Part Seven-
+Tribulation+
The sun was up. The wind was blowing. It seemed like the perfect day in a perfect town. That sentiment was dead wrong. Underneath the sun, hiding in the shadows that lay across the bodies of the dead, the demonic, and the wicked. All lay in the shadows, quivering in fear. The Slayer was after them. The feeling of death lay still and heavy in the light breeze. Keening whimpers and harried pants of the all that was evil could be heard in the dark.
She was coming.
*
BEEP…BEEP…BEEP
The sound went on and on for hours. More than that. It would go on for however long she stayed alive.
BEEP…BEEP…BEEP
With only a second of pause in-between, the beeps were a steady, reliable sound. As long as it beeped, she lived on. Her blonde hair was matted with blood and grime. The smell of ginger and dried blood wafted from her locks and skin. Her face was pale and her eyes close and bruised. Tiny scratches crisscrossed through her skin. The angry red marks stood out on white skin.
She could have been dead.
She could have died.
She may be dead.
BEEP…BEEP…BEEP
That damned beeping sound was the only, only sound that meant that she was still alive. A small cry of anguish escaped the other girls' lips. Her best friend, her partner, her…Tara.
The red headed girl cried. Cried for what hung in the balance. Cried for what was now lost, in that same balance. She couldn't feel Tara anymore. But, she could feel Buffy. She could feel her pain, her anguish, her numbness.
"What am I supposed to do?" Willow asked in a chocked voice. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do…!" She buried her face in her hands and cried softly.
"Willow." A strange sounding, yet achingly familiar voice whispered from behind her.
Willow slowly turned around, wiping hot tears from her face. Her eyes widened and she gasped softly. "Oh…my God." She stammered. "Oz?" She whispered.
There he stood, leaning against the doorway of the hospital room. He looked the same as he did the last time she saw him. His green eyes glittered and moved about the room. He came toward her and she stiffened. This wasn't Oz. The feeling, the vibe she got from him wasn't Oz at all. This was something else, something not human.
"You're not Oz." She stated. "What are you?" She demanded, standing defensively.
He shrugged. "I'm what you call a 'higher being'." He answered.
"Why do you look like Oz?" A terrifying thought came to her. "Is he dead?" She whimpered.
"Why would you care? You dumped him for Miss. Comatose over here." The thing said, gesturing to Tara.
Willow's eyes narrowed.
His lips twisted, making Oz's face seem unnatural. "Nah. He's not dead. I took this form because it would be familiar to you."
"What do you want?" Willow asked.
"I've got a message for you. You're needed in the City of Angels." He said.
"Why?" Willow questioned.
"They need you. More than Bewitched does here." He said, nodding to Tara,
"I can't leave her." Willow said.
"You don't get a choice here, Red. This world's all going to hell unless you and your friends get your act together. You got a Slayer to stop and a possible apocalypse to avert."
"Buffy is here." Willow said. "If I leave her here…" Willow trailed off, not wanting to go there.
"She'll be heading to the City of Angels soon enough. Pack up your friends and leave, leave before she can focus on you." The Oz-like thing said cryptically. "I gave you the message, Red. Remember that if you don't heed, the fate of the world's on yours." He warned and spun on his shoe, walking away.
Willow looked out the window, into the darkening sky. She had to leave. She knew this, but did not want too. For once in her life, she wanted to be selfish. Little did she know, that this thought of hers was ironic. For, most of the time, she accused Buffy of being selfish. Though Buffy always did what she had too, always gave up what she had too. Buffy was very rarely selfish.
And Willow was wrong.
*
The door opened with a loud creak and a shadow entered the room. Andrew screamed, scurrying for the corner of the room. Warren tried to move fast, but his wound stretched and opened again, causing him to grunt in pain. Jonathon just stood in shock. Tonight he would die. He knew it, could picture it in his head.
"Bloody hell!" The shadow cursed from the doorway.
It was Giles. The 'Three' nearly feinted in relief.
"What the hell did you hit me with?" Giles demanded in pain.
"Um, a vase…" Jonathon murmured.
""Bloody…" Giles moaned.
"We have to leave! She'll find us!" Warren demanded.
"You bloody fool." Giles laughed bleakly. "Don't you understand that she'll find you no matter where you go? She'll hunt you down until the end of time. If it's true, if you've killed Dawn, her sister, her life, then she will never give up. And, if you run and she finally does find you, she'll make your deaths as painful as possible." Giles said forebodingly.
