Finally, I've posted the 30th chapter. Go me! Thanks for all your amazing reviews. They've inspired me to no end and forced me to get off my butt and have some quality writing time. Anyway, this will most likely be the second last chapter for this fic, although I'm thinking about an epilogue. I haven't decided yet. And this chappie was one of my favourites to write. Hopefully you'll see why. Enjoy!

Chapter 30

They were near. He could feel it. It didn't bother Him as much as it should, for there was nothing they could do now to stop Him. He was about to turn the world inside out, upside down and on its head with nothing more than a drop of His blood. His blood, the Slayer's blood- it was one and the same. And He was going to use it to open the Mouth of Hell- the door to His home for the past few centuries. He had a few grudges He wanted to repay the world, and more than a few friends who wished to join Him. He laughed, enjoying the girlish giggle that it came out as. Tonight, He was going to celebrate.
Willow stared at her boyfriend's body. He had been laid out on the hospital bed, his face almost as pale as the white sheets. His chest had been bound and covered in gauze, although she couldn't see it as it was hidden by the thick blanket enveloping his body. She didn't think she would ever be as pained as when she thought Buffy was dead, but this- a sharp, stabbing pain in her heart and empty, hollow stomach- was something she never wanted to feel again. She felt empty, hollow, devoid... She had worn herself out and used all her tears a few minutes ago, and she just stood there, staring at the white lips she had kissed so many times. Tears began to stream down her cheeks again, and a racking sob escaped her lips.

Warm arms wrapped around her waist drawing her back into a hug. She glanced up to see Cordelia gazing at her, the brunette's own eyes wet with tears. Somewhere beneath the grief she was surprised that it was Cordelia who was comforting her. They had never been the best of friends; even in the last few months they only kept each other's company in favour of being alone. There was no pity in Cordelia's eyes; only empathy for the loss of Willow's boyfriend, the loss of a friend. Willow allowed Cordelia's arms to support her, and she collapsed into her friend's embrace, crying freely into her chest.

Cordelia struggled to control her own grief, knowing that if she lost control she couldn't console Willow, and the redhead needed soothing more than she did. She held the sobbing girl, silent tears falling from her own eyes. Her gaze flickered to the other side of the room, and she watched over the unconscious body of the man she loved.

She had never told Xander that she loved him. He had told her plenty of times and she had no doubt he meant it, but there had always been a niggling doubt in the back of her mind which stopped her from returning the intimate three words. She vowed to herself that she would tell him as soon as he woke up, because she couldn't bare the thought of losing him like Willow had lost Oz and know that she hadn't told him.

Willow slid from her arms and ran from the room. Cordelia was about to go after her but Tara held her back.

"Stay with him," she said. "I'll watch over Willow."

Cordy nodded and moved to his bedside. She reached out and slipped her hand into his, clutching it to her lips. She couldn't bare the thought of living without him.
"She's not lost yet."

"Yes, she is."

"You can still save her!"

"By killing her?"

"God damn it, Spike! Pull yourself together. We've got to stop Him before He ends the world."

"How? With your pet project over there? A girl who hasn't even been Slayer for an hour yet? All your lackeys are gone on that stupid retreat, Angel, and all we have are two vampires, Glinda, a novice witch, an hour old Slayer and a bunch of bloody terrified kids."

"I know what she said."

"What who said?

"That night in Prague. Drusilla came home early that night moaning about you and killing the one you love. She thought it was her. It wasn't, was it?"

"No."

"Then you can do it."

"Kill her?"

"Save her! The only way to save her is to kill her. Isn't that what the old lady said?"

"How the hell..."

"You talk in your sleep. And Xander said it before. Just think a moment, Spike. If you kill her you'll save her. But she's not herself now, so if you must kill the thing that's taken over her body. It could mean she'll return to normal."

"Or it could mean she'll die along with it and save from ending the world."

"Your choice, Spike."
The time was almost ripe; one hour, and He would be free. Free of this suffocating body, and free of the torment of flourishing life on a planet that should be screaming in agony and suffering. He watched as his minions scuttled around Him, preparing the ritual that would bring Hell on Earth, and gave a nod of approval. His most loyal subject stood by his side, overlooking the frantic scramble.

"It won't be long now, my Lord."

"No," he said, turning to face the woman he regarded as the only human- however small the amount of her that still was human- to earn his praise. She was gazing at the preparations with something akin to desire in her gaze. His lips turned upward in what could be called a smile.

"Not long at all."

Fred raced up the stairs of ASG and shoved the huge doors open, glancing about wildly before settling her gaze on Spike.

"Spike!" she breathed, relieved that he was okay. "What happened?"

"Watcher's attacked," he replied. "Kirly's the traitor, Oz is dead, and Buffy's gone."

Fred gaped, trying to wrap her mind around the news. Kirly? A traitor? A student dead? She couldn't remember which one was Oz, but it didn't matter. She felt it, the way she felt every time she received the news of death. But Spike's last comment grasped her the most. Not because of the terrifying idea of the Slayer lost in the hands of the enemy, although that was bad in itself, but by the way he had delivered it. His voice had lowered, trembled just the slightest, and his voice had held a touch of questioning, as though every time he said it he was trying to understand it. She realized then that he loved Buffy, and was slowly coming to terms with his disappearance. She needed to work fast to keep him together, because he needed to be sane if they were to get the Slayer back. And save the world from going to Hell, she added silently to herself.
Cordelia sleepily lifted her head from the hospital bed, realizing that she must have fallen asleep beside Xander's bed. She glanced over at him and saw that he was still resting. Gently lifting her hand, she stroked the side of his face, her fingers softly grazing over the bruise on his cheek.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in her head, and was thrown away from the bed. Cordelia slammed into the wall and crumpled to the ground, but she never noticed. Clutching her head, she howled in agony as scenes and words and emotions were forced into her head as a powerful and painful slide show.

