new tea towel his aunt had given him last time he was home.
"So," Xander said cheerfully, "I take it that Sunnydale is not quite demon free for the night?"
Everyone glared at him, and he shrugged defensively, mouthing 'What?' at them. Hunkered down on the kitchen floor, Spike growled and fought the urge to punch the cooker.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Los Angeles
Tuesday, 3 am
Cordelia replaced the telephone receiver, shaking her head as she moved her manicured finger down the list on her pad and commenced dialling again. Fred, talking on the other phone, fought for self-control while she waited for the voice on the other end to tell her that Charles wasn't there, either. They were running out of city hospitals to call, and she was drowning in panic. Gunn had been missing for at least five hours, and it was looking more and more likely that the demons they'd encountered in the sewers had taken him hostage. In the best-case scenario, that is. She didn't want to think about the other kind.
Both girls looked up as Lorne descended the wide marble stairs into the hotel lobby, and he also shook his head, signalling that Angel was still out cold. Five hours was a long time to be unconscious, especially for a vampire, but they couldn't take him to the hospital with Wesley. They just had to hope that his super-hero healing powers kicked in soon.
"This is useless," Fred sighed, putting down the phone again. She was now afraid to make another call, fearing yet more negative responses. "We have to do something."
Cordelia and Lorne looked at her sympathetically. They'd been over this several times since arriving back at the Hyperion, but had not been able to formulate a plan.
"Honey," Lorne began.
"No," Fred interrupted, her voice forceful rather than resigned. "We really do. What happens when the next attack comes? Cos it will – I think there's a pattern, and if I'm right it will probably be in about three and a half hours. What if Angel's still … not awake? Charles is missing, Wesley's in the hospital – what will we do? We can't fight like them. We can't go after them. We need to defend ourselves – make this place into a fortress – and let them come to us."
Her companions looked at her with renewed respect. They hadn't been able to think that far ahead.
"But what if we get a call?" Cordelia asked. "You know, a customer? We'd have to go out …"
"Not on your life, sweet-cheeks," Lorne cut in. "I'm with Fred, we stay home and batten down the hatches. Customers can wait til the gang's all here."
Fred nodded. Cordelia, slightly wigged by the memory of 'hurricane Buffy' the last time she'd used that old 'hatches' phrase, had to agree. The three of them could help Angel, Gunn and Wesley in fights against demons, but were no match on their own.
"Okay," she said, "you two make a start, I'll finish with these lists and catch you up." She looked at Fred with a reassuring smile. "Can't give up on him yet," she added.
Fifteen minutes later, with all the city hospitals scratched off her list, Cordelia headed up to the first floor to help the others shutter the windows and block off the fire escapes. They were almost done on that floor, and it wasn't long before the three of them headed upstairs. Halfway up, Cordelia stopped.
"Gonna check on Angel," she said, a strange expression on her face.
"Are you okay?" Fred asked, watching her friend hurry down the stairs.
"Fine," the brunette answered. "Just checking."
She didn't mention the odd feeling she'd had as she'd passed the vampire's door, or the sudden imperative to see him that drove her to his room. She could neither explain nor understand it, so she just followed her instincts.
Tapping lightly on the door, she entered without waiting for an answer. The room was in darkness, save for a small low-wattage lamp in the far corner, which barely cast enough light to see by but allowed her to make out the edge of Angel's bed.
"Angel?" she said softly. "Are you okay?"
The vampire made a noise in his throat that was not quite a word, but she took it as a sign that he was conscious. She moved to the bedside and reached for the lamp on the cupboard next to it. Angel winced as the light flashed on, then peered at her. He looked dreadful. Not that he could possibly get any paler, but his skin seemed grey in the half-light and his injuries were still fresh.
"Bu …?" he winced again, talking obviously causing him pain.
"No news," Cordelia told him quickly. "Wesley's in hospital, Gunn's missing, Fred thinks we'll get another demon attack in about three hours. That's about it." She looked at him with concern. "Can I get you something?"
Angel shook his head carefully, then struggled to sit up. His arms barely held his weight, but he managed it despite Cordelia's protestations.
"Fred?" he asked hoarsely.
"She's okay. Helping Lorne to..."
"Demons?"
"Oh, right," Cordelia realised what he wanted to know. "She said she thinks there's a pattern to the attacks we've been under. If she's right, the next one will be around 6.30. We're securing all the doors and windows, just in case. We don't have a whole lot of … well, anything really. You guys are out of commission, and the weapons cupboard is half empty. What are you doing?"
Angel had swung his legs over the edge of the bed as he listened to her, and now sat with his arms braced on either side of his hips, head hung low.
"Gotta get up," he said with some difficulty, trying to overcome the pain and dizziness which washed over him.
"I don't think so," Cordelia said flatly, reaching out to place her hand on his shoulder to stop him moving any further. "You …."
Cordelia gasped as the vision slammed into her mind. A jumble of images – some familiar, some beyond her imagination – flashed before her as the accompanying pain threatened to destroy her skull. She fell to the floor, vaguely aware that Angel threw himself with her to try and soften her fall, then everything went black.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
