Chapter 12: Standing Alone

Author's thanks at end.

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'Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,

Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one

Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:

I cannot say what loves have come and gone,

I only know that summer sang in me

A little while, that in me sings no more.'

- 'Sonnet', Edna Millay

X

Buffy did not know how long she had been lying upon her bed, curled into herself with the tears pearling down her cheek. Her head hurt, her eyes hurt, every part of her body hurt from her rigid position and yet the emptiness, the pain inside, was not dulled by the tears that kept coming with the quiet sobs that surged through her body.

Only the empty coldness spread from her abdomen and rose into her chest, choking her.

Oh God...

Somewhere inside her a small voice was whispering, callously and traitorously.

You slept with Spike...Wouldn't that have hurt him? Why shouldn't he move on, too?

But Angel and Darla...that was not moving on, that was going back; back to the days of Angelus, the days of darkness, of mindless carnage and of no remorse.

...Angel...

How could he have done something like that and still be Angel?

Because that was what hurt so much. He was not. He was not the one who was always there, the one who remained unchanging and steady in a crazy world caught in a whirlwind of change and destruction. He was no longer her only grip on sanity. He was no longer her Angel.

Buffy sobbed quietly into the rumpled sheets on her bed.

...and nobody ever survives...

The words came, unwanted and uncalled for, to slip between her empty thoughts; though she could not remember where they came from, what they meant, they struck her as strangely catchy. Nobody ever survived. The innocence, the love, the person, those were the first things to go, to become consumed in their mindless battle with evil. There was not room for feelings, for humanity, if you were to survive in a world of evil and destruction. Maybe he had lost it too. She knew she had, long ago.

Somewhere she knew Angel did not love Darla. That he had merely used her to feel something, maybe seeking the same warmth Buffy had given him. Just like she had done with Spike; seeking the light she no longer saw, to break free of the bubble of despair that closed tighter over her head, strangling her slowly.

She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the voices that were screaming at her in her mind. She could hear his voice and sometimes she could hear herself as well. And her words were always hateful.

Why?

Buffy knew why.

Herself.

x

'I can't believe you are back! I mean, is that normal with vampires? Is that why there's always so many of you?' Willow marched into the kitchen, a heavy plastic bag hanging from each of her hands. Behind her, bag in one hand and fag in the other, came Spike. 'Do you only stay dead for a month or two? Because I mean Angel, well, he came back as well and now so did you, and since you really are the only two vampires I know sort of on the personal basis level, I just wondered.'

Spike dumped the heavy plastic bag in the kitchen sink, the ringing noise of various bottles of glass connecting erupting from within as a result of his rough handling.

'Uh! Watch out for those,' Willow cried, jumping to his side. 'I don't think Giles wants newt eyes in his sink.'

Spike merely cocked an eyebrow at her. 'You're cookin' tonight, pet?'

She padded him playfully on the shoulder. 'Ah, ah, behave! Remember you're the guest.'

Spike picked a glass-jar from the bag and studied the slimy threads of entrails-looking material that swam in a greenish-black liquid. 'Where's the lil' bit?'

'Dawn? She's in England, battling demons and her French teacher in equal measure and having a great time.'

'So,' the word was drawn out as the vampire turned to face her. 'How are you, with the death scenes and whatnot?'

Her head snapped up at this and she gave him a fleeting glance before she looked back down again. 'I'm – I guess, I'll survive.' She placed a bottle containing some kind of, what he did not doubt was exceedingly revolting, material upon the table.

'That's not enough.'

Her hand froze. 'What?'

He surveyed her slowly. 'Surviving isn't enough. You have to bloody live while you have your soddin' chance.'

Willow lowered her head again, so her red hair fell before her forehead and hid her expression. She placed a second bottle beside the first. 'Guess you're a bit of an expert on the subject...'

'Not on living, no,' Spike admitted ruefully. 'But on getting the best out of what you've got, yes. Tryin' to teach Peaches - not that the wanker's any good at it, o' course. Much more enthusiastic about sitting aroun' staring holes in the air, that one is.'

A thoughtful wrinkle appeared between Willow's brows. 'He doesn't look too good.'

'Never did,' the vampire answered, picking something from the bag without looking. 'But the bleeding lawyer business is not exactly doing wonders for his complexion.' He grimaced as he realised that the jar he currently held in his hand was stuffed to the brink with eyes. Yuck. These people.

Willow did not notice the look he shot her. 'And you two seem to be getting along great...'