Angel heard the scream from his office and reached the hospital wing in less than five seconds. He found Cordelia convulsing on the floor, and restrained her flailing limbs. He hugged her body to his in a firm embrace, desperately seeking answers for her state.

The vision gradually receded, leaving her a whimpering and quivering mess. She opened her eyes and glared up at the roof. "A simple letter would have been enough. Better yet, what about e-mail?"

"Cordelia...?"

She jumped in surprise as she found herself in the vampire's arms.

"Angel?"

"What was that?" he asked, concerned.

"Vision."

"And?"

She sighed. "We're in trouble."
Faith stood opposite the two vampires, Cordelia and Fred, and wondered if they had managed to hit their heads in the last hour. Because surely they weren't serious about the plan they just proposed, were they? They stared back at her calmly, waiting for a reaction of some sort. She was somewhat relieved that Buffy may still live, yet reluctant to put much effort behind the hope. If what they said ended up being true, then they could save Buffy and stop Satan from ending the world. The very tiny possibility that their plan may work was forcing her to reconsider her aforementioned belief that they were insane. She didn't consider it for long.

"Are you four insane?" she asked, scooting onto the kitchen bench and trying to eat something solid. The apple refused to sit still in her stomach and she gave up, tossing it into the bin.

"Nah," Spike replied. "More like desperate."

Faith saw that he was indeed desperate. It hadn't occurred to her until now why Spike had always trailed Buffy during school hours, and how Buffy's eyes always drifted towards the shadows in a hope of seeing him. She was surprised that Spike should fall for the Slayer, and the Slayer fall for a vampire. Born enemies, and now they were in love. It was almost too poetic for Faith. Still, she didn't want to give up the last chance of saving Buffy while hope remained, so she hopped off the bench and nodded.

"Right then," she said. "Let's do this."
Angel gunned down on the accelerator, revving the engine. His black convertible leapt forward with a burst of smoke and just missed the rising garage door. He jerked the car left and the wheels skidded on the tarmac, causing it to swerve. He straightened it and sped up, ignoring Tara's gasps, Faith's repeated "kill me and I'll come back and haunt you", Cordelia's wails and Willow's 'oh God, oh God, oh God". Spike sprawled across the front seat beside him, sucking on a cigarette and blankly staring out the window, and Fred gazed at the scenery passing by with disinterest.

Angel had made this drive many times, but the company was considerably different this time around. Faith and Willow were newcomers to the drive, and Tara usually joined Gunn and Connor in the pick up. Spike always drove his DeSoto with Fred on the back, and Angel's question of why he hadn't this time, was answered the instant he saw Spike shakily lift the cigarette to his mouth. His hands, normally still, were trembling; a sure sign that the blonde vampire was afraid. It was something Angel rarely saw, and he had only seen it once in the last one hundred years. Ever since they had been souled. He remembered that night with such clarity that it still played across his mind like a movie scene. The blinding pain that had seared his very core. The bright lights that had flashed through his mind. The mind-numbing guilt that pervaded his heart. And he remembered Spike begging to join him. The sound of Spike pleading to regain his soul while standing over the newly re-souled Angelus, beseeching the Romanian gypsies to give him what he had lost all those years ago to Drusilla. All he had wanted was the chance to feel again, feel love and pain like he had when he was in possession of a soul. And the gypsies had taken pity on the pathetic excuse of a vampire and cursed him also, damning the both of them to eternity of guilt and suffering.

As Angel sped through the city, he recalled the last time he had seen Spike this terrified. It had been eighty years after the night they had been cursed, and both of them were strolling down a random street in Texas. Angel had sensed fear, the innocent, confused fear of a child, and the both of them had sprinted across the street and into a dark alley. A vampire had been feasting on a small girl, barely five years into her life, and Angel had quickly dispatched the vamp, allowing the girl to slump into Spike's ready arms. He had laid the child onto the cobbled ground and searched her face for any sign of life. The girl's eyes had popped open, and she smiled happily up at him.

"You saved me from the bad man," she had said, her voice a soft, Southern drawl, a sing-song melody. "Will you tuck me into bed now?"

He had lifted her limp body into his arms and raced into the night, leaving Angel to try and keep up with him. He had found the blond vampire waiting nervously in the hospital waiting room, shakily playing with the edges of his duster. His fearful eyes had lifted to Angel's and he spoke softly.

"Her name is Fred," he had said.

Angel glanced at the brunette behind him, smiling sadly. Spike always managed to lose himself in the small, petite ones, as though he was afraid they couldn't defend themselves and needed him there to protect them. First Fred, his assumed sister, and now Buffy, the one girl he had loved since Dru. Shooting his gaze toward Spike, he saw that Spike staring intently ahead. Swinging his eyes forward, Angel saw his focus point.

The Hollywood sign. It stood desolate, silent, looming on top of the hill; a perfect cover for the fiery Hellmouth that lay beneath it.