Chapter 5 - What Goes Down . . .
August 21st, 2001 – 1615 Hours
PRESENT - 2 MONTHS, 19 DAYS AFTER BUFFY'S DEATH
Sunnydale, California – 1630 Revello Drive
"The urn of Osiris." Willow said with awe as she looked at the small vase in her hands "You finally got it."
"Yeah. It wasn't easy." Amy grumbled carefully handing it to Willow.
"And you never asked anyone at The Magic Box, right?"
Amy sneered "I'm not an idiot Willow. Why else would you ask me to find it and not your friends. Besides, I ended up getting it on eBay."
"You found the last known urn of Osiris on eBay?" Dawn asked surprised by that bit of news.
"Yeah" Amy twitched nervously, her nose quickly scratched with her hands in a very rodent like manner "What's with the face? It's what your after, I checked."
Willow studied the urn with a frown "No-no … it's the one … which means it's time." Willow finally answered with resolve.
"It's time? Like, time time?" Dawn asked.
"Yes, it's time. I know it feels kinda … sudden but Mercury's in retrograde and-"
Dawn: "Something wrong?"
"No … It's just, well, I've been working on this since the day after Buffy's funeral. I … planning isn't the same as actually doing it."
"And you're sure? You can do this?" Amy asked. "Not to doubt you, but more experienced people have tried … and died."
Dawn grinned "Willow says we should have any problems because we-"
"I'm Sure!" Willow cut her off with a warning glare.
"Right. And we have... Do we have everything?" Dawn asked sheepishly as she looked at Willow.
"Just about, only one thing left and it kinda had to wait until the end." Willow said nodding. "Amy, we could use you for the-"
"Oh-no." Amy cut her off "Look, I like Buffy, but this … good luck and all but I'm not risking my life trying to resurrect your friend." She took the envelope of cash sitting on the coffee table and headed towards the door, pausing as it swung open. "Let me know how it turns out." She said before it closed behind her.
Dawn looked towards Willow, still studying every little detail of the urn now inches from her face. An uneasy though popped into her head. "You said you've been preparing this since Buffy died."
"Yeah, mostly just seeing if it was possible and … uhhh … hey, it is." Willow smiled.
"How long have you had Amy looking for the urn?"
"Uhh, maybe a month of so. Needed something to keep her busy. Rat flashbacks."
"So, you've been paying Amy, with your own money, to look for the urn for a month now. But you only checked to see if Buffy was in hell when I asked you to last week?"
"I..." Willow looked up at Dawn. "I wanted to be prepared."
Dawn sneered "You've been planning this all along! You never even checked did you!?"
Willow opened her mouth several times only to clamp her jaws shut. Finally managing to blurt out the first thing that came. "No-no, I checked."
Dawn's mind was as sharp as ever as she processed the words. "You checked? You checked, and you knew I wouldn't go along with this if you told me the truth. Buffy's not even in hell is she?"
"I … " Willow tried to answer but the words were stuck in her mouth as it quickly became dry with nervousness. Her plan was collapsing. Without Dawn there was no plan, no way to pull this off. Realizing there was no way to salvage this unless she could win Dawn over she she decided it was time for the truth. "She's in heaven."
"You! … You! … " Dawn started only to have the words refuse to leave as her face burned with anger. "You lied to me! Told me she was in hell! How could you do that?"
A part of Willow snapped at the accusation "Oh come on! Like you wouldn't do whatever it took to bring Buffy back. Yeah, she's in heaven. And she can go back there when she dies again. But we need her here, now. We need her help to stop the world from ending. Look me in the eye and tell me she wouldn't do whatever it took."
"You shouldn't have lied to me. We can come up with another way."
Willow let out a depressing laugh "Like what Dawn? Spike's gone, and the other Slayer is just gonna sit back at watch it happen. We need Buffy, we need a real slayer."
Dawn's glare could kill as she focused on Willow "And what am I? Just a knock off?"
"You know what I mean. Maybe in a year or two you'd be up for it. But it needs to happen, and soon. In a few months the Immortal is going to open the hellmouth and when he does were all fucked. And not in a good way."
"So what? You just decided to lie to get your way?