"That's why you have to help us!" Warren wheezed.
"No." Giles shook his head. "You see, Dawn was like my own daughter. And, as far as I am concerned, Buffy is my daughter. You've killed my family!" Giles growled in Ripper fashion. "If she doesn't kill you, I will!"
Lightening flashed and illuminated the dark room. In the doorway, Buffy stood staring blankly at them. Her eyes were dead. There was nothing human there. No soul, no remorse, no caring.
She would murder them and rejoice.
"Leave, Giles." She said in an empty tone.
He looked at the boys with contempt. "May you get what's coming to you."
He put a tentative hand on Buffy's shoulder. She didn't react. He left the room silently, shutting the door behind him. As soon as he left, Buffy pulled out the bloodstained knife.
"If I had a gun…I would shoot you like you shot her. I would make somebody that you love watch as the blood oozes out of you. Watch as your eyes glaze over and you struggle to take your last breath. The way I had to watch her blood pour out and her lungs gasping, struggling to breathe another breath." She said quietly, shakily. A sick smile spread across her face. "But, even so, I'm sure I can improvise."
Buffy raised the knife and brought it down, the metallic gleam lighting the horror on the boys' faces.
*
Giles walked out of the house, his eyes trained in front of him. He had packed a small bag. As he shut the door, he could hear screams. Terrified screams of fear, pain, and death filtered through the walls.
And Giles felt no remorse as he kept walking, never looking back.
*
"Are you sure you're ok?" Xander asked Anya.
"I'm fine!" She snapped, pushing him away. "I have scratches. Little, tiny scratches. I won't die." She rolled her eyes.
Xander's lips pursed with silent worrying. It was broken as he saw Willow making her way toward them.
"Oh no…" Anya murmured in annoyance.
"How is she?" Xander asked, ignoring Anya.
"Unconscious. No change." Willow answered in a clipped voice. "We've got to go." She said, picking up her purse.
"What?" Anya asked.
"We're leaving. We've got to go to Los Angeles." She said to them.
Xander's nose wrinkled up. "Dead boy lives there." He said disdainfully.
"Yeah. That's why we're going." Willow said. "Let's go." She said when they didn't move.
"Wait, wait, wait." Xander said. "Hold up. Why are we going? What about Buffy? And…Dawn?"
"Buffy is going to LA. We've got to stop her from doing…something. I think Angel knows more than us. And Dawn, she's dead." Willow whispered. "Just, come on! We have to leave!"
"Yes." Another voice said. "We do."
Giles stood behind them, looking grave and pained. There was a darkened lump on his head that looked very sore. His hair was wild and curly, his eyes closed off and dark. There was dried blood on his rumpled Oxford shirt.
"What happened?" Xander asked him, reaching out to steady the older man.
Giles evaded his hands, his eyes cold. "We need to leave. Now." He said again. "There's no time to take anything with us. I'm sure Angel will provide for us once we get there."
Xander blanched slightly. "Angel…" He murmured agitatedly.
"Do get over your pissing contest with Angel." Giles sighed angrily. "What is going on now is more important than this little strife you have with Angel."
Xander shut his mouth and stood up, helping Anya up as well. "Whatever Giles. Let's go if we're going." Giles nodded once and limped his way to the front doors, his little tribe following him.
"Tara…" Willow murmured very softly before they walked out.
Giles turned to her. "I know your pain. But, there is nothing more to do for her. Perhaps she is safer, the way she is. Buffy needs our attention and our help now. Tara would want us to help." He said softly to her before turning again and walking to the car he'd parked out front.
It was a newer SUV model. One that Willow, Xander and Anya had never seen before. If it were a different time, a different place, they would have teased him about it. They would have all laughed, all been a family.
But, they were here, and now. Stuck between the darkest hour, the fate of the world, and the well-being of the one person that held them all together.
Off to Los Angeles, they went.
*
The smell of fresh blood hung heavy in the air. Scream of pain and horror rung in her head like church bells. She sat in the corner of the room, her eyes wide open, her breathing shallow. Her knees were tucked under her chin and she silently rocked, not able to tear her eyes from this scene of destruction.
//"Please! Please, no!"//
Drying blood was spattered everywhere, in every inch of this small room.
//"Just kill me! J-just kill me…"//
The walls seemed to bleed, caked with human flash and matter.
//"I didn't mean to hurt her! I didn't mean too!"//
Wet, gory bones littered the floor, ligaments and muscle still attached, still fresh.