'All things considered...' Holding the bottle between thumb and forefinger, he carefully placed it in the sink. 'And you don't seem too bad either. All of you.'

'It's difficult and a shock –' Willow's voice shook.

'She was not the one, anyway, pet.'

He heard her spin around and there was a tinge of anger in her voice. 'What would you kn-'

'Still love's bitch, lass,' he said, and turned to face her. 'You didn't love her.'

She glowered at him, but Spike did not give her the time to vent that fury.

'You were afraid and needed something beyond the pain and the fear, and that is not the best excuse for a relationship, luv. But it will make it easier in the end.'

Willow stared at him for a while as though she wondered whether to hit him or not. Then she finally let out a trembling breath and managed a weak smile. 'I guess so,' she said quietly.

Spike nodded for himself and resumed the process of emptying the bag that was still succeeding magnificently in producing bottle after bottle, one more disgusting than the one before it. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at one containing something that looked unnervingly similar to swollen frog-heads. 'So, what's this for again?'

x

'The spell,' Giles began agitatedly, slamming the book shut and ripping the glasses off his nose, so he could wave them around in a cantankerous manner, as he spoke. 'There is nothing in this – thing - that says exactly how it shall be done...nothing – nothing but brainless gibberish the lot of it!'

Wesley raised his eyebrows in a noncommittal gesture, calmly turning a page in the book he held in his hands.

'This trench,' he began, 'does it have to be dug in the ground as was the ancient practice, or in the air as has become modern these days?'

Giles sighed deeply. 'It must be dug in the earth, directly before the church where the horse would have been buried if it was we had a church where there was a horse. Now, we will have to bury it in front of the church where there is no horseand this requires incredibly strong magic.'

Wesley nodded for himself. 'And by opening this portal, we run the risk of releasing all hells demons which just so happens to be imprisoned in this purgatorial world.'

'Exactly.'

'Not quite the odds I like to play.'

'I don't see we have much choice.' Giles stood up from his chair. 'Tea?'

x

Angel's feet were frozen to the floor and his eyes stared at the empty doorway without seeing, her voice ringing shrilly in his mind, echoing off the walls of his skull. And he understood. He knew. God, had he not wanted to scream and punch and kill something when he heard of Riley? When he first learned of her and Spike?

Yes, he had. And still he had done exactly the same thing. He had tried to move on, thought he could get over her, forget what they had...he had tried to make something fill the empty hole inside him, and yet nothing could make him feel as she had. He felt nothing, and the more he sought to feel, the number he became and frustration and despair flooded his mind and heart. He did not know who he was becoming, did not know what he was anymore.

And it had frightened him because amid all the darkness and the confusion came the thought of her and he had known Buffy would not like the person he had become. The person he was not becoming. After nearly two years she had mattered more than anyone else, she still did, and of all people she was the only one who could not see it.

Angel suddenly became aware that the floor was strangely close to his face and he realized with queer numbness he was on his knees on the floor. His body was trembling with the short, shallow breaths that surged through him and as he raised a hand to his face, it shook.

She was not coming back this time. He had known it when he chose to tell her – known what the outcome would be. Yet, he loved her too much to keep it from her any longer; that last honesty, he had owed her that. As a last favour.

And still, deep inside him, a tiny part of his soul had prayed that against all the odds, against all that was rational, she would have understood. That she would have listened. He chuckled but in his dry throat it came out more like a hoarse sob. Sometimes he surprised even himself when it came to his stupid and ungrounded expectations. He had no right to assume anything regarding her anymore. He had no right to her anymore.

And he still loved her so much it was ripping him to pieces inside, but it did not matter, because she did not know. She was not coming back.

x

Outside the weather was building up to a Mediterranean summer storm; the clouds were contracting like black flowing masses of liquid lead and soon heavy rain droplets struck the roof and the windows with a dull, continuous drum. Despite it being only late afternoon, Giles had pulled the curtains from the windows since the heavy cloud clover prevented the sunlight from coming through as effectively as an old woollen rug shields a room from the window's daylight. Far off a dull rolling grumble of thunder could be heard and the rain was slowly picking up strength.

Casually, Spike leant back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs and stared at Wesley, who was apparently outlining something of the greatest importance judging by the former Watcher's eager expression and ambiguous arm gestures.