Willow scoffed. "Grow up Dawnie! Welcome to the real world. Your a slayer, time you put your big girl pants on. Yeah, I lied, get over it. In a few more days the conditions will be the best they can be for for months. Either we do it, or we don't. Either we use Buffy to save the world, or we try to come up with another plan with no guarantee of success. You've already said you could have beaten The Immortal with just a little more help. Well, here's your chance to get it. So step up and make a decision."
Dawn shrunk into her portion of the couch, her eyes closing on reflex. A vain attempt to find a small measure of solitude from Willow's steely gaze. Is this how Buffy felt every time she had to save the world? Stuck between a myriad of bad options and worse alternatives.
Why did it have to be her? She wished so very much that Buffy was here in this moment. Someone to give advice, to take the burden of making decisions, to hold her and make the nightmare go away. She grit her teeth as her mind settled on her answer.
Be Brave.
Forgive me.
"Okay."
4 DAYS LATER
Sunnydale, California – St. Mary's Cemetery
Xander watched, still shocked at what was happening before his eyes. Only yesterday Dawn and Willow had turned his life upside down, swearing him and Anya to secrecy. He couldn't help the sting he felt, that they had planned this, all of this, without speaking a single word until yesterday. He'd fumed and ranted to Anya, who'd simply shrugged. As if resurrecting someone was the same as brushing your teeth.
Eleven hundred and twenty two years old.
After that many years it really shouldn't surprise him that she'd seen it all. He shook his head clearing his thoughts. He'd be damned if Buffy came back a zombie because he had the attention span of a rabbit.
Rabbit.
He bit down the chuckle. Humored at the thought of Anya running in fear of the hopping fluff. Somewhat ironic after she hadn't batted an eye at this display of deeply dark magic. Once she'd seen the spell and confirmed it should work without fatality, specifically her fatality, she'd been unphased, impressed even. He continued his chant, the paper resting before him barley illuminated by his candle. The Latin words were foreign but he'd spent enough years wringing information out of dusty books to know more than his fair share, and those he recognized he knew he didn't like.
He felt a flutter in his stomach as the intensity of Willows spell hit an even darker note. The air crackling with so much power even he could feel the gentle buzz, taste the ozone in the air from the charge. The whole resurrection spell was far more than he'd bargained for when he'd happily agreed yesterday. Nor did 'oh, you'll just have to read some lines' seem like an adequate explanation of what had been asked of him.
He'd known Willow was being coy, but only at the instant he'd arrived did the gravity of what they were doing sink in. He'd heard it, over and over again as Giles warned her.
Never use blood magic!
Now, looking at the desecrated site of Buffy's grave, the words blood magic just seemed … inadequate.
He and Anya had shown up thirty minutes ago, exactly as requested, only to find not one ounce of sod undisturbed. Artful little ditches dug in an intricate pattern of runes over every inch of the grave. The garden trowel clutched in Dawn's hand still carving furiously, interrupted only when she paused to compare her work to a nearby sketch.
Then … came the blood. An entire cooler full of blood, Dawn's blood, the Key's blood. Poured with a calculated precision into the ditches with no drop wasted. The air, now so thick with the metallic tang he could practically taste it on his tongue. Every instinct he had told him this was wrong, to run, but there was no refusing those blue eyes pleading to have her sister back.
He'd managed to find some small measure of comfort in knowing it couldn't get worse, but yet … it did. As a deer walked lazily towards them he shot a questioning look at Anya who once again shrugged. It was a beautiful creature, elegant even if not for the glassy black eyes of an animal with a will no longer its own. A matching pair eyes on Willows face but sharp and frightening in contrast as she mentally marched the animal towards Buffy's grave, carefully avoiding any of the painstakingly dug blood moats.
He was sure he knew where this was going when he saw the word 'sacrificium' in his script, somehow, he should have known that wasn't where it ended. Before his mouth could find words Dawn stripped to her undergarments, kneeling in front of the deer just as Willow slit its throat, yanking the head back in a red spray. Willow casually handing the knife to Dawn and picking up a small vase, catching a few arterial spurts. The animal - still under Willow's thrall - stood motionless, uncaring as it's life drained away. Finally it slumped to the ground, pre-positioned to take its final breath at the foot of Buffy's grave. Dawn - now covered head to toe in blood – seemed to look warily at Willow. But after a confirming nod she slit her wrist, pumping her fist to help a stream of blood join the deer's in the vase. That complete, she laid down, centered over her sister with only the whites of her eyes not covered in crimson red.