//"Ughahh! W-why? Why, why, why, WHY?!"//
Their screams rang in her head, over and over, and over again. She put her hands over her ears and shut her eyes tightly.
//"Buffy, please stop!"//
Sucking in a breath, the room seemed to close up on her. The bloodied walls moved towards her, closing her in, locking her away. In her hallucinated, hysterical state she was losing it. All and any threads of sanity that were left were rapidly disappearing. The sensation of overwhelming rage and swallowing grieve were overtaking her, making her cold, making her heartless. She no longer cared about anything. Anything, that is, except revenge. Revenge on those that had hurt her, revenge one those who were tainted, revenge for everything.
Dawn was dead.
Her mother was dead.
There was just nothing left, no one there for her, or so it seemed. Her friends were blind. Her heart was shattered. And her body, violated.
//"You're going to let me inside you…"//
"No!" Buffy gasped, sucking in a breath, shutting her mind off.
She didn't want to think about it. She couldn't afford to think about it. It would break her, and she couldn't have that. She had to be strong, had to be strong, strong.
*
They had all been awake for at least 24 hours, at the most. It had been disconcerting enough handling Cordelia's visions. But, when you added the mystery of demonic ratings, a emotionally broken Slayer on the loose, and a couple dozen higher beings crashing the whole damn party, it got damn near crazy.
Everyone had gone to sleep—or at least claimed too—a few hours ago. Nightfall was approaching, as was another bout of worries. Angel had no idea what was going on in Sunnydale. Cordelia had had no more visions. He had tried to call them there, but the phones had rung and rung with no answer. Worry and confusion wracked his brain to the point of near-pain. He didn't know how bad everything was and he was quite sure that he didn't ever want to know. But, he had too. Buffy was in troubled.
Buffy had been…
The mere notion of the thought made him nauseous. And, by Spike. That thought made him want to kill everything he set his sights on. That son of a bitch… Buffy had let him into her life, into her home…and he had destroyed her. He had taken what she had given to him freely and he had crushed it to little shards of nothing.
Angel's fists clenched and a wave over deep sorrow washed over him. Angel couldn't feel her. Ever since he had left LA, maybe even before then, he had been able to sense her. To feel her emotions just vaguely. It made him feel close to her. It made him feel as if he were still with her. He didn't feel as lonely, as lost.
But, now…now there was nothing. There was no rage coming from her, no sadness, no grief. Just an empty nothingness that made him scared for her. If she wasn't feeling anything, then there was no telling what she could be doing.
Hot tears burned his eyes. He stumbled away from the door and stood by the dresser. He put out his hand and leaned against it, burying his face in his other. God, he wanted to be strong for her. He needed to be. But, he couldn't not right now. He didn't know how to deal with this. He didn't know how and if he could help her. Angel didn't know if he could save Buffy.
His shoulder shook with silent, heaving sobs. Hot tears ran down his cold cheeks, seeming to scald him. He was nearly hopeless right now. He didn't know what to do. This time, he couldn't push away his own feelings, he wasn't able to focus on the problem at hand.
"Buffy…" He murmured, his voice chocked and strangled.
"It's better for you to let out your feelings now, for her." A voice from the doorway said.
Angel snapped to attention, his posture rigid and stiff. He saw one of the Powers, for the love of God he couldn't figure out who. His cheeks were wet, but he didn't care. He had no shame in this moment.
"What do you want?" He asked, his voice gruff.
The female Power shifted in the doorway, looking tired and uncomfortable.
"I came to check up on you." She said, somewhat meekly.
"Why?" Angel asked.
She lifted her shoulder slightly. "You're a key figure in helping Buffy. You can't fall apart when the times comes to fight her."
Angel lifted his head slightly. "Why do you care?" He asked seriously. "The others don't give a damn. They just want their precious balance scored. They don't care about Buffy herself."
The girl met his eyes, hers glittering a sapphire blue. "I've watched her from birth." She said. "I've watched her grow and cry, and love and suffer. She didn't deserve any of it. But, she survived it. She's stronger than any of the others." The girl looked down. "I've pleaded in her case many times. I've defended her, grown close to her—probably closer than permissible. I know her."
Angel nodded once. "How am I supposed to do this?" He asked brokenly. "How am I supposed to save her, when I don't know how?"
"You can't save her, not from this." The girl warned. "This will haunt her for the rest of her life. All you can do is pull her back from the edge."
Angel turned around and looked out the window.
"If she hasn't already fallen off."