'So, the portal can be opened by the use of a quite ordinary knife,' he was saying, 'provided the blade has been bathed in horse blood while the Norse god, Odin, is called upon. With this knife, we will dig a trench in the ground, a good twenty inches deep, I should think, and pour horse blood and the other ingredients Willow and Xander collected this morning into the hole, whilst we utter this special incantation.' He slipped a small piece of brownish paper under Giles' nose. 'This should open the portal and using a strong protective spell and a binding spell, we should be able to prevent an array of other demons from crossing while we force Helhesten back in.' He smiled triumphantly at them.

Xander cocked a questioning eyebrow at him.

Spike raised his hand.

'Um, sorry to spoil this moment of glory but this thing's the size of a small tractor. I don't want to be the one who is trying to fit the bloody thing in a hole that is at least four sizes too small.'

'A decent point though not one I have not taken into consideration,' Wesley rambled, sounding momentarily as though he had reverted to his old self. 'If all goes well, and we use the correct spell properly, Helhesten should be sucked through the portal and out of this dimension.'

Spike grinned. 'You just know that ain't gonna be comfortable.'

'We must do this tonight,' Wesley said, 'before Helhesten has time to regain corporeal form.'

Giles cleared his throat. 'Shouldn't we wait another day so we are beyond doubt as to how this ritual must be performed? It is not only dangerous for those who are to be involved but also very risky and could possibly have fatal consequences.'

Spike eyes travelled over the book that lay on the table before him, an old, fading illustration gracing the sprawling pages. Recognising the creature, he picked it up, his brows furrowing in thought as he scanned the squiggling writing left behind by an elegant hand.

Wesley was saying something to Giles when Spike cut him off.

'You've seen this?' he asked, extending the hand that held the book. Wesley took it, looking nonplussed. His face paled as his expression of bewilderment was replaced by anxiety, fear and an odd determination.

'Well,' he said coldly, 'that just solves it. We will go after this creature tonight.'

Giles plucked the book from his hand, pushed the glasses back upon his nose and began to read. ''And on the third day of the new moon, Balder Son of Egil halted his party for rest for they had travelled for seven days and nights without rest and weariness were upon them. He spoke to them and they listened, all fearless men who had been face to face with the Evil One and now thought of nothing sweeter than to -''

'Cut the bleedin' prelude, will you?' Spike said, tapping his fingers on the table's surface in impatience.

Giles shot him a withering look, but nonetheless turned the page before continuing. ''But with the darkness of the evil night came the Devil upon their camp and none were safe from his wrath. That night The Evil One released hell's fire upon earth and the most worthy young men of the village burned, all doomed to have set their eyes upon their fair country for the last time.''

'The hunter became the hunted,' Wesley murmured darkly.

Giles turned to Willow. 'It will come after us. Willow, you must do a protective spell, try – try to close of this building from the demon.'

'I'll help you,' Xander said, springing to his feet. Willow just nodded shortly before bolting upstairs with Xander at her heels.

Wesley got to his feet. 'And we must perform the ritual tonight. We will need Angel's and Spike's assistance but that is also the longest we can afford to delay it.'

An agitated note was sneaking into Giles' voice. 'Why can't you see this foolhardy plan has a far too high risk of being unsuccessful? We do neither have the experience nor the qualification to carry out this kind of magic! I will not take the responsibility!'

'Don't,' Wesley said simply. 'I will do it.'

Spike watched with curious fascination, waiting for the older Watcher's reply. Yet none came. A panicky hammering reverberated throughout the building, as someone was proving magnificently talented in knocking the front door down. Spike got to his feet and Giles followed just as Willow and Xander reached the bottom of the stairs, fully armed with bottles, herbs and a large iron pot swimming with a dark liquid. Then through the continuous drum that was rapidly increasing in intensity, came the sound of someone screaming in hysteria.

His face hard in concern, Giles had his hand on the doorknob and was about to open it when Angel suddenly materialised beside them, his hand pressing the door firmly shut.

'Don't open it,' he growled, his voice tense. Giles had opened his mouth to argue but his protests died in his throat, when Kennedy's voice echoed from the outside.

'Willow! Buffy! Please, someone!'

In a fleeting moment, Angel caught Spike's eyes and suddenly he could smell it too. The familiar stench of smoke, burned flesh and rot. Giles had staggered backward at the sound of the voice and was now opening and closing his mouth in shock, which Spike found made him look strikingly like a goldfish someone had taken out of its basin and left to dry on the carpet. Wesley had disappeared out of the hallway and from the study came the sound of the weapon-cabinet being pulled open.

Angel spun on his feet, racing back into the living room and Spike followed.

'Willow! The spell!' Angel ran to the redhead who stood frozen in the middle of the floor, her face white. He grabbed her by the arm and shook her roughly. 'It's him, Willow,' he pressed. 'It's not her. The spell.'