"A life for a life" Willow had quickly explained. As if the words somehow made any of this okay. Then, as if the whole display hadn't been gruesome enough, she slit the deer open stem to stern, repeatedly stabbing the vitals of the deer before adding deep cuts in every limb. Somehow, even more blood managed to flow into the trenches.
"No matter what happens, don't stop."
He shook his head, chanting with a renewed vigor. It had seemed like hours. Willing, demanding with his now hoarse voice that his friend be returned to the land of the living. Over and over he repeated the words, ignoring the blood seeping through his pants. Doing anything to force the voice questioning the wisdom of this to be silent. One look at Willow in all her black eyed glory and doubt was replaced with fear as the air crackled around them, charged with static. This was not the mousy little girl that his friend used to be. This was a new Willow, a scary Willow, one that made a chill run down his spine. He grit his teeth, they were committed, all he could do was watch as the dark magic unfolded in front of him.
"Osiris, release her!" Willow demanded.
The dazzling lights, and terrifying show Willow was putting on had all eyes focused on the spell. Each too distracted by the shift in Willow's hair from fiery red to jet black to even notice that they were no longer alone. No one hearing the shuffle of feet slowly surrounding them in the blackness of night, just beyond where the light of the spell faded.
Xander's eyes caught the sudden flash of worry in Dawn's face but she remained in her place, motionless on her back. Willow had been vague on what the consequences would be if the spell was interrupted, but the consequences of magic were never a laughing matter. And this was far from the innocence of a locator spell. He chanted, keeping the steady stream of words flowing, nervously scanning the blackness of a moonless night for what Dawn had sensed. He'd been around slayers long enough to know that look. The moment when predator realized they were about to become prey.
Then he saw it, the instant Dawn's eyes widened.
Everything happened so fast. The blade headed towards Willow's head unseen by the witch as a minion of The Immortal swung from behind. He reacted on instinct, using agility that years on a hellmouth had instilled. There was an irrational glee that crept over him, knowing he'd saved Willow's life. Unphased as Anya shoved a knife through the eye of the attacking minion, he felt warm, giggling as the world started to spin. Looking down at what was once his hand reality sunk in.
He stumbled. His eyes finding the misplaced hunk of twitching flesh just as he tripped over the carcass of the deer. His mind going black as his body crashed onto the vase which centered the spell.
Dawn watched in horror. Unable to move, to break the spell she so desperately needed to work. Powerless as she saw the urn of Osiris being smashed in slow motion.
"No!" She heard Willow scream. The spell exploding in a brilliant 'boom' as energy built up was released in an instant into the surrounding air. The figures creeping towards them outside the perimeter of the spell incinerated in the blast. Yet, more came, she could see them, their outlines moving in the distant shadows, unphased by the fate of their closer brethren.
Time moved slowly, she wanted to cry, watching uselessly as all their preparation, their planning, was lost in the pieces of ancient clay now broken. The slayer inside of her broke through the daze, forcing her body into motion. There was only one thing they could do.
"Run!"
Higher Planes
Time had no meaning as Whistler chimed a happy tune. Imaginary air giving 'sound' as it squeezed between pursed lips. Looking at the Powers That Be assembled before him, he caught an expression he could only assume was a scowl. His grin forcibly disrupting the sweet melody announcing his arrival.
His eyes passed over the hazy figures, each glaring down at him from their raised podiums. He scoffed at the display. The powers wanting their authority known in a dimension where the towering height had no other function. "Glad you finally found the time."
"You left us little choice." The smoky voice of one of the powers announced.
Whistler kept a blank face as he turned to face the nameless power that had spoken.
"Your scheme has failed."
"Failed … seems to be a stretch" Whistler defended.
"Oh?"
… … …
"Has the witch somehow completed the ritual without my knowledge?"
Whistler turned his eyes to yet another power, Osiris. A smug expression unmistakably written on the power's 'face.'
"Obviously, she was interpreted" Whistler rolled his eyes. "But I believe the ritual was in fact completed. You simply refused her request, never … let it happen."
