Willow remembers the screaming, the anger that had turned her inside out . . . The rage that she folded herself into, because anything was preferable to facing the grief that swallowed her whole. It was animal, the way she screamed—it clawed its way out of her. Every day since then, until Tara materialized in the room she died in, it threatened to claw its way back out again. There was never an end to the grief; to the shame and sorrow. No matter how tightly she squeezes her eyes, she still hears the screaming.
It takes her a moment to realize she's not remembering. Someone is screaming, and it isn't her.
A disembodied torso materializes in the ceiling above them, contained with the circle, though the storm clouds and light spread out across the room. He roars and looks down upon them, scanning his surroundings before squinting at Tara. "I recognize your essence," he says almost curiously.
Bodies as one, Tara and Willow both stiffen in fear. Confused, Tara glances across the circle. Osiris continues his scan, eyes flashing in anger as he recognizes Willow. "You!" he shouts. "Months you have banished and imprisoned me."
Willow looks legitimately shocked and baffled, has no idea what he's talking about. Her jaw gapes but before she can respond, he continues. "No human is capable of such a feat. You reek of power not your own."
Without preamble, he reaches an arm down to grab Willow's head, holding her in his giant hand as if she were nothing more than a tennis ball. Head back, jaw open in a silent scream, Willow's eyes burn from within, radiating a strange red glow.
"Willow!" Buffy shouts and runs towards them.
Tara, Giles, and Anya cry out at once, anxious to not disturb the circle, but Buffy moves too quickly.
Buffy's hand makes contact with Willow's, who is still holding Tara's hand, and that strange, familiar wave of energy passes through the three girls with a FWOOSH! and pulses out from them like a shockwave.
One moment, Willow is filled with fear, incredulous at how she could have ever—ever—been so disgustingly arrogant as to think she could demand anything of a god.
The next moment, her body is far away. Matter of fact, she has no body at all. She is spirit. Power. A god. She is death. Underworld. Judgement. Justice. She's...being summoned. The required elements are present; the vessel, in place. The veil between the realms grows thin and she crosses over into a terribly mundane, physical world. She can feel the power concentrating. The vessel is gathering, focusing, ready for the channeling. She thrums with energy.
Instead, there is a great shattering; the walls of the vessel broken, power split, essence ripped, spirit torn. She flies, spinning spinning spinning, into death and decay. Into pain and desperation.
There is darkness. It screams. And awakens in Sunnydale.
Willow's eyes fly open. She takes a harrowing, gulping breath, coming back to herself with a violent jerk.
She can see it all so clearly, now. How the consequences and events of the past year toppled like dominoes. And it had all started with . . .
"Buffy," she gasps.
Buffy turns to her carefully, slowly. "Willow, what the hell was that."
"Buffy," she stammers, "It's you. It's me, i-it's—"
"It. is. I," Osiris bellows, startling Buffy and Willow.
Willow finally understands. She knows what she has to do. And she knows she has to do it very, very carefully.
Buffy's hand still rests warm and heavy on her shoulder. "Buffy," Willow looks into her best friend's eyes. She sees worry, pain, confusion, and determination and is overwhelmed by the literal awesomeness of her companion. "Do you trust me?"
The answer comes as it would not have just a few months ago—without hesitation. "Do it," Buffy replies.
Flooded with gratitude and love, Willow turns back around and asks the same of Tara. Permission. "Tara?" she lets the word trail off, containing the multitude of questions in the only name that ever mattered.
It, too, comes immediately. "I trust you," Tara's eyes ground her, and Willow can feel her gaze over every part of her existence. It's painful and exquisite. Willow feels it in her bones.
Thus fortified, she turns back to address Osiris. "Keeper of souls, I beseech you, have mercy."
"I deal in justice, witch."
With Tara's hands still in her own and Buffy squeezing her shoulder, Willow summons all the courage and strength she can, letting these powerful, strong women guide her. "Justice, then. I offer a trade. A just and equal exchange: something given, nothing taken."
He sniffs the air, considering the offer. She takes it as a good sign and continues, "Spirit borrowed, spirit returned."
Willow is dead-locked on the floating god above her, focusing with every fiber of her being, to do this right. To do it correctly. Because the most important people in her life depend on it. "I transfer, from within to without. I trade that which is mine to give, freely and without consequence. This and only this will be taken."
Tara stiffens as the trade being offered becomes clear. She cries out just as Osiris booms, "I accept."
As soon as the words are spoken, Buffy and Willow are thrown back and enveloped in a band of glowing red energy. It oscillates around them in waves, whipping their hair as if caught in a storm. From somewhere far away, Willow registers Tara leaning forward in alarm as their hands are torn apart. She feels Tara scream, though the sound is lost in the maelstrom of magic. And wants more than anything to reassure her everything will be okay; that this, finally, will be amends.
But there is only black.