With fumbling fingers, Willow reached for the spell book among the collection of bottles and bundles of stinky herbs and began the incantation, the Latin coming stiffly and forced through her quivering lips. Spike could only catch every other word, the hammering and Kennedy's screaming voice drowning out virtually all other noise.

'Can't it just go through the bloody doors?' he yelled at Angel, who had slumped down in a crouch beside Willow, helping her through the spell.

'It must have regained corporeal form,' Wesley answered from across the room, pulling a sword from its sheath.

The words were coming clumsily, and Willow spoke each as though it was a sentence, struggling to make the spell come alive. Angel knew she could feel the power of the demon and realized she would not be strong enough to seal the entire house at once.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. 'We have to seal the house door by door.' Without looking up she nodded and got to her feet. With the spell book in one hand she slowly approached the front door, which was trembling violently under the strain. Xander was on the floor beside the pot, dumping various ingredients into the boiling liquid, which hissed and spluttered each time a new ingredient was added to the soup.

'So, are these gonna do any good or is it just for the bloody show?' Spike waved a sword at Angel who chose not to answer.

From the outside the screaming and the hammering halted as suddenly as it had begun, and the room became eerily quiet. Only Willow's slurry mumblings and the hissing of the pot mixed with the subdued drum of the raindrops against the window panes.

Angel shot Spike a telling glance and the younger demon returned it, before they turned simultaneously on their feet. The sharp crack of the splinter of glass cut through the room as had it been a gunshot, and raindrops mixed with tiny shards of glass as the stormy wind raced through the splintered window above the couch, sending the long, heavy curtains flailing inward.

'WILLOW!' Spike bellowed and the redhead began to ramble the words of her with inhuman speed.

The heavy raindrops fell through the open window and struck the floor loudly, carried by the wind that rummaged through the house. Somewhere on the first floor a door slammed shut.

'It's a diversion!' Wesley shouted. 'Is there a back door?'

As an answer, Willow's eyes widened and she raced into the kitchen. Angel grabbed the pot, which was giving off a sickly sweet-smelling fume, and jumped after her.

The backdoor was shaking madly on its hinges, and through the continuing rumbling thunder came a shrill, otherworldly shriek that rose until it drowned out the screaming of the wind as it swept by outside. Angel saw Willow close her eyes in strain and concentration as the demon placed its physical weight against the door and slammed into it, again and again, strike after strike.

'Angel!'

He spun on his feet, catching the sword Spike flung at him and turned to face the door as it flew off its hinges, deflected by Willow's spell and it was send scurrying backwards into the night. Helhesten's scream rose in the darkness and from the indistinct mass of blackness a single hoof emerged, dark and very real against the white tiles of the kitchen floor.

Behind him Angel heard Wes yell at Willow, Giles and Xander to get out but he did not turn around. He stared into the darkness, stared at Helhesten with a strange sense of calm, as the demon slowly raised its skeletal head, the empty sockets burning with a white light that searched the darkness blindly.

It stood in the empty doorway, the long, rugged mane and tail whipping around its frail neck and white face, as the wind tore at the black strands of hair. The demon took a trying step across the threshold, and Angel raised the sword.

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Author's thanks:

UberWicca, Legolasgal (glad you liked!), nimwen, AngelicDreams, CF (this was harder to write, especially because of the angst in the previous one. Please lemme know what you think:-), stephanierb (Glad you're still here! We are indeed nearing the climax and I'm trying desperately to cram as much into it as possible!), spangelover, shahid (So what did you think? More Wes to come, promise!), Omar Mahmood (yay, new reviewer!! I know about the whole Buffy hitting Angel stuff – I just feel like I would have hit him if I was her!), a2zmom (thank you so much for your review! It is great when a reader takes time to comment on the smaller points in the story.), Tariq (Eugh, I absolutely hate Dawn...I'm afraid she will have to stay in the English college I put her in for this story! Still, thanks so much for your review. It's great you're still with me!).

And of course to all me other reviewers as well!

Author's Note: Thanks to Dreamer's Child. If you all love BA (like me) you should really go and follow the link under this story's reviews to sign a petition for Buffy and Angel to get back together again.

This petition has been started to get the two amazing actors; Sarah Michelle Gellar and David Boreanaz to reprise their roles as Buffy and Angel so that we, the fans, can finally have a reunion and the ending we have always wanted.

Well, I think that's all. We are drawing nearer to the end so please read and let me know what you think!