"As is my right."
"Are you suggesting we allow this … affront?"
"This Desecration?"
"Abomination?"
"What else could 'Let it Happen' possibly mean?"
"Take care your tongue, demon."
"And where would the fun be in that?" Whistler fought back the chuckle.
"Fun?"
"Do you comprehend what your actions could set in motion?"
"The destruction?"
"The horrors?"
He knew better than to try to track the broken words of beings speaking as one. Each giving voice to a fragment of their collective thoughts. He let his eyes hold on Osiris. One of the few powers that even acknowledged the 'feeble' concept of a name. The fate of this meeting was his to decree, life after death his domain. "You cursed me to maintain balance for eternity, I'm simply … maintaining."
"By retrieving the last of my sacred urns?"
"Letting it fall into the hands of mortals?"
"Setting your plans in motion?"
"You wish unleash such darkness?"
"Without darkness light has no meaning. Everything in balance." Whistler calmly played the game of riddles with the gods before him.
"There are many paths she could take." Osiris spoke.
He grinned at the wording, enjoying the first sign of the powers budging from their rigid stance. "There always are."
"And you believe yourself able to … nudge … events in an adequate direction?"
"I already have."
"You speak of your previous … meddling-"
"-in what was written?"
"What else. Needed someone to keep the pieces glued together. Tell me, in all of the millions, billions, trillions of paths, in how many does Rupert Giles survive?"
… … …
"That's what I thought. D'Hoffryn and his agents have their uses. Even a She'kak'na needs something to help guide it to a target."
"Keep your queries and responses to the branch of reality in question, demon."
"Of her paths, few avoid calamity."
"Calamity's her middle name. Why avoid such a gift?"
"And yet, you still intend to unleash her, and your … pet?"
"Guide her towards the tasks that our neighbors refuse to undertake?"
"A very dangerous game you've planned."
"That's the best kind there is."
"What assurances can you give-"
"-for success."
"Absolutely none. But then, you already knew that." He rolled his eyes once more. It had taken a few thousand years, but he'd learned the subtle signs. He could hear the hesitation, the powers stalling to commit to a decision already made.
"Then what motivation do we have to grant your-"
"-Their-"
"-Her-"
"-Request?"
"You want absolute elimination of risk? You, the beings which can see through the fabric of reality. Who observe the multiverse before it unfolds and every dimensions layered within. You want proof that you know I cannot provide?"
"For such a risk?"
"Unquestionably."
"Her place will remain until that is satisfied."
"We do not subject our champions to such-"
"-Torture-"
"-Without cause."
"She has earned her peace if any truly have."
Whistler let a smug smile cross his lips "And yet, who else is there?"
Sunnydale, California – St. Mary's Cemetery
Cold.
Why was is it so cold?
Why was she feeling cold at all? What had happened to the warmth?
Burning.
Why was her chest burning? What had happened to the comfort and peace?
Buffy sucked in a gasp of breath, filling her lungs with stale musty air. It soothed the burning in her chest. But only for a instant before the burning returned. She sucked in another breath to relieve the pain. The movement of her ribs causing too much feeling as bones and cartilage moved. Her head felt light, spinning, overwhelmed by the sensations flooding her mind.
She opened her eyes to stop the spin, but there was nothing. No light, nothing to see but darkness. Her eyes burned, each instinctive blink hurting more than the last. Causing more pain as she laid still, moving only enough to take in another shallow breath. Anything to keep away the pain burning in her chest.
Hands.
Feet.
There was more to her than just a head and chest she realized. Excruciating sensation beginning to return to those parts of her body. It wasn't just feeling to her extremities that was returning, it was the feeling of the surface of her entire body.
No longer just the cold, the burning of her chest, it was … everything. The feel of fabric grating on her skin, the pressure of her weight against her back.
Too much feeling.
Too much pain.
Too much everything.
She let out a raspy whimper, knowing somehow it should make things better. It didn't.
Noise.
Her ears registered the sound she had made, sending yet more information to her overwhelmed brain. She tried to focus on the sounds, attempting to block out the trillions of sensations overwhelming her.
Thump, Thump, Thump.
She listened curiously, focusing on the noise. The noise coming from her chest, the burning again returning to her chest. No, not her chest.
Lungs.
She took in another breath, deeper than before, listening as she heard the noise of her breath. Her breath starting to form a rhythm, not allowing the burning to return. Anything to keep away the burn.
Where am I?
Her memory filling with flashes of warmth, happiness, the safe place where she no longer was. But that was it, try as she might there was simply nothing more to be revealed. Everything before all encompassing contentment and comfort simply a blank void of nothingness.
A tear began to flow down her cheek, warm for only an instant before it to turned cold. Flowing along its path along gravity's pull towards the back of her neck.
Down … it flowed down. The opposite was up.
"W..." she tried to ask anyone that would help. Her throat too dry as it too now burned. A burn breathing couldn't fix. She tried to swallow, but there was nothing but more pain to be found.
As more feeling screamed into her mind she realized she was surrounded.
Surrounded by what?
Lifting her hands took an exhausting effort, forcefully commanding them to begin searching around causing more pain, more feeling. Her shoulders and elbows screamed only to be silenced as flesh met something solid. Her hands on fire with horrid sensation matching her back and anywhere her skin was touched.
Panic began to creep into the back of her mind as she become aware of just how surrounded she really was. A padded box no bigger than she was. No room to move, no room to shift, no room to think or breath or scream. The panic grew, taking over any rational thought.
Oh God!
She knew where she was. The plush surroundings, the tight space.
A coffin
The terrifying knowledge came from somewhere and nowhere all at once. Her memory still a void beyond what she had just lost.
Panicking, she slammed her fist forward, smashing through the lid of her private hell.
She felt a new pain shoot through her hand. Sharper, more intense. Pain more severe than the pain of moving or feeling, the pain of her lungs burning. She let out a strangled yelp, quickly withdraw her hand causing even more pain. Something rained down on her, something cold, pieces of something solid. The smell in the box changed.
Earth.
Dirt.
Buried.
Her panic grew, overriding the need to avoid the pain as she thrashed inside of her box.
How deep?
How long?
Where?
The hazy questions flooded her mind only to be drowned by the panic forcing her to punch the roof again. Pain exploding through her hand once more. The outside of her hand becoming warm and slick, something oozing across its surface. The smell in the box shifted again as a new flavor was added.
Blood.
The dirt rained down on her chest again as she withdrew her blood covered fist. The pebbles starting to cover her chest and flow into the opening of her dress. The grating between her skin and it's prison worsened as the grit settled in with each breath needed to keep the burning in her lungs at bay.
More dirt rained down, spilling off the side of her chest and making her arm harder to move. Made her box just a little bit smaller. Rational thought was gone, panic taking a firm hold as she began punching her box again.
Up.
Up.
Up.
The only thought that registered as she reacted on instinct.
Need to go up.
Punching and scraping a new sensation of pain was discovered as a fingernail was ripped off. The panic causing the new pain to be lost into the background as she wriggled in her box using her hands to shove the dirt towards her feet. Something covered her feet, something solid barley flexible, painful.
Shoes.
Not needed.
She pushed them off without though, allowing her feet to help compact the dirt at the base of her hellish box. Working at a fevered rate the heart beat in her ears now a thunderous pace too fast to process. Her breaths were fast and shallow but not fast enough to keep the burning away.
Air, only so much air.
Her panic worsened, continuing her work uncaring as more nails and flesh were ripped from her hands. Ignoring the horrid feeling of rough dirt scraping against the hyper sensitive skin of her breasts.
She leaned upwards, finally having broken a large enough hole. Her eyes clenched tightly closed as the dirt fell all around her, her small box rapidly shrinking. Pain was lost in the panic. Only up mattered. Pulling her legs to her butt she pushed through the dirt. Scraping, ripping and hammering at anything that got in her way. Screaming to what little extent her dried throat would allow, dirt slipping into her throat and lungs.
Her hand broke, free from the clutches of the dirt surrounding her. She pushed and pulled upwards, her hand gripping the surface of the soft wet earth above. Kicking, screaming and pulling until finally her head emerged. Her burning lungs filling with air. But, it was too was tainted, the coppery tang of blood heavy in the air. She pulled herself free of the earth, collapsing on slimy dirt before passing out.